#i've been working on answering this ask for days but i still feel like i'm forgetting to mention something T_T

[woozinhos]

Hii! I hope your doing well! Can you do a s.coups sugar daddy headcannon with a dash of smut? If it's uncomfortable to write please do not do it! Thank you so much! 🫶🏻

Sugar Daddy Cheol

- Seungcheol loves to take control in the bedroom. He's a dominant lover who knows exactly how to drive you wild with desire. He loves to tie you up and tease you until you're begging for more.

- Seungcheol has a secret kink that he's never told anyone about. He loves to be called "Daddy" in bed. The word makes him feel powerful and dominant, and he gets off on the idea of taking care of his sugar baby in every way possible.

- Whenever Seungcheol is stressed out or feeling overwhelmed, he turns to you for comfort. He loves to lie on your lap and let you play with his hair, feeling safe and relaxed in your arms.

- One day, Seungcheol decides to surprise you with a trip to a luxurious hotel for the weekend. He wants to pamper you and show you just how much he appreciates you.

As soon as you arrive at the hotel, Seungcheol scoops you up in his arms and carries you to the bedroom. He lays you down on the plush bed and begins to undress you slowly, savoring every moment of your naked body beneath him.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers in your ear, his hands roaming over your curves. "And all mine."

Seungcheol's eyes darken with desire as he gazes down at you, completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him. He runs his hands over your body, tracing every curve and dip with his fingertips.

"You have no idea how much I've been thinking about this," he growls, his voice low and husky. "How much I've been dreaming of having you all to myself."

He leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue plunging deep into your mouth as he devours you. He breaks the kiss, panting heavily, and trails kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin.

"I'm going to make you feel so good," he promises, his hands roaming lower and lower down your body. "I'm going to make you forget everything but me."

He reaches down and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head as he hovers over you. "You're mine tonight," he growls, his eyes dark with possessiveness. "And I'm going to claim every inch of you."

-However there’s other times where he becomes jealous it’s so hot

Seungcheol couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy as he watched you interact with one of his colleagues. The way the man laughed at your jokes, touched your arm, and smiled at you made his blood boil. He knew he had no right to feel jealous - you were his sugar baby, not his girlfriend. But seeing you with another man still stung.

Later that night, Seungcheol was sitting in his office, trying to focus on his work, but his mind kept wandering back to you and the man from earlier. He couldn't shake the feeling of possessiveness that had taken over him. He wanted to mark you as his own, to show everyone that you belonged to him and only him. The thought consumed him, driving him wild with desire.

He stood up abruptly, unable to focus any longer, and walked out of his office. He needed to see you, needed to remind himself that you were his. Seungcheol stormed into your apartment, his eyes blazing with a mix of desire and possessiveness. He saw you sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone, and his heart skipped a beat.

"Baby," he growled, his voice low and rough. "We need to talk."

You looked up at him, startled by the intensity in his eyes. "What's wrong?" you asked, sensing that something was off. Seungcheol didn't answer right away. Instead, he stalked over to you, his eyes never leaving yours. He stood in front of you, towering over you, and pulled you up into his arms.

"You're mine," he said, his voice firm and possessive. "No one else's. Do you understand?"

You nodded, feeling a shiver run down your spine at the intensity in his voice. You had never seen him like this before - so possessive and dominant.

Seungcheol's grip on you tightened as he pulled you closer to him. "I don't want to see you with anyone else," he growled, his lips hovering over your ear. "Ever."

You could feel his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers of desire through your body. You knew that you were in trouble - but you also knew that you loved it.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice low and rough. "Tell me that you're mine."

"I'm yours," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "Only yours."

Seungcheol's eyes darkened with desire at your words, and he pulled you even closer to him, crushing you against his chest.

"Good girl," he growled, his hands roaming over your body possessively. "You belong to me, and only me. I don't want to share you with anyone."

He kissed you fiercely, his tongue plundering your mouth as he claimed you as his own. You melted into his embrace, completely surrendering to his dominance. Seungcheol lifted you up and carried you with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'm going to remind you who you belong to," he promised, his voice thick with desire.

[idstilldancewithu]

Forbidden Request | S.R

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Hotchner Reader

Summary: Spencer Reid always thought of every single outcome of his actions, but he did not, when Y/N Hotchner showed up to his door asking for something he couldn't refuse.

Warnings: Talks about being a prude, reader ask Spencer to take her virginity away (kind of) but doesn’t confess her feelings towards him and tells him to do her a favor as a friend, sitting on Reid’s lap, and age gap (20/30). Sorry if I accidentally missed anything.

A/N: Hi! This is the first time posting any of my work. English is not my first language. I’m sorry for any grammar mistakes. I’m still debating whether or not I should turn this into a series, but I hope you enjoy it!

Word count: 938

Part 1 | Part 2

•••

I could feel my heartbeat thumping in my chest, my hands shaking from anticipation as I knocked on Spencer's door, waiting for him to answer.

He opened the door with a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Y/N, is everything alright? Did something happen?" He worriedly asked opening the door wider signaling me to come in.

I walked towards the couch seeing files spread all over the table and books all over the floor. "I'm sorry for the mess. I didn't think I would have any company over."

I shook my head placing my hands in between my thighs. "It's ok and I'm really sorry for showing up unannounced."

He quickly shook his head, smiling reassuring me that he didn't mind. Spencer sat beside me and began stacking up the files in the table trying to clean up. "Do you want anything to drink?" He looked up at me.

"No thank you. Actually, I have to ask you something."

"Yes, of course what is it?" He moved closer to me placing his hand in mine.

Which is something he did every time I was anxious and needed comfort. I was his only exception, because he wouldn't do that with anyone else being a germaphobe. But, it always made my day better. That's why he let his walls down and made his brain stop thinking about the germs that could be transmitted through holding someone's hand.

His boss always failed to notice my state because, over the years having to grow up with a dad who was a profiler, I had to learn to lie and put on a facade when I was around him.

But, Spencer always noticed. No matter what I was hiding, he would always find out. Which is why once I would leave his office, Spencer would walk me out to the elevator.

Once the door closed, he would hold my hand, giving me much needed comfort.

I layed my head on his shoulder as he traced different shape on my hand. "Do you remember the boy I was going out with?"

"Yes, Jeremy Miller he goes to your college, and is majoring in law and criminal justice. He's twenty years old and asked you out a month ago, and you agreed. You also said the boy I was going out with. What happened? Did you break up?"

"Sometimes I forget you have an eidetic memory." I chuckled, trying to ease the nerves that were bubbling in my stomach.

"But, yes he broke up with me. Apparently he thinks I'm a prude, because I didn't want to go further than making out with him. Like, who even says that word anymore?" He squeezed my hand lightly.

"You deserve better than him Y/N and you're not a prude." He quickly reassured me again placing his hand on my chin making me look at him.

"He's not worth your time or attention. Do you understand?"

I nodded in response. "He's wasn't lying though. Spence, I've never gone farther than making out, and I'm twenty years old."

"Pretty girl, there's nothing wrong with that. The first time I did anything with a girl was when I was twenty four. Trust me there's no rush."

The nickname made my heart skip a beat. He had never called me that only Morgan did.

But coming from him, it only encouraged me to ask what I've been meaning to this whole time.

"Spence, can you change that?" He let go of my hand, and moved further from me his cheeks turning red.

"What? Y/N I'm..." I interrupted him.

"I'm tired of guys breaking up with me, because I can't bring myself to sleep with them. Just because I'm terrified of not being good enough. I'm also tired of telling guys that I'm a virgin, and them making it their mission to be the one to change that, like I'm some sort of task."

I got closer to him and placed my hand in his like he had done with me minutes prior.

"I trust you, Spencer. You're my friend, and I wouldn't want anyone else to do this with. I'm not asking you to be my boyfriend." He didn't respond but never let his gaze wonder anywhere else but my eyes.

"I'm asking you as a friend to help me. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I totally understand if you say no, and you want us to forget that his conversation ever happened."

I remained silent letting him process everything that I told him, my heart beating faster than before. But, I could already hear his kind rejection making my chest tighten.

Leaving me to wonder how I could ever get over him. The guy that I've loved since I was eighteen.

But I was tired of only being able to imagine how his hands would feel on my body, and biting my lip everything time I would touch myself to the thought of him.

Even thought, this could only happen once. I was willing to risk our friendship, and my pride to get to feel his lips on mine.

I got up, understanding that his silence meant no. As I began walking away, he spoke up.

"Wait Y/N, come here."

He placed his hands on his lap and patted it. I took that as a sign to sit on his lap. Once I did, he wrapped his hands around my waist pulling me closer to him.

Spencer tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear. "How could I ever say no to you pretty girl?" He whispered filling my body with excitement.

•••

Part 1 | Part 2

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

So I am AuDHD, and I work part time. (I should also mention I have a generalized anxiety disorder and depression if that helps for context.) I'm already 30 now but I still live with my parents. I don't have or make enough money to move out. I know that if I attempted to work a full time job I'd just be in constant shutdown or burnout, and even if I somehow managed to survive at a job for like a month or so it would all eventually come tumbling down. My dad says I either need to work full time or learn a skill that pays more (I guess going to college? But that costs money too). I just don't know what to do, I've been applying for government aid for years now and they keep saying no. I'm not sure if you or anyone has any words of reassurance or help for this kind of thing, but I figured if anyone would understand it's other people who are autistic/ADHD etc. Idk, thinking about it stresses me out and I feel like I'm trapped no matter what I try to do, like there's no good ending. Sorry for the long ask btw 😅

Hi there,

I would try to work part time first and see where that goes. If it doesn’t go well, you can always go back to school and try to see what skills you’re good at and then search for a job.

This is coming from a person who has never had a job, so I barely know things about employment.

Maybe some of my followers have some tips or advice?

I’m sorry if I couldn’t answer your question. But I appreciate the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 5.2)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 10.4k (relatively mild if i do say so myself)

summary: "suguru won't hurt me."

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, canon-typical violence, the blood and gore associated with jjk, introducing the shitty and creepy zen'in clan, it's ANGST, like hurt/no comfort level here

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @lexlibrary

author note: PREMATURE DEATH ARC BABY, this is gonna fucking HURT. also i've got a cute lil' banner that i made that i'm trying to use to create a story masterpost but old lady is having issues formatting on shitty tumblr. stay tuned for new looks hopefully.

chapter links: 1, 2, 3, 4.1, 4.2, 5.1, AO3

[YEAR THREE]

[PART TWO]

“You look tired, Senpai.”

The voice that breaks the silence of dawn is such a shock that the speed in which you snap your head up and to the side puts a crick in your neck. “Yu?” You subtly clutch at your neck, digging your fingers into the sore spot but feigning rubbing it as to not insult him because you expected Kento to be here, not him. “What has you up so early? You don’t train until a little later, don’t you?”

He blinks owlishly. “You really pay attention to the small things, it’s amazing.”

“Oh. Just like drawing and cursed spirits are my thing, I know martial arts are yours. You’re my friend and I try to remember the things they love.”

Yu perks up, grinning brightly. The morning light is still soft, but you could use your sunglasses right about now when it comes to Yu’s thousand-watt smile. “We’re friends, Senpai?”

“I’d like to think so. You let me use your given name.” You hesitate, suddenly struck by self-consciousness. “Am I wrong?”

“No! I mean, if you consider me a friend then I consider you one, too! I just didn’t want to assume. Who doesn’t dream of being friends with their cool upperclassmen?”

You chuckle softly. “Isn’t Suguru the cool one?”

“You’re cool, too!” You raise a skeptical brow. He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “Okay, Geto is cooler, but you’re the nicest! Don’t tell Ieiri, though, please!” You won’t betray your junior like that, but Shoko definitely would probably appreciate that assessment. “I’d love to be casual enough with everyone to be on given name basis.”

“You definitely could. Suguru, Satoru, and Shoko don’t care about that kind of thing. If they were easily offended, they wouldn’t stick around people as rude as Satoru and I are,” you explain with a little smile.

He drops down next to you on the bench, looking thoughtful. “Maybe when Nanamin and I graduate, I’ll feel comfortable enough to be that familiar with them.” He sighs too loudly to not be dramatic. “I was worried about taking over for Nanamin on this because I know they can look down on people with no sorcery in their family, but I don’t know why I was. I swear that your power works on humans, too. You’re so calming, y’know?”

It was meant to be a joke, you know, but there’s still a brief moment of pure panic. You haven’t been doing that, have you? It’s a question you ask yourself before quickly answering with a resolute no. Definitely not. Just trying to sense someone’s emotions, as unintentional as it was with Satoru, had you struggling. Controlling someone against their will had you on the verge of death with a brain bleed. You’re terrified by how fast your technique is evolving, yes, but it’s not there. Nowhere near there. You doubt it will ever be to the point where you’re passively influencing people.

“I just want to do my best to help,” you confess. Even if it feels like you’re not doing much of that these days.

“So do I!” Yu declares so enthusiastically and loudly that it echoes. He winces at his own volume and flushes. “Sorry,” he quickly apologizes, but you wave it off. You’re used to loud voices because of Satoru. “But y’know, you ignored me when I said that you look really tired.”

Well, you didn’t mean to, but you’re uncomfortable that he’s bringing it back up. “Don’t worry about me. I haven’t been sleeping the greatest, but I’ll be fine.”

“Hmm, are you sure about that?” Suddenly, he becomes uncharacteristically serious. “I know this is hard work. We see the worst of the world. You and me, we understand that our friends can get lost in all that darkness, so we try to stay bright for them. But we can’t do that if we don’t take care of ourselves.” He smiles, then. Softly and fondly. “My mom understood that when I said I wanted to enroll in school here. She wants to hear about my day, no matter how bad what I see is. She wants to help me carry the burden.”

“It’s hard to believe there are non-sorcerer parents who believe in cursed spirits,” you mumble more to yourself than him. “You have an amazing mother, Yu. I’m jealous.”

He preens, as he should. “My dad listens, too!” He blinks, laughs nervously, and then tries to humble himself quickly after. “It took them a while to accept it, though. But when both your children can see these invisible things, it becomes a little harder to deny. I think they still were kinda in denial until Sensei came and confirmed it all.”

“Still…the fact that they’re willing to hear the details…”

“My mom told me that she tells herself that it’s like I’m going to school to become a medical examiner. Eh, my dad was a real delinquent in high school before he got his act together. He was in a gang. It’s not as bad as what I see, but he can handle the nastier things that I can’t hold in anymore.”

