#idk i just feel like they could look better

[aesthetically-dying101]

Trainwreck

A/N: *sighs* can you guys guess who i wrote for? yes its nanami

warnings: innapropriate workplace behavior (this is all so unrealistic pls), thats mostly it, maybe a bit OOC? idk obsessive behavior, lowkey creepy

Nanami Kento prides himself on being a man of structure. He clocks in at 8:00 AM sharp, organizes his desk with ruthless efficiency, and approaches every task with a quiet, burning determination. But recently—recently, you’ve ruined him.

Completely, utterly ruined him.

You’re not even his boss. No, you’re her secretary. Just the secretary, really.

A pleasant smile in the hallway, the click of heels passing by his office door. You’re always polite, professional. Efficient. And yet, you’ve utterly dismantled every ounce of his composure.

He notices everything about you.

He notices too much.

The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're focused, the faint scent of your perfume (something floral but not cloying, clean and perfect). The way you laugh softly with the receptionist when you think no one is listening.

God, you never wear a wedding band.

He’s looked.

He’s ashamed of how often he’s looked.

He hates himself for it—hates the way his chest tightens when he hears your voice. Hates the way his thoughts stray in the quiet moments of the day, imagining what it would be like if you looked at him the way he looks at you.

But you barely notice him.

At least, that’s what he tells himself. Why would you? He’s just another cog in the machine, another suit with no significance beyond his output.

Nanami lets out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s supposed to be working, but instead, he’s replaying that moment from earlier today: the way you’d popped into the breakroom, looking fresh and radiant in that blouse that he’s now convinced was designed to torment him.

“Oh, hi, Nanami,” you’d said, smiling at him as you poured yourself a cup of coffee. It had been such a simple, innocent thing. And yet, his brain had short-circuited.

“Morning,” he’d managed, stiff and awkward, and he’s sure you noticed. God, why did his voice sound so clipped?

“You doing okay? You looked a little stressed in the meeting earlier.”

And that had really done it. Your concern—casual, effortless—had hit him like a freight train. He could barely stammer out a reply before you were gone, leaving him standing there, coffee untouched, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

He wants to believe he’s subtle about it, but he knows better. He’s not subtle. Not when he hangs back in the breakroom just to hear you chatting with someone, filing away every detail like the pathetic little moth he is, hopelessly drawn to your flame.

“Yeah, no, I’m just focusing on work right now,” you’d said once, when someone asked if you had any plans for the weekend. No mention of a boyfriend. No hint of anyone waiting for you at home.

It shouldn’t matter, and yet it feels like the cruelest kind of hope, igniting in his chest despite himself.

Nanami leans back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. He’s disgusting. Obsessed. You’re probably not even aware of his existence beyond the bare minimum. Why would you be? You’re smart, funny, stunning—and he’s just him. Dull. Predictable. The kind of guy women settle for when they’re tired of the fireworks.

But oh, if you ever gave him the chance. If you so much as glanced in his direction with anything resembling interest, he’d fall to his knees. Worship you. Do anything to make you happy.

It’s humiliating. The longing, the yearning, the ache.

And yet he can’t stop.

His thoughts spiral as the hours drag on, oscillating between bitterness and hope. He tells himself to stop—orders himself to focus—but his mind keeps circling back to you.

Always you.

The end of the day finally comes, and as he’s gathering his things, he hears the soft sound of your voice drifting from the hallway.

“Night, Nanami!”

You wave as you pass, the gesture casual but bright enough to light up the entire goddamn floor.

“Goodnight,” he replies, quieter than he means to. His hand tightens on his briefcase.

You disappear around the corner, and Nanami stays frozen for a moment, staring at the space where you’d been.

*-*

It’s Christmas in the office.

The annual “holiday celebration,” a thinly veiled excuse for everyone to slack off in the name of festivity. Nanami hates it—or at least he wants to hate it. Forced camaraderie, cheap decorations, music that grates on his nerves. It’s the kind of chaos he typically avoids.

But then you walk in, and every ounce of self-discipline he’s built over the years shatters into irreparable pieces.

The pencil skirt.

The goddamn Christmas-colored pencil skirt. It’s shorter than usual, clinging to your hips in a way that feels engineered to destroy him. The matching blouse, festive but just tight enough to drive him completely fucking insane.

It’s not fair.

You’re smiling as you step into the breakroom, chatting with a coworker, utterly oblivious to the wreckage you’re leaving in your wake.

Nanami’s pulse spikes. His gaze darts away, but the image of you is already seared into his brain, lingering like a bad habit.

He adjusts his tie, swallowing hard. Don’t be a creep. Don’t be a fucking creep. But then his eyes flick back, just for a second, and—oh no. Oh no, no, no.

His pants feel too tight.

He grits his teeth, clenching his jaw as he fumbles with a stack of papers on his desk. His hands tremble slightly. He’s mortified, but there’s no stopping it. Not when his traitorous brain is already spinning, conjuring images he really shouldn’t be entertaining in the middle of the office.

Images of you. That skirt riding up higher, your thighs bare beneath his hands. The sound of your laughter softening into breathless gasps. The way your lips would feel against his skin—

Nanami bolts.

He mutters something vague about needing a minute to no one in particular and beelines for the bathroom. The fluorescent lights are harsh as he leans against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge like it’s the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he hisses to his reflection. His tie feels like a noose around his neck.

He splashes cold water on his face, but it doesn’t help. Not when every time he blinks, he sees you. The soft curve of your waist, the way your hair catches the light.

Pathetic. He’s fucking pathetic. You’re just trying to celebrate the holidays like everyone else, and here he is, locked in the bathroom, wrestling with his own shameless thoughts.

The worst part—the absolute worst part—is that it’s not just the dirty shit. Oh, no. His brain is crueler than that.

He imagines quiet mornings with you. You in his kitchen, wearing one of his shirts, smiling at him over a mug of coffee. Your hand brushing his as you pass him a plate, the warmth of your touch lingering long after.

It’s insidious. It’s relentless. It’s everything he doesn’t deserve, and yet he wants it so badly he feels like he might choke on it.

Nanami drags a hand down his face, letting out a groan that echoes in the empty bathroom.

She doesn’t even notice you, idiot.

He stays there longer than he should, collecting himself—or trying to. Eventually, he straightens his tie, squares his shoulders, and forces himself to return to his desk.

But when he passes by the breakroom again, you’re laughing, radiant, and he knows this torture is far from over.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, he doesn’t.

But it’s impossible not to overhear you when you’re in the breakroom, talking to someone about the bouquet on the receptionist’s desk.

“Oh, these are lovely,” you say, your voice light and cheerful. “But if I had to pick, I’ve always been more into bold flowers. Red dahlias, spider lilies, roses—things like that. Dark, dramatic colors. They’re so beautiful.”

Nanami freezes in the hallway, a stack of files in his hands. His heart does this stupid little stutter, the same one it always does when he hears your voice. But now it’s worse because his mind is spinning with the image of you holding a bouquet like the one you’ve just described.

Red dahlias, spider lilies. The thought of you cradling those flowers, smiling at them, smiling because of him—he has to physically shake his head to clear it.

He’s pathetic.

He knows he’s pathetic. He clenches the files tighter, willing himself to keep walking, but the image won’t leave him.

Over the next few days, he thinks about it more than he wants to admit. He imagines walking into a flower shop, carefully selecting each bloom, making sure they’re perfect. He imagines handing the bouquet to you, watching your face light up—

And then he imagines the aftermath. You smiling politely, awkwardly thanking him, wondering why the hell one of your coworkers is giving you flowers.

No.

He can’t do it. It’s wildly inappropriate. He’s already teetering on the edge of unprofessionalism just by thinking about you like this.

But then, one quiet afternoon in the office, he hears you mention your birthday in passing.

“Oh, it’s in a month or so,” you say, laughing softly. “I don’t usually do much for it, though. Just a quiet day, you know?”

Nanami marks the date down the second he gets back to his desk. He feels like a creep for it, but the thought of letting the day pass without acknowledgment feels unbearable.

He’s spent weeks overthinking this, debating whether or not he should go through with it. But as he stands outside the florist that morning, the door handle cold in his hand, he decides he can’t let it go.

He picks each flower carefully: crimson dahlias with velvety petals, a few spider lilies that curl dramatically, and deep red roses. It’s a small bouquet—not too extravagant, just enough to feel thoughtful.

By the time he gets to the office, his palms are clammy, and he feels like he might actually pass out.

He doesn’t give it to you right away. He waits until the middle of the day, when the office is quieter and most people are out at lunch. He finds you at your desk, bent over some papers, your hair falling slightly into your face.

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice more formal than he intended.

You look up, blinking in surprise, and when your eyes land on the bouquet in his hands, they widen slightly.

“I, uh—” He clears his throat, trying not to fumble. “I overheard that it was your birthday today. Happy birthday.”

You take the bouquet slowly, your expression shifting from surprise to something softer—something warmer.

“Oh my gosh, Nanami, these are gorgeous,” you say, holding the flowers close to your chest. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide how much they’re trembling. “Just… thought you’d like them.”

“I love them.” Your smile is radiant, and for the first time, he feels like he might actually be able to breathe again.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice sincere.

He nods, forcing himself to meet your gaze for just a moment.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs, before quickly retreating to the safety of his desk.

But that's what happens in his mind, in his fantasy... in reality, he simply left those at your desk while you were in a meeting, though he did hear you gasp when you saw them.

As he sits at his desk, his heart pounding, he allows himself a small, private smile. For once, his yearning doesn’t feel quite so pathetic.

*-*

Nanami doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. Again. But it’s impossible not to hear you when your voice floats down the hallway like that, soft and full of joy.

The bouquet sits proudly on your desk, vibrant reds catching the fluorescent light, and you’re standing nearby, talking to another employee.

“I still can’t believe it,” you’re saying, your tone carrying this sweet mix of wonder and delight. “No one’s ever done something like this for me before. It’s just… so thoughtful, you know?”

Nanami, passing by with his usual quiet efficiency, freezes mid-step. His breath hitches in his throat.

“I mean, look at them,” you continue, gesturing to the flowers. “They’re perfect. Whoever picked these out really put a lot of thought into it.” You laugh softly, a sound that makes his chest ache. “I’m not even sure how they knew these are my favorites.”

He stands there, rooted to the spot, his pulse roaring in his ears.

She’s talking about me. She’s talking about me.

He feels ridiculous for the way his stomach twists, for the heat creeping up his neck. A grown man shouldn’t feel this way, shouldn’t feel this weak, over a few kind words. But goddammit, he can’t help it.

The idea that you’re gushing about something he did, that he made you happy, even for a moment—it’s enough to undo him completely.

“Whoever it was,” you add, your voice softening, “it’s just… it really made my day. Probably my whole week, honestly.”

Nanami swallows hard, clutching his briefcase like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. His emotions are a mess—a chaotic tangle of pride, relief, and something deeper, something that makes his throat feel tight.

He knows he should walk away. He shouldn’t linger here, shouldn’t keep listening like some lovesick fool. But he’s stuck, trapped by the sound of your voice and the warmth in your words.

When he finally moves, it’s with a heaviness in his chest that he can’t quite define. He makes his way back to his desk, sitting down and staring blankly at his computer screen.

*-*

Weeks bleed together in the monotony of office life, except for the moments where Nanami lets himself carve out little spaces of joy—tiny gestures that go unnoticed by most but feel monumental to him.

It starts with a single chocolate, placed carefully on the corner of your desk one morning before you arrive. Just a small thing, barely bigger than his thumb, wrapped in shiny foil. He doesn’t linger to see your reaction. He couldn’t stomach it, not when he knows he’d fold in on himself if you so much as tilted your head in confusion.

But the next day, you’re chatting with the receptionist, that same soft laugh spilling from your lips.

“It’s so weird,” you’re saying, holding the empty wrapper in your fingers. “I found this little chocolate on my desk yesterday. I don’t know who left it, but it was sweet. Made my morning, honestly.”

Nanami ducks his head, pretending to be engrossed in the stack of reports he’s holding, but inside, he’s practically vibrating. She noticed. She noticed.

He tells himself to stop, to leave it there, but he doesn’t. He can’t. The yearning is too big, too loud, and it demands an outlet, however small.

After a grueling conference one afternoon, he slips a bottle of chilled water onto your desk when you step away. Nothing extravagant—just a quiet act of care. You’re gone for no more than a minute, but when you return, you blink down at the bottle, tilting your head in that way he finds unfairly adorable.

“Huh,” you murmur, glancing around. “Did someone leave this?”

You shrug, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip, and Nanami has to fight the urge to look away too quickly, lest anyone catch the faint pink blooming across his cheeks.

It’s pathetic.

The way he lives for these small moments, like a man stranded in a desert, savoring droplets of water. Every tiny gesture, every unnoticed offering, feels like a prayer he’s too afraid to voice aloud.

He notices everything about you. How you seem to perk up on Friday afternoons, your shoulders relaxing as you chat about weekend plans. How you wrinkle your nose just slightly when you’re concentrating. How you hum under your breath when you think no one’s listening—a soft, tuneless sound that drives him to distraction.

He doesn’t need grand gestures. He doesn’t want them. He just wants to make your days a little brighter, even if you never know it’s him.

And god, does he yearn.

He daydreams when he shouldn’t, his thoughts slipping away from spreadsheets and into fantasies that make his chest ache. He imagines brushing your hair back from your face, the softness of your skin beneath his fingertips. He imagines quiet evenings, your laughter filling the silence of his apartment. He imagines the weight of your head on his shoulder as you drift off to sleep.

And sometimes—sometimes, when he’s alone, when the ache feels unbearable—he lets himself imagine things he shouldn’t. Things that make his heart race and his breath catch and leave him staring at his own reflection in shame after.

But he never acts on it. Never says a word. Instead, he keeps leaving his little tokens: a coffee cup placed carefully on your desk when he overhears you complain about a late night, a pack of your favorite pens after you mention running out.

You smile every time, and though you never suspect him, that’s enough. It has to be enough.

At least, that’s what he tells himself.

*-*

You’re not an idiot.

No, you may be a little dense sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Someone has been leaving you small, thoughtful little gifts over the past few weeks.

And you have absolutely no idea who it is.

It started innocently enough—chocolate on your desk one morning. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then it kept happening. A bottle of water after a long conference, a cup of coffee after a particularly brutal meeting. At first, you thought maybe it was just a mistake, someone leaving things around and not realizing it was yours. But no, they were always right where you’d find them. Right when you needed them.

It’s sweet. Really sweet. But it's also starting to annoy the ever-living shit out of you because, for the life of you, you can’t figure out who’s doing it.

You’ve spent the past few days trying to narrow it down, your brain doing mental gymnastics over every damn interaction you’ve had at work. And frankly? You’re getting tired of it.

“Alright, let’s break this shit down,” you mutter to yourself as you sip your second cup of coffee of the day, pretending to focus on an email.

Option one: Your boss.

Ha. Right. She’s too busy scheduling her hair appointments to think about leaving chocolates on anyone’s desk. Plus, she’s got the whole “I don’t care if you live or die” attitude, so yeah, not her.

Option two: Kevin from accounting.

Kevin’s an idiot. A well-meaning idiot, but still. He’s the type to forget the coffee in the breakroom and then call it “the best thing ever” for two hours, as though anyone cares about his “discovery.” You’re not buying that.

Option three: That one guy from marketing, Tom.

You nearly burst into laughter just thinking about it. Tom’s an over-caffeinated golden retriever in a human’s body. He’s the type of guy who thinks sending a “Hey, just wanted to check in!” email twice a day is “checking in” on people. He probably couldn’t even remember to get a chocolate from a store, let alone leave it at your desk.

Option four: Nanami.

You pause mid-sip, blinking rapidly. Nanami? The quiet guy from finance? The one who barely says more than a handful of words in a meeting?

Now that’s an intriguing thought. He’s always… there. Always around, like a quiet shadow, observing. Sure, he’s not exactly filling the room with energy, but there’s something there, right? Something beneath that perfectly structured exterior.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. No way. That’s ridiculous.

But then you think about it. Nanami’s the type of guy who doesn’t get distracted by office chaos. He’s methodical. Focused. The guy who lives on routine. He’d be the one to sneakily notice when someone’s overworked and needs a small pick-me-up. He’s just... quiet about it.

But then again, who leaves water bottles, chocolates, and coffee? It’s not like he’s ever said anything about it. Not a single “hey, I thought you might like this,” or anything remotely close to an acknowledgment. Hell, he doesn’t even smile much.

God, he’s so damn mysterious it makes your head spin.

You glance over at his desk. There he is—quiet, as usual. Focused, pretending the world isn’t falling apart around him.

It could be him.

But no. You shake your head, dismissing the thought immediately. He’s not the type. Right?

It’s just… weird. And you’re not even sure why it feels so weird. Maybe it’s just the fact that you’ve got a secret admirer at work, which is fucking hilarious because it sounds like something out of a shitty rom-com you wouldn’t even watch if someone paid you.

"God, I’m going insane," you mutter under your breath, checking your watch. "Seriously. Who the hell is doing this?"

*-*

It took weeks.

Weeks of small gestures.

You’ve figured it out.

It took some careful observation, a bit of deduction, and honestly, a lot of staring at Nanami when he wasn’t looking. But there’s no doubt in your mind now. The quiet, stoic, almost painfully composed man from finance—the one who always has his tie perfectly in place and whose voice could melt butter—he’s your secret admirer.

And oh, it’s delicious.

At first, you weren’t sure. Nanami wasn’t exactly the type to scream “hopeless romantic” or even “mildly interested.” But the more you watched him, the more obvious it became. The way his eyes linger on you just a second too long, the way he tenses when you get too close, the way he seems to disappear right after you find something thoughtful left at your desk.

You caught him once, hovering near the break room as you raved to a coworker about the flowers. He didn’t say a word, but the way he froze mid-step, his jaw tightening ever so slightly? Yeah. That was all the confirmation you needed.

And honestly? You’re thrilled.

Nanami’s hot. Not just conventionally attractive, but smart-hot, the kind of guy who could ruin you with a PowerPoint presentation and a sharp comment about fiscal responsibility. He’s also maddeningly composed, which makes you want to poke at him, see what’s underneath that calm, collected exterior.

So, naturally, you decide to fuck with him.

Just a little.

You can feel the tension building in the air as you move through your day, the little comments, the subtle glances. Nanami’s still trying to play it cool, but it’s clear. He’s a mess. You can see it in the way his eyes dart away when they linger on you a second too long. You can hear it in his voice when he answers you—a little too stiff, a little too forced.

So, you decide to push him.

You start small. Little things. Nothing too obvious, just a few well-placed gestures to see how far you can take him before he finally snaps.

You walk past his desk, and you’re definitely not trying to make sure your skirt hugs your hips just right. You bend over just so to grab a file from your bag, letting him get a full, uninterrupted view of your cleavage.

You’re certain he’s trying not to look—hell, you can practically feel him forcing his eyes up to the ceiling, but you know. You know he’s been watching.

When you straighten up, you glance at him out of the corner of your eye. He’s gripping his pen like it’s a lifeline, his knuckles pale, and his jaw is tight. You smirk, leaning in just a little closer.

“Need something, Nanami?” you ask, the words dripping with an edge of playful mischief.

He swallows, clearly doing everything in his power to maintain his usual stoic expression. “No,” he replies, too quickly, voice clipped. “I’m fine.”

You laugh lightly, keeping the tension alive as you pull away. You can practically feel the heat radiating off him. Oh, this is too good.

You don’t stop there, though. No, you want to see how much he can handle.

The next day, you make sure to wear a skirt that’s just a little tighter, just a little shorter than usual. The fabric clings to you in all the right ways, and when you walk past Nanami’s desk, you make sure to let your hip brush against the edge of his desk, just lightly enough to catch his attention.

As you bend down to grab a report from the printer, you give him the tiniest, most casual look over your shoulder. You’re sure you catch the way his eyes flicker down to your legs before he quickly looks away. Gotcha.

You straighten up, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you walk back past him, barely stopping yourself from humming in satisfaction when you feel his gaze linger on the curve of your back.

It’s all too easy.

And now? Now it’s time to turn it up a notch.

You’ve been toying with him for days now, watching as he stiffens every time you get a little too close, testing how much he can take before his composure cracks. You see the way his breath catches when you “accidentally” brush your arm against his as you pass by. He doesn’t say a word, but you know. You can see it in the way his eyes flash with something darker, something needy, before he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

You know what you’re doing to him.

And you’re fucking loving it.

*-*

For two weeks, you’ve been shamelessly pushing Nanami to his limits.

You flirt, you linger, you brush your hand against his arm just a little too long, your skirts are shorter, tighter—designed to test the boundaries of his sanity.

And he notices.

Oh, he notices.

But what you don’t see is what’s going on beneath that perfectly calm, stoic exterior.

Because Nanami is losing his fucking mind.

