#just vv annoying

[oflorelei]

Hate it when people infantilize Elia because of her poor health, this is a grown woman, treat her like one

[deadpoets]

the boys happily finding out they're part of the JV rowing team + bobby

[evilkaeya]

It icks me so bad when people complain about other people's writing/drawing style like damn bitch make it yourself then

[stormyoceans]

IT'S BEAUTIFUL. I'VE LOOKED AT THIS FOR FIVE HOURS NOW

[catboyreedrichards]

If Adam Driver is Reed in the new F4 movie I might kill myself

[cookieclover]

"Mute B-127 AU" part 4 (TW: Blood)

What if B-127 was a little more annoying, and talked a little bit too much? Part 4 of the "Mute B-127 AU", where I made Sentinel rip out Bee's voice box vv

Not much Bee in this part, but I promise, next one is going to have plenty (plus just a tiny bit of fluff ^^)

First >> Prev >> Next

[lessycusee]

incorrect quotes: merritt mckinney & avital knox ( @wintersreplies )

[enchanting-violet]

Omg I hate when I see a fic abt a character that I really like and then I get hit with something weird like a piss kink. Really ruins it for me 😭

[dykesbat]

also I’d be terrible at the prove ur art isn’t ai thing bc I was gonna elaborate here but I’ll be honest instead of writing this post I wrote tags and now I’m too tired to actually write this post peace and love on planet earth <3

[bywons]

𖥔ׅ YOU CAN BE THE BOSS — PSH

𝖮𝖱 𝖶𝖧𝖤𝖭 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖻𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗋𝖾𝗍, 𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒 𝖼𝗎𝗍𝖾

𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 ⋆ 𝖼𝖾𝗈!𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝒾𝖭𝖢𝖫𝖴𝖣𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒?, 𝗅𝗈𝗍𝗌 𝗈𝖿 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 1399 wc ( CATALOGUE。)

૮ ♡◞ ◟ ა ⠀PLS REBLOG !! 4 my princess @atrirose i locee u vv much TT

“you were supposed to send me that report a week ago.”

here comes the insufferable perfectionist, with an annoying handsome face which makes it just impossible to hate him for too long. he pushes the glass so it settles still on the top of his nose bridge, eyebrows jotted together to hint a slight disappointment in you. you want to mock him, make faces and scream at him, “leave me alone, idiot!”, but then you visualise your resignation. what an asshole of a boss.

you lift your head up to meet his eyes, hands buried in the pockets of black trousers, leaning tall over your work cubicle. “i uhm- i was, i was sick. high fever,” oh gosh, you hope he doesn't catch the shakiness in your voice.

“high fever?” park sunghoon raises an eyebrow, skepticism etched on his face. “convenient timing, don't you think?”

your heart races, and you mentally kick yourself for not thinking of a better excuse. “it came on suddenly,” you stammer, hoping your blush isn’t too obvious. “but i'm feeling better now, so i'll get right on that report.”

and just as you're about to type away on your laptop, a soft but firm grip on your wrist stops you from doing so. and of course, it has to be park sunghoon, the sole trouble maker in your life.

“actually, come meet me at my office,” he says, before letting off your wrist and striding off to his office.

ugh, there you go, another hour long lecture again.

shortly after, you make it to his office. you glance back, all your colleagues getting ready to end their shift and head home. fuck you, park sunghoon, you evil man.

“sir, can i—”

“come in,” sunghoon's serious invites you in, and you close the translucent glass door behind you, which does a pretty good job of reflecting the inner furniture and heads in a blurry, but certain way. “don't just look around, take a seat.”

sunghoon doesn't lift his head up even for a second after you enter the room, he simply gestures you to sit down before him, as he types something on his own laptop, the coffee forgotten and cold beside it. you tap your heels slightly against the office floor, it's been a whole fifteen minutes inside this room already, a minute more and you might just combust.

it's hard to stare at his face. not in a boring, ‘he's so rude’ way, but more of in a breathtaking, ‘i want to kiss him’ way. to be honest, you've imagined how his lips would feel against yours, whether they would move in sync and sweep you by your feet, or steal your breath and make you fantasise. would he like the kiss? would park sunghoon ever kiss you? does he want to kiss you, like you do right now? his ever concentrated face directed towards the laptop screen, the little creases that form around his eyebrows makes him look so cute. you'd like to think that it's just a harmless crush on your grumpy boss, and nothing more than that.

but time's passing by fast, and you need to get home. the taps of your heels against the floor fastens as you say in a tone of urgency.