As the manager pulls up to the curb, here to pick you both up for the trip to the Zen’in compound, Yu passes you one of the three onigiri he brought with him. He stands up, interrupting your incoming protest, and grins down at you. “Don’t worry! I know you forget to eat in the mornings a lot, so I made an extra! Just like I know you’re tired but won’t lean on my shoulder unless I say it’s okay!”

One day, you hope that you can meet Yu’s parents, only to tell them how great a job they did in raising a son.

As you’ve come to learn about these long-established clans, they meet you with open hostility. To them, you are not only an outsider, but an extension of headquarters’ will. Despite the fact that there is a Kamo and Zen’in on the council, they are bound by Tengen’s authority. Gakuganji confirmed, after reprimanding you on your manners with the Kamo, that Tengen was the one who wanted to test your abilities. At some point, when you’re done with the Zen’in, he’ll want to meet with you. It’s a terrifying prospect.

Anyway, the leader of the Zen’in clan is not the higher-up that you’d been speaking with. The man that briefly shows his face to you and Yu is graying, has an insanely weirdly styled mustache, and holds a gourd while stinking of alcohol. He passes out as soon as he sprawls out across from you two. Yu is the one to go try and find someone to talk to since the leader—Naobito, the manager told you—is snoring away.

Two people soon walk into the room, followed by Yu. You’ve never seen Yu have to force a smile before, but there’s a first time for everything. You’ve always been under the belief that Yu is an excellent judge of character, so when he finds it hard to like someone, your hackles are immediately raised. Then again, the horror stories that you’ve heard about this clan, you didn’t really need Yu’s opinion, anyway.

A middle-aged man briefly glances at Naobito with a disgusted curl of the lip before turning his terrifying gaze on you. The sclera of his eyes is pitch black. You refuse to even try to make eye contact. They’d probably appreciate that, anyway, since they think a woman’s place is beneath a man. The other person with him is someone that’s actually close to your age. His hair is dyed blonde at the top of his head while his roots are a dark, dark green.

“I am Zen’in Ogi, younger brother of Naobito,” the older man introduces with no small amount of loathing. “Naoya—”

The one that’s your age—Naoya—hasn’t stopped moving toward you. When he’s directly in front of you, he tilts his head to the side, scrutinizing you. “You should smile more.”

You tilt to the side, focusing on Ogi. “Thank you for hosting us.”

“Oi.” Naoya nudges you with his tabi. It takes everything in you not to lash out or flinch away. You know a bully when you see one and they revel in seeing that their antics are affecting their target. “I’m next in line for head of the clan, y’know. You should be talking to me about this stuff.”

“You’re not of age yet.” You are a child, you’re silently saying. This is an assumption, of course, but Satoru did mention there being someone in the Zen’in clan that bothers him at the annual Big Three meetup. It’s supposedly to keep the peace, but it’s just a way to show off the next generation’s strength, Satoru says. A pissing contest. “You’re more than welcome to sit and listen as I speak with Mister Ogi.”

“You don’t need to be such a bitch,” Naoya scolds haughtily. “Especially when I’ll be the one escorting you around.”

You haven’t looked away from Ogi. You watch his cheek twitch, as if he’s holding back from laughing. Clan dynamics are just so…odd. To enjoy the embarrassment of another simply because you’re not next in line. Maybe you should’ve simply smiled and played along because Ogi will probably stick Naoya with you to keep up the flustering of his nephew.

Trying to dodge a day with this spoiled brat, you politely inform Ogi, “I would be more than happy to wait if you’re both too busy.”

“Seeing as Naobito is…indisposed—” is that what they’re calling being blackout drunk? “We have nothing pressing anymore, so Naoya can see to you. It would do him good to revisit our cursed object collection seeing as it’ll be his to worry about when he’s clan head.” Ogi pulls something out of his yukata. A key. “Naoya, keep them away from the Disciplinary Pit. You’re responsible for their safety. We can’t have any incidents potentially impacting our seat at headquarters.”

Naoya scoffs unhappily.

It might be the only time that you’ll ever agree with this brat.

Zen’in Naoya is insistent on pestering you.

To your great misfortune, no one educated Naoya on the purpose of your visit. So, he uses that as an opening to throw question after question at you while peppering in his annoying commentary. As much as you care for Yu, if he asks to go to lunch after this, you might actually cry. You’ve been here a little over an hour and have a headache. You’re teetering on the verge of losing your temper and getting yourself in trouble.

“Why are a couple of students here, anyway?”

“To examine the seals of your cursed objects and strengthen them if they’re too weak.”

“What? Are you training to be one of those managers or whatever?” Naoya laughs obnoxiously. “Gross.”

“I’m a sorcerer,” you correct.

“One of the strongest at school!” Yu adds on your behalf.

Naoya, in front of you both as he leads you across the compound, glances over his shoulder to eye you skeptically. If their clan looks down so harshly on women, it wouldn’t be that far a stretch to assume that he doesn’t think your capable of strength. “What kind of technique do you have?”

“Pacification and control, to an extent,” you answer.

He raises a brow. “Like that Geto guy that got assigned Special Grade with Gojo?”

The mention of Satoru and Suguru makes you bristle, of course. It’s a protective instinct, you guess. “No. I can hide myself from cursed spirits. I keep them calm. If they’re weak enough, I can suggest things to them.” Before he can ask, you go ahead and answer what you expect his next question will be. “Headquarters considers me an expert on cursed spirits. They thought it would be beneficial for me to also learn about seals. I’m here on their orders.”

“Sounds like you’re a knockoff of that Geto kid, then.”

The jab has you gritting your teeth.

You have to admit, that’s a new insult. People have accused you of holding him back, being an annoying burr in his side that just won’t leave. No one has ever said that you’re a weaker version of him, though. You’re not sure why it’s slowly starting to get under your skin. Maybe it’s an insult to your usefulness—something that you’re already incredibly insecure about. And you hate that you’re genuinely thinking about this now.

“Are we almost there?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Naoya is, blessedly, silent for the rest of the trek. You reach the end of the dark staircase that you assumed was to take you underground. It’s a large stone chamber with tile flooring. As soon as you step fully into the room, a massive wave of cursed energy washes over you. Yu freezes, breath hitching, eyes widening. It’s not that intimidating, is it? There’s quite the number of spirits somewhere down here, yes, but they’re all Grade 2 or lower.

You’re honestly more irritated than anything by the sheer arrogance and stupidity of this clan. “You have cursed objects…near all these cursed spirits?” The chamber diverges. Ahead, there is a giant room that has ropes across the opening. Ropes, you note, that have weak seals attached to them.

Naoya waves you off. “They won’t break through that seal.”

“Having cursed objects so close only makes them more agitated,” you educate, though you know that he’s probably already aware of that fact. “The more agitated they are, the more they batter against that barrier and weaken it. Why do you even have spirits on your compound?”

He sticks a finger in his ear, as if your nagging is nothing but an itch in his ear. “Didn’t you hear my uncle? It’s a pit for training and discipline. We like agitating them, obviously. That makes the pit more effective.”

The Kamo and Gojo had their own collection of spirits. Most people from the clans aren’t like Satoru. Homeschooling in Japan isn’t allowed until high school, so there’s a special private school that’s in the know of jujutsu and works with the headquarters and the government. That school in Kyoto is where most children of the clans go until high school where they head back to their clans to be trained intensely.

Still, the spirits that the Kamo and Gojo had weren’t nearly as strong. Satoru said that the people in his clan go out in the field to find the strong spirits because they understand that there are vulnerable people on their compounds. How they feel about those vulnerable people might horrify you, but they aren’t actively putting the lives of everyone in their compounds in danger every single second like the Zen’in clan is.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

“I’ll be reinforcing those seals, too,” you force out through gritted teeth.

Naoya simply shrugs before heading in the opposite direction of the pit where there’s a hall. At the end of it is a massive door, a bunch of seals lining the door that’s locked with a basic chain and padlock. Is jujutsu society built on nothing but a crumbling infrastructure? Are they all so arrogant and complacent that they assume it’ll all be fine until it’s just not anymore? Then again, why wouldn’t they be when they have bodies to throw at their problems?

What are you even doing here anymore?

Increasingly more and more, you wonder what would’ve happened to you if you stayed behind in the village. Who knows how long you’d be under the thumb of your overprotective yet distant mother and bitter father. You’d fumble your way through some job in the town or a nearby one, too poor for college and probably getting talked out of it by your mother, anyway. Which would be a better life? It seems like both paths leads to you being a simple cog in a broken machine.

“Here, Senpai,” Yu whispers as he passes you the cage with the fly heads. “I think it might be better for me to wait outside.”

“No.” You glare at Naoya. “It’s safer to be in here.”

Naoya rolls his eyes. “Calm down. It’s not that big a deal. Besides, if you were a competent sorcerer, you could easily handle all those spirits by yourself.”

“Would you like to keep watch, then?”

He sniffs. “No thanks. I want to see what you can do.”

“I work better in silence.”

Naoya smiles beatifically. “I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Seeing as this is his home, there’s nothing you can do about his presence. This is seriously throwing off the routine you’ve created with this assignment which only aggravates you further. But you move your focus to watching the fly heads, gauging their reactions as you walk amongst the shelves, holding the cage to each object. You’re even irritated with the fly heads, impatient at their slow reaction times when you already know which seals are weakest.

Naoya, shockingly, is relatively quiet. But, because he’s insistent on being a pest, he hangs over your shoulder. Yu is a good friend, knowing how you work, and stands back by the door. There aren’t many objects that require a fresh seal—less than the Kamo and Gojo which is as much credit as you’ll give this clan. If you had to guess as to why that is, they have more people in their clan so there are more people to assign this task. After all, this is a super traditional clan that believes in…sowing their oats as much as humanly possible.

The biggest task today will be that rope along the pit. If you’re honest, you want to be stubborn and ignore it. You don’t want to fuel this barbaric practice. If you don’t, though, the seal will continue to degrade. Your pettiness could cost many lives if these spirits ever escaped. You could leave it to the clan. Write a scathing review of what you saw. You doubt the higher-ups will do much about it, though. The Zen’in would probably call it an exercise and just let it break.

“Mind if I give you a piece of advice?” Naoya drawls as you’re scribbling some notes for your final report to hand in to the higher-ups. You ignore him because he’ll give you his advice whether you want it or not. Some people just love the sound of their own voice. “If you want a man, you need to smile more.” You pointedly deepen your frown. Yu hides his laugh behind a cough. Naoya flushes in chagrin. “What’s your problem with me, huh? I’m trying to give you advice.”

“Marriage is not a priority for me. I’m too young for that.”

“Oh, c’mon. Marriage is the only thing normal girls are thinking about for all their lives.”

“Yes, because sorcerers are such normal people.” You can’t help the sarcasm now. Your patience has finally been pushed to the limit. “So, again, that is not a priority for me right now or in the foreseeable future.”

He hums. “Maybe you should think harder about it. You never know when an offer for marriage might come your way. You’re sort of plain, sure, and you definitely have no pedigree. Still, you have a decent ability. Like I said, Geto Suguru knockoff. Our clan is always looking for fresh talent to be passed along to the next generation when it comes to women.”

The thought of marrying into this clan makes you gag. You do it right in front of Naoya’s face, unable to control yourself, and he sputters in outrage. Yu immediately leaps into action, putting himself between you and Naoya.

With his back to you, he faces Naoya with squared shoulders and a voice that’s low and dangerous. “Stop criticizing my senpai.”

Naoya’s feet spread slightly, as if preparing to take a battle stance. “Oh? What are you gonna do about it, peasant?” Peasant? A lame insult. Are you in the Heian era or what? “You look like you’ve got nothing going on in that head of yours, so let me lay it out for you and your senpai in simple terms. It’s the highest honor to even be a consideration in the running of the next Zen’in clan head’s wife.”

Him? Naoya was suggesting a proposal from him? Oh, you feel nauseous. You feel so disturbed that the fly heads fluttering around in the cage come to a dead stop and watch you intently, having been unintentionally put under your influence. Right. So, you should calm down. Seems like an enormous task at the moment. Just a little longer, you desperately remind yourself. You’ll say your piece to Naoya and move on.

You gently nudge Yu out of the way so that Naoya can see the radiance and superiority in your smile. Suguru would be proud if he saw it. “I was under the impression that the jujutsu world prized strength above all else. Was that wrong?” You tilt your head, mocking in your curiosity. “There would be more honor in being Gojo Satoru’s whore than there would ever be in becoming the wife of a Zen’in.”

It has the desired effect. You imagine that heads and heirs of the Kamo and Zen’in clans have quite the complex when it comes to Satoru who, for all intents and purposes, carries the Gojo clan on his back. One could argue the entire jujutsu world, but that’s a conversation for another time.

Naoya, with his face red and twisted into an ugly snarl and ears practically blowing steam, is interrupted before he can start throwing a temper tantrum.

A scream.

No, two of them.

Both you and Yu are on the move immediately, leaving behind Naoya’s shouted, “Oi!”

There are children down here. Two little girls from the sound of it. You can hear them begging for their father. Even worse, they must be non-sorcerer children because you only feel the muted presence of all those cursed spirits in the pit, Yu, Naoya, and someone else. It’s that man, Ogi. Thank goodness that someone has a heart or some sense, at least. He must be coming to get the children that ran down here. You’ll still rush to help, of course. You can calm the spirits down—

As you break away from the hallway, the horror of what you see sends you to a screeching halt. Yu gasps, visibly shaken and outraged at the same time. Because, ahead of you, is Ogi, yes. But he is not helping the two little girls who slipped down here, no, no. He has each one tucked under his arm, overpowering the twin girls’ frantic struggles to get away from the fucking pit with cursed spirits. They’re screaming and begging for their father…to stop from doing what he’s about to do.

“Stop!” Yu screeches, angrier than you have ever seen him before. Then, ruder than you’ve ever heard him be, he goes on to ask, “What the hell do you think you’re doing, you senile geezer?!”

Ogi doesn’t hesitate. Not even a bit. As soon as he’s at the top of the staircase that leads down to the pit, he roughly tosses both the twins down it, right into the belly of the beast. You move, as deadly serious at the older man, dead set on getting those little girls out of there. Ogi turns to face you, hand reaching for the handle of his katana.