Every look, every casual touch, every time you lean just a little too close—it’s like pouring gasoline on the fire inside him. He’s never been this affected by anyone, and now it feels like he’s constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff.

He tries—he really does—to keep his composure. He’s a professional, damn it. A man of control and discipline. But you? You’re unraveling him piece by piece.

*-*

She knows. Oh, God, she fucking knows. Why is she looking at me like that? Is she doing this on purpose? She’s doing this on purpose. That skirt—did it get shorter? That’s not appropriate for the office, right? Should I say something? No. No, shut up, you idiot. Just focus on your work. She’s walking toward you. Act normal. Act—

“Hey, Nanami, could you help me with something?” you ask, your voice sweet, with just the faintest hint of teasing.

His throat goes dry. He looks up, forcing his expression to remain neutral, professional. “Of course. What do you need?”

You lean closer, your hand brushing his shoulder as you point to your tablet. “I can’t figure out this formula. Can you show me?”

He doesn’t miss the way your perfume lingers in the air, soft and floral, and it’s driving him mad.

“Sure,” he says, his voice even, betraying nothing of the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

But inside? He’s screaming.

*-*

This is a problem. She’s doing it on purpose. She has to be. That look she gave me this morning? That wasn’t casual. No, that was calculated. She’s testing me, trying to see how far I’ll go. Does she know how much I—

He can’t even finish the thought. Because the truth is, his daydreams are becoming increasingly inappropriate, increasingly desperate.

He imagines you sitting on his lap in his office chair, your arms draped around his neck as you laugh at something he said. He imagines kissing you—soft at first, then deeper, more passionate, until he’s completely lost in you. He imagines everything he wants to do to you, and it’s enough to make him clench his fists under his desk, trying to hold himself together.

*-*

One afternoon, you’re standing next to his desk, going on about some report, and he can’t take it anymore. You’re wearing a dress that hugs you in all the right places, and the way you’re looking at him, with that mischievous little glint in your eye—it’s too much.

“Enough,” he says, his voice low, controlled.

You blink, taken aback. “What?”

He stands, towering over you, his jaw tight, his eyes fixed on yours. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Do what?” you ask, feigning innocence, though the slight curve of your lips betrays you.

“This,” he says, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “The teasing. The looks. The... whatever this is. If you’re trying to drive me insane, congratulations. You’ve succeeded.”

You grin, your eyes sparkling. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it?”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second, then takes a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m going to ask you on a date.”

Your grin widens, and you cross your arms, leaning in just slightly. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” he says firmly, his confidence unwavering now. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

You laugh, the sound light and genuine, and he feels his chest tighten all over again.

“Okay, Nanami. You’ve got yourself a date.”

*-*

The date is perfect.

Nanami shows up at your door precisely at seven, looking sharp in a navy suit and holding a small bouquet of red dahlias—your favorite. Dinner is a mix of light conversation and laughter, the two of you falling into an easy rhythm that feels like you’ve known each other forever.

When he walks you back to your apartment, the air between you is warm, charged with something unspoken.

“Want to come up?” you ask, your voice soft, your eyes searching his.

He hesitates for half a second before nodding. “Yes.”

*-*

Your apartment is cozy, filled with little touches that are unmistakably you. Nanami takes it all in—your bookshelves, your mismatched throw pillows, the faint scent of vanilla in the air.

But then you’re there, standing close to him, your eyes meeting his, and everything else fades away.

The first kiss is tentative, a soft meeting of lips that quickly deepens as he pulls you closer, his hands resting on your waist. You sigh against him, your fingers threading through his hair, and he groans softly, losing himself in the warmth of you.

“Nanami,” you murmur, pulling back just enough to catch your breath.

“I hate you,” he says, his voice low, a teasing smile playing at his lips.

You laugh, your forehead resting against his. “Do you?”

“Yes,” he whispers, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I hate the way you consume my thoughts. I hate the way you make me feel so... so...”

“Alive?” you offer, grinning.

“Exactly,” he murmurs, kissing you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring the moment.

Before things can go further, your cat jumps onto the couch, meowing loudly, and you both break apart, laughing.

“Excuse me,” Nanami says, his voice soft but firm as he picks up the cat and carries it to another room. “We need privacy.”

When he returns, you’re still laughing, but he silences you with another kiss, his hands cradling your face.

Between kisses, he whispers things that make your heart ache in the best way.

“You drive me crazy... but I don’t want it to stop. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

By the time the night ends, you’re both a mess of tangled limbs and whispered confessions, and for the first time in weeks, Nanami feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

A/N: sorryyy, this might be ooc for him? im unsure...

Masterlist.

:)

[charmedimsure]

uuuhhhhhm can i pretty pretty please with cherries on top request a Dae-ho x reader where the reader was also in the military? but its like that ep. where they revolutionized? if that makes sense? idk i think it be cool if reader eas good eith a gun

anyways HAVE A LOVELY DAY/ NIGHT love reading your stuff (i binge read it :p)

Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

pairing: Kang Dae-ho x gn!reader

summary: As a former soldier, you know just what to do when all hell breaks loose.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: guns, death, blood, squid game stuff, panic attacks, ptsd

A/N: i've played so many shooting games i feel like i've been training to write this fic my entire life. i even named it after a shield from my favorite game (brownie points if you know which game). if you find any mistakes no you didn't <3 tried to make this gender neutral but if you find any slip ups lmk so i can fix it

**this can be read as romantic or platonic**

You look at the woman standing between bunks with wide eyes. You weren't sure earlier when you saw her on the screen, but seeing her standing ten feet away from you, you're absolutely positive that you know who this is.

"Sergeant?"

Cho Hyun-ju turns and gasps when she sees you, a smile lighting up her face. She quickly embraces you, you happily hugging her back. You were always her favorite soldier (she never admitted it, being the sergeant of the Brigade, but you both knew she liked you best). You were one of the only people who supported her when she came out. You tried to fight against her discharge but, as a low-ranking soldier, you had no say in the matter.

"I knew it had to be you!" you say, pulling back with a smile. "When I saw someone go back into the playing field to help a guy with only ten seconds left, I just knew it was my sergeant!"

"It's good to see you," she says. "Though, I wish it was under better circumstances."

You nod solemnly. You had just watched at least a hundred people die while screaming and begging for their lives. As a former soldier, it was hard that you couldn't do anything to help the civilians. All you could do was stand there and listen to the screams and gunshots, and then the silence.

"How are you here? Are you not part of the Brigade anymore?" Hyun-ju asks.

You shake your head. "No, I actually left not long after you were discharged. It wasn't the same without you, and I just couldn't be civil with the others after how they treated you."

She nods, understanding. "Well, if I'm going to be here with anyone, I'm glad it's you. I trust you with my life, soldier."

You smile. "And I you, Sergeant."

<>

You and Hyun-ju had made it through the next two games together, along with some allies you made along the way. Together with Young-mi, Yong-sik, and Geum-ja, you had been the first team to succeed in the six-legged pentathlon.

You had also made it though Mingle with some new allies, though not all of your old allies made it. Young-mi's death was hard on your whole group, but Hyun-ju had been taking it the worst. While you had grown closer with Yong-sik and Geum-ja, she had formed a special bond with the young girl and had to watch her die right in front of her.

While you would like to take the time to mourn Young-mi, a lot has happened in the few hours since the third game ended. The vote on whether to go home or stay ended in a 50-50 tie, meaning you're going to have to redo the vote tomorrow. Then, a huge fight apparently broke out in the men's bathroom, leaving five players dead.

Both sides group together to count their numbers, and you find that there's now one more X than O. While the players around you celebrate, a feeling of dread shoots through you.

"Attention please. Lights out in 30 minutes. All players, please return to your beds and prepare for bedtime."

Shit.

Player 047 stands in front of the group. "Listen, you cannot change your minds. We have to win the second vote and get out of here tomorrow, alright?"

As the other players around you nod and move to their beds, you stay sitting, watching the O players. They're already looking at your group. Watching. Waiting. You look at Gi-hun, the previous winner, and know that he's thinking the same thing you are.

<>

"Those bastards are acting suspicious," Dae-ho says, returning to the small circle you formed on the ground. "It looks like they're up to something."

Jung-bae breathes out a laugh. "Whatever those idiots do, once we win the vote tomorrow, it'll all be over."

"You think we'll be okay?" Dae-ho asks, concerned. "They say things were really crazy in the bathroom earlier."

"We need to be ready," you say from your place between Dae-ho and Gyeong-seok. "They've been watching us since the moment they found out the prize money goes up if we kill each other."

The group around you tenses before Gi-hun speaks up as well. "Once the lights go out, people on the other side will attack us."

"Really?" Yong-sik asks from beside his mother.

Gi-hun nods. "Because if they kill us, they'll be able to win the vote and increase the prize."

"So what do we do?" Yong-sik asks.

"Let's attack them first," Young-il suggests. "They're probably thinking we'll just wait for the second vote. We can use it to our advantage. We'll attack them first once the lights go out."

"That's right," Player 047 says. "It'd be better to attack them first. We have more women and elderly on our side. If we get attacked we'll be at a disadvantage." You send him a glare that makes him freeze for a moment before continuing. "Attacking them first would give us a better chance of winning."

"I agree," Player 145 adds.

"We can't do that," Gi-hun says.

"But we have to get out of here," Young-il argues. "You said it yourself. Staying calm won't get us anywhere now."

"That doesn't mean we should kill each other," Gi-hun says. "That's exactly what they want us to do."

Jung-bae leans forward. "'They'?"

Gi-hun looks at him. "The ones who created this game." He turns to face the rest of the circle. "The ones who watch us play. If we're going to fight someone, it should be them."

It's silent before Dae-ho speaks up. "Where are they?"

Gi-hun looks to the ceiling. "Up there."

You all follow his gaze before looking around at each other.

"On the upper levels," Gi-hun says, "are the rooms they control the games from. The man in the black mask is their leader. Once we capture him, we'll be able to win."

"How are you going to fight them?" Young-il asks. "They have guns."

"We'll fight them with guns, too," Gi-hun says.

"But we don't have any," Jung-bae says.

Gi-hun turns to him. "We'll take their guns."

You and Hyun-ju look at each other. This is what you were trained for.

"From those masked men?" Gyeong-seok asks nervously.

Gi-hun nods.

"That's too dangerous," Young-il says. "Even if we manage to take a few guns, we'll still be outnumbered."

"What then?" Gi-hun argues. "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want, Young-il?"

Hyun-ju breaks the silence. "Do we... stand a chance?"

"We do if we catch them off guard," Gi-hun says. "Out of everyone, they're the ones who would least expect us to attack first. This is our last chance to end these games once and for all."

"How are you going to take their guns?" Young-il asks.

"Once the fight begins tonight, we'll have our chance."

<>

"Lights out in ten seconds."

"Ten,

nine,

eight,

seven,

six,

five,

four,

three,

two,

one."

The lights dim, then turn off completely, leaving only the red and blue lights from the floor.

You roll out of bed, getting under the frame. You feel someone else trying to get under your bed, and you move a bit to make room for Dae-ho. Just as you get in position, you see bodies creeping towards your side of the room, illuminated by the bright blue O on the floor.

There's a scream, and all hell breaks loose.

The lights strobe as you hear the sounds of screaming and bottles being smashed coming from all around you. Somewhere to your right, a bunk is toppled over, sending someone to the ground. Another player runs up to them, stabbing their fork into their neck.

You feel the ex-Marine next to you tense up and put a hand over his, trying to bring him some comfort, or at the very least trying to keep him from blowing your cover.

You hear the buzzer of the door and the lights come on. One of the soldiers fires into the air to stop the fighting as about twenty masked guards come into the room, all armed.

You quickly army crawl out from under the bed, Dae-ho following you as you lay down on the ground.

You hear footsteps getting closer to you, and your ear is moved as a device scans behind it.

You open your eyes, grabbing the soldier so they can't move. "Dae-ho! Now!"

The ex-Marine smashes a bottle over the head of the guard, knocking him unconscious. You take the opportunity to grab the submachine gun off of the soldier, shooting another soldier coming toward you and Dae-ho. You're so focused on the fight that you fail to notice the quivering boy holding his hands over his ears against the bunks.

Grabbing another gun, you quickly scale one of the bunks to get a better vantage of the fight.

"Sergeant!" You yell, gaining the attention of Hyun-ju. She looks to you and you toss the SMG to her. She drops her pistol and catches the weapon, turning just in time to shoot one of the pink guards coming for her.

You use your position to fire at the guards hiding behind bunks. You pull the trigger until you hear a click, cursing as the mag runs empty. You jump down from the bunk, using the butt of the gun to knock a guard out cold. You quickly take his ammo and reload your own gun, firing at a guard trying to shoot Gi-hun.

"Retreat. Retreat."

The voice over the intercom announces and the pink soldiers make their way towards the door. You're able to shoot two more, but most of the soldiers who are still alive are able to make it out of the room. The main guard with the square on his mask is too busy firing back to realize that the door has closed behind him, sealing him in the room with you just as he runs out of ammo.

"Stop! Hold fire!" Gi-hun yells.

Jung-bae and another player run over to the square guard, making sure he won't fight.

"You goddamn bastards!" you hear someone yell on the other side of the room and turn to see Player 047 aiming his gun at a bunch of O players.

"No!" Gi-hun yells, stopping the man before he can shoot. "This is not what we took these guns for. If we do this, we'll be no different from those masked men."

Player 047 lowers his gun, hanging his head and he softly cries.

Gi-hun steps to the center of the room. "Everyone! Don't be scared. Gather round, please! We're not trying to hurt you!"

You walk to stand by Hyun-ju and Gyeong-seok.

"Get the guns and ammo from the dead," she tells the both of you.

You nod, doing as your sergeant says while she takes out the cameras in the room.

<>

Placing one of the last guns on the mattress in the center of the room, you move to stand in line between Jung-bae and Dae-ho, handing the extra SMG in your hand to Dae-ho.

Gi-hun steps forward. "Everyone. We will now head up to the masked men's headquarters. We'll capture the ones who captured us, put an end to this game, and make them pay. Anyone who knows how to use a gun and wishes to join us, please step forward."

You look at the crowd in front of you, but everyone stays where they are.

"Hey," you hear a voice next to you say and turn your head to see Jung-bae stepping forward. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But this may be our last chance to make it out of this place alive. Fight with us so we can go home together. All together."

One of the players in the back of the crowd steps forward. "I'll fight with you."

Gi-hun waves at him to come and take a gun. Two other players come forward as well.

You watch as Yong-sik makes a move to step forward, but he catches your gaze as you shake your head at him. It's very brave of him to think about volunteering, but he hasn't even served his mandatory military service yet, and it would kill his mother if he didn't come back. You breathe a sigh of relief when Yong-sik stays where he is.

When it's clear that no one else is stepping forward, Gi-hun turns to you all. "Please check your guns and ammo."

"Let's take one radio each," Jung-bae says. "We'll use channel 7, the lucky number."

You put the strap of your gun around you, checking the mag and putting it back in place when you're satisfied with the amount of ammo that is left. You look to your right to see Dae-ho fiddling with his own gun. Just as you're about to help him, Hyun-ju steps forward.

"Attention," she says, holding up her gun. "This is the MP5, a submachine gun." She continues on the demonstrate how to load the weapon and set it to the mode you should be using. When she's done, she looks at you all. "Are we clear?"

"Yes," you answer, falling right back into the rhythm with your sergeant.

Hyun-ju nods to you, silently telling you to stay by her when you get out there.

"How do you two know each other?" Dae-ho questions, his voice a bit shaky.

You smirk, cocking the MP5. "I was in the 13th Special Missions Brigade. Hyun-ju was my sergeant."

Dae-ho stares at you, completely stunned. "You were in the Decapitation Unit?!"

You chuckle at his disbelief, nodding.

The man can't believe it. He's been bragging about being an ex-Marine while there's been two ex-Special Forces soldiers right next to him the whole time.

Gi-hun points a pistol at the square-masked guard. "Take it off."

The guard slowly removes his mask, revealing a boy no older than 25.

"Good God," Jung-bae says. "Do your parents know what you're doing here?"

The guard just stares at him.

Gi-hun cocks the pistol. "Take us to your captain."

<>

"All players, it is bedtime now. Please return to your quarters immediately. Otherwise, you will be eliminated from the game. Let me repeat..."

Gi-hun fires at the speaker, effectively shutting up the voice. Three guards are stood over you. "Get down!"

You duck behind the wall of the stairs. Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you turn to look at Hyun-ju behind you.

"Cover me!"

You nod, shooting at the guards while she sprints to the top of the stairs. From her new vantage point, she is able to take out one of the guards, causing their body to fall over the ledge and down to the floor.

When you duck down to reload, you see Dae-ho next to you. The ex-Marine is sitting in a ball, covering his ears and flinching every time a shot rings out. You look at him with concern, but your attention is stolen by Gi-hun telling everyone to hold their fire. Dae-ho gets a grip on his weapon and you all move, following Gi-hun and the un-masked guard.

As you move down an alleyway, Gi-hun stops the guard. "How much farther? Is this the right way?"

The boy points toward the end of the hall. "The entrance to the management area is around that corner. The control room is right above it."

Gi-hun pushes him. "Move it, then!"

"Wait," the guard says, reaching toward his pocket.

"What are you doing?" Gi-hun stops him.

"I need my mask to pass security," the guard explains. Gi-hun nods and the guard takes the mask out. He looks up, but before he can say anything else, a bullet goes right through his head.

You all take cover as more shots are fired at you. Something slashes onto your face, and you turn to see Player 072's lifeless body falling to the ground.

You drop the floor and crawl over to Hyun-ju, both of you taking positions in a green square area of the stairs. You nod to each other and duck out of cover, firing at the guards. You can hear the men speaking to each other at the other end of the line, but you focus on taking out as many guards as possible.

You and Hyun-ju alternate firing and taking cover, both of you shooting with deadly precision, doing your best to not waste any of the already low supply of ammo you have.

A player next to you screams and is shot. You turn, shooting at the guard approaching from your rear, taking out a few that are behind that one as well.

"Everyone! Check your magazines!" Hyun-ju calls out.

You take the mag out of the gun, seeing that you have about half of a clip left. Everyone announces that they're around the same.

"Young-il, Dae-ho, can you hear me?" The voice of Jung-bae erupts from your radio.

"Go ahead!" Young-il says.

"I think we're right below the control room." Shots can be heard in the background. "But we need backup and more ammo."

"We're running out of ammo, too!"

"There should be spare magazines in the soldiers' pockets in our quarters. Go get them!" Gi-hun yells through the radio.

"Did you hear that?" Young-il turns to the group. "They need backup! Three of us will go, and the rest will stay! Join us once you get the magazines! Who wants to go with me?"

Players 047 and ... volunteer and they run off towards the end of the hall.

"I'll go get the magazines!" Hyun-ju yells. "I'll come back as soon as I can, so just hold on until then!"

"Hyun-ju!" A voice yells. You turn to see Dae-ho raising his hand. "I'll go!" He hurries over to where you and Hyun-ju are taking cover. "I- I'm out of ammo."

"Do you know the way?" Gyeong-seok asks. Dae-ho nods.

"We destroyed the cameras on the way, follow them," Hyun-ju says.

"I'll go with him," you say. "I still have some ammo, so I'll cover him."

Hyun-ju nods. "I'll cover you. Go!"

You and Dae-ho take off down the stairs. He stops a few times, but you pull him along, keeping your eyes up to watch for the broken cameras. As you're running down the stairs, Dae-ho stops, and you turn to see him staring at a dead guard hanging over the ledge of a window.

"Dae-ho!" Jung-bae yells. "Can you hear me? Where are those magazines?"

You lift your own radio to your mouth. "We're getting them now."

"Alright! We're counting on you!"

You put your radio back in your pocket, grabbing Dae-ho's hand and pulling him along behind you.

You burst into the quarters, letting go of Dae-ho's hand as you sprint to a guard, taking the spare mags out of their pockets. You hear someone say your name and look up to see Yong-sik.

"What happened? Why are you back by yourselves?"

"We're low on ammo," you say, not looking up from the guard you're looting. "We need to get the magazines from their pockets. Help us!"

You look up to the boy to see him nod and run over to a nearby guard. Geum-ja and Jun-hee come over to the help, as well.

Once you've looted all the ammo from the guards, you place them into a jacket you found on one of the dead players. You tie it up and give it to Dae-ho, thanking the others as you lead him out of the room.

Gunshots can be heard as soon as you step outside. You keep moving but when you check behind you, you see that Dae-ho has stopped where he is.

"Dae-ho, we need to go," you urge.

He looks at you silently, but the fear in his eyes sends the message. You've seen soldiers like this before you joined the Special Forces.

Dae-ho stands in his spot, paralyzed other than the shake of his body in fear.

You hear your name and Dae-ho's through the radio. "Where are you? Can you hear me?"

You watch as Dae-ho lifts his radio, staring at it as Hyun-ju's voice comes through.