“mr. park, is this about—”

“call me sunghoon,” he startled you, closing his laptop, “we're of the same age, so it's weird.”

“ok, sunghoon,” you gulp, gosh it feels weird, “is this about me not submitting my leave application?”

“no? it's just a .. friendly talk with my secretary.”

“oh?” what is this bastard planning on again, “well, what is it?”

“how sick were you? i mean, your temperature,” at this point you could throw yourself out of the window. shit, he's kinda smirking, does he really know you weren't sick? that it's all a lie? that you were faking it to avoid a deadline that had you pulling your hair out and attend the corporate party instead? in your defence, that party was much needed by you after a week long of hectic paperwork.

“like about…a 102—”

“i guess people with a 102F fever don't go to parties?” crap. you know that smirk, that ‘i-caught-you-bastard’ smirk. was he at that party too? shit, no way— “i was there too.”

sunghoon sets aside his laptop and leans in against the work desk, folded hands beneath his chin and another ‘know it all’ smirk shoots at you. you gulp, did he listen to you and minji talking too? oh no, no, no, no. you don't want to be fired.

“you annoying bastard,” it was intended to be a low whisper, but under the pressure of your enraging boss's stare, it came out louder than you intended.

“annoying bastard? i think that suits me?”

“no, mr park i didn't mean—”

“no no it's okay, i get that, a lot,” and now he gets up from his seat, circling around his desk to stand just in front of you.

“but i don't get ‘he's cute’ a lot.”

shit.

“i don't get ‘i like him’,‘he's so handsome’,‘he's so gorgeous’ a lot,” you were too mesmerised by his walks and the glints of his eyes to realise he's too close now, hands on either sides of the arm rest in your chair, blocking you in, “i don't get… ‘i wish i could kiss him’ a lot.”

shit, is he smiling or smirking? you can't really say when his face is inches above yours, babbling nothing but the truth. you had in fact shared your little desires about your boss to your best friend, minji, in the party. if only you knew he would be there, you would've bolted out of that place.

this current situation is really getting to you. you're trapped in a damn chair, you don't dare to move as his face only comes closer. a sudden wave of deja vu hits you; no, you've never been trapped in a chair like this by your boss before. but this intimacy, this fluttering proximity reminds you of those playful staring contest between you and him across the office, stumbling over paperwork and crashing against sunghoons chest, and now, this. you could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, as slowly his face transcends down further, now right beside your ear, his lips softly brushing the earlobe.

“no, i-i mean the other park sunghoon, you k-know?”

“hmm? but there's only one park sunghoon in the hype building whom i know of.”

“no you're getting me—”

park sunghoon doesn't let you finish your sentence, he thinks you're too cute to not kiss right now, so he does just that.

a small kiss, a look of admiration and fush in his eyes, then another, and another, and this one holds for a moment.

and the kiss is just as you imagined, soft, sensual, in sync with your rapid heartbeats as the distance slowly begins to disappear, his hands closing in around your cheeks to cup them.

he pulls back, breathing heavy with that smug smirk of his, “was it … cute? or gorgeous?”

“i think i want to kiss you once more,” you whisper. a twitching smile, shy eyes looking up at him and he smiles back, you feel yourself blushing again.

“of course,” sunghoon chuckles, now lifting you up from the chair and sitting down on it himself. placing you on his lap, he leans in for a sweet kiss, once more. it's just as soft and breathtaking as before, this time, you melt even more as you hook your hands around his neck and blush furiously into the kiss.

sitting on your boss’s lap to share a passionate kiss was definitely not in your bingo list this year.

his kisses travel down from your lips, becoming more feathery and ticklish as they reach your cheeks, jaw and finally the crook of your neck.

“i think i find you quite gorgeous too,” he holds you by your waist.

“you think?”