“Stand down,” he barks. “These are my children, and I’ll punish them as I see fit.” He actually takes a stance. Prepared to cut you and Yu down to continue this cruel abuse disguised as parenting. “Strangers will not be allowed to interfere in clan business. The higher-ups won’t protect you.”

You think when you heard my children, that’s when you snapped. It’s a moment of immense pressure in your skull, of ringing in your ears, of blood slipping down from your nose across the cupid’s bow of your top lip. Maybe the reason that you don’t pass out immediately is because it’s only to make Ogi misstep when he swings his katana at you. It smacks against the tile, the sound reverberating, and you sidestep him to rush into the pit.

It’s too late.

Or maybe you spent too much mental energy on making Ogi stop that you don’t have enough time to reattune your focus to quell the cursed spirits in the pit. The weaker spirits hesitate, but there’s one—Grade 2, bordering on Grade 1. It raises an arm, claws poised to slash. Only one of the girls reacts, throwing herself in front of her sister that’s looking around wildly because she must not be able to see the spirits that her sister has barely enough cursed energy to do.

Again, it’s too late to stop the blow, but you make it in time to be the one to take it. You leap at the girls, blanketing their small bodies with yours just as the claws come down. It burns. It burns. And the only reason that you’re conscious, that you’re alive is because Yu was right behind you and managed to knock the spirit off balance enough to weaken the blow.

Your body, uncaring of limits when it’s now on the brink of death, finds the energy to send a surge of cursed energy throughout the room. Every single spirit, even the one with blood dripping from its claws, is lulled to stillness by your pacification. Kill yourself, your body screams.

“Cover…” Your nails scrape against the tile before you clench your fists. “Cover…your…your ears,” you shakily demand of the girl that can see the cursed spirits.

Children shouldn’t have to hear the gore that’s about to ensue.

Slowly, you float back to consciousness while wondering when you even passed out.

You’re kind of surprised that you’re even awake right now. Because you’re sprawled out on your belly on a futon, naked down to your waist but not all that exposed since bandages are wrapped all around your upper torso. Your stomach and breasts are sore, an indication that you’ve been in this position for a long time now. Still, as uncaring about your comfort as they were, the Zen’in didn’t let you die.

Ha. So much for that old man’s warning that you wouldn’t be protected.

Then again, maybe the Zen’in don’t want to deal with the rage of Gojo Satoru.

Speaking of rage…

“Suguru,” you hoarsely call out to the dark presence that you sense looming in the corner of the room. Just a tilt to the side has pain racing across your body, so you can’t turn to see where he’s at, but you feel him. His cursed energy is burning. “Stop with that. You’ll scare everyone.”

“It’s the least they deserve,” Suguru spits.

With how furious he feels and sounds, you expect him to stay where he is. Brooding. But he doesn’t. You hear the shift of fabric before the soft padding of his feet against the tatami. He does look the picture of rage with his eyes, burning bright. His jaw is clenched, along with his fists that he puts on his thighs when he kneels down next to you. If someone other than you were here, it might be intimidating.

It is you, though, and it’s all undermined with Tamamo-no-Mae floating behind him. Her cursed energy is familiar, almost like a comfort now. He’s had her since that field trip to Osorezan. When one of her fox tails flops down from underneath her jūnihitoe, she strokes your cheek with it, and you giggle. And, like always, fox hair gets in your mouth.

“Put her away. Her toes gross me out,” you breathe out, trying to bring some levity to the situation before you start trying to spit out the fox hair without moving your hand. You think it’ll hurt too much to move your arms. “I can’t believe you pulled out a Special Grade for the Zen’in.”

“I don’t trust them.” Finally, his expression softens when his gaze drops down to you. He reaches down to put his hand on the side of your face. “How are you?”

“Hurts,” you admit.

“I know,” he croons sympathetically as he strokes your cheek. “Of all the times for Shoko to be away,” he sighs. “She won’t be here until the day after tomorrow. Satoru threatened to end the mission early, but Shoko talked him out of it. She spoke with the Zen’in that treated you. If you had a brain bleed, you’d already be dead. I sent her some photos of your back, too. You’ll be okay to wait. There’s just going to be scarring.”

“As if I care about that,” you mumble tiredly as your eyes slip close. “Can we go home?”

“Of course.” Suguru hunches over to press a kiss against your forehead. You don’t have it in you to be shy. “I’ll try not to have the spirit move you too much, but I’m sorry in advanced if it hurts you.”

“‘s okay. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Rest now.”

Somehow, you manage not to cry from the pain, but it’s a definite struggle. The worst part is when you arrive at the barrier around campus and Suguru has to carry you in his arms from there. Thankfully, the barrier is right at the top of the staircase, so you’re not jostled as much on the back of a manta ray as you would’ve been if Suguru carried you all the way up them. By the time he makes it to your room, though, your stitches have re-opened.

“You’re going to take a shower with me?” Now you have a little more mental energy to feel flustered.

Suguru is kneeled down in front of you, having carried you to the locker room where he’s now slipping your shoes off. “I know you. The blood dried on your back is bothering you, isn’t it? You’re not going to be able to sleep with it on your skin.” You look away, trying not to pout because he’s totally right and you kind of hate it. Above all else, it makes you feel special, but you also hate it. “We’ve had sex before,” he reminds you. “If you’re really uncomfortable with it then we can wait for Shoko.”

“No, I don’t want to wait for her.” Your cheeks puff out, so, yeah, you’re definitely pouting now. “I…us showering together…it doesn’t bother me that much. It’s just…I hate putting you out. You…you don’t have to dote on me like…this…” You motion to where his hands are curled around the waistband of your leggings. Despite your protest, you still lift your hips up to let him slide your leggings off. “I bet you didn’t do this with Satoru.”

“I did take care of him as much as he’d let me, actually.” Oh. “And I washed his back, too.” Suguru chuckles softly. “In all our years together, has it ever crossed your mind that I like taking care of you?”

No, honestly. That thought has never crossed your mind. “Help me undress,” you mumble embarrassedly. “Jeez, you didn’t need to lay it on so thick. I get it, I get it.”

“It’s cute when you get all shy,” he teases. “You act exactly like Satoru did.”

“Guess you have a type then,” you grouse.

He laughs at that. An actual laugh. And his face is soft, welcoming. “I guess I do, don’t I?”

Suguru had the hindsight to put you in his blazer before you left the Zen’in compound. It’s easy to take off without aggravating your stitches further. But there’s no stopping the sting of the water hitting the slashes across your back. Suguru rubs your shoulder soothingly as you try to force your body to relax. Everything is sore. The antiseptic meant to numb the area that the Zen’in medic was magnanimous enough to give you has faded. You duck your head, focusing on the water at your feet that slowly bleeds to pink to try and forget the pain.

Gently, Suguru starts to wash your back, exactly like he said he would. There’s no getting around the fact that the cloth will brush against your tender stitches. You grit your teeth in preparation and clutch at his hand still on your shoulder. As he gets to work, he starts up a conversation because he understands that keeping your mind off things will help.

“Will you tell me what happened?”

“Yu didn’t say?”

“No. Sensei pulled him in to talk with Gakuganji and some of the Zen’in. I think they went back to school ahead of us. The clans can pretend they’re better than the rest of us, but they still answer to headquarters. So, there might be some trouble for the Zen’in since you were technically there on orders.”

“Good.” He hums in question at your scathing remark. “They have a pit, you know. It’s filled with cursed spirits. The one that hurt me was nearly a Grade 1. They call it the Disciplinary Pit. I knew they were traditional but that…that’s barbaric.” The other hand that isn’t clutching Suguru is balled into a fist at your side. “And what was that old bastard going to do? He was going to throw children in there. They couldn’t have been more than…I don’t know. Six? And…and they were non-sorcerers!”

Suguru’s hand stops suddenly. The one gripping your shoulder goes unbearably tight. Against your back, you feel the other curl into a ball. “Non-sorcerers did this to you?”

Your brows furrow. Putting the pain aside, you look over your shoulder, utterly confused about where he got that idea from. “Did you space out just now or…?” Why does he look almost as angry as he did in the Zen’in compound? “Are you okay?” Why do you feel so…uneasy right now? “I said that old man—”

“Were those his children?”

“Yes? I don’t know what that has to do with anything, though. Did you not hear me when I said the pit was full of cursed spirits?”

“I heard, but…” He takes a deep breath, exhales, in that way he does when he’s trying to quell his temper. “Are you sure you didn’t overreact? I doubt he would’ve let them get hurt. You’re making it sound like he was just disciplining his children—”

“Overreacting,” you repeat blankly.

He sighs your name, irritated again. “Stop it. I can already tell you’re taking it the wrong way. We know how you are—”

Slowly, you force Suguru’s hand away from your shoulder, continuing to stare at him like he’s grown another head. He may as well have. You turn around, hoping that he’ll backtrack in the time it takes you to face him, but he seems to mentally double down because he squares his jaw when your eyes meet his. There’s…an energy festering around him. You don’t like it. It’s so angry.

But you are as equally angry, so you don’t try to appease him. You don’t try to calm things down. Instead, you lash out, seeking to antagonize. “Am I speaking a different language right now?”

Suguru picks up on your hostility, his own hackles raising once again. “You acted rashly. You almost died…and for what? Did you even ask what they did?”

This conversation has been slipping under your skin, touching a nerve that makes it hard to ignore. You don’t understand why until you unthinkingly snap, “Should I have asked your parents what you did before I went to the teachers about your bruises?”

He barks out a laugh. Dark. Nasty. Bitter. “Maybe you should have. Maybe then my arm wouldn’t have gotten broken because of you.”

The words are worse than a gut punch. Worse than how it felt when that curse’s claws sunk into your skin. You knew. In the back of your mind, logically, you knew that the social worker was called because of you and the broken arm he showed up at school with was because of you, too. But…the hurt of him saying that is so visceral.

Still, you must not look hurt enough because Suguru keeps going. “Are you ever going to stop and think before trying to help someone? Haven’t you hurt enough people?”

Dread, ice cold, rushes through your veins, dousing the fire of anger. You’re panicked by the things welling up inside the center of your chest. You blurt, “Leave.”

Suguru shakes his head. He sighs, the edge leaving his features. How dare he look so sympathetic. Like…like he pities you for not having figured this truth out sooner. Just more salt rubbed on this wound he dealt. For a moment, you’re reminded of your mother and the pity she has for her simple daughter. This is not your Suguru. Not anymore. You don’t know who this is and that scares you.

He reaches out a hand, whispering your name, but you flinch away.

“Leave!”  

The order is screeched so loud that your voice cracks. It’s a volume that you didn’t think yourself capable of, let alone Suguru having heard out of you before. The noise startles him, and he jerks away. The two of you stare at each other, confused about the strangers you’ve become. You’re both shaken.

Suguru tries again, blinking the confusion away as he repeats your name and reaches out.

Trying to hide away from him, you try to cover yourself while backing away. You latch onto that demand because it’s all you can do. “Leave!” You don’t want him to see you collapse in on yourself. He won’t bring you peace. He’ll only make it worse. You scream again, “Leave!”

Scream and scream and scream…

Until, finally, looking like a wounded animal, he leaves.

It takes a long, long time for you to leave the shower room.

As unsanitary as it is, you’d sat down, butt ass naked, in the middle of the showers, sobbing and trying to calm yourself down. If you could, you’d have curled up right there and gone to sleep, but you gain enough comprehension back to know that would be a stupid idea as your emotions subside.

Still sensitive, still raw, you walk out to the locker room and see your clothes on the bench. The clothes that Suguru picked out for you. Along with the fresh bandages that he was planning to help you with. You’ll have to do that yourself now. Somehow. It pisses you off. Even when you throw the clothes to the floor in anger, you realize that you’re more upset at yourself than him. It isn’t his fault that you’re so helpless.

Halfway to your room, in nothing but your towel, you sense Yu’s cursed energy growing closer. You only have enough time to finish waddling to your room, slam the door behind you, and put on panties and shorts before he’s knocking on your door. The sound has you gritting your teeth in annoyance.

“Senpai,” he calls out through the door. His voice is alarmed. “Senpai, there’s blood on the floor!”

Damn it. “I just pulled at the stitches. It’s okay. I’ll handle it.”

“But…aren’t those stitches on your back? Can you reach them?”

“I’ll manage,” you snarl loudly.

On the other side of the door, there’s a pause. Your anger is getting misplaced. If you don’t calm down, you might lose a friend today. Maybe more than one. Who the fuck knows where you and Suguru stand right now. Fuck, you want to dig your teeth into something and tear. You should not be around another person anymore today.

“Okay! I’m coming in, so please cover up!” Yu warns. The doorknob rattles once before he realizes, “Um. Right. You might not be decent and probably need time to get dressed. Let me know when you’re ready. I won’t leave until you do!”

Oh, well, it seems that his stubbornness has knocked your temper loose. Or you accept that you’re too exhausted to wait him out, so there’s also no use in staying mad. Taking a deep breath, you ready yourself. You grab the chair from your desk, spin it around the opposite way, and sit with your chest against the backrest. You keep your damp towel pressed tight to your chest.

“Go ahead,” you call out to him tiredly.

“Thank you!”

“Why are you thanking me?” You tilt your head forward, knocking it against the edge of the chair. “Sorry for making you clean up my mess.” From the position of your head, you can see the splotches of red on your towel. “Literally,” you add under your breath because you know Yu’s going to offer to clean up all the blood.

Yu shuffles forward. Hearing the clutter coming from the direction of your desk means he’s gathering up the first-aid kit. “How many times have you patched me and Nanamin up? Isn’t it time for me to return the favor?”

“I’m the senpai here.”

“What did we talk about this morning?”

Right. Take care of yourself. Lean on others. Yu doesn’t understand that if you lean too much on someone else, you quickly become a burden. No. You can’t let your mind go there right now. “Didn’t you take care of me enough when you saved my life today?”

“Eh? What are you talking about? I distracted it long enough for you to finish them off. All of them. That geezer’s reaction when they all killed themselves was funny, now that I know you’re safe and can think about it.” You both share a laugh at that asshole, Ogi’s, expense. “They’re sending you on a mission with us,” he admits after a minute of silence.

“Punishment for overstepping?”