"Did you find the magazines? Are you on your way?"

Dae-ho looks at you. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping the radio on the ground and running back into the quarters with the magazines.

"Shit," you say under your breath. You follow Dae-ho into the room, looking around to find where he went. Yong-sik points toward a bunk and you find Dae-ho curled up there, rocking back and forth. Running over to him, you take the jacket with the mags, ready to run out of there. You take a look at Dae-ho, the pure fear coursing through him as he whispers apologies over and over.

You sigh, remembering one of the lessons Hyun-ju taught you as your sergeant.

Never leave a man behind.

Taking out your radio, you bring it to your lips and press the button. "Charlie Foxtrot."

You put your radio down, knowing that Hyun-ju will know what to do. You had picked up the phrase from your U.S. counterparts, saying it to each other when something goes wrong.

Moving to sit on the bed, you take Dae-ho's hands into yours. "Dae-ho, I need you to breathe with me, alright."

He slowly looks at your face before launching himself into your arms, sobbing into your shoulder. You rub his back comfortingly, knowing you can't leave him alone like this.

After a few minutes, Hyun-ju runs into the room shouting you and Dae-ho's names. She comes running over to you, stopping when she sees Dae-ho in your arms.

"What happened?"

Dae-ho jumps a bit at the new voice, burying his face farther into your jacket.

You look up a Hyun-ju, shaking your head at her. She nods, understanding. You point at the magazines and she scoops them into her arms, ready to take them to the others when the buzzer for the door goes off and more pink guards enter the room, firing in the air and making everyone scream.

Hyun-ju reloads her SMG, ready to take on the entire group on guards by herself. You watch as Geum-ja puts a hand on her shoulder, stopping her.

"You can't die like this."

You sigh in relief as Hyun-ju puts the gun down. From your hidden area, you try to get the guns and mags away from you, making it seem as though the three of you have been here the whole time.

As the guards come further into the room, you use your body to shield Dae-ho from them as he whimpers. You make eye contact with Hyun-ju. Whatever happens next, you'll face it as a team.

~

Dae-ho tags: @whatthefuckeryfuckityfuck @ally1uvsu @thebiggestigurosimp @come-as-you-are-111 @hiphip-horray @k1michii @tpwkcaryslizb @louissst28 @sshwaa @jennwonwoo @sunnysurvives @lalalaa2210 @tayshs @sunshinethatlooksalive @plntmxrss @lxnnrobin @mariaxman @alexx-iia @batty-barty-crouchjr @kxsm3t @takuma-talkz @peacemakersbeloved @skywalker0809 @soobinbunnie5

[liedownquisition]

#and yeah I know there's a part of like fanon twisting away from the og plot because of a trope in blorbo fanfic#but also tim stans didn't invent Arkham asylum#Roy Wally and a metric ton of others went to therapy and got dead for these crimes#like idk i just don't think it's innocent#i wonder how many people picture the joker in their mind when they say “i'm not crazy i don't need therapy”

I will say that there are instances of characters going to therapy outside of Heroes in Crisis and it being fine. Wally, in particular, used to go to therapy to discuss his grief and issues with Barry (but also not-issues, it was more just complicated feelings and the second the therapist used those words to insinuate something bad about Barry Wally went OFF on them. which, my memory is fuzzy but was less demonizing that therapist and just, normal extrapolations to help Wally work through it/realize it Wasn't That and him having an emotional reaction?)

I believe I recall Dick having a therapist for a little while and it was totally fine too?

Guy Gardner has like... degrees in psychology and education & used to work as a councilor for prisoners actually. It's almost a shame that he went on to be a gym teacher instead imo.

Roy... well, Yeah I would generally say pretty much almost all of his interactions with the practice have been Bad. (shout out to Dick commenting in Rise of Arsenal that Arkham is only a place for people who have no hope of getting better, while supposedly this other facility was actually supposed to help. It could have been the overall demonization of his mental state in general, but it really didn't LOOK like a very helpful place imo. Dinah was right to feel like it was a bad choice, I think.) Best you could say is when Dinah helped him through rehab I think. That technically does usually involve some degree of therapy typically, though it's often very religiously controlled in the States.

It's just that the bad portrayals of it go so far above and beyond it practically drowns out any of the good ones.

Dick: hey Tim you should probably go to therapy

Tim stans: Dick wants to send Tim to Arkham?? Send him to Arkham like the clown?? Oh! Oh! Bashing for Dick! Bashing for 10,000 fics!!!

This is actually what happened in canon now

[norikuna]

THE BOLTER ★ naoya zenin

prologue ⋆ ★ whoever said 'love at first sight' was lying, this is more like loathe at first sight. unfortunately, it seems like you and naoya zenin are stuck in the same boat together.

but at least the two of you can put on a great show.

pairing ⋆ ★ naoya zenin x reader genre tags & warnings ⋆ ★ afab!reader, arranged marriage, enemies/rivals, first meetings, outdated views on marriage and wives, public consummàtion, éxhibitionism, voyéurism, ooc naoya to a point but he's still a massive jerk, aphrodisiàcs, mild overuse of bloody/fruit symbolism, oràl (f. receiving), reader pushes naoya into a koi pond, gojo cameo (he wants to go home 😱)

word count ⋆ ★ 9k a/n ⋆ ★ i watched my lady jane 😭 could be a part two to this, or series of husband!naoya but idk...🤷‍♂️

"Stop fidgeting. You look like you're about to bolt any second," Naoya mutters, his voice low, biting through clenched teeth. Sharp, amber-glazed eyes slide sideways to lock onto you, dark brows pulled together in irritation. He's still got that plastic smile in place for the elders, a façade of civility that's only skin deep.

You meet his gaze with a smile that could cut glass, all sweet and syrupy, the kind of smile a bride's supposed to wear. Serene, demure, perfect. But you know better, and so does Naoya Zenin.

Oh, how I wish I could just walk right out of here, you think, lips curling just a fraction. You can barely keep the sneer from slipping through. "Well, I'm looking for the nearest exit," you murmur, barely above a whisper, voice as sweet as honey, "All I can smell is that stupid cologne of yours, and it's making me sick. Did you seriously bathe in it, or something?"

You can see the flush violently flash over peach-toned skin, first his cheeks, and then the tips of ears. Naoya's fingers twitch, hidden beneath the voluminous green sleeves of his haori, betraying his irritations. You can tell he's just dying to throttle you right about now.

"No wonder your clan sold you off like a broodmare," he hisses, venom dripping from his words, sickly sweet with malice, "I bet they couldn't wait to get rid of you."

You heroically bite back the urge to stab him with something sharp. You know it would have been so easy, to have a blade hidden in the folds of your robes. God, it would feel so good to shove it right between his ribs.

Instead, you take a delicate step forwards, sandals clicking softly on the polished floor. The attendants bustle behind you, their soft paces blending with the thick air that's rich with incense, pine, and the sweet smell of roasted chestnuts.

"How sad that Naobito Zenin had to buy a wife for his youngest son. Desperation really doesn't suit you, Naoya," you keep your tone placid and amiable, "Though, let's be honest, most things don't really look good on you."

You can feel Naoya bristle next to you, the faintest tremour in his posture. It feels nice to have struck a clean crack through his iron-clad composure. Victory tastes so sweet.

Without missing a beat, Naoya slides his hand over yours, the picture of practiced, marital tenderness as the two of you approach the threshold of the feast hall. All eyes are on you now, the guests straightening in anticipation. But the slender pads of his fingers are pinching at the flesh of forearm, sharp enough that they would be leaving an impression.

You wrinkle your nose, fighting the urge to wince. His grip is painful, and even though you want to pull away, you're not giving the moron the satisfaction of hearing you gasp.

"Yes," Naoya murmurs, too charming to be sincere, his voice dripping with false affection, "And how sad that out of all the mouthy, insufferable wenches in the world, I got saddled with you."

"Well, someone's mad," you sigh melodramatically, lowering yourself onto the cushions at the head of the table, folding your legs beneath your copious layers of silk, "Stay mad. And ugly."

Your new husband scoffs, sinking beside you, as his long limbs stretch out with lazy grace before crossing them. He looks far too comfortable for your liking. You wish someone had scattered tack needles under him, just to watch him yelp.

You watch quizzically as Naoya reaches across the low table, drawing a slice of pickled radish from the porcelain bowl. You watch, blinking, curious even as well-manicured nails balance the slide between elegant fingers.

He just flings it at you. The sodden radish hits you square in the forehead, the cold and wet slice dropping into your lap with an unsatisfying plop!

Bitch.

See, you already had been having an awful day. The kind that dragged you through the mud and left you feeling as though you had been drowned in your own perspiration.

Trudging through the gates of the Zenin estate, as the sweltering summer heat drowned you in sticky humidity. The estate was sprawling, its grandeur suffocating — all sharp angles, and lacquered panels of wood. Meticulous gardens designed less for beauty, rather for flexing obscene amounts of wealth.

The Zenins did not lack for wealth, that was for certain. But taste? Subtlety? Humility? Those were luxuries that they couldn't seem to afford. Whoever said money couldn't buy class had clearly been familiar with the big three clans of the jujutsu world.

It wasn't just the heat. It wasn't just the estate. It was all this, from this stupid contract to the commitment, to your life here. Your new home.

The summer heat clung to you, heavy and wet, like a damp cloth draped over your shoulders, sapping any energy you had left.

Eventually, you'd given up entirely on the elegant cushions and carved chairs of your new quarters, opting to morosely plant yourself cross-legged on the cool, polished floor. It wasn't graceful, but at least it was comfortable.

Attendants fluttered around you like busy little bees, arms laden with swathes of silk and intricate jewellery in shades of forest green. They moved in perfect sync, as though their every motion was rehearsed for the new bride. And you, well, you were supposed to sit still, look pretty, and wait for whatever nonsense came next.

But fuck that. Proper propriety be damned. The heat had you feeling too raw, too suffocated. So, you had been stripped away from the layers of heavy silk and ceremonial robes. Left in nothing but a thin, creamy-white cotton yukata. It hung loosely from your frame, clinging to your skin in the oppressive humidity, beads of sweat gathering at the back of your neck.

And just as you had settled into the most brief, fragile sense of peace, the soft groan of a sliding door shattered it all. A servant stepped inside, shoulders stiff as their eyes fell upon you. As though they could sense your sour mood.

"He will see you now," the servant said, eyes lowered, voice tight, "In the gardens."

He. Naoya Zenin. Your soon-to-be husband, for the evening's grand spectacle and festivities.

A pit began to twist uncomfortably in your stomach. You had never even met this man. Hell, you didn't even know what he sounded like, nor what he looked like up close, what kind of man he really was.

Everything about this arrangement had been handled by clan elders, who were more concerned with keeping up appearances than with any personal connection. Their mouths were always full of flowery promises, and backhanded compliments, none of which did anything to ease the sinking feeling that made a home in your gut.

The reviews on Naoya Zenin though? Those were more consistent than the elders' pleasantries.

Arrogant? Check. Irritating? Beyond measure. A man with a superiority complex the size of the country? Absolutely, what a shock. Naoya Zenin was the youngest son of one of the wealthiest clan heads in Japan, so entitlement practically ran through his veins as though it were his birthright.

The one thing everyone seemed to agree on, though? The man was handsome, fine-featured. Of course, they'd say that to placate you, as though a pretty face could somehow excuse all the other bullshit. But you weren't quite in the market for a glorified Adonis as a trophy husband.

With a resigned sigh, you trudged forward. Each step felt heavier than the last, the sound of your sandals echoing on the winding stone path that stretched out before you. You tried to ignore the fatigue that settled in your bones, the faint feeling akin to that of a medieval monk walking towards his doom.

Your first impression of Naoya Zenin? You didn't like his voice.

"Weren't you meant to be here an hour ago?" He's calling, tone smooth and melodic. But there's a languid air about it, and whiny. You don't know nor understand why, but it makes your skin crawl.

You narrow your eyes at the back of his figure, perched lazily on a rock, legs swinging carelessly over the edge. Naoya's broad back is turned to you, gaze fixed on the iridescent koi gliding lazily through the pond beneath him. He hadn't even bothered to look at you yet.

First impressions were everything, so you did your damn best to hold back from snapping, "My apologies. There was a...delay," you bite out, your fingers tugging impatiently to tighten the sash of the thin robe around your waist.

You had half a mind to just turn around and leave, but no, it just wasn't in your lucky cards. Not when your family had practically signed you away to the Zenin clan, forevermore and all that nonsense.

Naoya lets out an exaggerated sigh, all long and drawn-out, as though your presence is enough to inconvenience him. His head tilts lazily, turning just enough to throw a half-lidded, uninterested stare in your direction.

"Well? Don't just stand there. I'm not going to bite."

The restraint it took to not roll your eyes could have won you sainthood. Still, you refrained. Barely. You hoped your expression conveyed what you really wanted to say. I am mentally chasing you around with a big stick and a hornet of wasps, but I'm refraining because I'm polite and I was raised right.

Reluctantly, you step forward, just as the wind picks up while you move. Sweeping the light cotton fabric around your legs in a way that made you wish for anything but these damp robes. You certainly don't miss at how Naoya's golden eyes widen in mild interest, tracing every curve of your figure. Warmth flushing down the back of your neck, and not just from summer's golden glare.

But then, your betrothed scowls, "Too good for the Zenin robes, are you?"

You cross your arms over your torso, the motion defensive. Naoya's gaze suddenly drops again to the pushed swell of your chest, lingering far too long.

"It's hot."

Naoya suddenly shrugs, all primped arrogance in his charcoal-gray and forest-green robes, like some ashen leaf springing obstinately out of cold winter ground. "Whatever. You seem adequate, I suppose," he flicks a hand dismissively, "I don't care for this attitude of yours, but you'll do for everything else."

"I'll do?" Your voice pitches an octave higher, incredulous, "What the hell does that mean?"

Naoya begins counting on long, slender fingers. As though he's sizing you up, checking boxes, "What do you think I mean? Just the usual requirements for a wife. Pleasing to the eye, which you are, I'll admit. But it's much less pleasant when you aren't smiling."

You spot a loose stone skittering on the mossy earth. You could absolutely brain him with that, right here. Right now.

But the man doesn't let up, "And of course, childbearing hips." He's waving a dismissing hand, "Well, clearly, I can see you have those. Tch', don't make that face. And a bit of wit for conversation — I refuse to marry an empty airhead. I mean, can you imagine?" Naoya's laughter is sharp, all glossy red lips over sharp fangs, "Docile, obviously. I think that might need some work, but — hey!"

Before you could think better of it, your hands are on him. Pushing, shoving, your frustration boiling over as your palms meet the flat, toned planes of his chest. The satisfaction of sending him tumbling back, of stupid, pretty golden eyes going wide as he flails, arms caught in the air. Priceless.

And then, with a splash! He disappears into the pond, the koi scattering like flashes of colour. Your betrothed surfaces slowly with a snarl, water dripping from his golden head of hair, plastering it flat. A piece of moss hangs awkwardly to Naoya's template as you stand over him, chest heaving.

"Harebrained! Idiotic! Empty-headed! Shallow, pompous, arrogant!" The words tumble from you, reckless and from the depths of your sudden-found hatred, "Rocks for brains! No wonder no-one wants to marry you, with that stupid, backwards nonsense. And your voice, it's stupid! And, well, there's clearly a lightbulb off in that oversized skull of yours. Don't you ever, ever say things like that to me again!"

For a moment, Naoya says nothing. He's only staring up at you with his mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. You realise in that brief silence, that you betrothed bears an unsettling resemblance to an angry, speckled hyena.

Rather than offer a rebuttal, or heaven forbid, an apology, a sodden arm shoots forward, fast as a viper, clamping around your ankle. And the world tilts.

"Don't you dare! Wait — no!"

He yanks at you hard, and with a sharp yelp, you tumble straight into the water beside him. Cool, refreshing water slaps your face as you sputter, wiping thin algae from your cheek. The koi scatter, unimpressed by human antics.

You're gasping as the chill must surely be soaking through your thin yukata, giving...quite the view to the eyes of others. No wonder Naoya's suddenly smirking, and you can see rosy lips part to deliver some awful, sleazy comment.

"Not a bad sight, don't you — mmph!"

You've scooped as much water as your hands can manage, flinging it straight at his face — watching as Naoya Zenin splutters, pinning you with a glowering stare that could cut through glass.

You were still simmering hours later.

The sun had already shifted, sinking deeper into the afternoon, but the humidity clung to the air like a thick and suffocating blanket. You were scowling at absolutely nothing, letting the maids drape you in layers of deep, emerald silk that shone like fresh leaves after the rain. Edges embroidered with delicate golden vines and flowers that twisted around your limbs.

You barely felt the soft hands of the maids as they pressed cool, rosewater-soaked pads to your cheeks and the crook of your neck. Idly wondering if they had plucked out every last remnant of pond water and scum that clung to your hair.

One of the older woman, with a sharp and matronly face, walked up to you, a platter balanced gently in her hands. At first, you didn't even register what she was offering, too preoccupied with nursing your own misery. But the food looked absolutely perfect, delicate rolls that had been sliced so neatly they could have come from an Imperial painting.

You raised an eyebrow, "Shouldn't I eat after the ceremony?"

The woman gave a knowing glance to the other maids, but then her gaze flicked back to you. Careful. "This will help with your appetite for the latter half of the ceremony," as though she were choosing each word precisely, "It is...custom. Master Zenin would also partake in this tradition. It will make things easier."

Easier, huh? You stare at the plate again, and not that you didn't appreciate it, but if they really wanted to settle you nerves — they could have offered you a rolled blunt. But sure. Why not?

With a little sigh of resignation, you popped one of the sweet rolls into your mouth. The flavour was fresh, like citrus. Something like yuzu, perhaps? There's a hint of honey, and an odd aftertaste that lingers at the back of your throat, a touch bitter. You narrow your eyes, for it is something like ginseng.

You take a second roll, letting the smooth cream slide along your tongue, as you click your teeth. Well, if it would calm you down enough to keep you from throwing Naoya Zenin off the temple stairs, then...sure. You'd eat the whole damn platter if it meant you would be able to fight the urge to punt bricks at him.

And so, this circles you back to the beginning your sordid tale. The rooms buzzing with voices, and clinking porcelain in celebration, but somehow, all you can focus on is the man sitting beside you.

Naoya's practically been ignoring everything on his plate, pushing food aside with passive disinterest. Meanwhile, you've been aching for a good meal, your hand moving to scoop another bite of soft, fragrant rice. The nobles and elders have been weaving their way around, painted with polite and practiced smile — an endless cycle of verdant-draped Zenins, crimson-robed Kamos, and more clans all looking to suck up to Naobito Zenin.

There's another man, swathed in a vibrant, dark blue. You watch as Naoya stiffens as the white-haired man doesn't bow, just shuffles forward. As though his presence is more of a courtesy rather than a display of genuine well-wishes.

"Gojo," your husband is muttering, petulant all of a sudden.

The white-haired man grunts, blindfold wrapped around the upper half of his face, "Zenin." You swear you can feel his eyes on you, and there's something unnerving about the way he moves through the room, as though he can see much and more, without nary a glance.

So, that was Gojo Satoru.

You feel someone tug at your sleeves, and Naoya's golden eyes are still fixed on Gojo's broad back with a sharp, defensive gaze, "Stop looking. It looks stupid as fuck. And he'll still see."

You blink, wrenching your arm away from his cold grasp, "How? He's got that —," you gesture to your eyes, "That thing on."

Naoya scowls, fangs poking underneath curled lips, "Trust me. He can see better than anyone here."

"Is that why you're scared of him, or something?"

Naoya's jaw tightens, and he reaches for a platter of fruit, a pomegranate globe falling into the palm of his hand, "I am not. Tch', watch your words."

"Or what? You'll push me into the koi pond?" You snipe, watching him, fascinated despite yourself. His hands are elegant, precise, even. Tearing into the fruit with a casual brutality that makes something flicker oddly deep in your chest.

The juice, rich and ruby red, drips lazily down his fingers, following the slope of his knuckles. Staining the fine silk of his sleeves in a losing fight. As though the fruit had been desperate to remain whole before Naoya split it.

How strikingly brutal to witness. There's something almost obscene about the mess he makes, how the juice is pooling thinly on the silk. How the sweetness of the fruit is ruined by the way it's overpowered.

You think your new husband is the kind of man who would see a dangerous sort of beauty in the way he wrecks things.

But Naoya has surely noticed your stare. The corner of his rose-teak mouth twitches as he looks up from his conquest, fingers still dripping with thin crimson.

"Something wrong, wife?" He's asking, voice slick with amusement. You faintly wonder why there's a low buzz in your ears.

The question is sharp-toned, but there's something underneath his smooth voice that almost dares you to continue watching. As if he's aware of the effect of proxy brutality. You want to scowl, to look away, to prove that you aren't transfixed by the bleeding mess of an awful man.