“nah, i'm sure”

“would then be uhm, like to be personal secretary?” he smirks, caressing your cheeks.

“and what do i get in return?” you chuckle

“anything you want,” he reassures, softly gliding a hand behind your back. your eyes surge around the office room for a potential gift, and then they land on the big bold ‘CEO PARK SUNGHOON’ engraved on the metal plate, and then you look back at him, “anything?”

“oh? mrs. ceo?” he smirks again, looking at the plate and then back at you. “of course, you can be the boss,”

a/n — yayaya comeback fic how r u guys, missed ya smsmsm ^0^ pleek lmk what u think of this !!! personally, my skills r cooked TT CLICK ME

© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission

📌 :: PERM TAGLIST IS OPEN ( the tags are rebloged ! ) nets. @/k-labels

[akutasoda]

hold my hand, lean on me

synopsis - jiaoqiu adjusting to domestic life with you

includes - jiaoqiu

warnings - gn!reader, spoilers for 2.5, angst w/ some comfort, fluff, maybe ooc, wc - 1.3k

a/n: i actually cannot get this darn foxian out my mind :( shouts to @thelightofmylife for some vv helpful pointers and information ^^ tbh i feel like this is just 1.3k words of word vomit HAHA

the healers finished informing you of the situation, thanking them you then closed the door to the shared abode. a sigh you didn't know you were holding back escaped alongside a glance down to the papers the healer's handed over. you could read them later, the news followed by the details of it wasn't exactly a pleasant thought, if anything it might be a final push for the tears to start falling.

your thoughts were distracted by the sound of hesitant, shuffling footsteps. turning around, you were met with the sight of jiaoqiu standing idly not too far from you - almost as if he was taking in the surroundings, although now it was more him trying to piece together the memories of what it looked like.

jiaoqiu had arrived back at the yaoqing not too long ago, admittedly rather late, but the luofu's alchemy commission had kept him for a while. he'd been forced immediately to the yaoqing’s alchemy commission as they were now the ones responsible for his treatment plan for the future. a short talk with them had then led to him being escorted back home. to you.

upon arrival, some of the alchemy commission healers explained to you about the entire situation. they kept it short but soon handed you a full document containing everything from “patient’s injuries” to “doctor’s post-charge advice” - each and every sentence pained you more and more, you refused to acknowledge what would've happened if moze hadn't found him, you would have to thank him later.

the healers had asked you to take upon the responsibility of looking after him at home, and in most day to day life scenarios - at least until he adjusted properly. they asked you to keep strict to the “post-charge advice” as otherwise it probably would cause more harm to him, making his healing process longer and maybe even worsening it beyond healing.

“jiao-ge” you called out, to let him know that you were still near. it pained to see the somber look on his face. the last thing jiaoqiu saw wasn't anyone, anywhere or anything he loved. no. it was something he hated, someone he loathed in unfamiliar territory surrounded by no-one he knew.

now he stood in familiar territory, with the person he loved the most. but he couldn't bask in the sights or even see you. all he had was memories to cast images in his mind, to help pretend that nothing was wrong and that he could see what he remembered.

you knew that he wouldn't want you doting on him. jiaoqiu needed to adjust, to learn how to go about his life as usual and you overly fussing over him would only probably annoy him and prolong that.

it had been a long day, any proper conversations could be held tomorrow. to no surprise, jiaoqiu insisted he could get ready and do everything by himself. you granted him that independence. eventually, admittedly with some help, you two were ready for sleep. and even though you were right there beside him, jiaoqiu never felt further from you.

---✩

the process was slow. nobody would've said that it was going to be anything other than that. jiaoqiu very clearly wanted independence. he didn't want to seen as a burden, he chose to do this, and knowing that people were constantly doting on him instead of continuing with their lives made him feel awful.

one of the first things you did was help make your shared abode more compatible with his needs. an easy step was making sure that everywhere was clean and free of obstruction, normally moze always

showed up and helped with cleaning as well. another step was helping jiaoqiu become able to navigate the home on his own, mainly he acted on memory but you needed to make sure that where he frequented was always obstruction free.