Yu doesn’t say it is, but it is. You know how these things go. “Purely research!” Yu tries to soften the blow. “We’ll make sure you don’t lift a finger! You won’t even have to think that hard! We can make it a vacation.” Yeah, right. You’re pretty sure if an auxiliary manager saw you having fun with Yu and Kento, you’d be sent away again on another mission for the penalty of simply enjoying life. “And if you don’t feel like shopping for souvenirs, I’ll do it for you. We won’t tell anyone.”

“Sure, Yu. That sounds good.”

Yu’s voice is so unbearably soft when he whispers, “You need rest, too, Senpai.” His kindness brings tears to your eyes. You’re glad that your head is down so that you can’t embarrass yourself any further today. “I’ll make sure you get some. Just leave it to me, okay?”

“Okay.” Emotion clogs up your throat, but you manage a weak, “Thank you.”

***

[06:55] You didn’t see me before you left.

[06:56] You saw Satoru. Not me.

[06:58] Never mind. I get why.

[07:32] I went too far. I was cruel. I don’t blame you for that. Never have. You were the only person that tried to help me. I’ll never forget that. I’ll always be grateful. What I said was me looking for things to say to hurt you. I almost lost you and didn’t know how to deal with that. It didn’t seem like you cared about your own life. I lashed out.

[09:13] I’m sorry. I’ve been under a lot of stress. I can’t eat or sleep. It’s no excuse. I’m sorry. I’ll say it as much as you need me to. I can’t lose you. I can’t. You’re all I have left.

[11:29] Squid. Please. Say something. Anything. I’m sorry.

[13:10] I know you’re angry. But I’m worried. No one has heard from you. Haibara won’t answer. Neither will Nanami.

[13:11] Just a simple reply. A frowny face. Anything at all. Let me know you’re seeing this.

[14:04] Squid?

[14:05[ Please.

[16:43] Are you safe?

[16:44] Is what I’m hearing true?

[16:45] Be safe. Please. Be safe.

[16:46] I’m on the way.

***

It’s a disgustingly humid September night, technically, but right now, you’re cold.

And all you wanted was to be like them.

Foolishly, you told yourself that if they could take a mission three weeks after they faced death, why couldn’t you? It’s not like you almost died. The two weeks that Sensei pushed for you to have off were generous enough. Besides, you understand it now, how much of a hindrance you actually were when you fought to keep them out of the field.

You need this.

You can’t stand to be alone with your mind.

But you weren’t ready. Just the sight of the small, dilapidated shrine has blood splattering across your memories. You break out into a cold sweat. There’s a war inside your mind. This isn’t like two weeks ago—that’s what you try to remind yourself. Push through it. A shrine doesn’t automatically equal an ubusunagami spirit. Where is Suguru? You’re sick to your stomach. Why did you split up? Have you learned nothing? Are you going to be too late to save a life again?

Stop, you plead to your body. You clench your trembling fists. You have to do this. The world has to spin on. It doesn’t care about a stupid girl who made the wrong call and killed a boy. This work is both your punishment and atonement. You’ll let them keep tugging at the leash around your neck until it’s a noose because that’s what you deserve.

The oppressive weight of the Grade 1’s cursed energy that’s been haunting these woods shifts. With nothing but the moon and some flashlights, it’s easy to follow after the explosion of blue light. You’re dazed over the fact that you missed everything that happened. Was there even a fluctuation? A fight? Is Suguru just that strong that he can absorb a Grade 1 in the dead of night like it’s nothing?

As you break into the clearing where he is, you ask, “You took care of it?” Like the answer isn’t obviously sliding down his throat, glowing eerily through the delicate skin of his neck. “Why didn’t you come find me? I wasn’t far.”

Suguru glances away after it’s swallowed. Not even a wince anymore. “It’s fine.”

This irritates you. Another little thing tonight that he’s done. Reminding you incessantly that you could stay behind with the auxiliary manager, trying to force food down your throat when you’re clearly not hungry, touching the small of your back to guide you, hovering. Now, he does this.

The only reason that you keep your mouth shut is because you know he cares. He’s a good person, like everyone else. They don’t blame you and treat you like glass, like you’re a victim. You pinch the bridge of your nose, trying to breathe. You tell yourself it’s the humidity making your chest tight.

With the other hand, you wave your sketchbook. “Are you serious? It was Grade 1. I’m supposed to record that.”

“I’ll let you sketch it later.”

“It’s pointless now,” you mutter. “Don’t even bother.”

Suguru scoffs. “Okay. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Recording them doesn’t only mean drawing pretty pictures. I’m supposed to observe their behavior.”

“You can.”

“You know it isn’t the same when they’re under your control.”

Suguru reaches up to press a thumb to his forehead, meaning he’s getting irritated with you. You resist the urge to do the same, instead tapping your foot impatiently. “It’s your first mission back,” he tries to reason. “I’m sure they’ll be understanding. But if they try to hold imperfect notes against you, I’ll take the blame.”

“I don’t want them to take it easy on me!”

He shakes his head, dismissive. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I’m not broken.”

“Everything about this goddamn system is broken!” Suguru shouts, making you reel back. The two of you watch each other warily. He shakes his head again, squeezes his eyes shut, takes deep breaths. “Let’s…just go. We’ll deal with this later,” he mutters irritably. “Let’s meet with the contact in the village and use their phone to call the manager.”

“Fine.”

Three wide brown eyes stare at you in terror.

There should be four, but one is swollen shut.

That face is too tiny to be so battered.

Suguru speaks where you cannot. “What is this?”

A man and woman were at the door, frantic and desperate to know where you and Suguru had been. Before you’d even had the chance to explain that their problem was taken care of, they practically shoved you and Suguru toward a shed. It was hard to make out what they were trying to say throughout their panicked and angry babbling. You think there was something about some murderers.

From behind you, your contact in the village answers, “What, you ask? These two are responsible for the latest incidents, right?”

Suguru is back to pressing a thumb to his forehead. Emotions are rising. Yours definitely are. Anger is putting a tremble in your hands again and your head is throbbing. You’re trying to find your voice past the lump in your throat. What the fuck is this? Does no one fucking visit these places before sending a sorcerer out?! A sorcerer wasn’t the only person needed here! A goddamn police officer was!

“No, they’re not,” Suguru answers more calmly than you can.

The man insists, “These two are crazy! They used their mysterious powers to attack the villagers!”

Something about the girls shifting, huddling closer to each other, finally snaps you into action. Full of rage, you shove past the woman to grab the set of keys that you saw near the door. “If you psychos even gave us the chance to talk, you’d know that we got rid of the problem already!”

The couple starts to sputter in outrage, seeing your clear plan to release these girls. Suguru remains unmoving, big body enough of a deterrent to keep the non-sorcerers from lashing out. So, the woman claws at your wrist. “My granddaughter was nearly killed by these two!”

One of the little girls, the one with dirty blonde hair, tries to protest, “That’s because she—”

“Shut up, you monsters!” Out of the corner of your eye, the shadows shift unnaturally. In the flickering of the flame, it’s not too noticeable. Suguru’s shadow raises a hand, pointing, and from the end of that finger comes a little spirit. “Your parents were just as bad,” the woman continues to rave. “I knew we should have killed you when you two were babies!”

It’s okay, Suguru commands the little spirit to whisper. He’s trying to reassure the little girls, to let them know that you’re all one in the same, that they’ll be safe with you. Adrenaline is rushing through your veins. There is a primal instinct to get these girls out of this place. You are all in danger here.

Blocking the entrance of the cell with your body, with every fiber of your being, you swear to the couple, “If you ever try to hurt these children again, I will kill you.” If Suguru will be gentle, then you will flash your teeth. It’s enough to send the man and woman stumbling back. “We’re leaving. If you try to stop us, I will kill you. Do you understand?”

No response. They just book it.

As soon as they’re out the door, you’re a flurry of movement. You tear off your hoodie and snatch Suguru’s blazer from where it’d slipped out of his grasp from the shock. You collapse to your knees in front of the girls, resisting the urge to touch them and check for injuries before you introduce yourself.

“We’re like you,” you explain as gently as you can when you feel so frantic. “We see them. We see you. I’m going to protect you with my life, okay? Are you cold?” They nod fervently. “Put these on. Let me help. Can you walk?” Throughout the process of wrapping them up in something warm, they manage weak affirmations. “Good. Okay. I know the things you’ve been seeing are scary, but Suguru can control them. If you see any of them, don’t be afraid. You never have to be afraid when he’s around.” You look over your shoulder briefly, hoping that directly speaking to him will pull him out of the trance. “Right? Suguru?”

Suguru stares at you blankly, unseeing. Inside him, though, his cursed energy is a frenzy. So big, so uncontrollable that it bleeds out. It’s sharp, like needles pinning down the wings of an insect. You are aggressively thrown back to that day where Satoru rose from the dead, godlike in his power, and how small it made you feel. Prey under the heavy gaze of a predator.

“Suguru is going to protect us all,” you tell yourself and them. High emotions have you sensitive to the cursed energies of others, so that’s why you can feel him so viscerally. It’s scary. You’ve never felt rage like this before—from you or him. It’s the same for you, but you can’t sit here and stew in this. These girls come first now. “Take my hands,” you instruct them as you hold your hands out. “Don’t let go.”

The makeshift prison is, thankfully, on the edge of the village. It wouldn’t be good to parade through the streets. Locking these children up was a collective decision. The faster you can get the fuck out, the better. If you can make it through the woods, to the main road, you can get a signal there, you think. No. No, you’ll just ride the manta ray. You’ll explain everything as soon as you get to Sensei.

“You’re safe now. You don’t have to be scared anymore.” You didn’t realize you were rambling, unconsciously trying to distract them from their fear with your chatter. “There’s a school. Full of people just like us. You’ll get to meet them. There’s my best friend, Shoko. She’ll make you feel better. Her power is to heal. Better than any regular doctor. And there’s our best friend. His name is Satoru. He’s super strong. Just like Suguru. He loves Digimon. He’s got lots of plushies to share with you.”

All these emotions have you feel like you could crawl out of your skin. And Suguru still hasn’t said anything. He’s mechanical in his movements, staying at the back of your little group. As you guide the group, you can pinpoint the opening of rifts, sense the cursed spirits that crawl out. Good. Yes. More protection. Who knows how those monsters are acting right now. They could be rallying the village.

“We’re going to make sure you’re taken care of. You’ll never be in a place like that ever again. I swear, you’re going to be in a place that’s full of love and understanding. Not everyone is like those terrible, terrible people—”

The more protective of the two is the blonde, based solely off that she went with you first. Voice shaking, but trying so hard to be brave, she asks, “They’re not?”

“They are.”

There’s this…snap. So brutal a turn that it hits you like whiplash.

Around you, there is such a sudden stillness that it feels like the very world has its breath held. There’s no veil. But nature senses a storm on the horizon. The eeriness of it is like ice slithering down your spine. You’ve unknowingly come to a stop, slowly turning around to face Suguru. Over his shoulder, a wider rift is opening, and as you stare into the inky darkness, many glowing eyes stare back.

The ground shakes when the Grade 1 clumbers out of the rift. It has to be the one from earlier. The foliage and trees growing on its back are distinct. Along with those eyes. And fangs so long and big that they stick out of the spirit’s mouth. It looms tall, but it doesn’t make you feel near as small as Suguru is right now.

“There are good people,” you protest quietly.

“There are good sorcerers,” he corrects just as lowly. “And where do they end up? In the ground.” Carefully, you nudge the girls further behind you before you step away. This is not a conversation that they need to hear. “When will it be our turn?” Close enough, you see the desperation in his eyes. “How long before it’s your body on a slab?”

“Death is a part of life.” Your fingers seek his out, threading together, trying to comfort him. “And we decided to risk that death coming earlier than everyone else when we left home. We chose to put our lives on the line.”

“But who are we doing this for?!” Suguru yanks his hands away, stretching his arms out, gesturing toward everything. “Animals like these?!”

“There are more good people in this world than bad.”

“If that’s the case, why do curses exist?”

“Suguru, that’s just how things are. It’s the way nature made us.”

“No. Nature made sorcerers better. They made us stronger. Why do we have to put our lives on the line like this for stinking monkeys that keep throwing their shit at us? We hide ourselves away from them, working in the shadows, always being so careful to not disturb their peace of mind, and for what? Is it so they can lock little girls in cages because they’re too scared of the unknown? Or so they can beat me like my fucking father did or constantly belittle and demean you like your parents did all for the sin of not being what they call normal? We don’t deserve this!”

“I know we don’t. No one does.” How can you explain this to him? You understand what he’s saying. Down in your bones, you know where this resentment is coming from. “But while there exists extreme cruelty, there also exists overwhelming kindness. It can’t be all bad. We found happiness, didn’t we?”

“We found it with sorcerers. If we lived in a world where no non-sorcerer existed, there wouldn’t be all this pain!”

“But…that world doesn’t exist. It can’t.”

“Why not?”

You give a sharp, hysterical laugh. “Because you’d have to kill every non-sorcerer living, that’s why. That’s not possible.”

He tilts his head, almost condescending when he sneers, “It’s not?” The cursed spirit behind him gives a rumbling growl, reminding you of its presence, of its threat. Your already racing heart pounds faster as you comprehend his meaning. Surely, he doesn’t mean…

“Suguru, let’s go home,” you plead.

“No.” No? “There is no home for me now. We’ll never be safe or happy until this world is clean. I understand what my true path is now. I know what I need to do now…and I’ll kill anyone that gets in my way.”

The precipice that your world has been standing on the edge of for the last year finally tilts.

Suguru won’t hurt me.

Right now, you’re the only person that can stand close enough to drag him back from the edge. I’ll kill anyone that gets in my way, he threatens, and right now, you believe that. But not me, you know. Therefore, it must be you that saves him. Because he’s falling. He’s going somewhere that you won’t be able to follow. You’re going to lose him. This would be rebirth and this would be death.

Suguru won’t hurt me.

Cursed spirits seem to explode out of him. Too many to count. You know them all. The blossoming promise of an army that the higher-ups were always afraid he could weaponize.

Suguru won’t hurt me.

That Grade 1 shifts. Its maw, hungry for blood, opens wide. It raises an arm, claws sharp and poised at the ready. You know that when it moves, it’s over. The other spirits will follow. This Grade 1 is an extension of Suguru. This is his rage, his loneliness, his agony.

Suguru won’t hurt me.