"Nothing at all," you reply, and voice is colder than you'd intended — all to mask the faint trace of fascination that lingers in your tone.

Naoya glowers at you, lazily lifting his hand to capture the blood-red streak with the tip of his tongue. The faintest trace of wine marking the curve of his jaw. What an oddly intimate gesture, one that shouldn't be nearly as captivating as it is.

With a casual flick, he's breaking off a piece of the pomegranates flesh. White and succulent, with the little arils clinging to the flesh like jewels.

"Be a good wife, and open your mouth."

You glance down at the fruit in his hand, irritation flickering at the back of your throat. Licking acidic flames in your chest, "I'm not hungry anymore."

Naoya doesn't even bat an eye, his gaze already bored as he leans back, unimpressed by your resistance. Infuriatingly arrogant in his manner, "Don't want people thinkin' there's something wrong with my bride. Go on, open."

With a sharp, deliberate sigh, you part your lips. Heat suddenly coiling tight sinews around your hips. Eyes locked onto his hazy, copper gaze with the slightest flicker of defiance.

Naoya tips the arils into your mouth, and you take the opportunity to nip at his fingers, pointed and sharp. Just enough to make him jerk back in surprise. His eyes narrow, and for a moment, you see conflicted disgust flash across his face.

But the taste, the sweet and tangy burst of juice on your tongue, it catches you entirely off guard. It's blooming across your senses, like the most unexpected pleasure. The tartness of the fruit lingering longer than you'd anticipate. Despite yourself, you almost lean into it.

Naoya's expression tightens as he wipes his hand on the edge of his robes, so irritated. But a flicker of something darker passes across his features. Whether it's annoyance, or loathing, or something else, you cannot tell.

"Better now?" Naoya mutters, voice thick with irritation as though you'd personally dragged him through a field of thorns.

"All thanks to you," you reply, sardonic sugar snapping through your teeth. Wiping the corner of your mouth with a lazy swipe of your thumb, smearing away the fruit's crimson stain.

Naoya's grumbling something under his breath about summoning Ten Shadows to whisk him out of this ridiculous wedding feast. Something far more sharp and acerbic follows, but it's not able to cut through your growing haze.

You're about to respond when his hand — warm, and rough, replaces your own. Thumb pressing against your lower lip with a firm, almost possessive and angry drag. Wiping away the sticky remnants of the juice.

Without thinking, or without fully understanding why, you let your tongue dart forward, brushing the pad of his thumb. A slow, deliberate gaze. Teeth follow, with dull pressure, as you pull the digit just a little further into your mouth.

You can feel the shift almost immediately.

Naoya goes still, the barest hitch of breath betraying him before he yanks his head back like you'd scalded him. But not before you catch the faintest tremour in his grip, or the way his sharp eyes darken. His neck flushes, a telltale searing burst of heat creeping up beneath the golden fall of his hair.

"They give you something before the ceremony?" His tone is off, almost accusing, as he's clearing his throat. Glowering at you, as if you're to blame for the crack in his insurmountable arrogance.

You shrug, fingers brushing the rim of your shallow cup. Letting cool water trickle down your suddenly parched throat, "Yeah. Something 'bout relaxing me. Or making things easier." You frown, a little breathless, wondering why heat coils in your chest, and prickles at the nape of your neck, "It didn't do anything at the time though."

Naoya stares at you for a beat too long, his teeth catching his lower lip. Worrying the plush, pink flesh — dragging a thin, cold hand through flaxen hair, rifling pale green roots.

And then, your new husband's scoffing, "Same here. Not that I need help performing there." His gaze is sweeping over you again, slow and deliberate. His eyes trace the curve of your mouth, the swan-slope of your throat. The heat of his amber eyes make your skin prickle, tugging at something just beneath the surface.

"I think you'll make it easy enough."

Your pulse kicks against your ribs. Eyes snapping to him, ignoring the dull throb low in your groin, and how each breath of air seems so much sweeter and heavier, "Make what easy?"

Naoya's expression wavers, just for a second — enough to give you a glimpse of his own faltering composure. As though he's genuinely fearing that you're that clueless, cocking a dark brow with an edge of incredulity.

"You don't think that platform's there for show, do you?" He's knocking his head back towards the dais behind the two of you. The plush, emerald cushions scattered over velvet drapes that pool at the sides. Ornate and so uncomfortably obvious for all those who have eyes.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Naoya's metallic eyes glint with triumph, watching the realisation dawn on your features like it's the best entertainment he's had all evening. His lips curling into something that's more of a lion's grin, rather than a smile, "You're not that stupid, are you?"

"I'm not!" You snap, "I just didn't think — I didn't realise, it was going to be...there." You're jabbing a jewel encrusted finger at the platform, not caring which fussy elder sees.

Naoya's grin sharpens, teeth flashing with unrestrained, wolfish amusement. Jerking his chin towards the dias, "Yes. Right there. What'd you think? Some privacy, or maybe, a little mood lighting?

Your scowl hardens like stone, "Well, no. But —"

Your husband sarcastically interrupts you, chopping the air with one hand, "No, no. You're right. Why didn't we think about setting the mood? Lanterns, maybe? Candles, or how about a live string quartet for m'wife just because she said so?"

Your glower deepens, a slow burn crawling beneath your skin. You forgo the water this time, opting instead for the nearest cup of sake. The burn of it sears your throat, a welcome distraction.

"You'd think people would drop this kinda' thing by now," you mutter, swallowing hard as the air seems so much warmer, "It's the 21st century, for god's sake."

Naoya shrugs, the silk of his robes shifting as you can watch a thin drop of perspiration roll into the crook of his neck — you wonder if he's just as affected as you are right now. Wondering who will crack first. "I don't mind watching. Or being watched."

The sake nearly comes back up, "You're obscene."

A soft hum, dark and amused, slips from his throat. Then a finger, his finger, hooks beneath the curve of your jaw. Titling your head towards him with a hardened pressure that feels surprisingly gentle in this hazy state.

"M'wife wants me to take them out instead?" Naoya's voice is a lazy drawl, but there's a dangerous gleam in his amber-shard eyes. Thumb skimming lower, tracing the delicate dip of your collarbone as a shiver prickles down your spine, "Force them all away so I get ya' all to m'self?"

You swallow hard, breath hitching as his hand lingers, "Yeah. Because I'm sure you could take on an entire room of sorcerers. Jus' so we could —"

The corners of Naoya's mouth twitch, his eyes dark with something almost hungry. And jeering, "Just say the word."

Your gaze flickers to the far corner of the room. Gojo Satoru sits there, arms folded across his opulent, oceanic yukata. The head of the Gojo clan looks thoroughly put-out, sandwiched between two elderly women that gossip into his ears. His white hair gleams under the warm lanterns, and you're certain that Six Eyes can catch every word being passed through this room.

"No-one can land a hit on Master Gojo," you murmur, voice slow and syrupy. The heat in your blood feels unnatural, liquid fire curling beneath your skin, pooling low in your belly. Your head is swimming by now, heavy and light all at once.

And there's Naoya's stupid, stupid cologne. Something dark, and wooden. Edged with a sharp spice, clouding your senses and tangling with the sweet, heady ache that builds in your chest. It's all too much, his nail dragging into the tender skin of your neck. Just over your jumping bulse.

The worst part? Your body betraying all rational thoughts, leaning into your husband. To find yourself closer to this man that you do not like. Entitled. Arrogant. The heir to the Zenin clan is fuckin' awful.

"Mhm, perhaps they can all watch then. Stay as I fuck my wife, yeah?" Naoya says, low and quiet. But there's no softness to it, only possession. A claim that crackles at you, sends you hurtling towards no good end.

"You know I don't like you, right?" You breathe, marvelling at how little it would take to close this distance, with nary a care for whose eyes have turned to you now.

A huff of laughter escapes your husband, warm and bitter, "I don't quite like you either." His hands have found the edges of your robes, teasing the silken fabric, and for a moment, Naoya Zenin looks almost thoughtful. Except that priggish smirk never quite leaves his face. His peach-tinged skin flushes darker, and his glassy eyes flicker, "But they wanted a show, right? Wanna' give it to them?"

You don't even wait to consider. Ignoring the protests of the elders, who jump and claim that these things have to be done in all due time, with proper ceremony.

The kiss is fast, furious. Lips crashing into his before the words have fully left his mouth. You taste rich and tangy fruit on his tongue, and it's both maddening, and so sweet, mixing with the sake that's drenched your mouth.

Naoya's faint sound of surprise, the soft grunt as he sinks into the kiss? Hiking a toned arm around your waist to pull you closer as the audience gasps? That's a victory.

You drag your mouth back, letting clingy and cloying strands of slick linger in between your lips. You've been pulled right onto your husband's lap, perched on his emerald, jewel-toned haori. Taking in the sight of Naoya briefly speechless, warm and angrily flushed.

"Not playin' fair," Naoya seethes, "K-know your place, wife."

But you're too far gone now to entertain his bullshit, pawing at the edges of his robes. Swivelling your hips down so you can have some pressure applied where you need it most. Right over there, a thick and solid curve that has the both of you gasping, "M' so, hah, feelin' so faint."

Naoya groans, and curls his fingers over the nape of your neck, forcing you to look down at him from your perched position, "L-listen to me all proper, an' I can fix that."

"Enough!" A sharp voice cuts through the heat between you, splintering like glass shattering on stone. You blink, dazed as dew begins to gather on your lashes, just in time to see a twitching elder standing at the edge of the room, face blotchy red beneath a crown of thinning white hair. He's shaking a bony finger in your direction, pale robes swishing, "Enough of this depravity!"

"There are proper proceedings to this ceremony, to this consummation." His voice is rising, veins straining in his neck as the room is silent, "Not whatever this is!" Waving his hands now, as though his gestures are enough to warrant purification.

You try to muster some level of embarrassment, some shame as the eyes of the room fall on the two of you. But all you feel is a thick ache and thrum of heat still simmering, pulse skipping in your throat. Your lips tingle from where they touched Naoya's, tasting of sake and sugar, and —

Oh. His lips. You glance at your husband, whose mouth is still glossy and swollen from your kiss.

Naoya's barely turned his head towards the outburst. He's already running his hands down your robes, doing his utter best to undo whatever he can. To lave sharp fangs over skin, and leave blooming marks. He's languid, half-lidded, with a wicked spark of amusement dancing in his eyes.

He looks thoroughly unbothered, tongue flicking lazily over his lower lip, "Proper proceedings?" Naoya drawls, the corner of his mouth tilting into a smirk that makes you desperate to catch it, "Isn't a little late for that? Hah, I mean, ya' spiked m'wife and I. How are y'not shocked when she's panting over me like a bitch in heat?"

The elder turns a deeper shade of red, spluttering as he gestures to the raised dais and neatly arranged cushions. You press your lips together to hold back a thin whine. Naoya, having pawed at your ceremonial robes enough, has been sinking teeth over the swell of your breast, making you gasp.

"The platform! The customs and —"

There's a crowd of eyes on you. The elders, the clan heads, the nobles, the sorcerers. All of them, scattered through the room, lingering like ghosts. Some, you think, have left for sanctity. You're not sure when, your mind is still a haze of warmth, and confusion, and lust. Too caught up in the way that Naoya's fingers brush and dig into your waist.

But there are others still here. Stubborn, and not powerful enough to grant themselves leave, and so, they cannot claim the right to exit. You're aware of silent whispers, of the way they lean in and keel over. Faces pinched in curiosity, discomfort, as though you're a prized creature in a zoo that they both hesitate and marvel to look upon.

With no choice but to watch the Zenin heir with his hand on your waist, his new bride of the clan. The future madam that they're now forced to acknowledge.

"N-Naoya," you mumble, tearing your nails into the fine haori. Some desperate hope to expose searing skin to the air, already sweltering in the summer heat, "Can't we jus' -"

Your husbands tuts, pressing a firm finger to your candied lips, "Shh! Gotta' make sure m'silly wife knows how to speak up. So everyone can hear, try again." He sounds almost pained, and you wonder how Naoya Zenin hasn't absolutely lost his mind by now. For you feel as though gauze has been draped over you, casting a veil over your senses.

You hear someone mutter disdainful murmurs, something about a spoiled Zenin brat indulging his good-for-nothin' wife.

You can see the flash of anger, and the promise of blood cross Naoya's face, so you seek to roll your hips against his once more, "Jus' thinkin', y'know," you gasp against his slack jaw, "Why don't we jus' move to the platform? I mean, they wanna see, right?"

Naoya's nodding, sandy hair falling into his eyes, "Hah, yeah. That's right. Wanted a show, and that's what we said we've give, jus' gotta hope you can keep up."

He's sweeping you up, hand tight around your wrist as he pulls you over in a brief stumble, pushing you down over the dais. Over green, plush sheets as he splays you out, "Better like this? Tsk, 'ts for me to decide, not you, wifey. And 'm thinking, I like this view so much more."

You're struck by the sight of Naoya Zenin, and it hits you like a sudden wave. Sharp, and bitter, and so impossible to ignore. It's that feeling again, the way you had stomached the creamy rolls on the platter. The same kind of cloying tang that hits the back of your throat when you swallow too fast. The ginseng, and sweet citrus.

His eyes are still glassy, pupils unfocused, and it's the shimmer of tears clinging to the dark, long lashes framing his eyes that make you pause. Crystalline, fragile. But he's already ahead of you, moving faster than you can think, swatting your hand away with forceful grace, pressing his mouth to the corner of yours.

"You jus' gonna keep lookin' at me?" You murmur, reeling from the searing heat of his mouth. Taking in the sight of mussed golden hair, green roots entirely out of place. The divot of creamy, tanned skin from where his robes have loosened.

Naoya blinks, shaking his head as if he's trying to clear it, "You gotta' tell me where you wan' it first." Lips parting, as if he's suddenly not sure what to say to you, like he's drinking in the sight of you and he can't stop.

He's patting a hand to your chest, cupping the swell in your robes, "I don't know if you wan' me here," and then, he's dragging a hand lower still, hand folded over the thick robes that cover your thighs, "Or, here. Probably got ya' weepin' like a poor, little slut down there."

You scowl back at him, "Watch it, 'm not a slut."

Naoya grins, all wolfish canines, "Wasn't talkin' about ya'. Was talkin' about her." Giving you a loving pat in between your legs, "Thinkin' if I pushed these stupid robes right up, everyone could see you drip right onto my waiting hand."

You gasp, pushing your hands onto his broad chest, groaning as his fingers trail further down. Pulling the silk of your robes up further, so your thigh meets cool air, "Can I request a-anything, then?"

Naoya hums, lips pursing as his brow quirks, mocking even, "Wasn't planning on givin' in to ya' so easily, but just this once. Only 'cause it's our wedding night, don't you think?"

"Wan' your mouth."

You see a flash of something pass over Naoya's face. As though he's warring with himself, some obstinate spirit telling him otherwise, but he shakes his head, almost amused, "Y'know, I should have sent ya' back the minute you pushed me into tha' stupid pool. Shoulda' demanded another one. A wife that isn't so mouthy."

He's chuckling now, splaying your thighs further apart with rough hands, an odd sort of deference painting his fine features, "And now look at what you've got me doin', hey?"

Naoya's tutting at you, shaking his head in faux disappointment when you whine in embarrassment, "This is what you wanted, right? For me to show e-everyone jus' how wet you are. I mean, hah, look at this."

Pinning the thickest part of your silken robes over your abdomen, so your legs were bare, parted so he could slot in-between. Amber eyes almost bewildered as he took in the deep, swollen outline of your glossy cunt underneath flimsy garments, "Sittin' there like this, the entire time?" Naoya whistles low, cold and cutting, "I mean, fuck, ya' can really see everything here."

"Shut u-up," you sputter, hearing your own pulse thrum in your ears, in-between your legs. You barely have a chance to take in syrupy air once more, for Naoya's hand is there, swift and firm, pressing over your mouth. Fingers cool against your skin, it's not harsh. But it's forceful enough to swallow your words, as his eyes light up with that familiar, mocking amusement.

"Careful now, wifey," he's grinning, looking far too pleased, "Ya' don't get to give me orders, 'm gonna be doing you a favour."

Naoya doesn't seem burdened by this, not at all. In fact, if anything, he looks downright pleased, like the sight of your weeping, drizzling cunt before his eyes is a golden opportunity that he intends to savour.

He's got an icy finger sliding over the waistband of your gauzy, flimsy undergarments, toying for a brief second. You can see it in the way his beastly fangs curl into a grin, like he's getting off on the scandal of it all. Of having everyone watch in quiet silence as he suddenly tugs. Hard.

The fabric splits with a squelching hiss, thick and sludgy, as you gasp, feeling the heat throbbing in your pussy swell as the cool air hits where you're most sensitive, "You ass, t-those weren't cheap."

Naoya rolls his eyes, amber disappearing into white, "So?" He's drawling, looking up at you from between your thighs, "What, you think I'm some broke bitch?" He's popping a single, long digit into his mouth. Having swiped a curious hand through your glistening folds, marvelling at the slick, translucent strands that followed him. Tongue flicking over the tip like he's savouring something, "Fuck, you're kinda' sweet. Heh, who woulda' thought?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he doesn't even give you the chance. Not even a mere second to form the words, for his hand is patting your cheek. Leaving something sticky and cool lingering on flushed, warm skin. Your own arousal glimmering in the lantern light, upon your skin, for all to see.

It's as if Naoya's humouring you, and it's almost affectionate. If not for the edge in his voice that makes you tighten your thighs around his shoulders, "Don't worry y'dumb, little head about it. Y'know, shit — almost lost a drop there, you know, you're the future Madam of this clan now, right? Anything you want, you'll get."

And he's giving you a look now — head tilted just so, almost tame. Like a promise wrapped in docility. Almost. If you didn't know of him more, if you weren't already simmering with tampered fury from your first meeting, earlier in the day, you may have been fooled. Might have fallen for the gentle downturn of his lashes, like ink pooling on creamy skin. The slow, deliberate way he puffs a small breath against your glossy cunt. Doing you a favour, indeed.

His grin is all teeth, unapologetically smug, as though he knows what you're thinking. Knows that he's destined to clash with you, to draw proverbial blood and blades whenever it amuses him, but he's got you right where he wants you now. Under him, and splayed wide.

Your waiting cunt pooling sweet juices over his wandering fingers — the sharp tip of Naoya's nose twitching before ducking and brushing through your glistening folds. A satisfied chuckle when you arch your spine, desperate for more friction.

"Not that patient, are ya'?" But you don't think you'd be wrong in assuming that Naoya can't hold out much longer, for the crack in his voice betrays him. That melodic, charming, insolent tone giving way to a deeper rasp, like granite grinding against the earth.

You don't know what comes over you, carding a hand through golden, soft locks of hair. Digging into pale green roots, "Think your audience is gettin' bored?"

Naoya almost, so very almost, purrs at your nails digging into his scalp. Pushing himself into your trembling cunt, letting his tongue paint a thin, long stripe right through your throbbing pussy. Reaching up right to your swollen clit, briefly flicking over it.

And now, Naoya is not a sentimental man. Fuck that, he's never been one for gushing, and roses and nauseating sweetness. But this may very well be the first time that he's ever understood what it means to be pussydrunk.

For he's shooting amber eyes up, to where your expression has twisted, almost blissful and idyllic compared to the frown that's been marring your face all day. He'd hate to say it, but he's almost content as the sweet moans that fall from your plush lips, over and over.

"T-that's good, hah, Naoya, 'm — s-so good," You're cracking an eye open to see your flaxen-haired husband snickering, enjoying how damn sensitive your puffy folds are to his ministrations. Only the mild, quiet shuffle of the elders harkens you to their presence, them bearing witness to the consummation.

"Yeahhh," Naoya drawls, angling one bare thigh so it sits over his shoulder, where his robes have slipped right off, "Good, huh?"

"S-surprisingly."

He pinches at your clit in retaliation, just lightly enough that it sends a jolting sensation through your quivering form, but not enough to bring sheer relief, "Watch your whoreish mouth, wife. Could jus' leave ya' here, high and dry." And Naoya's scowling, but despite himself, still pushing his pulsing tongue to the very apex of your core. The glossy, winking entrance where he meets little resistance from your waiting, gummy walls, "Could jus' leave ya' here, and have you rub one out yourself in front of everyone, so you can get off on your own."

You should be ashamed, flushed and embarrassed at how he's speaking to you. There's brief fantasies running through your mind, of strapping your husband down and taping his mouth so he can stop running it so crudely, but you file the thought away for now, arching your hips further into him. Dragging your sloppy, leaking cunt over his face — something he surprisingly welcomes.

Naoya, who's leaning deep enough in between your thighs for the golden strands of hair framing his forehead have been dampened by your arousal, a darker, sandy shade. Pouty lips covered in sweet, tangy sheen, and sticky from munching at your glossy folds.

"Bet they're all watching you," Naoya grins, with little warning as he slides a slender finger into your cunt, immediately curling it in search of some spot, "Bet they're wishing it was them in m'place. Tastin' you like this."