occasionally you could hear a bump or hurried shuffling from the room over, each and every time you dropped what you were doing and checked up on him. it was never anything major and if anything it always resulted in jiaoqiu silently cursing at the piece of furniture he walked into.

you two always adopted a verbal calling system at home. should you need to leave the room he was in, you would tell him exactly where you were going and what you were doing - that way he knew where you were. jiaoqiu would also inform you of where he planned on going just in case something happened or he got lost.

although, admittedly, for the first couple of weeks jiaoqiu stuck to you like glue. to him, it was a way to quickly adjust and therefore he wouldn't have to be a burden for long. however jiaoqiu subsequently had developed a rather interesting habit, one neither of you addressed - you because you thought it was sweet and didn't want to embarrass him, him because he didn't want to admit it.

and that was him using his tail as a guidance. at home, it was either curled around your waist, wrist or leg. in public, it lingered around your wrist, so much so that it constantly tickled you. it was a way of him making sure you were there with him, you hadn't left him and he was okay.

although most admittedly it was worse at night. he would hold you close, an ironclad grip that usually you would ask for him to let up but you knew he needed this. tail curled around your waist, preventing you from escaping. in his opinion, you helped him sleep easier, much easier than any fragrances he was prescribed.

however, this always came with a risk. due to residual lupitoxin still in his body, jiaoqiu became frequently prone to nightmares which plagued him constantly. everytime his mind was tricked into believing that the borisin were waiting, patiently looking for an opening to get revenge.

he wakes up because of them, drenched in fear and swear, and because he's so fearful the lupitoxin can take hold easier. suddenly he's tricked into believing that the borisin have found him. unbeknownst to the fact that it's you. so you sometimes take the liberty of sleeping away from him, but then he wakes up to an empty bead but he can hear someone in the room over and when he finds out it was you, sleeping away from him, he becomes consumed with guilt.

a major change for him was his inability to cook anymore. jiaoqiu was determined to do so with his impairment but he needed to learn. nowadays you cook with him. instead of being hushed out of the kitchen, you stood closely beside him, handing him the tools he needed, telling him where you put them so he could find them again on his own.

gently reminding him to lay off the spices when he requested more, he was to avoid spicy foods at all costs for the time being. a hard change, one that he absolutely despised but he knew better than to go against a doctor's order. helping him go out and buy ingredients, listening to what he told you and carrying out the tasks diligently.

---✩

and that was a shortlist of changes. you were very happy to accommodate anything for him, so long as he felt comfortable and loved. it wasn't uncommon for jiaoqiu to experience major lows, it was only natural and you needed to be there for him.

to listen to him, to show him that the support he needed was always a simple ask away - you didn't want to push to dote on him for many reasons. but that was different to showing genuine care and love to him when he started seeing himself as a useless, dependent person.

life would be different. for a while or maybe even forever, perhaps feixiao would strike lucky in her search for a healer that knew how to help. but for now, you two would have to learn how to adjust. to be there for eachother.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[gf2bellamy]

Hi!

Could I please request a fem!bau!reader (who isn't dating spencer yet) gets really badly injured by someone so she just shows up to spencer's door at night like 'can you please help me? i don't know where else to go?' and he like takes care of her wounds all gently?

bandage — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: reader being hurt, mention of blood and open wound , also sort of vv awkward / shy spencer a/n: hi hi ! thanks for your request !! <3 also he's so cute in this gif

Each step you took toward Spencer’s door felt heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as much as the throbbing pain in your arm. 

You hadn’t planned on ending up here. The case had been brutal, and though you’d caught the unsub, it hadn’t come without a cost. He’d lashed out in a final, desperate attempt to escape, and you’d been caught in the crossfire.

The paramedics had patched you up at the scene, but now, hours later, the wound had reopened. Blood seeped through the bandages, staining the fabric of your sleeve, and no matter how much pressure you applied, it wouldn’t stop. 

You’d tried to handle it yourself—really, you had. But the pain was relentless, and the fear of making it worse had finally driven you here.

Spencer’s apartment was close, and you knew he’d know what to do. He always did.

But now, standing in front of his door, you hesitated. The logical part of your brain told you that you were overthinking it—that Spencer wouldn’t mind helping you, that he’d probably be more concerned than annoyed.