Eyes, cold and hard as the amethyst they so resemble, stare dead ahead with steel-like resolve. Slowly, he starts to turn his back on you. You have to stop him. You have to keep talking to him. And you reach out a hand to grab at his bicep. Your mouth is in the shape of his mouth. You think…you think that you might say something that sounds like stop.

Suguru won’t hurt me.

Just as your body instinctually knows that you don’t need to pacify his spirits, that he won’t hurt you…his body knows not to hurt you, either…

Suguru won’t hurt me.

…right?

Suguru won’t—

Blood colors your vision. Pain doesn’t even register in your brain. One second, you’re upright, and in the next, the ground is rising up to meet you. Even the resounding thud that your body gives as it slams down does triggers nothing. Sprawled out in the lush green grass, it only really feels numb to you.

No, all your erratic thoughts can seem to focus on is how disgusting this feels. Wet, sticky heat is quickly soaking your white shirt, weighing it down against your skin, making you feel trapped. You might be gasping for air that you can’t seem to get enough of.

Suguru…hurt…

Thoughts are getting scattered in your brain now. The world narrows in, black hedging in at the corner of your vision. You want it off. The shirt. The blood. You stupidly reach a hand up to wipe away the blood. Gore is all you find. Open gaping wounds that start at the crook of your neck and go…you don’t know how far down. You don’t have the strength left to follow the path.

Suguru…hurt…

Oh. There is he above you now. Thank goodness, you think when you see the panic so clear on his face. Emotion…there’s all those emotions that’d been missing. Nothing cold anymore. Thank goodness. His mouth moves. Says your name, maybe. You can’t hear him. You can’t feel it when he presses his hands somewhere on your body, either. Putting pressure on it must not be working. There’s a lot of blood dripping from his hands when he scrambles to pull out his cell phone. Ah. Yeah, your vision is starting to blur. You give up trying to read his lips.

It's a pretty night, all things considered. For as much as you two hated it, it’s beautiful in the countryside. Easier to see the moon and stars. You always tried to reject that reality. After you left for Tokyo, you thought that was it, that you left that all behind for good, that you wouldn’t die in the backwoods.

Guess you were wrong about that.

[letteredlettered]

In an answer to an ask, I was describing a WIP of mine that's about a friend of the protagonist who is completely in the dark about the protagonist's relationship with another friend of theirs. The fic is about the fact that though the friend is very close to the protagonist and thinks deeply about their feelings, they are still not able to see what is going on.

I think the reason I was interested in this fic was I really dislike the tropes like "A/B think they're being sneaky about dating but all their friends know," or "their friends knew A/B were meant for each other before they did" or "their friends try to get A/B together because they know A and B like each other." The fic I wanted to write was sort of the opposite of all of those, where the friend, despite being very close to the protagonist and deeply concerned about his welfare, is wrong about everything.

I think I have a lot of feelings about the tropes I listed, some of which are related to what I think friendship is and should be, others related to what friendship has been for me, all related to how I operate in this world, I think. First of all, most stories that employ those sort of tropes have friends going behind their friend's back and manipulating them. I would hate to find out that a friend manipulated me into some kind of meet-cute or confession instead of just having and open and honest conversation about it.

These stories often also have friends mistrusting their friends and not believing them; the protagonist will say, "I don't like him like that!" or "I don't see how we'd work as a couple!" and instead of taking the protagonist at their word, the friends decide they know the protagonist better than they know themself. And you know what, sometimes your friends do know you better than yourself; it can be very helpful that they do. It can be very helpful when they nudge you in a direction you thought you couldn't go, because you didn't know you could handle it or didn't know you needed it. But in the end, I find it offensive if someone doesn't believe with what I'm saying, if they're not engaging with what I'm thinking, if they're deciding they know better. Because even if they do know better, I still think and feel these things, and I want my feelings to be addressed, not ignored--even if they're wrong sometimes.

Which brings me to how I move through the world. I often feel I move in darkness. I don't know what other people think unless they tell me or make obvious demonstrations. And I feel that way partly because I so often feel misunderstood, because people read my expressions, or my tone, or don't listen carefully to the nuance of my words, and they assume things about me that I don't feel, that don't describe me, that have more to do with them than with me. And then there is so much of me going on under the surface that I don't know how to express in day to day life, things I feel and think about that other people don't guess. Lots of times, other people don't even seem interested.

I've never had people in my life speculate about whom I might be romantically interested in--at least, not to my face, unless they were my wife. I've never been asked if I like someone after middle school. I didn't date for 35 years, and was never asked to my face why, or whether I was interested, or why I wasn't with anyone, except a few times very gently by my mother. When I started dating a woman, no one said anything about me being gay. No one had questions. No one seemed interested in my sexuality or journey to get there.

Throughout my life, I never felt like I have been treated like a person who could have a romance, a person who could have sex, a person who could have a relationship. Was I too ugly? Was I too fat? Was it because I didn't present in a feminine way? Was I too loud? Was I too confident? Was I too intellectual? Was I too weird? Too awkward? Too unlike those around me? Was it because I'd never been with someone? Was it because I didn't talk about wanting it? Was it because I was too content, too happy? Was there something about me that screamed asexual, aromantic, this is someone who will never have a love story?

Around 10 years ago, I was talking to a friend with whom I'd never talked about any of this. We talked about work and our mutual acquaintances, her kids, my theater, and art. But one day she brought up a mutual friend of ours who was in her thirties, wanting to have babies and get married, but was having trouble finding a partner. My friend said something that gave me pause, something like, "Everyone wants to be with someone; no one wants to be alone. She just wants the life everyone has." And I said, "I don't have that life." And my friend instantly said, "Oh, but you're different."

I asked her why, and she couldn't say, only that I just didn't seem to want it. But what made her think that? What was it about me? I could understand if she was surrounded by people saying "I want this" over and over again, and she had never heard me saying that, maybe she drew some conclusions about me. But it felt strange. It felt hurtful--not because I need marriage and babies, but because I am automatically sorted in the category of "different" in this person's mind. They were just one person, but this seemed to also be the case with dozens of other people. Hundreds. Everyone wants this; it's normal--except for you, lettered. You're obviously different.

I know I'm actually very lucky. Many people would love to have my "problem." Many people who are asexual or aromantic, many people who haven't figured it out yet, many people who have been in a series of bad relationships and feel hopeless, many people who can't find someone to date at all, might love to have been in those shoes. They would love to not be asked "who are you dating, when will you marry, when can I expect grandkids?" they would love to escape "why don't you settle down? why don't you have a boyfriend? how can you still be single?" Maybe they would love to be told by my friend, "Oh, you're different, in the world of people we all expect to be paired up with other people, you just don't count."

But knowing that's what other people get asked, knowing that other people get constant questions about their love lives, so much so that it's annoying for them--and then knowing that no one ever asked me (except for my mother, gently and kindly, a few times, careful not to exert pressure) feels bad. Was I the sidekick in some story, the one no one expects to have a love story of their own? Could no one imagine me as a romantic interest? A sexual object? Am I the platonic ideal of a woman, untouchable and perfect in every way? Am I Mary Poppins?

Anyway, the simple answer is probably just that people are mainly self-centered, and if you don't bring it up, it doesn't occur to them. And to tell you the truth, I didn't often bring it up because while I would like to have been with someone, but I really don't need it; I just thought it would be nice. It wasn't a burning interest of mine, so maybe I shouldn't have even felt so bad that people seemed to make assumptions about me. (I'm just glad my wife didn't make assumptions like that; everything changed when my fire wife attacked.)

But since I am already a person who felt largely in the dark about how others feel, and feel that others are largely in the dark about me, this aspect of myself just felt like another facet of a blind operation. I often feel that I'm trapped in my own world, and you are trapped in yours, and we are all groping blindly for things we can never fully grasp, because you can never fully enter my world, and I can never enter yours.

And I recognize that the "friends know about their feelings" trope and the "friends get them together" trope is in some ways wish fulfillment--maybe everyone feels blind, feels unseen, and unknown, and they wish people would see them in this way, and know them. They wish people would step into their world and offer a hand, and lead them to another person's world, where they will never be alone.

But I, personally, find it very comforting to read about that blindness, to know that I'm not alone because we're all blind, and yet we still find ways to reach out to each other regardless.

[shirogane-oushirou]

sorry to the people whose messages i havent replied to / asks i havent answered ;;; i am going through it. ren save me etc.

i need him to make a little blanket nest and hold me and make comfort food and just like. let me lay on him and run my fingers through his hair while he naps or smth. seeing him feel so comfy would heal me a bit tbh.

[cesium-sheep]

ah shit that's part of why it's so fuckin hard. not only is the trauma of chronic illness inherently tied to the trauma of military service for me, it's also just. I've been too fucking sick to think about it. not just the past couple years, for a very long time. and I had to tear down into all of that today.

[sincerely-sofie]

Many thanks for the tag @asimplearchivist! The post was getting a bit long, so I cleared the reblogs.

coffee or tea (hot chocolate for me!) | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold (brass) | pop or alternative (I just like what I like, haha!) | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs l typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony (I'm scared of heights lol) | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris (Homebody) | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

some tags of my own: @oblonger, @aria-the-derg, @battyaalllday, @onlyhereforghosttrick, @billycorn, and @stingraywipe along with all you shy guys who would love to join in!

Thanks for the tag @steven-grants-world (we won't go into how giddy I get when I'm tagged in something!)

This or that…

coffee or tea (neither!) | early bird or night owl | chocolate or vanilla | spring or fall | silver or gold | pop or alternative | freckles or dimples | snakes or sharks | mountains or fields | thunder or lightning | egyptian mythology or greek mythology | ivory or scarlet | flute or lyre | opal or diamond | butterflies or honeybees I macarons or eclairs l typewritten or handwritten | secret garden or secret library | rooftop or balcony | spicy or mild | opera or ballet | london or paris | vincent van gogh or claude monet | denim or leather | potions or spells | ocean or desert | mermaids or sirens I masquerade ball or cocktail party

no pressure tags: @marieziffer, @jewelsrulz, @diplomaticprincess, @wrenwithapen, @witch-oftheflowers, @lunar-ghoulie, @coneygoil, and anyone else who wants to because I hate forgetting people! Do it!

[writersdrug]

no thoughts just waitress!reader showing up for shifts like nothings wrong after the date situation

just keeping it calm and professional. working her shifts efficiently and no longer bantering/flirting with ghost, who would rather reader melt down and tear into him than putting up the walls around herself hehe

Ok I'm combining some asks here that had some different ideas - I got so many of you guys demanding reparation for making reader cry 😭 here's the comfort chapter! (Still a tad angsty at the beginning)

Ghost had finished your tips for you that night. He had half a mind to slide a hundred in your payout folder as an apology for ruining your date... but what good would that do? That would make you quit for good, if you hadn't already.

He lays in his bed, eyes stuck to the ceiling, still in his jeans and black shirt. He wishes he could snuff out the guilt that sits heavily in his gut. He wonders what you're doing - probably crying, possibly making a half-assed voodoo doll of himself and stabbing his chest with a dull steak knife, because that's all he feels right now.

He gets up early the next day after a rough three hours of sleep. He lumbers down the stairs to the office - Price is there, sorting out cash and working on the next supply order. He looks at Simon, who's rubbing his eyes and looking worse for wear.

"Mornin'." Price says, turning back to the monitor. Ghost grunts in response, dropping himself onto the couch behind Price. His head aches from the lack of sleep, thoughts circling in his mind about how to apologize to you. He can imagine you won't want to talk to him - or, if you do, it'll most likely be profanities wedged between insults. He'd love for you to berate him right now, and make him feel like he got what he deserved.

Price sighs. "You sleep alright?"

"I've had better."

"Nightmare?"

"... yea, somethin' like that."

Price huffs. "I'm workin' front of house today." He says, grabbing the bag of tips and standing up. "Goin' down to drop these in the safe, then I'll help you stock up."

Simon opens his eyes, looking at Price with confusion. "You?"

Price nods. "Dove called out sick. Sounded like she's got the lurgy."

That delivers the final blow to Simon. He knows you're not sick - you're avoiding him now. All plans to apologize are now out the window, and the more time passes, the harder it'll be to do it.

"You've only got yourself to blame, Simon." Price says, heading down to the restaurant floor.

He curses under his breath as Price leaves. How he heard about what happened - he could only assume it had been from Soap. He drops his arm over his face and groans. He wants to call out himself, but then they might as well shut down the entire pub for the day.

Should he try phoning you? Would you answer, let alone allow him to get more than five words out? What would he say? "Sorry I ruined your date, I was jealous tha' ya got a life outside of the pub." There is no variation of an apology that feels like it would be enough. He made you cry, for fucks sake. That was a punishment in and of itself, but he still had to own up to what he'd done.

He sighs loudly; his body feels heavy as he drags himself off the couch, trudging down the stairs. He still has a bar to run.

It had to have been the longest shift of Simon's life, and he even wrapped things up a bit earlier than usual. He didn't have the gift of your incessant chatting or being able to tease you to make the time pass. Price was a solid companion in front of house, but there was hardly a conversation to be held - even with the usual bar crowd. The patrons had a look of confusion for the majority of the night, wondering why Soap wasn't popping his head out of the kitchen to chat every once in a while - and why the hell the owner was serving tables, and not the chipper, spunky waitress.

When Simon had locked up for the night, he noticed your bike was no longer in the alley. Johnny must have dropped it off on the way back to his place.

Today isn't much different - at least, not for Simon. He's still suffering from a lack of sleep, he's irritable (he had a spat with Johnny in the morning, over something he can't even remember), and his work ethic is suffering. He's not worried about slicing bar fruit; it'll give him something to do later, when he needs it. Maybe the rush will kick him back into shape.

He stares at the dishes on the edge of the bar - they're all in need of a good polish, but he finds himself stuck on staring at the bar fridge. There's nothing else he needs to stock up on - it's packed completely full with wine, champagne, and cans of beer. He gently kicks the side of it with his boot. He should be checking the to-go boxes, helping Soap with setting up the condiments and soups, making sure the tables all had full salt and pepper shakers. That's what you would be doing. But, you're not here, and neither is Price. He can only hope tonight isn't as busy as the previous night, otherwise he'll have to close some tables. Which would make customers mad. Which would make Price mad. Which would-

Suddenly, he hears three loud bangs against the back door. He freezes, the sound triggering a Pavlovian response. He immediately looks up to the kitchen window - Soap opens the door, and you come jogging inside. You greet him with a smile. He asks how you're feeling, and you say "much better".