You can't help the involuntary clench of your walls at his words, and Naoya's eyes widen, lashes blown long enough to kiss his eyelids, "Mhm, you like that. But hey," your husband's pumping determined fingers in and out of your cunt, rummaging and massaging at sticky walls, "You're my wife now. Mine to fuck, they can't have what o-only a Zenin can have."

"Can y-you —" You're writhing now, legs spread even wider and you frankly don't care at this point who can see the light reflect your dripping cunt, "A bit f-faster, hah." Let them see, right?

Isn't that why they had you all dolled up, squirming in your seat during the feast so they could watch you fall so undone? And fuck, Naoya would probably slit the throat of another man who dared breathe what he saw this night, if not for your honour, but for his own ego.

"F-faster? Greedy, tch' and you said you w-weren't a pretty, little, slut!" Each word is punctuated with his fingers falling in a curved arc through the air, smacking down over your drooling pussy. Sending sloshes of slick spattering over his finger tips and the edges of his robes, "That's it. Jus' keep your hips like that."

"Heh, hope the lot of ya' are paying attention because she's p-pretty close right about now."

You don't even know who he's speaking to, or where his words are directed because it's an endless rotation for you now. Circling your hips over Naoya's nose, with him greedily lapping at your cunt, with a satisfied look in your eye that just screams of him planning to hold this over your head for at least six months.

You're practically soaking Naoya's smug, beautiful face, smearing translucent mirror-sheen over his chin, and he's pistoning clever, cruel fingers in and out of your tight heat. Messily toying with your throbbing clit, pulling at and under the hood until you're heaving for gasps of sweet air.

"B-bet you'd feel tighter around my cock, y'know that?" Naoya grunts, lips curling to suck around your clit, "Was plannin' to take ya' right here, but think 'm a bit greedy now, hah. Show's gonna be over soon for these cunts, but 's only jus' beginning for us, wouldn't you say, wife?"

You're certain that he must have left bruises at your hips now, right over your groin as he drags you impossibly close to himself, as though he's determined this public display will leave no question as to whether the heir to the Zenin clan can pleasure his wife to the point where you're practically trembling, and abandoning your loathing of the man, temporarily. Just to squirm as tears hang from the edges of your lashes, gleaming from the stimulation, "Wait, w-wait, 'm gonna, I think 'm gonna —"

There's a satisfied noise from Naoya, almost like one of relief, though you know he would be loathe to admit just how affected he is by your climax.

There's a shooting, fleeting sensation in your abdomen. Tremours of pleasure practically streaming and gushing out of you, as you see little else but stars and streaks across your vision, "S-so good, Naoya, fuck. Fuck! I think 'm still cumming, hah, oh my god."

You're hardly even aware of the gushing slick that sprays across Naoya's face and how briefly stunned he looks, and so utterly pleased with himself as you ride out your high. You certainly don't miss at how he almost doubles over, as if there's an equally tightening sensation in his groin as well, pleasurable just from the sight you spread bare for him.

The look on his face cuts sharp — triumphant, smug in a way that speaks of retribution. As though he's just scored the first point in a game that's only just begun.

Before you can so much blink, dazed from your orgasm as heat continues to throb between your thighs, Naoya's arm tightens around your waist. A quick, practiced motion that pulls you flush against him. He's grinning like a man who's already won, a faint and cooling flush now painting his features in some blissful afterglow.

But then, he kisses you. Rough, messy, sloppy even. His lips are hot and unrelenting against yours, a press of teeth and frustration that's more greedier than anything he's done so far. "There, that's it. Tastin' yourself, aren't you?" Naoya's murmuring, nipping at your lower lip.

His arms shift, and he's scooping you up effortlessly. Tilting your world for the second time that day. You're cradled sideways in a bridal hold, against the broad frame of his chest, as his fingers are splayed possessively over your still bare hips. The bastard doesn't even break a sweat.

"Put me down," You scowl at him, but the recent climax is still painting your breathy vocal cords, lacking the heat you had hoped for.

Naoya's golden eyes glitter with amusement, "Nah. We're jus' getting started, don't you think?"

You instinctively grip his robes for balance, and you can feel your husband's chest rumble with laughter, rich and infuriating, "I'm starting to think this whole hate game is a charade, or a ruse. You actually like this."

"I'm starting to think you want a concussion."

Naoya makes a faux-move to drop you, to have you pile to the floor in jittery limbs and crumpled silks, as you desperately cling to him tighter, "Mouthy woman. Can't stand that. Don't like you at all."

The elders, a cluster of now pale-faced men who look like they've just swallowed their own tongues, gape in stunned silence. Their eyes dart between you, rumbled and flushed — thoroughly compromised with the slick that still runs down your thighs. And the heir of the Zenin clan, whose lips are still moist, glistening faintly.

Your husband's tossing them a lazy, half-lidded gaze over his shoulder, "Well," he says, dragging the word slowly, "Like I said, show's over." His voice drips with mock reverence, "We're going."

"Where?" One of the elders, bold or perhaps just stupid, dares to croak, voice thin and trembling like dry parchment.

Naoya stops, just for a breath. His gaze pins the man, golden eyes cold and dangerously amused. "Where do ya' think?" Words like a blade, dripped in honey, "Our quarters, 'course."

He doesn't wait for a response, doesn't even glance back as he pushes past the screen door with you still cradled against his chest. His momentum sends it rattling against the frame, and the hushed, horrified whispers that follow are clearly music to his ears.

You glance up, your pulse a rapid thrum against your throat as you take in the faces of the nobles you had excused themselves earlier, milling outside. They shuffle uncomfortable, some pretending they have somewhere better to be. Others frozen in a mix of curiosity and thinly veiled disdain.

Gojo Satoru is still there too, leaning against a wooden fixture, his jaw tight, as though he's working through something unpleasant. Glowering and grumbling something about leaving Tokyo for this, about the Zenins having no class as usual, and you get the idea that unlike last time, his blindfolded gaze is sweeping anywhere but you.

You bite back a smile.

"But...but the consummation!" The elder follows through the doors, his voice thick with outrage, "How can we be sure — the ceremony, it requires —"

Naoya doesn't even let him finish. You can feel the smirk against your temple, pressing over the shell of your ear, "I did all this," he's splaying your robes aside, "With jus' my mouth. Think I can do even better with my cock. Don't worry," He drawls, "I'll make very sure it's all handled."

"I'm going home," Gojo Satoru loudly announces, to no-one in particular.

[hitomisuzuya]

idk abt you but smth abt whiny needy soft!dom morning wood wanderer makes me giggle (,,>﹏<,,)

wanderer (scaramouche) x fem!reader. smut. blow job. soft!dom wanderer. a little bit of consensual somnophilia.

i have been really in the mood to write oral lately😳

wanderer couldn't help it. whenever he fell asleep, he dreamt about you. this particular time, he dreamt that you were taking his cock perfectly from behind, arching your back, and giving him the perfect view of his cock squelching in and out of your tight cunt. moaning like a bitch in heat, dazed words of worship and how good his cock felt fucking into you.

needless to say, when he woke up, he is incredibly hard.

and it didn't help that you are asleep naked next to him, the curves of your body slightly exposed by the blanket, looking way too tempting for your own good.

noticing that you are conveniently turned over your side away from him, he slid closer to you. you are still asleep, and he didn't want to wake you. so he figured he could pump his cock between your thighs, grinding against your pussy and swallowing his moans while he cums. problem solved, no need to disturb you.

"ah fuck your thighs feel good," he hissed softly, maneuvering himself closer to your back and putting a arm around you to anchor himself better. his cock throbbed as it pumped between your thighs, your juices soaking his cock as the tip grazed your clit.

a quiet whine sounded from him as you shifted in your sleep, the tightening of your thigh muscles adding more friction. he increased his pace a little, trying not to lose to control and mindlessly fuck your thighs while your pussy soaked his cock.

he was embarrassed at how consistent his whines were sounding. those are what inevitably woke you up. his arms tightened around you feeling the confusion on your body. "i..i'm sorry," he nuzzled his cheek against your shoulder, "i had this erotic dream about you and i..i..oh fuck," he let out a shaky whine, "i really need this."

you put a hand on wanderer's, your breathing sounding shaky. his leaking cock head rubbing against your clit was making it throb. "it's okay. roll over onto your back," you grinded gently against his cock.

wanderer groans and rolls over, reluctantly taking his aching cock from between your thighs. blushing, he watched you move onto your knees next to him. he didn't think he could get any harder, but watching you angle your ass up as you leaned down made more precum bead onto his cock head.

you took the sheet down off of his cock, your tongue sweeping out to prod into the slit. you snaked your tongue around the tip, delicately kitten licking in a way that made him moan softly.

"that's a good girl," he praised, carding his fingers in your hair as you scoop his cock head into your mouth to suck on, "always so eager to serve me, even in the morning."

wanderer slowly pumped his cock in and out of your mouth. you flatten your tongue, focusing your sucks as a vein buldged to the surface. he let you bob your mouth up and down on his cock at your pace, but the way you ground your warm mouth tightly on his cock while you sucked felt too fucking good.

taking a form hold of your hair, a silent command for you to relax and let him control your head, he thrust his cock deeper into your mouth. you muffled a moan on his cock, drool trickling out the corner of your mouth. you gag as he hit the back of your throat.

"ah fuck, choke on my cock and keep sucking just like that," his husky moan is whimper tinged, increasing his pace once you recovered your breathing. he reached a hand up, groping your ass before parting your now drooling folds. he played with your throbbing clit, enjoying the vibrations of your moans as his cock pulsed on your tongue.

your pussy clenches around nothing, begging to used in the same way he was using your willing mouth to get off. your sucks turn more eager as he held your head in place, his nimble fingers working your clit over as you try and grind down against them.

"swallow it all, understand?" he commanded huskily, pushing his cock into your throat one final time. his hand tightens in your hair, a broken whimper of pleasure sounding from him as salty cum spurts into your mouth. his fingers stroke through your hair as you suck him through his orgasm.

you lick and suck his cock lovingly, submissively letting him control your head until he was satisfied. once he released your hair and took his cock out of your mouth, he put you on your back. spreading your legs, he intends to eat you out until you were whimpering the same way he was.

[g4rvez-r3id]

Naughty Boy

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Unit Chief! Fem Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer are trying to have a little fun in secret until Emily walks in… Spencer decides to make it a little more interesting underneath your desk.

Category: Smut

Warnings: established relationship, power dynamics, reader and spencer keep their relationship private so it’s a bit of forbidden love trope, kissing, smut warnings: lowkey sub!spencer, and also lowkey perv!spencer, spencer has a boner, straddling, stroking, cunnilingus, getting caught, exhibitionist kink? fingering, cumming in pants, use of ‘sweet boy’, ‘good boy’ and ‘naughty boy’, spencer lowkey pathetic- idk that should cover it

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! lowkey this one kinda sucked but i wanted to write a smut oneshot 🤭 got this idea watching a sitcom lmao anyways post prison sub spencer supremacy 🛐 debating on writing a part two to this one where reader punishes spencer hehehe let me know! please enjoy this one!! <3

A lot of changes happened since you’d become unit chief of the BAU. It wasn’t your intention of becoming unit chief but Emily Prentiss believed otherwise. She passed down the tassel to you since you’d had so much experience on this team for years. And she also knew Hotch would’ve wanted it, too.

After Barnes tried to take the BAU down, Emily was given back her job and hiring authority. Feeling as if you’d earned the spot, she promoted you. Of course, you were a little anxious taking charge at first but Emily assured she’d stay every step of the way and even offered to take over when you felt the power to be a bit too much.

You and Spencer’s relationship had become more balanced since he got back from prison and you felt the need to keep your relationship under wraps for as long as possible. Nobody knew you two were together, you both were very careful when it came to your relationship. You’d only been dating for a year and a half since he got back from prison where he’d finally confessed his undying love for you and that he’d show you just how much he loved you when he got out.

You’d both been pining after each other for years before the fact. And since then every moment you’d shared together has been wonderful, despite keeping it hidden from your colleagues. It was for the better, especially now that you were a higher power. If it wasn’t strictly forbidden before, it definitely was now that you were unit chief.

You were lucky that you’d chosen someone that was usually good at keeping secrets. You both never arrived to work together, you both left work at separate times and only ever spoke in a professional manner to one another. Of course, nothing too far as to not speaking to each other entirely. You were surprised that no one had suspected a thing for the year and a half you’d been together.

Today, you were in your office, filing everyone’s paperwork and signing off on them one by one. You’d just finished JJ’s when there was a knock on your door. “Come in.” You spoke and behind the door had been your loving and doting boyfriend.

“This a bad time?” Spencer asked as he waited for your okay to come in. “No, no, not at all. Come in.” You smile and turn towards your already closed blinds. If you hadn’t already closed them, it definitely would’ve looked suspicious if you closed them now.

As soon as he shut your door, you stood up from your seat with a sly smirk and walk over to him. “So, what can I do you for?” You ask. “Oh, nothing, I just—” Spencer rests his hands on your hips. “I just missed you.”

You smile as you hold him close. It’d been a minute since you had a moment together. Cases were often disrupting already what little time you two had together.

“I missed you too, my love.” You say, looking into his eyes with a loving smile. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? I’m working on the paperwork now so I won’t have to stay here too late tonight.” You suggest and he smile right back at you. “I’d like that. We could use a date night.”

You pull him closer to kiss you on your lips and as you pull him flush against your body, you feel it. It’s definitely unmistakable that he’s hard in his pants.

“Uh, baby?” You ask, pushing him a bit. “Yeah?” He asks as he leans his head down towards his collarbone. “Are you… hard just from a few kisses?” This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten an erection just from a few simple kisses from you. He pretty much gets turned on by anything you do. And you secretly love it.

“I can’t help it, Spencer admits into your neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

You blush at his words and smile, “Aw, thank you, my love.” His mouth stays on your neck, sucking on your pulse point. You pull him towards your chair and push him into it, getting on top of him and straddling him with a smirk etched on your face as you lean down and kiss him on his lips.

He tries to speak into the kiss, pushing you away for a brief moment. “Wait, wait, wait.” He says and you look down at him, your index finger tapping on his plump pink lips, staring down at them. You had a bit of an oral fixation when it came to Spencer Reid. Whether it was for yourself or for him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. “I just don’t want us to get caught, that’s all.” Spencer stated and you smile, “I know, sweet boy. But you let me worry about that, okay? Right now, I just want to take care of my boy.”

You run your hand towards the front of his slacks and palm his hard cock through his pants. He moans a little too loud and you are quick to clasp your free hand over his mouth. “If we want to this to work, you’re gonna need to be a good boy and be quiet, okay?” He nods vehemently into your palm.

You stroke him a few more times through his pants and you check and see that your sweet boy’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head. You wonder how long you can keep him on the edge, how long you can make this until he’s shouting that he can’t take it anymore, how much he’ll—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You and Spencer look at each other in horror before you quickly usher him underneath your desk and fix yourself up to the best of your ability, sitting in your seat. Surely, you could’ve explained that Spencer was just in here for a moment but you acted quickly and couldn’t risk whoever was coming in to talk to you to see what you two were doing. You two didn’t exactly have the best poker faces in the world.

“Come in.” You say, attempting to sound as normal as you can. The door opens and in walks Emily. “Hey, Y/n. Care if we talk for a moment?”

“Of course, come right in.” Emily nods, shutting the door behind her and sitting in the chair in front of your desk.

As Emily begins to talk with you about your most recent case paperwork and begins on giving you pointers on how to handle it quickly, Spencer is crouched underneath your desk and he has a perfect view up your skirt.

You’re too distracted with Emily being in the room to feel how his hands — his gorgeous hands — glide up and down your calf and they begin to reach in a higher place and you flinch as his nimble fingers touch your underwear.

Your eyes widen as Emily furrows her brows at you and seems to notice you’ve flinched. “Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, “Oh, yeah, super. Just too fidgety today,” You hold up your mug. “Too much coffee.”

Emily continues her advice as you feel Spencer removing your underwear down your thighs. You don’t see how he stuffs them in his pocket. He bunches your skirt to the best of his ability and you look down just for a brief moment to see that he’s become in a trance as he gawks at your wet pussy.

You’re so lucky that your desk is too high up for Emily to see what you two are doing. This is so wrong. You should definitely try and stop him but the fact that he could be caught underneath your desk — it just turns you on even more. Who knew you were such an exhibitionist?

“Another thing that I recommend that you do is—” You hardly listen to Emily as you try your best to give your undivided attention to her but it’s really difficult when the man you love is underneath your table, lapping at your pussy with his useful tongue.

You feel everything as he begins to suck on your clit and sticks his fingers into your hole and you try your best to keep a straight face. You bite your lip and try and keep yourself as hunched over as you can to not draw suspicion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emily asks, once more. “Uh, yeah,” Your cheeks redden. “I’m… just not feeling very…” You feel as he rolls his tongue in a figure-eight on your bundle of nerves. “Well at the… the moment.”

“If you need to go home, I can take over the rest of the day.” Emily offers and you think about it. You definitely need the time to punish your sweet boy for being needy and impatient, so maybe going home would be a good idea.

“Uh, that’s probably a good idea.” You say. “Why don’t you let the rest of the team know?” Emily nods and leaves the room and you wait for the door to shut to finally gasp and whimper.

As Emily exits the room, she walks away from the door and shudders. Yeah, she knew what the hell was happening. The team pretty much knew you two were together already. You guys didn’t have the best poker faces in the world.

“Oh, you naughty boy.” You back your seat up a bit as you run your hands through his hair. He takes his mouth off of you for a second to breathe. “I like seeing you in an authoritative position. It’s sexy.” With that, he dives back in, running his tongue through your folds again.

You take your hand through his locks, pushing him impossibly deeper into your pussy. “Oh, my God!” You exclaim softly, eyes rolling back as he finishes you off. “Come on, cum for me. Please. Please. Baby, please.” He pleads in your pussy, moaning and sending vibrations through your body as he sticks his fingers back inside.

You bite your lip to contain your moans in your office and you feel yourself gush over his face and look at him, his eyes blown with lust and love. “Did I do good?” Spencer asks, wiping his mouth of your essence and you smirk.

“You did.” You admit. “Now, that Emily’s gone, maybe I should finish what we started.” Spencer looks down and shakes his head, “No, I, uh, actually don’t need help with that anymore.”

You furrow your brows, look down and sure enough, Spencer’s slacks are a shade darker near his crotch. You should’ve expected this, he’d cum at the slightest touch.

“Somebody definitely wants to get punished tonight.” You tease, dragging a finger to his chin and he holds his arms up in surrender. “Hey, sorry I wanted to look good for my boss.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. He can be so impossible sometimes.

So, you tell him to exit the office as discreetly as he can with his blazer over his crotch to hide the evidence and to call in for the rest of the day, making an excuse that there’s a bug going around so you can edge him for hours on end when he gets to your apartment.

[zolo-san]

I know I just rambled in the tag, but if you took the time to read all that, might I direct you to this post & my ramblings there as well~

Something about Zoro being one of the most misunderstood and mischaracterized characters in One Piece is funny (not haha funny, funny sad) to me because?? That’s literally how his introduction starts?? With people misunderstanding him and thinking he’s some big, monstrous demon who kills with cause and cannot be trusted or tamed.

Meanwhile the actual Zoro is a driven guy who is often both literally and figuratively directionless in life and found his goals in life through good people (first Kuina and then Luffy). He's tied up in the Marine base not due to those actual crimes he commuted (well not inherently anyway) but because he ‘disrespected’ a Captain's son and stood up for a little girl. He accepts the challenge they present to him and because Zoro himself is a guy that puts his money where his mouth is he assumes the Marines will uphold their end of the deal and let him go (note the actual shock when Koby tells him the truth)

He joins Luffy's crew but also outright says he’s not gonna let his goal take second place to Luffy or anyone else's for that matter, he bears the weight of two people's dreams, his heart isn’t going to be swayed by some pirate.

Speaking of Kuina, her impact and influence on Zoro's life isn’t talked about enough for my liking. She was Zoro's first friend, his first rival, his first goal. He looked up to her so much and his reaction to her passing cracks my heart in half every time because you can seem him just..go numb. Kuina, dead? Kuina, the strongest person he knows, gone? Kuina, who swore to him just yesterday they’d race to the top of the world together, doesn’t exist anymore. His blank face only cracking within the privacy of his sensei before he begs. He begs on his knees, tears streaming down his face please please please let me take Kuina's sword with me. Let me take our dream to a high neither of us could imagine. I won’t let her name die here.

On top of gaining the Wado Ichimonji that day Zoro also gained…fear. Not of death, well at the very least not his own, he gained his fear of not being enough. Kuina kicked his ass every way a person could and still died, what could someone like him do? So he trains…and trains…and trains some more. Overly, obsessively, constantly telling himself he’s not enough, he’s weak, he can’t protect anyone like this and everyone's death would be on him.