But the irrational part of you, the part that was fueled by pain and exhaustion, whispered that you were intruding. That he might be busy, or worse, that he might not want to be bothered at all. 

The pain in your arm flared again, sharp and insistent, and you winced. That was enough to push you forward.

You raised your hand and knocked softly, the sound echoing in the quiet hallway. For a moment, there was nothing but silence, and you wondered if he was even home.

But then you heard footsteps approaching the door. 

It swung open, and there he was. Spencer Reid, hair slightly messy while wearing a loose sweater. He blinked at you, his expression shifting from surprise to concern as he took in the sight of you standing there, clutching your arm. 

“Hey,” he said, his voice soft but tinged with worry. “Are you okay?” 

You shook your head, your voice trembling as you spoke. “I… I didn’t know where else to go. I tried to fix it myself, but it’s not stopping, and I—” 

He didn’t let you finish. “Come in,” he said quickly, stepping aside to let you pass. You stepped into his apartment. It was exactly how you’d imagined it—books stacked everywhere, a cozy couch, and the faint scent of coffee lingering in the air. 

“You can sit on the couch,” Spencer said, his voice soft as he glanced at your arm. “I’ll get the first aid kit.” He didn’t wait for a response before turning and hurrying toward the bathroom.

You did as he said, slowly lowering yourself onto the couch. The cushions were soft. Your eyes wandered around the room.

Your gaze landed on the coffee table, where a half-finished crossword puzzle sat next to a mug with a thin layer of coffee still at the bottom. The sight made you smile.

Of course Spencer would be in the middle of a puzzle at this hour.

Soon enough , Spencer returned, the first aid kit in hand. He sat down next to you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

He set the kit on the table and opened it. He pulled out antiseptic and fresh bandages. 

You could feel the warmth of his body next to yours, and it made your heart beat a little faster. He hesitated for a moment before gently reaching for your arm.

“This might… uh, hurt a little,” he mumbled, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers brushed against the fabric of your sweatshirt, and you felt a shiver run through you as he carefully pushed the sleeve up to expose the wound. 

The old bandage was stained with blood, and he peeled it away slowly, his touch feather-light. You couldn’t help but wince as the air hit the raw skin, and your stomach churned at the sight of the wound.

Instead of looking at the wound, you found yourself looking at him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his lips pressed into a thin line as he studied the injury. His hair fell slightly into his face, and you had to resist the urge to reach out and brush it back.

Spencer hesitated again, his hand hovering over your arm. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his voice tinged with guilt as he finally pressed the cloth to the wound. 

You hissed in pain, your free hand gripping the edge of the couch as you tried to steady yourself. “It’s okay,” you said through gritted teeth, though your voice wavered. 

He glanced up at you, his eyes filled with concern.He then looked away quickly, focusing back on your arm as he continued to clean the wound. His touch was careful and you could feel the warmth of his fingers against your skin, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you. 

“You’re really good at this,” you said quietly, your voice breaking the silence.

He glanced up at you again, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. “I, uh… I’ve had to patch myself up a few times,” he admitted, his voice tinged with nervousness. “It’s not exactly my favorite part of the job.” 

You smiled faintly, your eyes never leaving his.

He held your gaze for a moment longer before looking back down at your arm, his hands moving to apply the fresh bandage.

“You should be more careful,” he said softly, his tone laced with something you couldn’t quite place. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” 

Your heart skipped a beat.

But before you could say anything, he finished securing the bandage and sat back, his hands resting awkwardly in his lap. “There,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “That should hold for now.” 

“Thank you,” you said, your voice just as quiet. You didn’t move, and neither did he. 

Spencer cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Do you, uh… do you want some tea? Or coffee? I mean, it’s late, so maybe tea would be better, but—” 

“Tea sounds great,” you interrupted, smiling softly. 

He nodded, standing up quickly, almost too quickly, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his hands fidgeted at his sides. “Okay. I’ll, uh… I’ll be right back.” 

As he disappeared into the kitchen, you leaned back against the couch, letting out a slow breath as you tried to calm your racing heart.

The pain in your arm had dulled to a manageable ache, but the fluttering in your chest was another story entirely.