He doesn't know what to do with himself, but he just stands there like an idiot as you hang your bag and jacket on a hook. Stands there as you push your way into the restaurant, barely sparing him a glance as you scurry by him. Stands there as you run up the stairs, two at a time, diving nose-first into your chores so you can avoid Simon.

He can't speak. Should he? What can he say? "I'm sorry," for starters, but it isn't that simple. He thought you might have quit, and was preparing his heart for the worst. But now, here you are, running back and forth through the pub and setting up your tables - and it feels like you've never been farther away from him.

In all honesty, you can't bring yourself to talk to him either. You're feeling just as ashamed with your behavior two nights ago as he is about his own. Why the fuck would you expect someone - let alone your boss - to do your chores so that you could run off and have fun on a date? Not only that, but you'd made a scene; you felt like you had half-assed the ice bins in your scramble to get them cleaned, and then you sobbed in the middle of the restaurant. The cherry on top, however, was when you called Price yesterday and told him you had a cold, calling out of your shift. It was a cowardly thing to do, and you could tell he wasn't buying your story.

But: bills need to be paid, rent is due, and you can't lose this job. So you sucked it up and came in today - Simon is easy enough to ignore, separated from you by the bar.

At first, the quiet bartender was relieved that you had showed up for your shift - he wouldn't have searched for a new waitress if you had quit, instead choosing to deal with the consequences of his actions. But he's quickly getting more and more irritated with the silent treatment you're serving. You only talk to him when necessary: a simple "thanks" when you grab your drinks and run them to your tables. You busy yourself between rolling silverware, (over)stocking napkins and condiments, and even going so far as to spray the menus down and scrub them with a rag. You spend more time in the kitchen with Soap; each peal of laughter shared between the two of you is another arrow in Simon's chest. He's stuck behind the bar, listening to woes spilling from drunken lips, forced to watch you flit around and pretend he doesn't exist.

You can't keep this up forever.

Still, you do for most of the night. Even when your shift is coming to an end, the kitchen closed while you close the tabs for your remaining tables, you don't cave and sit at the bar with Simon. You sit at the farthest table from him, the farthest chair, in fact, skimming over your tip receipts - and talking to Soap (who was only able to sit with you since you had helped him knock out his tasks).

Simon's never been as angry with Soap as he is now - and the worst part is he knows it's not justified. He's watching from behind the bar, polishing glasses so hard they might wane into cups. He wants to talk to you. He will talk to you before the night is over. He doesn't expect forgiveness, but he expects that you'll at least let him offer an apology.

One of the regulars at the bar looks to whatever Simon is glaring at, chuckling quietly when he sees you. "Trouble in paradise?"

"Stuff it, Mike." Simon grumbles.

Meanwhile, you walk back from closing out your last table, plopping back in the booth with Soap. "What are you doing after this?"

"Sleepin'." he replies instantly, tossing back an onion ring. "Been dealin' with a grumpy bawbag since early this mornin', and I'm beat."

You glance over at the bar; Simon's back is facing you as he organizes the beer glasses. You really should apologize to him... you just couldn't figure out when the right time would be. He'd still be working by the time your shift ends, and you don't even know if he wants to speak to you at this point.

"Is he mad at me?" you ask, tapping your pen on the table.

Soap sighs. "I'm not goin' t' be the middle man, Bonnie." he says, looking at you intently. "If ye feel like somethin' needs to be said, go talk to 'im."

You groan, leaning back against the seat. "It's not that simple."

"Why not?"

"It just isn't! He's already pissed at me, and he probably thinks I'm a slacker. What good is an apology?"

"Ye won't know 'til ye talk to 'im, hmm?"

"What if he fires me?"

Johnny barks with laughter, and you frown. "I'm being serious."

"He'd never fire ye." he says, getting up out of the booth. He stretches both arms above his head and lets out a grunt. "In fact, he was throwin' a fit yesterday n' today 'fore ye came in. Bitch took it out on me."

You winced. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it fer 'im." Soap interjected. He left you at the booth with the onion rings and your tips, disappearing into the kitchen. You huff, hunching back over your tips and scribbling through them.

Deep down, you know Soap is right. If anything, you could just apologize to Simon. If he chooses to be grumpy about it, so be it. You've got tough skin... still, you can't stand the thought of him being upset with you - not because of your work ethic, but because you liked him. A lot. And you wanted him to like you back, even if it was in the most platonic way.

But that didn't change anything. An apology was due, and you were going to give him one before you left tonight.

You grabbed an onion ring and popped it in your mouth, grimacing when you realized they were cold. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Simon making his was across the floor to your booth.

Great. Guess the apology is coming now.

He stops at the edge of the table, wiping his hands in a rag. You pretend to punch numbers into your phone's calculator, but they're all random - you just want to look like you're busy.

"May I sit?" he asks, tucking the rag into his back pocket.

You mumble out a "sure", still not looking at him. You hear his large frame slide into the seat across from you, polyester squeaking underneath his weight. You continue to do random equations on your calculator, letting a thick blanket of tension settle between the two of you. You can feel his stare burning into your head, his arms folded over his chest... and you notice that his mask is in his hand. You finally look up at him.

It's not the first time you've seen his face - you've caught glimpses of it when he smokes in the alley, or when he eats whatever Soap throws under the warmer for you and Simon. But this time, he's not taking it off to be convenient. And, dear god, you're just now paying attention to how scarred, rugged, and handsome he is - but now's not the time for those kinds of thoughts. You feel like he's reaching out an olive branch, showing a possible vulnerable side to himself. So, you place your pen on the table and lean back.

He stays quiet for a moment longer, trying to figure out how to start this. He wants to make sure that you know he's here to apologize, not to ask for forgiveness. From his silence, you assume he's waiting for you to go first.

"I'm sorry about Tuesday night." you say, eyes dropping to the table. Simon's astounded that you're the one apologizing, but you continue. "I shouldn't have reacted the way I did, and I'm sorry for trying to dump my job on you."

He feels worse, now. Was that even possible? He was expecting anger, insults - a detailed, frustrated explanation of what you did last night since you did not go on that date. But you're the one saying sorry? You think you're to blame for all of this unspoken aggression? Oh, you really do confuse him, sometimes...

"You don't need t' be sorry, luv." he says, gazing at you with a softness you'd never seen before, not in his brown eyes, at least.

"No, I do." you say, nearly pleading with him to let you be apologetic. "I was being a brat, and whether you usually do the ice bins or not, I shouldn't have expected you would do them without asking." You push your pen on the table, doing your best to convey your feelings. "And yeah, I was late for my date, but... well, he sounded like a dick, anyways."

Simon chuckles, watching you stare at the table. "Well, I owe you an apology, too. I jus'..." he sighed heavily, running a hand down his jaw. "I don' even know. Guess I was bein' lazy, or... I got jealous tha' you've got a life outside of this pub. Feels like you belong here."

He immediately regrets saying that - it sounds way too possessive and... just straight up weird. But you smile, taking comfort in the fact that he still wants you here. That this was the whole reason behind the mess.

"Soap called you a bitch. Said you were an asshole all day."

Simon scoffs. "Yea... 'm pretty sure Price would tell ya the same. And he wants ya back, too. Couldn't stand waitin' on tables, he was tryin' t' trade places with me all night."

You laugh. The world seems alright again - not perfect, but good enough. It might take a night of sleeping the tension away before you're fully back to your normal self, but this is a leap in the right direction. You look at Simon, into his brown, steady eyes, as they stare right back at you.

He breaks the silence. "I really am sorry for ruinin' your date."

You smile softly. "Thank you, Simon. I forgive you."

And just like that, the weight of his guilt is lifted away. The lingering sourness remains, a reminder that he had made you cry. But you had forgiven him, which was more than he was hoping to get tonight.

"Are we better?" you ask timidly.

He nods once. "Better."

You smile - you slowly slide your stack of receipts to him, biting your lip. "Cool - can I have my money?"

Just like that, his smirk drops - but you know it's all in good humor. He huffs, snatching the stack from the table and scoots his way out of the booth. "Always got money on the mind, eh?"

"I've always got rent on my mind." you retort, following after him with the bowl of onion rings. You plant yourself at your usual spot on the end of the bar, right near the POS where Simon cashes out your tips. He tries to hurry up, assuming you want to dip and go home after such an intense conversation. He slides the mask back over his face and punches his code in, trying to edit your tips into the system as quickly as he can.

"Simon?"

"Hm?" his response is instant, turning around to look back at you. You've got your phone on the bartop, and your back and jacket on the unoccupied seat next to you.

"Can I stay for a drink?"

He's melting on the inside, only held together by his own skin. He sets your receipts down and opts to do them later, right before whenever you decide to leave. He won't miss on an opportunity to have you stay longer.

"Course, luv. What's it gonna be?"

"You know how to make a cosmo?"

He chuckles, grabbing a glass from the shelf behind him. "Sure do."

[3verythingiknowaboutlove]

first fall of snow

how spencer guesses you're pregnant before you actually tell him

fluff word count: 1390 warnings & tags & stuff: pregnant reader, slight issues with mother mentioned?, non-graphic vomiting, mentions/allusions to winter holidays being celebrated, kinda spencer's pov but still 2nd pov, reader is scared spencer will leave her lol, anxious!reader in general, mentions of death?, probably medical inaccuracies ive never been pregnant author's note: hiiii i'm forcing myself to post this because if i don't then i'll never post and i'm being BRAVE. i hope it can be a little comforting maybe. i've realllyyyy been struggling with my take on spencer's characterization lately soo this was kinda like a bootcamp/exercise situation into his mind and less an expression of my writing skills, iykwim. let me know your thoughts if u have any! i love you & have a splendid day!!

Spencer is walking—speed walking—toward his car, away from the case he just finished, away from serial killers and guns and geographical profiling and death.

He places his feet carefully on the snow-covered sidewalk with each step, the cold air biting at his face. He barely notices it, absorbed in the path ahead, as the snow provides a satisfying crunch underfoot—a nice background to his perpetually racing mind.

He doesn’t like the winter. It’s always too harsh outdoors, and too stuffy indoors, and he’s trapped in a suffocating haze no matter where he goes. 

His phone starts to vibrate gently in his pocket, interrupting his racing thoughts for a split second. His pace falters as he pulls it free, a quick smile tugging at the corner of his lips when he sees it’s your name on the screen.

“Hi. How are you?” he asks after picking up, watching his breath come out in puffs of vapor in the cold air.

Winters, however, have gotten progressively better each year he spends with you.

“...I’m okay,” you say, though the crack in your voice reveals the all-consuming ache in your bones and mind.

“No. You’re overwhelmed,” he guesses in his matter-of-fact way, voice gentle. You huff out a soft laugh at his ability to read you, never getting old.

“Yeah, I guess. A little. The holiday season, you know. Are you on your way home?” you ask, voice softer now. You’re sitting on the couch of yours and Spencer’s cozy apartment, wrestling with a blanket to cover your lap, and bouncing your leg relentlessly.

“I’m walking to the car now. Hey, have you done the crossword today?” Spencer asks, words a familiar, tender remedy for your nerves. You told him a long time ago that hearing his voice makes you feel better, and there are times, like these, where he just knows it’s what you need. You rest our head on the arm of the couch, curling up.

“No, I didn’t have the time. Why?”

“There was an interesting question about causes of death in Shakespeare plays, but they completely messed up the part of speech. It read, ‘Popular ways to die by the hands of England’s national poet’. I thought it was ‘poisons’ at first, but it was actually ‘stabbed’, even though the correct answer grammatically should’ve been ‘stabs’ or ‘stabbings’,” he says, his car now in sight through the steady sprinkle of snow coming down. “Do you think I should send an email to let them know? I guess stabbing does make more sense, though, versus poison, because throughout his works, thirty characters out of his 74 that died were stabbed compared to only four that were poisoned. Three were stabbed and poisoned. Did you know that two were actually baked into pies, which is a-”

“Oh my god, the pie,” you groan, cutting him off mid-sentence, sitting up hastily, the blanket falling to the floor.

“Pie?”

“Yeah. My mom coerced me into making it to bring tomorrow.” You pad over to the kitchen and crouch down to peek through the hazy glass of the oven, inspecting it. “Oh,” you murmur. “It’s…not pretty.”

He sandwiches the phone in between his ear and shoulder, gently opening the door to his car to sit down as he listens to you. He turns the heat on, exhaling in an exhausted relief, hovering his hand over where the air comes out. 

“Can you tell me what it looks like? Maybe I can help,” he suggests, leaning back against the headrest and letting his eyes close for a second. You put the phone on speaker, setting it on the counter as you bend down to take it out. “Don’t burn yourself,” he adds, hearing what you’re doing.

“I’m not going to burn my-” you cut yourself off with a huff. “Whatever. It’s just really messy. There’s like… liquid overflowing where the lattice should be.”

He hums. “How long has it been cooking for?”

“45 minutes. My mom sent me this one ancient recipe that I had to use written on parchment paper from like 70 years ago, and it does not have a bake time listed, so I’m just eyeballing it.”

“Okay. You could either put it back in the oven in hopes that more of the liquid will evaporate, or you can leave it out to cool down and hopefully thicken,” he says.

“What do you think I should do?”

“I think you sound exhausted and need your sleep.” 

You sigh, staring at your mess of a pie, hopes that you’ll appease your mother this year slipping further and further away, soon to be completely buried by the snow.

“Hey. I’m sure it’ll taste really good. Besides, people still liked Shakespeare, and he wrote about much worse pies than you could ever make.” 

A smile pulls at your lips.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll just leave it out to cool and head to bed. Will you stay on the phone a little longer?” you ask, padding over to your shared bedroom.

“Of course.”

He doesn’t start driving as you talk, not when nearly 2000 people die per year due to driving on icy roads, and two thirds of them were people who were reported to not be paying close enough attention.

And especially not when 54 hours ago on your last phone call, he noticed a drastic shift in your behavior, and was quickly able to tell that you were pregnant. 

He had too much waiting for him at home to be spinning out on black ice because he was talking to you and not watching the road.

He chooses instead to look outside at the falling snow, blanketing the city, his city, the very first for D.C. to have this winter out of the septillion snowflakes planet earth receives each year.