As for Zoro being cold and stoic that’s just…not completely true? He’s not stone, he can be excited or sad or angry just as much as most characters he just sucks at showing it canonically (Kuina thinks he hates her before their final fight after all). Sure he’s not as forthcoming about it as some of the other Strawhats but Zoro's more of an action guy anyway, he'll show his love with his protection and unwavering faith.

In conclusion, Zoro is a ridiculously stubborn, incredibly loyal, mildly emotionally constipated, do what you say/say what you mean kinda guy.

(Also that whole ‘Zoro would kill the whole crew if Luffy asked him to’ thing? Top ten stupidest things I’ve ever heard from the fandom and that’s saying a lot. He’s loyal not brainless and heartless guys if Luffy asked him to do that, he would never but I digress, Zoro would square the fuck up with him so fast. DPMO.)

[batmanisagatewaydrug]

you're talking about the elitism and classism baked into the way modern Riddler's competency and education level is upped and I fully agree but can I add that...I don't want to call it whitewashing because it's not like he wasn't a white guy before but there's something to the way this change in competency and education level came along with a redesign that changed his look from a dark haired and often brown eyed man that sometimes was drawn a bit tan and/or with a hooked nose to a very pale blue or green eyed ginger with a button nose. this might just be me but imo pre New 52 Riddler generally can pass as italian-american or otherwise as being an ethnicity that's not "white anglosaxon" while the modern design usually lacks any of his old features that could make him read as not north-western european, and the way this redesign was brought in to divorce him from the older, sillier, less "smart and successful" version is....idk it feels bad

it's like that fucking. where's that post where the characters from Frozen got edited to be like a very specific flavor of 21st century American hot and somebody was like "how do you whitewash white people?" it's like that. like yes he was always white but now he needs to be conventionally attractive to fit the current DC uncanny valley smoothed out pretty style so he's WHITE white, which here is shorthand for the most aggressive possible arrangement of conventionally attractive features. he's paler he's younger his weird nose and fucky hairline are gone he's better educated and has business acumen and I hate him!!!!

[illbegottenfaith]

cinnamon girl

after years of keeping your distance from the one boy who probably wants you dead, you have an unexpected encounter with mattheo at hogsmeade (mattheo riddle x muggleborn!reader)

a/n - decided to try something new! I had more of this fic planned but lost interest a little (a theo girlie through and through rip) but I might eventually write it all out so we'll see :))

tropes/warnings - muggleborn!reader, tw smoking, tw alcohol, idk if its fluff or angst tbh hmmm

word count - 1.4k

“Need a light?”

You looked up from where you had been rifling through your pockets, searching for your lighter. You glanced at the voice behind you, nearly dropping your cigarette in the snow.

You were at The Three Broomsticks with your friends who had dragged you for a night out to celebrate the end of your midterms - yours and the rest of the school’s, from the looks of the crowd there. As well-meaning as they were, it hadn’t taken long for the warm, honeyed air of the pub to begin feeling stifling, and you had excused yourself for a bit of fresh air.

If you were completely honest, you couldn’t bear hearing about their plans after graduation for a minute longer. You decided that taking a break outside would be better than brooding over the loneliness stabbing your gut, even if it was dreadfully freezing outside. Still, the cold considerably perked you up as you fumbled for your cigarette pack.

Smoking was a vice you didn’t regularly succumb to, and it was one that your friends disapproved of, but trying times called for trying measures. It had been this way for as long as you could remember - you felt lost and woefully untethered, strung between both worlds as you didn't seem to quite fit either. You couldn't settle on what kind of career you wanted to pursue, magical or muggle, let alone where you wanted to set up your life.

It wasn’t your friends' fault, you decided. They didn’t realise they had the privilege of thinking up a life after Hogwarts. You were just trying your best to not be hunted for sport, especially when the people doing the hunting were the likes of Mattheo Riddle.

You hadn't noticed the pair of brown eyes intently tracking you as you slipped out of the pub's door. He had been staring into the bottom of his third firewhiskey, his friends' guffaws like a pallid echo in his ears, thinking about how this was the last semester he could take refuge in Hogwarts. After that, real life would kick in in ways he could not run from.

That was when you had squeezed past his table - you, the girl that he found oh so curious, who had held his interest for more years than he'd like to admit. There was an endearing simplicity in the way you approached the magical world with your muggle-leaning tendencies which he found dreadfully appealing. And like with everything he truly treasured, he held you at further than arm's length.

His head had snapped up as you muttered an apology, and he had watched you make your way to the door with half a mind to call after you. In his inebriated state of mind, this was enough to be a sign.

It didn't help that you were a jumpy person by nature when the person you had offhandedly been thinking about seemingly materialised out of thin air. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. You broke into a cold sweat as your mind raced. Did he know? Could he tell, just by looking at you, that you were the worst kind of imposter, at least in his eyes?

No, you were being ridiculous. There was no way he'd know you were a muggleborn. You were dressed just like everybody else. It wasn't as though you had mudblood scrawled across your forehead. Besides, even if he did know, he wasn't about to try anything right in front of a pub chock full of witnesses.

Still, his presence made you uneasy.

Nervously, you acquiesced, leaning forward as he flicked the lighter on. As you took your first drag, you distantly noted that something about this felt...off.

"Thanks."

He pulled out a cigarette for himself. "Anytime."

The two of you smoked in silence, watching your twin streams of smoke curl in the frigid air.

"So," Mattheo said after a beat, "big plans tonight?"

You shook your head. "Not really," you replied. "Just...celebrating the end of midterms."

"Ah. Yes," he said, his lips curling into a faint, almost insincere smile. "Your last midterms. Mazel tov." He distractedly scraped at a scuffed patch of ice near the pub's door. "Must feel good to have something worth celebrating."

Even as your heart thudded, you dared to cast a sidelong glance at him. You felt half-inclined to tell him to step back from the ice. If you didn't know any better, you'd say he sounded bitter.

You glanced back at the beckoning warmth and murmuring bustle of the pub. You found yourself wishing you had stayed in that night.

"Yeah," you said, in a voice that sounded hollow even to your own ears. "I guess."

If you were a little less nervous, you might have noticed Mattheo looking at the fragile snowflakes littering your hair. One last semester of taking refuge in watching you carefully pour maple syrup over your pancakes a couple tables over every morning. He took a long drag of his cigarette, firmly shoving down the unwelcome anxiety creeping into his mind. Who knew when he'd see you again? Who knew what kind of state you'd be in if he did see you again?

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Guess you’ve got it all figured out, then. Your plans after Hogwarts, I mean. Places to be, dreams to chase. You strike me as the type.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the comment. It didn’t feel like a compliment.

"I don't," you were saying before you could stop yourself.

Mattheo quirked an eyebrow.

"No?"

You swallowed hard. You tapped your cigarette, watching the ash fall into the snow as you avoided his gaze.

"I don't - I haven't made any plans yet. It didn't seem..." you sighed, pushing back a limp lock of hair that was falling into your face. "...prudent."

Mattheo's lips parted imperceptibly, as if he had stumbled across some revelation.

"Prudent," he echoed with a softer edge to his voice.

You nodded, fidgeting with your jacket zipper.

"Well," you said eventually, shifting your feet. "this was nice." You put out what was left of your cigarette. "Thanks for the light."

You started to walk back inside.

"Wait."

You paused, turning back. There was an urgency laced in his voice that gave you pause, that made you stay for reasons beyond your comprehension. His face was pale and almost sickly-looking, awash with moonlight. He'd clearly drunk more than he should have, if his mildly unsteady swaying was any indication.

"I wasn't done talking to you," he said clumsily, as if to make up for the momentary vulnerability.

"Bold words coming from someone who stole my lighter."

Only as the words were leaving your mouth did it occur to you that perhaps it would not be wise to accuse Mattheo of petty theft. But you couldn't help it - you had realised his lighter was yours sometime during your conversation, something you were prepared to take to the grave if he hadn't stopped you. Yes, it was just a stupid, sticky, barely working lighter, but it was yours. It was certainly nothing worth antagonising a Riddle over, but here you were.

But before the regret could swoop in, something else did - or rather, someone else. He took half a step towards you, throwing his face into the shadows.

"You noticed?" he asked, with a wicked gleam in his eye.

You ignored the stuttering of your pulse. "Obviously."

His lips twitched like your answer secretly delighted him. You didn't feel so scared of him anymore.

Under the dark of the awning, away from the streetlights lined along the pavement, Mattheo bent down and kissed your chapped, half-bitten-to-death lips. That was when you learnt Mattheo Riddle could be unassumingly gentle.

"Good night," he murmured as he pulled away.

He stepped back, taking with him his warmth, leaving the chilly air to nip at your nose. Unthinkingly, you raised a hand to your lips, as if in disbelief. He tasted of cinnamon, of a warmth resilient enough to thaw your frozen bones.

As he disappeared back inside the cosy pub, you felt a familiar weight in your pocket, one that you had been so desperately looking for.

You hadn't even thought to push him away.

[thomaslittlegirl]

hello love! i hope you are doing very well:) i just read some of your first and they were so cute! unfortunately i have been in the mood for SOME ANGST lol! would you potentially be able to write a fic where something happened to reader and she got hurt (level of severity is up to you) and like tommy is obviously freaking out over it. idk what's wrong with me but i love angst 😔 if you don't feel comfortable i totally understand and have a wonderful day:)

thank you for your sweet words! 🩷 i wrote this in half an hour, so i hope it's at least not that horrible? hope you like it.

sickness. thomas shelby

warnings; angst. thomas blames himself, as always.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

thomas can't help but feel suffocated seeing you like this. it seems that the walls begin to close and collapse on top of him, preventing him from breathing.

your figure lies on the bed, wrapped in the neat white sheets while your body does not stop shaking violently.

it hurts him to see you this way. hurts because there is no one to blame for your discomfort, no one to blame for your suffering. all he can do is watch yourself in silence and wait for this to pass quickly.

thomas looks at you pitifully as he swallows hard.

the sound of the maid's heels echoing across the wooden floor makes him put on guard. the woman comes almost stumbling, with a tray in her arms. "here it is, sir." she says, in a low voice.

she goes into the room y/n and thomas both share and leaves the plates on the desk.

"thank you, frances." he replies. "i want you to be attentive to any call that me or my girl makes." maid nods and leaves the room, closing the door after her. the annoying sound of heels moving away.

thomas walks over to the bed, squatting down next to you. "doll..." he calls, stroking your hair.

a whimper escapes your mouth and thomas licks his lips, watching you intently; you are pale, your lips cracked.

"what?" you ask in a whisper.

"frances brought you soup." he informs, continuing the caresses on your head. "i want you to eat some."

"im not hungry."

"just a little. try it... it'll warm you up a little." he tries to persuade in vain. you shake your head; thomas stare at the dark circles in your eyes.

shelby look at how your body shakes. it doesn't matter how many sheets you have around you, the spasms don't stop.

his head is a torment, thousands of good-for-nothing thoughts flooding his brain. he collects all the bad omens he knows, like black cats and broken mirrors... everything that could have happened for you to reach this moment.

thomas can't help but think and blame himself. it is not the first time this has happened, it is not the first time that his bad luck and his destiny bring him to this point.

he can't lose you, not you. not again... not when he is thorough when giving you gifts, not when he makes sure to protect you with his life.

why does everything he loves come to this point? does everything he touches have to slowly fade away?

he doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your thin fingers wipe the corners of his eyes, brushing the tears away from his face.

"i'll get better." you try to calm him down, he's not so sure.

he knows the multiple opinions of all the doctors he brought to check you, all of them giving a different diagnosis but none of them making you feel better... everything you can possibly have.

"you promise...?" he asks, looking at your tired face.

"i..." nothing. "just hold me, please." you ask in return, running back a little to make room for him on the bed next to you.

thomas crawls under the sheets with you and wraps you in his arms, holding you close to his chest.

as if love could save.

[pomefioredove]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Cauldron of the Reborn: Escape from Black Castle

a fanwritten Halloween event

summary: when Malleus receives an invite from a distant relative to a historic castle in Briar Valley, he can't refuse characters: malleus, lilia, sebek, silver, vil, rook, epel, jamil, kalim additional info: reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu

well... by popular demand, here's more of this! I may rework the first one in the future idk. and add a prologue. coughs

prologue / chapter one / chapter two

taglist: @whatever-fanfics @chloemari-e @frog-fans-unite @sugar-sprinkles

Diasomnia Lounge - Day

"Are you sure about this?"

Lilia pats Silver's head and floats over to Malleus, taking steps over the air like he would on solid ground.

"If I may remind you, I looked after the young prince long before you two were around. One weekend is but the blink of an eye!" the elder fae says. "Someone needs to stay behind and oversee the dorm's Halloween preparations, anyhow."

Sebek shifts uncomfortably. Silver sighs.

"...You're right. I just... I have a bad feeling about this,"

Lilia grins, his fangs pressing into his lower lip. "Khee hee. How chivalrous of you, Silver. But I assure you, with both myself and Malleus, there's little that could stand against us... should the occasion arise. You know that."

Another sigh. "...I do. I just suppose I would feel better if it wasn't only the two of you,"

"He makes a point," Malleus says, closing a suitcase. "The invitation did specify I may bring along an entourage of my choosing."

"That's not really what I-"

"Now there's an idea!" Lilia chimes. "A weekend getaway with friends. Malleus, is there anyone you'd like to bring along?"

Malleus holds his chin between his fingers and thinks.

Then, he smiles.

Ramshackle - Day

"Me?"

"Us?" Grim says, giving Malleus an unamused look, paws on his hips.

Malleus nods, a proud smile on him. Lilia stands behind him, leafing through an ancient leatherbound book as if it were a travel guide.

"Yes. I am permitted to invite any guest of my choosing, and I choose you," Malleus says.

"And, in return, you may invite any of your own friends."

You think for a moment, standing in Ramshackle's door, Grim tugging on your sleeve and whining for breakfast.

"...What do you think?" you ask the direbeast at your feet.

He sighs. "Will there be food?"

"The invitation does specify good food, yes. I imagine there will be a banquet waiting for us upon our arrival," Lilia chimes in.

Grim's pout turns into a grin, his tune changing completely. "Why didn't 'ya say so? We're in,"

Malleus beams as you scoop Grim up in your arms. But who else to invite...?

Heartslabyul Lounge - Day

"Nah, we're on Halloween duty. Housewarden's orders,"

Ace smacks Deuce upside the head and whispers loudly in his ear: "Dude! They didn't need to know that!"

You look between the two of them as they bicker. Trey passes behind them, carrying a stack of dirty dishes. He smiles.

"Sorry, Prefect, but Deuce is right. They royally failed Trein's last exam and Riddle is keeping them on dish duty as punishment. And speaking of-"

He dumps the dishes in Ace's arms, the weight of the stack nearly toppling him over.

"-And there are more in the kitchen."

Savanaclaw Lounge

Jack scratches the side of his head. "I'd, uh... I'd love to, but Leona's got us all doing extra Spelldrive practice, so..."

"Bring us back some souvenirs and food, will ya?" Ruggie calls from behind you.

Ignihyde Hall

"A Halloween trip? How exciting!" Ortho chimes. "The search I just performed shows only thirty five results for a remote county of Briar Valley- this may be an excellent exercise in data gathering!"

You and Grim exchange smiles.

"So you'll come?" the direbeast says.

"Sure!

...If Idy comes!"

Both of your grins immediately fall. Before any of you can get another word in, Idia's voice comes from within the depths of the room behind you.

"Uh- what? Nuh-uh. No way. No internet for a weekend? No way,"

Ortho gives you both a sympathetic look. "Sorry, guys. Maybe next time,"

Pomefiore Lounge

Epel looks between the two of you, his hands on his hips and his eyelids lowered.

"Busy?" he repeats the word dryly. "Busy."

You shrug. "Everyone's busy. It is Halloween weekend,"

"And it might not've occurred to 'ya that they're not so busy as much as they don't wanna go to a remote, secluded part 'a Briar Valley with Malleus Draconia?"

You and Grim share a look. Oh.

"Well..." you look back at Epel. "Do you wanna come?"

"What kinda question is that?!"

You feel something gently brush against your side, and then a cool, collected voice.

"Excuse m- oh, Prefect. What are you doing here?" Jamil asks, breezing into the room.

"We were just 'talkin," Epel mutters. "You-"

"Kalim left his wallet here yesterday," Jamil sighs. "He's lucky it was this dorm. Does Vil keep a place for lost items?"

"Just down there,"

"Thank you," he says, and disappears down the hall.

You turn back to Epel. "Are you sure you don't want to come? I'm allowed to bring anyone I want."

He shakes his head. "Even if I wanted to, Vil would never allow me to go unchaperoned,"

"Unchaperoned?" a voice says from behind you.

Both you and Epel jump, and Grim skitters away in surprise. Lilia's light laughter follows, and he rests an elbow on Epel's shoulder.

"Khee hee. My apologies, I couldn't help myself. Now what's this about Schoenheit thinking you'd be "unchaperoned"?"

Epel huffs, still flustered from the surprise, and Grim pathetically crawls back to you, his fur bristled.

"I just don't think he'd be keen on letting me off on vacation for a weekend with no one 'ta look after me,"

"Did the Prefect not specify that I will be "chaperoning" this trip?"

"They did," he puts his hands back on his hips. "Vil wouldn't trust 'ya with watching a sack 'a flour for a weekend."

"I don't blame him," Jamil says, returning with a wallet in hand.

"Khee hee. How cruel. I'll have you know I'm an excellent babysitter,"

You look between the three as they go back and forth. This is getting you nowhere.

Epel crosses his arms. "What's the deal with this place, anyway?"

"The deal?" Lilia repeats, hands on his hips. "Is the promise of a weekend at an ancient castle with no internet, electricity, running water, or heat not exciting enough for you?"

Epel stares blankly.

"...Khee hee. Fair enough. The deal, my dear underclassmen, is that this castle is related to a popular children's bedtime story from Briar Valley, one of the only to feature magicless human heroes."

You turn to look at him, your own interest suddenly piqued. "What?"

Lilia looks back at you with a fanged grin, and then he makes himself comfortable on one of the fancy couches in the lounge.

"Gather round, gather round, children. This is an old story, an ancient story, which predates the Thorn Fairy herself by hundreds of years...

Long, long ago, in the land of Cymur, now a small county in Briar Valley, there was a king. He was a distant relative of the Thorn Fairy, but you wouldn't have known- he was greedy and cruel, and sought to conquer the land with an army of the undead. His reign was ended, however, by three unlikely heroes: a farmhand who became a great warrior, a scullery maid who became a powerful mage, and an unlucky minstrel who became a beloved poet. And their fuzzy, hungry direbeast companion, of course,"

A silence follows. Though not one of you would have admitted it, you had all become rather captivated by the story. Everyone waits for Lilia to continue. He hums and picks at his black nail polish.

"...Well?" Jamil finally speaks, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Well what?"

"Whaddya mean well, what?" Epel says. "You aren't gonna tell us the rest? How did the farmhand become a warrior?"

"And how does a scullery maid become a powerful mage?" Jamil follows.

"And whaddabout the direbeast?" Grim tugs at Lilia's loose sleeve. "I bet he saved the day, didn't he?"

Lilia's lips quirk into a smile, and he crosses his legs.

"Hmm... it appears I can't recall. I suppose you'll just have to find out on the trip,"

Everyone lets out a collective groan, and Lilia giggles into the palm of his petite hand.

Epel jumps to his feet, a frown on his lips. "Vil will never let me go, 'ya know that? Never!"

"Please, no shouting in the lounge. We've discussed this," a cold voice comes from behind him.

Epel goes pale and stiff, not unlike a corpse, and Vil rolls his eyes.

"Might I inquire what this little gathering is about? I can't seem to recall giving permission to hold club meetings in my lounge."

Lilia waves him off, unflinching under his cold glare. "Oh, just chitchat about our trip,"

"Your trip?"

Epel turns to Lilia with wide eyes, shaking his head quickly, but Lilia goes on anyway.

"Why, of course! Prince Malleus has invited Epel to join him on an educational trip to Briar Valley!"

Vil raises an eyebrow. "Malleus invited him? Personally?"

You open your mouth to speak, but can't get further than a quiet "Not exac-" before Lilia confirms.

"Hmph," Vil says, shifting his weight from one hip to another. "I see. Well, if the Housewarden invited you, it would be rude to decline."

Epel lights up as if he had just won a golden ticket, and then-

"Of course, Rook will have to accompany you. I wouldn't dream of sending you without proper supervision,"

"Wh- Rook?"

"Bonsoir!" Rook chimes behind all of you, as if summoned by the mere sound of his name. You and Epel flinch. Vil rolls his eyes.

"Yes. I'm far too busy with the event preparations to go myself... I also do not want to. Rook, however-"

"It would be my honor and privilege to discover the hidden beauties of a mysterious and isolated land with my own hands and eyes!"