A few minutes later, Spencer returned, holding two steaming cups of tea. The faint scent of chamomile and honey filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile as he approached.

He was careful not to spill as he handed you one of the cups, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” he said, his voice low and slightly nervous. 

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking the cup with your uninjured arm. The warmth seeped into your hands, and you brought it to your lips, blowing gently before taking a small sip.

He sat down beside you, leaving just enough space between you to be polite, but not so much that you couldn’t feel his warmth.

He held his own cup carefully, his eyes fixed on the steam rising from the surface as if it were the most fascinating thing in the world. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. “For… everything. I’m sorry for just showing up like this. I didn’t mean to bother you.” 

Spencer shook his head quickly, his expression softening. “You’re not a bother,” he said, his voice earnest. “I’m glad you came to me. I mean, I wish you hadn’t gotten hurt in the first place, but… I’m glad you’re here.” 

You smiled faintly, your fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “Still, I feel bad for just showing up unannounced. I know you probably had plans or… or something.” 

He chuckled softly, a hint of nervousness in the sound. “Plans? No, not really. Unless you count rereading The Brothers Karamazov for the third time as plans.” 

You laughed. “That sounds like a very Spencer Reid kind of night.” 

He smiled back at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that always made your stomach flutter. “Yeah, well… it’s not exactly the most exciting way to spend an evening.” 

“I don’t know,” you said, your tone teasing. “It sounds kind of nice. Quiet. Cozy.” 

He glanced at you, his smile lingering. “It is. But… this is better.” 

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt your cheeks warm. You looked down at your tea, suddenly feeling shy. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “It is.” 

The conversation eventually drifted to lighter topics—work, books, the crossword puzzle on the coffee table—and for a while, it felt like the world outside Spencer’s apartment didn’t exist.

The pain in your arm faded into the background, replaced by the warmth of the tea and the even warmer feeling of being near him. 

When you finally finished your tea, you set the cup down on the table and stood up. “I should probably get going,” you said reluctantly, though every part of you wanted to stay. 

Spencer stood too, looking slightly disappointed. “Are you sure you’re okay to go home? I can… I can drive you, if you want.” 

You shook your head, smiling softly. “I’ll be fine. You’ve already done more than enough.” 

You paused at the door, turning to face him. He was standing close, closer than you’d expected, and you could see the faint blush on his cheeks, the way his eyes flickered to yours before looking away.

“Thanks again,” you said. “For… well, for everything.” 

He nodded, his expression soft. “Anytime. Really.” 

You hesitated for a moment, your heart racing as you made a decision. Before you could overthink it, you stepped closer, standing on your tiptoes, and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm under your lips, and you could feel the way he froze, his breath catching. 

When you pulled back, his eyes were wide, his cheeks flushed, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like he was trying to process what had just happened.

But then, slowly, a small smile spread across his face. “Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice soft and warm. 

You turned and stepped out into the hallway, your heart still racing as you walked away. But as you glanced back one last time, you saw him still standing in the doorway, his fingers brushing against the spot where you’d kissed him, a dazed look on his face. 

[strawberrygyuuuu]

𝐓𝐗𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 —> 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒/𝐎 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐌 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄 / 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓

Genre —> Fluff

—> how they'd react to their s/o holding the hem of their sleeve / shirt.

‿︵‿︵‿୨ ୧‿︵‿︵‿

YEONJUN

• will actually explode

• who said you could be this fucking cute? Huh?

• I actually believe this man does the day you start doing this and continues to die every single time

• his heart just melts for you okay?

• I think he tries to contain his feelings but you're just so cute he can't help but to show it

• like he'll literally look at you in that fond lovesick way with a dumb little smile on his face

• maybe a little blushy as well

• because to him it's like you feel safe with him so you're holding onto him so you don't get lost in especially big crowds

• hold onto him for as long as you want, he thrives for it...it's a bit of an ego boost as well lol

SOOBIN

• he'll think sum is wrong at first

• he'll look at you and scan your face to see if there's any distress or discomfort or anything

• but once he sees you're okay and just hanging onto him Soobin will smile his cute lil dimple smile

• little sparkles in his eyes because you're adorable wtf dude !!!!