…

Spencer gets home a little later that night, holding another pint of cherries in his hands. Not for the pie—which he turns to see resting on the stove and winces slightly at—but for you. 

Cherries, with their 342 mg of potassium per cup, help replenish lost electrolytes and can soothe nausea.

He’s expecting it to start any day now.

He quietly steps into the bedroom, setting his bag by the door to be dealt with tomorrow. The soft glow of the lamp that was left on, presumably for him by your endlessly considerate heart, provides just enough light so he can get changed. He then finally clambers into bed next to you, one hand reaching out to lace in your hair, moving his fingers to gently scratch by the nape of your neck. He lifts the other to rest, like you're made of a delicate china, on your lower stomach, sighing in pure relief the second it makes contact.

You turn sleepily, humming when you’re met with the sight of him. “Spence,” you murmur, contented.

“Hi. I really didn’t mean to wake you up. I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly.

“I'm glad you did. I like it when you wake me.” You tuck yourself closer to him. “I love you.” His hand comes to trace gentle patterns all over your back and arm, and he gives you a little kiss, adoringly.

“Go back to sleep. I love you.”

You let your eyes shut once again, this time much easier now that he’s with you. You inhale his scent, which you swear could repair anything broken or lost in this world. You exhale, wondering if he’d still hold you the same way after learning that you’re carrying his child. 

It’s a scary thought, but you’re comforted by his warm touch, pushing you farther out into the deep sea of sleep.

Once your breaths get steady and your mouth parts slightly, he adds, in a whisper, “Both.”

…

The next morning, when you’re hunched over the toilet bowl, Spencer is there with you, rubbing your back and wiping your teary eyes. You look up to him after brushing your teeth, and no words are exchanged. He tugs you into his arms, silently quelling any of the countless anxieties swarming your mind, at least in this moment.

His hand comes up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He lets it rest there, cupping your jaw.

“Let’s go shopping after breakfast today, okay? You need prenatal vitamins.” He presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“And a new pie.”

[ilydeku]

izuku loves to talk about you during interviews

- anything and every topic it will ALWAYS be about you

- the question won't even be remotely related to you and still izukus answer will revolve around "y/n, my wife!!" <3

- oh, the glint in his eyes, the peaking smile when he speaks about you, lover boyyy

- the media knows he LOVE LOVES you, they think it's funny for this big, confident, mighty hero to be reduced to sap when it comes to you

- it's like his whole personality is HIS WIFE

- the journalists lowkey get so SICK of him for this, they don't want to invite him anymore 😭

- but they kinda have to, due to to his status as #1

"Good evening everyone and welcome Hero Talk! Tonight we'll be staring someone you all know and love, single handedly the greatest hero of all time, Deku! Alright, Deku how are you tonight?"

"Feeling pretty good! This is one of my wife's favorite shows, so I'm even more grateful to be here. And how are you?"

"Oh, same old. Really, just living. Now, we wanted to ask you some fun questions. Let's start with this one. Why did you want to become a hero?"

"Wow, haha! That really brings be back to my youth. When I was kid, my biggest influence was All Might, and he miraculously became my mentor. He was a good hero, and a good man. I wanted to be just like him: fearless, persevering, saving people with I smile. I would beg my mom everyday to watch this video on the computer of him saving a bunch a people. I was really swayed by All Might. I wanted to become a hero to make an impact in the world. I wanted to save people with a smile too."

"That sounds really endearing, Deku. I remember All Might's reign. He wasn't number one on the top charts all those years for nothing. So, did you ever think you'd be standing as Japan's top hero?"

"Well, it was never really my goal to become number one. That was Kacchan's- Dynamight's. My dream was, like I said, to become a hero and save others. But I have to say, it really is a blessing. I'd like to thank my Mom, All Might, my friends, and especially my wife for who I've become. My Mom has really done a lot for me growing up: protecting, encourage, and just always caring for me. All Might has kinda been that father figure for me when my Dad was away. My friends have shown me what it's like to work together and really be part of a heart. And my wife? Haha...I can't thank her enough for all the times she's been right by my side, even before we were together. Nothing I can say or do will ever be enough to express how much she means to me."

"Mm. Quite the supportive group. Your wife sounds like quite the lady!"

"She is. She's wonderful."

"Moving on to the next question, do you use social media often?"

"Occasionally, yes?? My wife uses it regularly, posting about us when we go out and stuff. It's mostly for her family to see how she's doing. She handles most of my official accounts. She says it's to be more appealing to the public, and I guess to show that there's more to heroes on the inside?? I'm not really sure, but I trust her process. Although, I'd rather be appealing to her alone."

"The public will always interested in a hero's private life! Now, Deku, what is your ideal setting of relaxation?"

"My wife doesn't like places that are too crowded or noisy, so maybe a cozy day at the beach?- but early in the morning or in the evening when the crowds calm down. Maybe a movie theatre, but days after the movie is released so it's just us together. Actually, a lazy day at home together is great too! Cooking meals and watching a movie on the couch? Really, any place is relaxing if my wife is with me."

(am i questioning Deku's wife or Deku!?) "How scenic! Those sound very fitting for you!! How about any restaurants?"

"Not really. My wife really knows how to cook, it's amazing! I love her home-cooked meals, so there's no way I'd go out of my way to a restaurant. But if my wife is feeling it, I'll be sure to make reservations."

"(sigh)"

"(smiling warmly)"

[harrysfolklore]

charles leclerc answers the internet’s most searched questions

gif by @countingstars-17 <33

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

"Hi I'm Charles Leclerc and today I'm going to be answering the web's most searched questions about me."

Charles said to the camera, he was wearing his typical media day outfit, a Ferrari half zip up jacket and his baggy jeans, ones that no matter how hard his girlfriend tried to get rid off it was just impossible because he liked them too much.

"First question, what is Charles Leclerc's number?" he read on the iPad the Sky Sports team had given him to read the question, "I hope we are speaking about the driver number, because my girlfriend won't like that people are searching for my phone number on the internet and I'll be very worried if you can find it," the crew laughed at his comment, "But it's number 16."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite song?" he read the next question, "I think overall, it's Where is the Love by the Black Eyed Peas, but recently I've been loving Sabrina Carpenter's songs, and that's thanks to my girlfriend."

"Did Charles Leclerc retire?" he couldn't help but let out a laugh at the question, "Are people really asking this question? The answer is no, I'm not that old and I hope I don't look that old. I've still got many years in me I hope."

"Did Charles Leclerc win in Monaco?" a small smile played on his face, "The answer changed just a few weeks ago but yes I did. It was a really special moment, my mum cried, my brothers cried, my girlfriend cried. It was beautiful."

"Did Charles Leclerc adopt Oscar Piastri?," he couldn't help but laugh again, "That answer also changed a few weeks ago and yes I did. He's one of my sons now."

"Does Charles Leclerc speak Italian? Yes I do."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a sister? No I don't."

"Does Charles Leclerc have a girlfriend?" he could feel his cheeks blushing as he read, "Yes I do. And as you can tell, I talk a lot about her, so much that there are compilation videos of me just talking about her, I've seen them."

"Will Charles Leclerc win a championship?" he made a thinking face, "I'm curious to know what Google says about that one, but I'll say yes. At least if I work day and night for that, so I hope it will happen one day."

"Is Charles Leclerc good at cooking?" Charles chuckled. "Well, I like to think I'm decent. I can make a mean pasta and I really enjoy it, but my girlfriend is the real chef in our relationship. She loves baking, and her cookies are the best."

"Can Charles Leclerc play the piano? Well I'm not a pianist but I have enough skill to really enjoy it. So yeah, I can play the piano.

"Does Charles Leclerc have any pets?" he smiled warmly, "Yes, my girlfriend and I have a dog named Leo. He's a an absolute sweetheart. He even comes to some of the race weekends with us."

"What is Charles Leclerc's favorite date night activity?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow, "Did my girlfriend search that?" the crew laughed, and Charles continued, "If she did, she knows I love our cozy movie nights at home, eating whatever we want and just chilling on the couch."

"Alright, last one," he said, looking back at the iPad, "What does Charles Leclerc do in his free time?" he read, "When I'm not racing or training, I enjoy spending time with my family, friends and my girlfriend of course. I love going to the beach, traveling or just relaxing at home."

He set the iPad down and looked directly into the camera. "Thank you for all the questions! I hope you learned something new about me. Until next time, ciao!"

did i reference my own fic here? anyway i hope you like thisss

[earthtooz]

earth do you have any spare alhaitham thoughts 🥺 thinking ab him a little extra hard tonight 😵

nothing but fluff, reader and al-haitham are engaged, so much banter.

"What do you think about inviting Nahida to our wedding?"

Al-Haitham looks at you incredulously, blinking slowly to register your question. You know a lengthy discussion is imminent when he uncrosses his leg, a habit of his whenever he needs to prepare for a conversation that requires most of his attention.

"You don't mean Lesser Lord Kusanali, do you?" He asks and you nod, as if it is typical to invite a god to one's wedding. "Dear, do you understand what you are asking right now?"

"I do," you sit down beside him, Zaytun peach in one hand and a small knife in the other, cutting up slices that you feed him.

"Then do you realise how ludicrous your question is?"

"I think you are overcomplicating it."

His book snaps shut. "Am I? Or is it appropriate because you just suggested inviting an archon to our very ordinary wedding?"

"You still think you're ordinary after overthrowing a corrupt government and being promoted by said archon?"

"You're crazy," Al-Haitham murmurs, shaking his head with an affectionate smile, one that he always likes to conceal by pressing a kiss to your cheek.

You poke his side gently. "Then we are cut from the same cloth."

"That does not diminish your madness."

Still, you persist. "Well, you haven't said anything in response to my suggestion."

"I called you crazy."

"You haven't said anything I want to hear."

Once again, he sighs, but the noise is too airy to hold any true malice. "Even if I reject your idea, you would personally go to the Sanctuary of Surasthana and deliver the invite yourself."

Instead of answering, you merely feed him another slice of the Zaytun peach, smile growing more and more mischievous.

There is a reason Al-Haitham wants to spend the rest of his life with you. The bouts of delightful juvenility paints endless blotches of colour on his plain canvas, carving a certain feeling of warmth and admiration in his chest that no one else has managed to recreate.

No one compares to you, and he's certain no one ever will because even after all these years of knowing and loving you, every moment he spends with you is as priceless as divine knowledge. Even when you ask ridiculous questions that perplex him greatly.

"How do you even deliver messages to the Sanctuary of Surasthana?" You wonder.

A kiss to your temple halts your thinking. "Let's find out another time. How did this idea of inviting Nahida spring about?"

You shrug. "I was merely thinking back. She's always been so thoughtful and kind to her subjects, even when the Akademiya hid her from us. Then the idea of inviting her made itself quite at home."

"I see," he hums. "Ever so thoughtful."

"Maybe it's a good omen for our partnership to invite an archon. She won't have to bring a present, her presence alone is enough."

Al-Haitham huffs. "My faith in our relationship exceeds that of a good omen, but I agree."

"Aww, you love me that much?"

"Do you still doubt me?"

"Still?" You parrot. "Darling, I've never doubted you."

"I'd like to contest that. Remember when you were vehemently against me resigning as the Acting Grand Sage?"

You feed him another slice. "It gave me bragging rights! Who else could claim that their hot boyfriend-now-fiancé was the Grand Sage?"

"So you prefer when I'm away at the Akademiya working tirelessly from dawn to dusk?"

"Well, no," you set the knife and pit of the peach down before throwing your arms around his neck, pressing yourself close to him. "I prefer having you all to myself."

Al-Haitham huffs triumphantly and you stay pressed close to him for a while, watching as he returns to his novel. He flips back to his exact page despite the lack of a bookmark.

"I'll be sure to send the invite to Nahida tomorrow."

"Alright."

Two days later, you wake to a message written in beautifully precise handwriting on Al-Haitham's blackboard.

'Can Wanderer be invited too? - Nahida'

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[kissitbttr]

a very tired miguel who gets home from work and gets babied by his woman

-

It's close to 9pm as you're lying on your bed. keeping your focus on the book you're reading, one that you failed to keep as a part of your routine due to your busy schedule with work. being a fashion designer has it's perks but it also has its dark sides too. especially when it comes to dealing with snobby ass clients

as you are about to flip to another page, you hear the front door opened. keys rattling against the ceramic bowl with a loud sigh follows after. a soft smile appears on your face soon as you realize who it is

“miguel? Is that you?” you softly call out your husband’s name while putting the book down.

"si, mi amor" he appears shortly by the doorway. your tall and handsome fiancee adorned in an unbuttoned white shirt that showcase a bit of his chest and paired with black trousers. a simple work attire but never fail to make your knees wobble. the sight could put any Greek Gods known to a man to shame.

your heart breaks a little seeing how tired he looks. his eye-bags are coming off too strong. a constant reminder on how he has been working himself far too hard despite you telling him to take it easy. but that's just how he is, stubborn.

"how's work my love?" you ask, watching him undress himself, revealing his exposed toned chest before putting the clothes away with the rest of his dirty ones in the bathroom. "I take it, it wasn't a good day?"

"you could say that" he replies tiredly, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off the chair and slipping it on. "trying to get ahold with the new recruits is a fucking job, Peter's been getting on my nerves and I'm working on advancing the technology we have right now in order for it to be easier to identify every single anomaly's DNA we've come across to. But the amount of hypotheses and research I've done are nowhere near close to how I want them to be."

"i would ask Tony Stark for help but que cabron esta muerto" he breathes out a sigh, pinching the thick skin between his brows. "I'm drained, mi amor... i can't fucking do this shit everytime--"

"no hey.. stop" you shake your head, hate having to see your man fronting a distressed look in his face. “come here, Miggy” you pout at him patting your chest for him to lay his head,

he sighs heavily. plopping into the bed and carefully lays himself on top of you. pounding head finding comfort in the warmth of your chest, snaking his big arms around your waist.

you put your arms around him, locking him tightly as your soft lips kiss his forehead making him purr.