Epel goes whiter than the delicate lace of his blouse.

"It's settled, then. We're leaving midday tomorrow, don't be late!" Lilia says, hopping up. "And Jamil, shall we be expecting you?"

The second year scoffs, as if uninterested, though he had sat through the entire story and ensuing discussion without moving from his place against the wall.

"No. I have to see to Kalim's relatives over the weekend. I won't have a moment to spare,"

"How unfortunate," Lilia sighs. "But I suppose our little Pom Duo will please Malleus enough."

Rook cheers a faint yay! and Epel groans.

Mirror Chamber - Morning

"Ready, all?"

You hold your small suitcase close to your side, tucked neatly under your arm. Mirror travel is short but rough at such distances. "I am,"

"Oui!'

"As I'll ever be,"

"Certainly," Malleus nods. "I've been looking forward to this all night. I could hardly sleep."

Calm and collected as he is, his excitement is unmistakable- at least for Lilia, who smiles.

"Alright! We'll go as far as we can by mirror, and the rest by carriage and foot, so make sure you have water and snacks,"

"Worry not, Monsieur Curiosité!" Rook chimes. "I have brought more than enough nuts and seeds for everyone!"

Epel mutters "Vil's diet snacks" to you, and you nod.

"Khee hee, I should have expected as much from Pomefiore's vicewarden. Then we're off-"

"Wait!"

Everyone turns to the mouth of the chamber. The sound of hurried footsteps on stone comes before a panting Jamil Viper, suitcase in hand.

Lilia grins. "Changed your mind?"

Jamil answers that with a glare.

"Someone told Kalim of the trip, and he ordered me to take the weekend off. Of all the ridiculous things..."

"Khee hee. Isn't that unfortunate?"

Another glare. "At least his family's security will be around. I only worry for the state of the dorm after he hosts them for the weekend..."

"Oh, I'm sure it'll be fine. Kalim's a bright boy!" Lilia says. Malleus gives him an odd look, but doesn't comment.

"Now that we're all accounted for- shall we?"

[enjoythesilentworld]

2024 fandom review!

thank u for the tag @willesredlights sorry it took me literally ages to get to it

lets pretend we're not almost two weeks into the new year ok? and what a year it has been. holy shit.

~ Fics written ~

I'll be honest I did go a little batshit crazy this past year. 314k words across 19 published works, plus god knows how much more unpublished on tumblr. listen, I was deep in the ??? phase of my master's (still am, lets be honest) and desperately looking for a new creative outlet. I've always been a writer, always loved dreaming up stories, but I have never quite connected to a universe as much as I have to this one. I resonate with so many of the characters, and i just feel like there is so much room to play and explore. i will continue to add in old people OCs to my fics wherever and whenever i get the chance.

First fic: for the tree's sake (M, 48k) aka tree boys inspired by the trip that eventually led to my discover of young royals in late '23, and my darling baby. yes, that airplane ride that seems weird and random is based on truth!

Fav fic: just if for a minute (T, 53k) aka fake married idiots i greatly enjoyed making Wille suffer for just under 53k. that confrontation scene took days off my life and yet i am so proud of how it turned out.

Honorary mention to Growing towards the light, which was a dream to work on and create with my dear sweet friend Lia. there is one braincell between the two of us and it's full of nature facts and dick jokes. and beautiful stories about getting lost in the wilderness and finding yourself along the way. and tent-dick jokes.

Last fic: Wille på Hyllan (T, 13k) aka christmas shenanigans! another collab with my dearest friends which was hilarious to write and so silly and imo an example of one of the greatest perks of being in a fandom: meeting some of the most incredible people ever. also, dick-lights and dick-tomtar and dick-cookies. what more could you want?

~ Fics Read ~

if i tried to go through my history and tell you how many fics i read this year i would never make this post. i'd be here counting and trying to copy links forever. i read hundreds of fics. i enjoyed all of them, thoroughly. i got a lot better at leaving comments (sometimes). i was consistently and repeatedly blown away by the genius brains we have in this little Swedish corner of the internet.

if you are a writer i love you and i give u a kiss on the forehead.

also: i recently made a lil rec list here.

~ Other Stuff? ~

i had two big, busy months this year. three? : May, Wille's month & July, Simon's month i cannot believe i wrote 62 stories in 62 different universes (give or take a few). that's kind of stupid! but oh my god it was so fun!! some of my favs: -> Food, where Wille and Simon meet and embark on a mistakenly booked couples food tour in Barcelona -> Fashion/Style, aka the Met Gala AU aka the thing that turned into something so much bigger than i could have ever imagined. literally i thought people were gonna hate it. so, thank u for not hating it. and for letting it become 15k+ of pwp. -> Secret, friends to lovers RAHHHHHH -> Home (Improvement), aka grumpy home renovator Simon idk i just feel like this should become a full-blown fic one day

and oh boy who can forget about Kinktober from wax kinks in 17th century Italy to desperate love confession in the middle of wildfires to... whatever that was in the confessional (idk, that's between them and God).

2024...

I did some painting: x x I wrote some real weird lil ficlets: x x and I met dozens of incredible people. thank u for liking my stupid rambling posts from 3am and my silly little ficlets and for reading my stories and telling me about your stories and saving me from the Frankfurt airport and yelling with me about stuff thats definitely not in the Bible and sharing your time and space and art and care.

@bigalockwood @hergrandplan @gulliblelemon @saynomorefic @pagegirlintraining @skibasyndrome @sobadbad @impossibleknots @piebingo @theaviatorthatcouldnotfly @misfithive @sillylittleflower @zee-has-commitment-issues @purplehoodiesandclementines @justfriendsbestthings

giving u a big hug. and! this is by no means an exhaustive list. if ur reading this we are bffs. send me a message ok? ok. y'all keep me sane and happy and i am so grateful for you! live love wilmon

[soleilpinto]

What they Lost (Oscar Piastri) ୧ ‧₊˚ 🍮 ⋅ ☆

“I’ve been noticing you lately,” ⋆.˚୧☆˙📙˚꩜

Synopsis: You despised the constant feeling that no one was on your side because of the social hierarchy at your school, but thankfully, you had Oscar by your side to make it all a little more bearable.

Genre: Angst, Comfort

AU: Highschool!au

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x GN!reader

Warnings: Emotional damage (jk idk), nothing else

Note: Hey gang, this was a fic that was sitting in my google docs for god knows how long and I just decided to give it a new life. This was lowkey originally a Mingyu from SVT fic but I changed it to Oscar. The whole consensus of this was the shit I experienced 2 years ago when I had a falling out with a couple friends of mine. Anyways, enjoy Oscar and how much of a sweetheart he is, and don’t forget to like + reblog!

You let out a sigh, resting your head on the desk as the bell rang, signaling the start of your break.

The lively chatter of your classmates filled the room, but it all blurred into the background as you slowly closed your eyes.

Despite the crowded classroom buzzing with life, a hollow sense of loneliness lingered within you, accompanied by an unmistakable boredom.

By now, the feeling had become your new normal. You had a group of friends, but lately, it didn’t feel that way. Ever since the growing sense of alienation crept in, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being left out.

You lifted your head slowly, glancing over at your friends. They were engrossed in their own conversations, too preoccupied to notice you.

Deciding it wasn’t worth the effort, you let your head sink back onto the desk, passing the time in silence.

There was a time when you were the lively one—chatty and cheerful, your bright smile lighting up every room. But those days felt like a distant memory now.

Over time, you had conditioned yourself to embrace solitude, finding a bittersweet comfort in your own company.

It was a sad reality; you used to hate being alone. But people change, and as the weeks passed, you had grown quieter, retreating into yourself little by little.

The cheerful conversations and bursts of laughter from your friends echoed around you, but you chose to tune them out, keeping to yourself.

No one ever really noticed you anyway—not when you were always stuck in their shadows.

They were the popular ones, the ones everyone gravitated toward, while you were just... there. A tagalong, invisible in their glow.

A minute passed before you suddenly felt a hand rest gently on your shoulder. Turning to see who it was, you found yourself face-to-face with Oscar Piastri, an old acquaintance from your elementary school days.

"Are you okay? You looked a bit lonely, and I thought you might need some company," he said softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

For a moment, your heart seemed to stop. You fought back the sudden urge to cry on the spot.

You hated being the reason someone worried about you, but the truth was, you were utterly burnt out, dreading every moment you spent at school.

"I'm alright," you replied, forcing a weak laugh.

"I mean, I could be better, but there's not much I can do about it." The humorless tone in your voice betrayed how you really felt.

Whatever was going on with your friends was only part of what you were dealing with, but there was no way you could unload all of that on Oscar. It felt far too personal to share.

“If you’re not feeling okay, you can always talk to me,” he said with a warm chuckle. “I’m not the best at giving advice, but I can always listen.”

“You sure?” you asked, forcing a small smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I mean, I don’t want to bother you. It’s... a lot.”

But Oscar didn’t waver, his expression steady and resolute. “I’m sure,” he replied firmly, his sincerity impossible to ignore.

Just as you were about to respond, the proctor for your next exam had walked in, and Oscar quickly had to rush back to his seat.

Before he left, he turned back and said softly, “We’ll talk later, okay?”

You nodded, watching him go, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a small smile crept onto your face.

It was a moment in passing, but you realized just how long it had been since you’d smiled like that—genuinely.

As the bell rang, signaling the end of class, you packed your things and headed out of the room.

Your friends didn’t even glance your way, their laughter and chatter continuing as if you didn’t exist. It stung, but you had grown used to it by now.

Walking down the hallway alone, you kept your head down, blending into the crowd. Suddenly, you heard someone call your name, a voice cutting through the noise.

Turning around, you saw Oscar jogging toward you, a grin spread across his face. “Hey, wait up!” he called, catching his breath as he reached you.

“Thought I’d lost you in the sea of people,” he teased, falling into step beside you.

His cheerful energy was infectious, and for a moment, you forgot about the loneliness that had been weighing you down.

As the two of you exited the school gates, Oscar stuffed his hands into his pockets and looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Alright, I’ve got an idea,” he said.

“Oh no,” you joked. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” he replied, grinning even wider. “There’s this racing sim arcade not too far from here. Ever been?”

You shook your head, intrigued. “Can’t say I have.”

“Perfect,” Oscar said, his enthusiasm unmistakable.

“I’ll show you the ropes. It’s about time I gave you a glimpse into my world of Formula racing.”

Before you knew it, the two of you were on your way, Oscar leading the charge. The racing sim arcade was bustling with energy, the sounds of engines roaring and cheers filling the air.

Oscar wasted no time, guiding you to a simulator.

“Alright, rookie,” he said, flashing a playful smirk. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes to keep up with me.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m warning you now—I’m terrible at this kind of thing.”

“Everyone starts somewhere,” he said, sliding into the seat beside you. “Just follow my lead, and you’ll be fine.”

You found yourself laughing and having fun, the weight of the day melting away as Oscar patiently walked you through the controls and cheered you on through every twist and turn.

After a couple of exhilarating rounds at the racing sim arcade, the two of you finally decided to call it a day.

The sun was beginning to set as you stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against your face.

“Alright,” Oscar said, stretching his arms above his head.

“Now that I’ve completely demolished you in racing, how about I make it up to you with dinner?”

“You demolished me?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure I had you sweating on that last lap.”

“Sure, sure,” he said with a laugh, nudging your shoulder.

“Come on, I’ve got a place in mind.”

You followed him curiously, and to your surprise, he led you to your favorite restaurant. You stopped in your tracks, staring at the familiar sign.

“Wait… how do you know this is my favorite place?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

Oscar grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “I have my ways.”

“You’re suspiciously good at this,” you muttered, still surprised as you stepped inside.

Once seated, the two of you dove into your meals, the comfort of the food warming you from the inside out. For the first time in weeks, you felt at ease.

As you finished a bite, you glanced at Oscar, the question that had been lingering in your mind finally slipping out.

“So, why did you suddenly approach me today? You’ve known me for years, but you’ve never really gone out of your way like this before.”

Oscar looked down at his plate for a moment, his usual playful demeanor softening. “I’ve been noticing you lately,” he admitted quietly, meeting your gaze.

“You’re not the same person you used to be. You used to be so bright, always smiling, always so... you. But lately, you’ve seemed different—quieter, withdrawn.”

His words hit deeper than you expected, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the right words to respond.

“I didn’t want to overstep,” he continued, “but I figured someone had to check in on you. And I thought… well, maybe it could be me.”

You looked at him, surprised by his honesty.

The sincerity in his expression was impossible to ignore, and you felt something stir within you—a mix of gratitude and relief.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t think anyone really noticed.”

Oscar gave you a small, reassuring smile.

“Well, I did. And for what it’s worth, I miss seeing you happy. So… if you ever need someone to remind you how great you are, I’m here.”

You hesitated for a moment, staring down at your plate as Oscar’s words sank in.

The vulnerability in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes—it felt safe, like you could finally let go of the weight you’d been carrying.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice trembling just a little. “For noticing. And for caring. I guess… I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about this.”

Oscar tilted his head, his frown deepening slightly. “Why’s that? I mean, your friends—”

“They’re not really my friends anymore,” you interrupted, the words tasting bitter as they left your mouth.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“They… they started spreading rumors about me, saying things that weren’t true. At first, it was little stuff, but then it just got worse. They twisted everything, made me out to be someone I’m not. And instead of asking me about it, they all just… decided I wasn’t worth being around anymore.”

Oscar’s brows furrowed, and his jaw tightened as you spoke. “Wait, are you serious? They just… turned on you like that?”

You nodded, forcing yourself to meet his gaze.

“Yeah. I didn’t even realize what was happening until it was too late. By the time I tried to fix things, no one wanted to listen. I guess they all decided it was easier to just… believe the worst about me.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as a frown settled on his face. “And you’ve been dealing with this all by yourself?”

“I didn’t really have a choice,” you admitted, your voice quieter now.

“I mean, who was I supposed to talk to? Everyone I thought I could count on was gone.”

Oscar shook his head, looking genuinely upset.

“That’s messed up. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone. They weren’t your real friends if they could just drop you like that.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, your chest felt tight.

You hadn’t let yourself fully process how much their betrayal hurt, but hearing someone else say it out loud made it all feel more real.

“I guess I didn’t want to bother anyone,” you said with a weak shrug, trying to downplay the weight of it.

“Bother?” Oscar repeated, his tone sharp with disbelief. “You’re not a bother. You’re... you. And you deserve better than what they did to you.”

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. His words were so firm, so certain, that they left no room for doubt.

“Thanks,” you finally whispered, a small smile creeping onto your face. “It means a lot that you’d say that.”

Oscar softened, his frown giving way to a gentle smile.

“Of course. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’ve got your back now. And if they can’t see how great you are, that’s their loss.”

The tightness in your chest began to ease, a weight lifting that you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

Maybe you didn’t need those friends after all. Maybe having someone like Oscar in your corner was enough.

The next exam day arrived, and Oscar found you before the test began, reviewing with you in the quiet moments before the bell rang. His presence was reassuring, and his gentle guidance helped calm your nerves.

He stepped away for a moment to grab something, and it was then that your old friend group approached.

They didn’t even offer a greeting—just a curious, judgmental look that you immediately recognized.

“Hey, what’s with you and Oscar?” one of them asked, their tone dripping with disdain. “Why would someone like him waste his time hanging around someone like you?”

You felt a knot tighten in your stomach as the words stung.

They had always been the kind of people who looked down on others, but hearing them say it out loud, especially in this moment, felt almost suffocating.

“You know,” another one chimed in, “he could be hanging out with literally anyone else, but he’s with you. What’s the deal?”

Your pulse quickened, and despite the sudden rush of old emotions, you forced yourself to stay calm.

Oscar had already shown you that you didn’t need their approval. But it still hurt, their words laced with judgment, as if you were somehow undeserving of kindness or friendship.

Before you could respond, Oscar reappeared, catching the tail end of the conversation.

His eyes flicked from you to the group, and without missing a beat, he stood next to you, his presence instantly protective.

“Actually,” he said coolly, looking directly at your old friends, “I choose who I hang out with based on who’s worth my time. And you guys clearly aren’t.”

The words were sharp, final. There was no hesitation in his tone, no room for argument. Oscar didn’t wait for a response, just turned back to you with a reassuring smile.

“Ready for the exam?” he asked, as if nothing had happened.

You nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude and relief wash over you. In that moment, it became even clearer: you didn’t need their approval.

You didn’t need anyone who didn’t truly see you. Oscar, standing beside you, had proven that.

As the exam started, you couldn't help but glance over at Oscar, who caught your eye and offered a small, reassuring smile.

Just as you started to return it, the teacher's voice rang out sharply, snapping at Oscar for breaking the silence.

“Mr. Piastri," the teacher called, "Focus, please."

You both exchanged a quick, amused glance, and despite the seriousness of the situation, you couldn’t help but laugh softly.

It felt comforting to share that light moment, even in the midst of an exam.

When the exam finally ended, you felt a strange but welcome sense of relief wash over you.

The pressure that had been building throughout the test seemed to dissipate, but it wasn’t just the exam that left you feeling lighter.

It was the unexpected feeling of hope that began to settle in your chest, a quiet but persistent belief that maybe things were starting to shift in a better direction.

You’d made it through the morning without feeling the urge to cry, made it through the struggle with your friends, and somehow, you were still standing. That alone felt like a small victory.

Oscar noticed the change in your demeanor almost immediately. He leaned over with a grin, his eyes bright and full of that easy confidence you had come to appreciate.

“Hey,” he said, “How about we grab some lunch? My friends are hanging out nearby, and you could meet them if you want.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, curiosity piqued.

“Your friends?” you asked, already knowing how different they must be from the ones you used to know.

Oscar’s grin widened, and there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Yeah, they’re not as bad as they look,” he teased. “I’m sure you’ll like them.”

A small part of you hesitated. Meeting new people was always a bit daunting, especially after everything you’d been through.

But the pull of Oscar’s company and the chance to get away from the weight of the day was too tempting to pass up.

Plus, after everything you’d been dealing with, it felt nice to take a chance on something—anything—that could offer a fresh start.

You followed him out of the classroom, the two of you chatting as you made your way to where his friends were hanging out.

When you arrived, they were gathered in a cozy corner of a nearby café, laughing and talking animatedly.

Oscar waved as he approached, his friends turning to greet him with wide smiles.

The introductions began smoothly, and you found yourself immediately drawn into the warmth of Oscar’s friends.

First was Logan, tall with broad shoulders and a casual confidence that was immediately apparent. His hair was a bit tousled, and his laid-back demeanor made you feel at ease right away.

He offered a firm handshake and a bright smile that lit up his face.

“Nice to meet you,” Logan said with a relaxed tone. “Oscar’s told us a lot about you.” His voice was easygoing.

Next was Arthur, a little quieter, yet no less inviting. With light, expressive eyes and a calm presence, he had a thoughtful gaze, as though he was taking in everything around him with care.

He gave you a warm smile, though it was a bit more reserved than Logan’s, and his mannerisms reflected a certain sincerity.

“It’s good to meet you. We finally get to meet the person Oscar’s been so worried about,” Arthur said jokingly, his French accent adding a certain charm to his words.

“I hope you’re enjoying the day so far.” His voice had a gentleness to it, and there was something grounding about his calm nature.

Finally, there was Lando. The moment he turned to face you, his playful grin was impossible to ignore.

With bright eyes and a mischievous spark, Lando had a presence that filled the room. His energy was contagious, and it seemed like he was always on the verge of cracking a joke.

As soon as he noticed you, he threw you a wink, clearly already preparing for some banter.

“Oscar’s lucky he has you here,” he said with a teasing smirk.

“Don’t let him get too full of himself, alright?” Lando’s quick wit and sarcastic humor made everyone around him laugh, and despite his cheeky comments, there was something charming and disarming about him.

His infectious energy made you feel like you could relax and have fun, as if you were already part of the group.

As you all sat down and began to talk, the conversation flowed effortlessly.

Oscar was the bridge, keeping things lighthearted and fun, but it was the warmth and openness of his friends that made the group feel comfortable to be around.

Logan was quick with stories about his latest adventures, while Arthur chimed in with dry humor and unexpected insights that had you laughing more than you expected.

Lando kept things moving with his endless jokes, keeping the vibe casual and light.

For the first time in what felt like ages, you didn’t feel like you were pretending to fit in. You weren’t on the outside looking in—you were part of the group, welcomed for who you were.

The walls you’d built up over time started to feel a little less necessary, and you found yourself genuinely enjoying the company of these new people.

They weren’t your old friends, but maybe that was a good thing. These were people who saw you, not the rumors or the mistakes others had decided defined you.

They saw you as you were—real, authentic, and ready to laugh.

By the time the afternoon ended, you realized that you hadn’t just made it through the day—you had genuinely connected with new people, and in doing so, you had found a piece of yourself that had been buried under the weight of everything else.