“my pretty baby. exhausted aren't you? hm?” you ask in a cooing tone. he hums -- which sounded like a growl to you-- with a nod before nuzzling himself closer. “oh my poor poor baby... my handsome man. always working himself to the bone” another kiss on the forehead

“come up a little closer, hm?” you ask as he barely shifts his body. too lazy and far too comfortable in your arms like this for him to move.

you run your fingers through his soft hair, moving a piece that’s covering his forehead. looking down to see him close his eyes, yet not sleeping.

it’s so funny to see how this freakishly large- broad man who always seems to bring a cold presence that scares everyone off at work—which is technically true— then turns into a huge softie and a love puddle for you in a split seconds.

it’s truly a privilege that you’re the only one who gets to see and feel this

“look how cute you are, baby… do you know how cute you are, hm?” you coo at him, lips kissing his nose and the sharpness of his cheekbone. trying your best to console him in hopes of washing his stress away.

he lightly shakes his head. “no” a curt reply rolls of his mouth, drawing your body closer to him if that's even possible.

you pretend to gasp dramatically at his answer. fingers still stroking his hair lightly. “you don’t?! oh no! we have to fix that! you’re the cutest *kiss* most handsome *kiss* hardworking *kiss* man I’ve ever known” showering him with compliments in between kisses. he breathes out a small chuckle that muffles against your chest.

it’s obvious that miguel rarely gets treatments like this, he’s no one to shy from things but you're his only exception. the only person who truly can get him blush like a little kid when he's shown the slightest bit of affection.

“who’s baby are you hm? are you my baby?” a smile graces your lips as your eyes casting down to his pretty features.

“me. I’m your baby” he mumbles, tightening his grip around you. "always be your baby"

-

inspired by @webslingingslasher their frat!peter work yall is making me [REDACTED] please go take a look!!

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy! So I'm obsessed with your writing! Your EMT series might be my favourite thing I've ever read.

I was wondering if I could request an EMT Marauders x reader story where she gets really sick but thinks it's nothing and downplays it to them, only for it to end up being Pneumonia or something. And maybe they feel guilty for not realising it sooner?

I know you've probably already written something similar to this so no worries if you don't feel like writing it but I'd love to see your take it if you decide. Hurt/comfort is my favourite trope in the world. I just can't get enough of it!

I hope you're doing well!

Thanks gorgeous, hope you're doing well too <3

cw: pneumonia

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

You make sure there’s plenty of honey in your tea when the boys get home. 

“Hi,” you greet them, pleased when your voice comes out semi-normal. 

“Hey, gorgeous.” Sirius flops onto the sofa, nearly on top of your curled-up legs. “How was your day?” 

You try to keep your answer brief, your cough plied into submission with honey and warm tea but not for long. “Good. Got some things done.” 

You don’t mention that after every one of those things you’d had to have a thirty-minute lie down, or that many of them involved disinfecting surfaces you’d accidentally coughed near. 

“Being sick isn’t an opportunity to get things done.” Remus sinks into his chair, leveling you with a reprimanding look. “You’re supposed to be resting.” 

You shrug. “The only reason I haven’t been at work is because—” A couple of coughs fight their way out of you. James’ expression pinches as he sits on the arm of Remus’ chair, but thankfully the fit passes quickly. You take another sip of your tea. “Because I don’t want to pass it to anyone. I think I have to go back tomorrow, though.” 

Sirius makes a soft tsking sound. The boys are all still in uniform, his tattoos peeking out from the short sleeves as he traces looping circles on the side of your knee. “But you’re not better yet.” 

“Yeah, but I’m running out of sick days.” 

James frowns. “How long has it been?” 

You bring your tea to your lips, avoiding meeting anyone’s eyes. “I’ve been out for a week.” 

“But you were sick for a while before that,” he says. “What is that, ten days? Eleven?”

You shrug. 

Sirius is looking up at you with a puckered brow. “Do you feel like you’re getting better?” 

“I think so,” you say optimistically. It’s quickly undermined, however, when you’re caught up in another coughing fit. You have to set your tea down to keep from spilling it, holding a tissue over your mouth. 

James’ eyes widen, and Sirius sits up to rub your back. 

“That doesn’t sound very good,” James says. 

“No,” Sirius agrees. He reaches to feel your face, but you brush him away. 

“Don’t-—ack—don’t get too close. I don’t want to get you sick.” 

“I’m not gonna get sick, you baby.” He pushes past your hands. “Let me do my job.” 

“You just got off work.” 

“Yeah, well,” his voice softens, taking on a sympathetic hum as he lays his palm flat to your hairline, “maybe I maybe I was talking about my boyfriend job.” A pause. “I think your fever’s gotten worse, my love.” 

You whine. “Really?” 

“‘Fraid so. Have you noticed your symptoms getting worse at all?”

“I don’t” —you cough and reach for your tea again— “think so.” 

“Dove,” Remus says warningly. 

“It’s hard to tell,” you admit. “It’s moved around.” 

“Like where, honey?” James asks. 

“Like, in my…” You feel your throat contract, another fit brewing. You touch a hand to your sternum to avoid speaking. 

“In your chest?” Remus infers. 

You nod. 

He hums and moves to sit on the coffee table, his knees touching yours. You try to warn him away, but Remus shushes you gently. “Let me look at you.” 

He brings one hand to your face, feeling the way Sirius had, and touches the other to the pulse point on your neck. His touch is gentle and cool against your warm skin. You don’t know what exactly he’s looking for, but you find yourself fighting the urge to fall asleep in the basin of his palm when it slips down to hold your cheek. 

“You don’t need to talk,” says James, “but just nod yes or no, okay? Have you noticed yourself feeling more tired lately?” 

You nod tentatively. 

“Yeah? Less appetite?” 

You frown. “I don’t think—” You’re cut off by your own hacking. 

“One week off work, and she completely forgets how to follow instructions,” Sirius teases, rubbing your leg. 

“Terrible patient,” James agrees. 

“Alright,” Remus says once your fit ebbs. “I don’t have a stethoscope, but can you turn sideways for me?” 

You do, confused. Remus puts his ear to your back. You must make an odd face, because Sirius grins at you, reaching over to pinch your chin affectionately. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus instructs. 

You try, but it doesn’t get far. Your lungs expand maybe halfway before you’re coughing again, horrible, wracking coughs punctuated by stabbing pains in your chest. Remus sits up after a few moments, rubbing your back. 

“Sorry,” you manage. 

“Why are you sorry?” Sirius pulls you into him, cradling your head to his chest. “That sounded like it hurt, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Remus answers for you, brows bent with sympathy. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. At least now we can get you some medicine, though.” 

You cough weakly. “You can?” 

“Sounds like pneumonia?” James asks Remus. Your boyfriend nods. 

Sirius coos, petting your head. “I’m sorry, baby. I was thinking it was just a cold.” 

“It’s not your fault,” you croak. “I was, too.” 

“Feels like we ought to have known the difference, though,” James admits. When Sirius gets up, he’s quick to take his spot, tucking you underneath an arm. 

“Where are you going?” you ask Sirius. 

He’s putting his shoes back on. “To get someone to write you a prescription. The sooner we get you on antibiotics, the better. It’ll give you something to show your boss, too.” 

“I don’t need to come with you?” you ask hopefully. 

He winks, grabbing his keys. “Perks of knowing people at the hospital.” 

“Perks of flirting with the doctors, he means,” Remus mutters after he’s gone. 

“Hey,” James laughs, giving his boyfriend’s knee a playful squeeze, “it works out for us, doesn’t it?” 

“Sometimes,” Remus allows. He fixes his gaze on you. “Anything we can do to help you feel better, sweetheart? Do you want to try a hot bath? Steam would be good for you.” 

You look down into your now cool mug. “Could I have some more tea?” 

He takes it from you with a kiss to your head. “What a silly question.”

[tan1shere]

Heyyyyyyy could YOU please PLEASE do one where Billie tells the reader how to touch herself, while Billie is on tour?!!?

Call Me

Billie Eilish x female reader !

A/n: coming righttttt up, hope you like it 😊

Warnings: smut, phone sex ?? Masterbating - think thats it !

Masterlist

It was lonely here all alone. Finding little jobs and activities to do to fill in time. Whenever you weren't working, yourself. Your girlfriend, Billie was currently on her HMHAS tour. And you haven't seen her in days. Truth be told you missed her like crazy. Her presence. Her voice. Her touch..

Which led to the next feeling you missed. Ovulation was no joke. And you were currently facing the feral-ness of it. Even more so that she isn't here. You had been frustrated all day. And you only now realize why. You needed to touch yourself, you had to relieve this pent up tension. So as the night comes along you get into your warm, comfortable bed. Checking the time. Billie usually calls around this time.

You figure shes sleeping, she had been extra tired lately. You go to slide your hand down into your shorts, about to touch yourself. When you do, but stopping. Things aren't the same. You wanted her touch. You try to continue but nothing was feeling good right now. That caused more frustration to bubble inside you. Deciding to just sleep it away. And hope tomorrow was normal.

Next day rolls around and you still have the same feeling. Frustration and horniness. Not a great combination, the day felt longer because of it. It was a bit earlier when you got home, but thankfully Billie didn't have a show today. So she was hopefully going to answer when you call. You couldn't take it anymore you needed her help. And you needed it desperately.

You go to lay on the bed, grabbing your phone and dialing her number. She answers in seconds, causing you to grow nervous. In all the years of being with her, phone sex was the one thing you've yet to do. So ofcourse you were nervous. Would she even help you, would this be odd? "Hi baby." You hear her say, cheerfully. You smile to yourself. "Hello!" You try your hardest to not jump into things, going to try give her some hints.

"How was your day?" She then asks. You sigh, ever so lightly. "A little frustrating, good to be home though. How about yours?" - "Mine was pretty boring I've just been preparing for tomorrow's show and chilling. Why was yours frustrating my love?" You think for a moment. "Just some work and other little things, some of which I just can't fix by myself.." - "I'm sorry, anything I can do to help at all?" Yes. Phone fuck me. Was all you wanted to say but you had to play things cool. Even if your body was heating up at the thought of this happening.

"Not that I can think of, just wanted to hear your voice I missed you." She smiles to herself. "I miss you too babe." There was a small pause, you were contemplating on how you'd do this. When a small idea pops into your head. You missed her voice so much, and it sounds like you had just woke her up from a nap. Her voice was slightly raspy, a bit of her tiredness peeking through.

"Did anything else happen today?" You then ask, getting comfortable on the bed. Moving your hands just above the waistband of your underwear. You had decided to get straight into your sleepwear, just a loose night gown. Wanting to feel good as all you've been wearing lately are big t-shirts to bed. You wanted to feel hot, make this moment more sensual. "Not too much if im honest, just got my outfit for tomorrow, did some other things. Just boring stuff really." You hum in reply, moving your hand in your underwear as she speaks.

Was this wrong? It felt a little like that. Your face heats up what're you even doing. But you get pulled from your thoughts when you hear your name. "Hello? Y/n, baby. You still there?" The name made you bite your lip. "Y-yeah sorry." She chuckles. "You didn't answer my question love." "Oh, oops. What was it?" She smiles to herself again, finding you cute. Except what you were doing was far from cute and downright filthy. "I asked you how shark had been, he's behaving right?" Your hand moves lower, trying to stay focused on the conversation and her voice. "Y-yeah he's been good." You let out a quiet sigh but she hears it. "Everything ok?"

You get nervous again, how were you even going to manage this. "I'm fine.." You needed her to keep talking, and thankfully she does. "Ok, Im sure if it's anything youre just tired. I was going to talk to you about when I get back, we have a dinner with Finn on the Friday. Just thought I'd remind you incase you forgot." Your finger had been in you, slowly moving the whole time she was talking. And when you don't reply she gets more confused. "Baby, what're you doing you seem distracted." You holt your movements, trying to think of an excuse but why? You wanted to call her and ask.

Ask her to talk to you, help you. So why were you so damn nervous. "Talk to me baby." God sake her voice was so hot even when she wasn't intentionally trying. You bite your lip again trying to stop any noise that was about to escape. Mustering up some sort of strength to reply. "I'm f-fine." Was all you managed to respond with. Billie sits there in thought, when she hears another sigh. Was she catching on? She needed to be sure. "I miss you, so. So much." She was playing with fire. You don't respond again, having your eyes shut as you try to give yourself pleasure.

When it's not working you let out another sigh followed by a tiny whine. She hears that loud and clear, smirking to herself. She knew good and well what you were doing. "Can't wait to see you in a few days, get to kiss you. Hold you. Touch.. you." She chose her words evily. But she didn't stop there. A breath was to be heard. Followed by a frustrated sigh. "Let me help, baby. You sound annoyed." Another small whine left you, at the fact she was right and just overall the way she was speaking to you.

Your brows knit together, giving in and letting her. She knows now, there's no point in staying silent. "It's no good, I miss you. Your hands." She coos. "I know baby, I know. I'm just so good at touching my girl huh?" Your head rests back. "So good." You breath into the speaker. "Your fingers still inside?" You reply with a hum. "Move em." So you do just that, slowly at first. "Move your thumb, touch your clit for me." You do that, touching it then moving your thumb in a circle motion.

Everything was so still and quiet she could hear your wetness and God it was driving her nuts, she wanted to be there. To see it, to feel it. "That's it." She says encouragingly, hearing your noises as you speed up on both tactics. She could just imagine it, you touching yourself just to her speaking. "Was baby doing this the whole time I was talking?" She then says. Your cheeks grow red with heat. "I- uhm." She lets out an evil chuckle, sending tingles straight to your pussy. It was such a hot chuckle. But then again, anything she did right now was 10x hotter. "You're such a filthy girl huh?" You bite your lip yet again.

Feeling more pleasure than you had been. "Please keep talking please." You begged. Voice so needy. "Plunge deeper for me, know you can. Imagine my fingers. How deep they go. Imagine your thumb is my tongue as I swirl it around your throbbing clit." Your back arches at the thought, you needed it more than anything. "Need you so bad." A louder moan was to be heard. The fact this woman is just talking to you and you almost coat the sheets in your nectar. She felt all the power in this moment. "Go faster for me - that's a good girl." She finishes as she hears the squelching increase. Your breaths and moans mingle into one as you get closer.

"Mmm, fuck I'm so so close. Please." She laughs yet again. "So cute, still asking to cum even when I'm miles away. So incredibly good, aren't you?" Your head lulls back into the pillows again, feeling the knot almost snap. "Fuck, Billie." - "Faster baby, rub your clit. Wanna hear you squirt." Just those words alone send both of those sensations out of you, having you leak and squirt all at once. Your breath being uneven as your eyes roll back. "Good, girl. That's what I like to hear."