It was more than just a distraction; it was a new beginning.

As you parted ways with Oscar and his friends, a sense of quiet confidence settled in your chest. You didn’t need to cling to the past anymore, nor did you need the approval of the people who had abandoned you.

You were finding your place again, and with Oscar by your side, you knew that things could only get better from here.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[somanyratsinthewalls]

congrats on 900 followers! id like to request for a mixture of prompt 9 and 19 with maroon (mihawk) — not particularly smut but a bit of fluff included in it, have a good day or night!

-anon 🪐

Coincidence (+18)

THANK YOU ANON FOR REQUESTING! (Sorry I made it smut but theres plenty of angst cuteness too)

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x Female Pirate!Reader

Prompts: “It’s fine. We’re all adults. We can sleep in the same bed.” And “Getting you naked was only part of the plan.” 

WC: 2900

TWs: pet names, p in v sex, fingering, dirty talk, savior complex, previous alcohol mention, same bed! Swearing, kissing, idk? This is literally porn. 

— — 

“Good morning, little rabbit.” A low voice swims in your head. 

Your eyelids flutter open. Everything is blurry. You’re laying in sand. Rain is pouring and you’re chilled to the bone. 

*BOOM*

A clap of thunder snaps you fully awake and you start to cough up sea water. You heave yourself on your hands and knees to better expel the water from your stomach and lungs. 

“I was sure you’d never wake up.” The voice came from above you, clearer now. 

Once you caught your breath, you realized there was a pair of black boots in front of you in the wet sand. You crane your neck upwards to be met with the smug smirk of Dracule Mihawk, towering over you in the storm. 

“H-how? Y-you? W-what?” You croak out, body starting to shiver violently. 

“Now do you really want me to answer those questions right now, or would you like to come to my room at the inn down the road before The Great Pirate Y/n succumbs to hypothermia? An awful pitiful way to go out for a pirate captain, if you ask me.” He extends a hand to help you stand. 

You roll your eyes and push yourself to your feet on your own. 

Mihawk chuckles and lets his arm fall back to his side. 

“Allow me.” Mihawk gestures to offer for you to follow him and heads to the cobblestone road from the beach. You hated the idea of seeking aide at the hands of another pirate, let alone one as dangerous as him… but the chill in your body and the ache in your chest were forcing your hand. 

You follow him into town. 

— — 

After trying to keep up for several blocks, eventually Mihawk ducks into a nondescript establishment and holds the door open for you to follow. You step forward to move past him to enter the inn. 

The first floor was dimly lit with oil lanterns and smelled of rich red wine and a wood burning stove. There were only a few patrons seated around the bar, none of which turned to look at you as the door was opened. The doorway was narrow so you had to turn your body to enter as Mihawk was still holding the door for you. As you brush past his chest he leans in to your ear and whispers. 

“Stairs on the right. End of the hall. Be quick about it, before you drip all over the poor barkeeps floor.” His voice was low and teasing. 

A deep shiver ran down your spine. No doubt due to the cold, wet clothing you were wearing, of course. 

You nimbly flit up the stairs, sure that the former warlord was following closely behind as you could hear the clacking of his boots on the wooden steps. Mihawk catches up to you as you reach the door at the end of the hall. Without a word he uses a key to unlock the door and pushes it open for you. 

You step inside and are immediately met with the glow of firelight and the smell of cologne. Seeing the blazing fire in the fireplace, you rush to throw yourself to your knees on the bearskin rug laid out in front of the fire. 

You put your hands over the flames and you start to be able to feel your fingers again. You sigh in relief. After a few moments of enjoying the fire, you remember that you aren’t alone. Mihawk was standing against the wall, just watching you… arms crossed and feathered hat cocked to one side. The firelight glinted like topaz off his deep golden eyes as you met his gaze. 

“How did you find me?” You manage to rasp out, finding your full voice again. 

“A little birdie told me you were on your way to make an arms deal with smugglers somewhere in the area. I knew you’d come alone and your foolhardiness would ignore the incoming storm. Figured you’d wash up on the shore sometime.” 

“A little bird? Or a little clown?” You quip back and rub your hands together over the blaze. “Stop talking like you know anything about me.” 

“Was I wrong?” Mihawk is quick to retort. “The Cross Guild has eyes and ears everywhere. I am privy to endless amounts of whereabouts and information on the Grand Line.” 

“And yet…” You stand. “With all that information at your disposal, you choose to end up here. Pursuing me.” You cock your head in inquiry. 

The corners of Mihawk’s mouth twitch upwards briefly before returning to his stoic expression. 

“You may wear my dressing gown for the night. You’ll catch your death if you spend another moment in those soaked rags.” The man says and nods towards the ensuite lavatory. 

You take a moment to weigh your options… you hated to admit, but Mihawk was right. You needed to fully dry off before you caught pneumonia or worse. You push past him without saying a word into the bathroom and close the door behind you. As you close the door you see a floor length robe made of exquisite purple silk… this must be the dressing gown he was referring to. You stripped yourself of your sea-water soaked clothing and laid them on the side of the clawfoot tub to dry. 

You looked in the mirror and were horrified. Your hair was tangled and your skin was littered with abrasions and decorated with sand and small wood debris from the wreckage. 

You sigh. 

You grab the washcloth from the side of the sink and turn on the knobs. Once the water was warm you soaked the cloth in the water and gently cleaned your face and body. The soothing temperature of the washcloth allowed you to relax more and you let our a long sigh as you rubbed your aching neck. 

You set the washcloth down and straightened your hair the best you could, sorting out the tangles and knots with your nimble fingers. 

Once satisfied you picked Mihawk’s dressing gown off the hook behind the bathroom door. It was crafted of a fine royal purple silk with intricate gold embroidery on the collar and the sleeves. You slip it on and cinch the tie around your waist, fully covering yourself. It was a bit large, seeing as Mihawk was much bigger than you, so the left shoulder began to fall as soon as you left the bathroom. 

You enter the suite and your eyes find Mihawk’s hat and jacket discarded on the armchair. 

You hear the gentle sound of liquid being poured and you turn your head. You were met with a shirtless Mihawk clad in nothing but sleeping trousers, pouring two heavy glasses of brandy on the end table next to the bed. This was the first time you realized there was nowhere else for you to sleep than the singular king-sized bed in the center of the room. 

“No need to worry. We’re all adults here. There should be no issue sharing a bed.” Mihawk approaches you with two glasses of brandy in hand. “Feeling better?” He asks, almost playful. He extends a glass to you. 

You take it. 

“Aye. A bit.” You say as you take the glass of alcohol, your fingertips brushing against his as you grip the cup. Suddenly you were reminded of the last time you shared a drink with this particular man… 

Your cheeks flushed and you looked to the floor. You had been so caught up in the drama of being shipwrecked and half-dead that you had forgotten the last time you had seen Dracule Mihawk… 

“Why did you come here? Just to get me naked in your hotel room?” You ask. 

Mihawk turns his back to you and sits on the bed. 

“Oh darling, getting you naked was only part of my plan. You deal in arms… The Cross Guild happens to be in the market. I thought we could strike a friendly deal, little rabbit.” Mihawk sips his brandy. “We can offer triple whatever that scoundrel was willing to pay.” 

“Well the cargo has been lost since the ship crashed but… wait how did you know I’d be here? This island?”  You take a sip of you drink for courage. “You were accurate enough to know when and where I’d wash ashore? How?”

Mihawk smirks. He rises from the bed and fishes his hand into his trouser pocket. He steps closer to you. He pulls out a piece of soggy paper from his pocket and holds it in two fingers in front of your face. 

“You don’t remember slipping me this?” Mihawk coos as the scrap of paper drips a bit onto the floor in between you both. 

“My..” You gasp softly upon the realization of what he was holding in his hand.

“Yes, rabbit, your vivre card. You stuffed it into my jacket before you scampered off. You don’t recall?” Mihawk says, teasingly, cocking his head down to catch your avoidant gaze. 

It was all coming back to you now…

Five months ago…

It was a loud, shady pirate bar on some shit-hole island your crew had docked at to resupply. It had been days since your ship’s booze supply had run dry and you used the opportunity to get good and sauced at the local tavern. At some point in your revelry, Dracule Mihawk had entered the very same bar and somehow you ended up on his lap… despite how much you claimed you despised him. How did it happen? Maybe a few featherlight touches across your waist… maybe a few dirty little nothings whispered in your ear… but all you could remember now was you melted like putty in his strong arms in the corner of a filthy dive bar. The memory was foggy but you remember stroking the sides of Mihawk’s carefully groomed beard and pushed your lips onto his with passion… 

“You remember now, yes?” The voice snaps you back to the present. 

You say nothing, embarrassed. You take another large gulp of brandy. 

“I-I’m tired. I’m going to bed.” You rush past the large man in front of you and whip the comforter open. You slide in the bed. “W-we can talk business in the morning.” 

“If you wish.” Mihawk says with a sigh. 

Mihawk sets his glass down on the side table and extinguishes most of the candles in the room, leaving a few to burn to the wick overnight. You feel the comforter move across your body and the mattress beside you dip. You curl on your side away from the man laying beside you. You shudder, the chill of being nearly drowned still wracking your bones. 

“You’re freezing.” Mihawk states before smoothly shifting to his side and wrapping his arm around your side. Your body tenses and he feels it. “So shy now, but not as much the last time we met?” You feel his hot breath against your ear. 

“Well, we were drunk, so…” You huff out, trying to ignore the flush growing in your cheeks. 

“And yet…” Mihawk starts. He slides his hand down your bicep to your hip, then further down to your thigh. His palm reaches your knee and gently pulls on it to hook your leg over his own, successfully opening your legs up for him. “Here you are now, completely sober and still soft and open for me…” 

Your breath catches in your throat, unable to respond. Mihawk’s strong hand climbs up your torso again, this time gliding across your stomach and into your robe to grip your right breast softly. You gasp as he squeezes and runs his thumb across your nipple. 

You feel a gentle grind of Mihawk’s hips against your backside, shuddering as you distinctly make out the largeness of his member between your cheeks. The former warlord’s nose nuzzles your scalp sweetly as he presses his lips closer to your ear. 

“Do you feel that? I’ve been waiting so long since you ran away…” Mihawk whispers as he presses his hardened cock further into you. “Tell me… little rabbit… why did you run from me?” 

You press your ass back harder into Mihawk’s pelvis and whine. 

“No no, tell me. I was ready to take you to my chambers and ravish you until the sun rose….” Mihawk purrs as he slides his hand from your breast to between your legs and cups your mound. “Tell me why you fled my arms that night.” He presses his middle finger on your seam, gently stimulating your clit. 

“I… I don’t know…” You manage to croak out. 

“That isn’t true, darling… you know that.” Mihawk begins to rub your sex in gently circles with 3 fingers, softly encouraging you to give in to him. 

“I…I didn’t… want…” You sigh and lean your head back into Mihawks face. 

“You didn’t want what, love? Tell me.” Mihawk leans up further and kisses up your neck to the spot behind your ear. With your arousal growing,  he spreads your folds and uses a single digit to press into your exposed, throbbing clit. 

“Y-you were going to- Ah!” You were interrupted by the sensation of Mihawk dipping a finger shallowly into your hole to gather your wetness to smear across your clit, further heightening your pleasure. “You were going to leave… It- it would have- oh god!” You cry out as two thick fingers suddenly breach your entrance and curve right up into your sweet spot. 

“It would have bothered you to see me leave, little rabbit?” Mihawk teases and leans forward over your shoulder. He slowly pulls out his fingers before pushing them back inside to pull at your favorite spot again. He torturously slowly continues fingering you, feeling the way your insides pulse everything now and then around him, pushing out more of your slick to coat his hand further. “You think I would have let you go without me?” 

You turn your head and open your eyes. You meet Mihawk’s gaze from over your shoulder. You were half drunk on the feeling of his fingers inside of you, but you were almost certain he was confessing to you. 

“Y-you.. Shit- more… please…” You moan and buck your hips upwards into Mihawks hand, trying to get more stimulation. 

“Tch.” He clicks his tongue. “Sweet girl wants more? Already? You must have been thinking about this just as much as I have…” Mihawk says as he speeds up the pace of his fingers inside of you. 

The grind of his palm against your slick clit in combination of his fingers hammering up and down against your special spot quickly sent you careening over the edge of climax. 

“My Gods- Mihawk!” You cry out as you feel yourself gush against your lovers hand and your shoulders shudder forward. 

“There it is, what a good girl you are.” Mihawk slows the pace of his fingers and pulls them out of you gingerly. “I haven’t stopped thinking about the vulgar sounds and expressions you might make when you cum, and it’s far surpassed my imagination.” Mihawk shifts and positions himself on his knees between your legs. “Now let me see it again.” He rubs his tip up and down your wet slit, teasing his mushroom head at your hole. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you don’t and we go back to being adversaries and forget this ever happened.” He purrs down at you. 

“I.. I want this. Please…” You get out through shaky breaths, still recovering from your orgasm. You reach your hand down to wrap over Mihawk’s hand on his member, guiding him to push into you. 

“Anything you want, my rabbit.” He coos as he presses hard into your body, letting out a groan as he bottoms out against your cervix. You squeal and claw at his chest, cunt clenching around his length unpredictably. “Let me take care of you…” 

Mihawk wraps one arm around your torso to push you down further onto his cock while supporting himself with his other one. He leans down and smashes his lips into yours. He kisses you hard as he picks up the pace of his thrusts. You squeak against his lips each time his cock drags against your sweet spot, your body riding up further on the bed with every hard thrust into your sopping pussy. 

Mihawk pulls back. 

“I knew that night I was going to take you back with me. I’ve known for a long time that you were mine… but that night you slipped away…” Mihawk  huffs out down at you. 

You could do nothing but moan in response as you find yourself approaching your high once again. 

“Oh, fuck, oh!” Your mouth drops open as you cum, cradling Mihawk’s face against yours as you scream. Your hips buck and you whimper as your sensitivity starts to get the better of you. 

“You’re mine, y/n. Ah-“ 

With a final gasp and a hard thrust, you feel your lover flood your insides with his warm spend. 

You flinch a bit as you feel the still twitching cock slip from your hole, walls still so slick and sensitive. You were flipped around gently and pulled into Mihawk’s broad chest. You nuzzle sleepily between his pectorals. After several moments of comfortable silence, you break the peace. 

“There was never any business deal, was there?” You ask. 

“No of course not.” Mihawk says with a gentle kiss to the top of your head. 

-- --

[c4rvingmyname]

Asmo's (Drunken) Love

tags: asmo/MC, GN MC, literally sleeping sleeping together, short & sweet

words: 774

summary: MC takes care of a tipsy Asmo

I posted this old ass fic a few months ago here, idk why I'm just now getting around to posting it here lol.

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Asmo stumbled alongside them, his hand wrapped around MC's wrist. They weren't sure he was fully conscious, which would definitely be understandable given how much he had drunk.

Each time he almost fell, they would put their hands on Asmo's waist, steadying him, and he would giggle as if he was being touched inappropriately every time.

“Asmo?” MC muttered, making sure he was still awake.

“Hm?” Asmo hummed in response, his head slumping.

“Let's get you to bed, okay?” they said, helping Asmo walk to his bed. It was much bigger than the one they stayed in—it was literally a princess bed.

They hadn't been in his room much, other than a few brief visits, much to Asmo's dismay, who invited them for a “sleepover” every other day. Though they were sure there wouldn't be much sleeping, who knows?

Asmo was very sweet if you looked past his blatant facade of narcissism.

MC pulled back the covers of his bed, helping him lie down gently (as he would plop down hard without their guidance no doubt). He sighed, turning his head away from MC.

Asmo always raved about not going to bed in “outside clothes” to avoid dirty sheets, but MC thought it would be a little intrusive to change his clothing.

MC put his shoes down after they slid them off, then covered him up, brushing some of his hair from his face. Mostly to make sure he wasn't hot, but they also enjoyed touching him. Something they would never admit, as it would only fuel his ego. How much bigger could it even get?

“I like when you touch me like that,” Asmo muttered, making them retract their hand. They were sure he wasn't aware of what was going on, or at least he hadn't been a minute ago.

He wasn't faking it again, was he? Asmo was prone to pretending he was helpless just for physical affection he could have simply asked for. Like he already always asked for.

You'd think by now he'd be more upfront with his true feelings, wouldn't you?

“Do you feel okay?” MC asked, adjusting the cover over Asmo. “If you feel well enough, I can go back to my room.”

Asmo nodded, turning his head to look at them. “But I don't want you to leave.” Asmo barely had his eyes open, they were glazed over, and his makeup was smudged. “I'd like it a lot if you stayed with me,” he continued.

MC couldn't really say no to him, not when he looked so cute and needy. They might even like him a lot better like this, all flushed and sweeter than usual.

“Fine, I can stay. But you have to behave; this is strictly for sleeping.”

In less than a minute of MC lying down in the bed with him, Asmo was already clinging onto them, nuzzling into their chest, and his hands digging into their side.

His bed was just as soft as his skin; MC would likely get hot sleeping here, they mused. Asmo did say he slept naked for “breathability,” which would explain how he's perfectly comfortable. MC could feel his heartbeat, causing their own to speed up and sync with his.

Asmo’s eyes fluttered open for a moment, and he managed a sleepy smile. “I wish you slept here with me more…” he mumbled. “It's so much more comfortable when you're with me.”

He tilted his head up, looking up at MC with a very dreamy, unfocused look. “I really love you, do you love me back? Say you love me back,” he said, his hand settling on MC’s stomach to rest.

“I do love you, Asmo, don't worry,” they replied, punctuating it with a gentle kiss on his forehead. “I just don't love the front you put up.”

“I just want you to love me, is all I need, okay? Forget about the rest…” He whispered, out of exhaustion. “You and I… forever? Right? You'll never leave me?” He asked, intertwining his soft hand with theirs.

MC smiled, letting it go for now, resting their head on top of his to get comfortable. “I promise I won't leave you. Even after I die, I'll haunt you.”

Asmo hummed, reaching for their hand again. “That sounds nice,” he mused. “If only you could.”

MC ran their fingers through his hair, watching as his breathing slowed as he (finally) fell asleep. Asmo was always so open about his feelings—yet when it came to the emotions he thought would taint his perfection, he was rather dishonest.

One thing MC didn't doubt though, was that Asmo did truly love them.

[hawthorne-swift-enthusiasttt]

Unit 919 as obscure google fonts!!!

Hi please don't ask me what this is i don't even know lmao

Anah:

Um yeah so I think both of these fonts just go along with her vibe tbh. Sweet, timid, and a bit prim!

Mahir:

Any fantasy-looking fonts match with him honestly. I found a TON that reminded me of him but I think these two sum him up pretty well.

Cadence:

I kind of like the idea of a handwriting-esque font with her. It's just the vibes I guess. But the first one sort of looks mesmerizing in itself (imo) so it works with her.

Hawthorne:

Hawthorne is basically all the bold fonts lmao. I really think these picks are self-explanatory. Just look at him. He screams BIG BOLD FONT lol.

Morrigan:

I feel like I could have put more effort into hers and relate it to Wunder or something but I like these ones enough so 🤷‍♀ She gives a hand-written vibe about her as well.

Arch:

Sorry for the grainy-ass quality and tiny image but I feel like Arch has a sophisticated yet humble and chill vibe about him (that makes zero sense I'm aware but I was struggling on him ok)

Lam:

I tried to find a regal-looking font for her. Idk if this does her justice but its sort of intricate and mysterious so I think it matches.

Thaddea:

So similarly to Hawthorne, she screams bold in-your-face font. Also can I just take this moment to talk about Thaddea like she's so badass omg I love her <33

Francis:

Ummm I'm really not confident about this one but it's giving fancy menu and Francis is all about food right???? Idk I could do better but I couldn't find anything so whatever :')

BONUS STUFF:

Okay so I found some bonus fonts that I really liked and gave such nevermoor energy so I'm including them.

Nevermoor Christmas:

This one is sooooo battle of christmas eve. Especially the Yule Queen. I kid you not when I first read these books the first thing that came to mind when reading about the Yule Queen was this font. It might be a problem that I have a vast knowledge of random fonts that I relate to my interests but whatever ok I'm only human

Jack:

These have Jack written all over them. Any variation of Cinzel works for him, and Cormorant is similar as well. I think these are quite sophisticated but also stand out. They have a specific flair about them that I just associate with Jack. Super trash explanation I know but at the end of the day all of these literally just come down to vibes.

Hotel Deucalion:

Anyone else think this one is so Hotel Deucalion-ish??? Or at least Jupiter-ish. Like it's fancy but welcoming.

Anyway dudes that's the end of the post hope you liked it. It's funny cause I always say I'm gonna do something productive with Nevermoor content like writing a fic or something but most of the time I just end up with shit like this. Like girl. You are supposed to be making stuff like fanart and fanfic and headcanons why are you doing a Nevermoor post about google FONTS???? lmao