• "you're okay?"

• you just smile and nod at him, "mhm!"

• I think he adores your habit because it's you and he adores you

• sometimes I think he'll gently take your hand and replace it with his so yours are intertwined with his

• idk man he might die from heart attack tho cause how cute you are

• so be careful pooks ‼️

BEOMGYU

• when he's in a playful mood he'll make a big deal out of it

• "hmmm??? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

• "you love me THAT much? Woah!"

• he giggles but he is slightly worried

• but when he's not, it's either he doesn't say anything and just has this smug look on his face

• or he'll look at you to make sure you're alright and pull you closer to him but that's more in way too crowded areas

• idk it's like a dice roll lol

• you might get a smug reaction, a concern reaction or he'll tease you

• but he does care I swear

• it also makes him feel proud because like...you feel safe with him and he can protect you

• he's so in love with you girlie

TAEHYUN

• once y'all are more comfortable in the relationship he'll learn to enjoy it

• he has boundaries and although he does love you vv much those are still in place

• but when you did it it was more out of instinct

• tae def looks at you, then your hand, back at you before smiling fondly

• just a small smile

• "everything good, Hun?" GHFF PLS I NEED HIM🙏🏻

• when you confirm you're alright, he figured you were js anxious or to not lose him or sum

• lets you be, but will tease you sometimes

• only because he thinks it's endearing

• he trusts you when you tell him that you're fine so he doesn't push or anything

• fosho wants you to do it more often, if you ask if it annoys him he'll simply shake his head and tell you it doesn't, because it really doesn't

• probably encourages you to keep doing it tbh

• idk pooks

• you're endearing to him

HUENINGKAI

• is soo blushy and shy it's cute

• you're cute

• like omfg???

• he adores you sm n I genuinely think he'd love when you do this little habit of yours

• he snickers and smiles so wide

• boy is ear to ear smiling he's so happy n in love 😭🙏🏻

• probably tried to be normal about it and not make too big of a deal about it but you can tell he's over the moon

• because again, it's like,, you trust him ??

• ARUGH he can't take it pooks

• when y'all get back to the dorms or your apartment or sum he'll be squishing your cheeks

• rubbing his cheek against yours squealing about how cutie you are

• full on fanboy

• but I can also see him silently being happy about it

• and maybe probably possibly tease you later on just to poke fun

• but nothing serious; please keep doing this !

[sanatomis]

⋆.ೃ࿔* ── 𝐃𝐈𝐘-𝐃𝐀𝐃!

it’s career day, and megumi has to bring his dad to school so he can tell the class about his job. the problem? he only has a 20-year-old sorcerer-guardian who has the brain capacity of a walnut.

content. canon divergence (suguru’s alive and studying to be a kindergarten teacher), possible ooc characters, female!reader.

notes. guys i’m a sucker for satoru who really, really tries and isn’t just a goofy man-child ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১ also ! thank you all for your patience, it took me a while to finish this piece bc of uni, so i'm vv happy it's finally done <3

taglist. | masterlist.

“I don’t have a dad.” 

As cruel as it may be, a part of Megumi hopes that the sentence makes his teacher greatly uncomfortable. Demanding for a father to attend a Career Day at school simply isn’t fair to children without one—or, well, to the child without one. It’s not his fault his father hauled ass and left, so why is she making this so difficult for him? 

“Oh,” she mumbles. It seems his arrow hit the target, as her eyebrows pull together in a frown and she shifts her weight between her feet. “Well, you, uh, have a male guardian, don’t you?”

Megumi grimaces. Instantly, he thinks back to last week. Satoru Gojo, self-proclaimed strongest, had hit his head on a kitchen cabinet. With a dramatic pout and an overexaggerated wobble to his lips, he clung to you for hours. Some affection will make it all better!

Of course, when Megumi criticised his skills surrounding his infinity technique—because, really, how couldn’t it block a simple cabinet—the sorcerer opted to ignore him. He suspects there was some foul play at hand. 

“Barely,” he mutters, as the memory resurfaces. 

His teacher lets out a startled hum. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing,” Megumi says quickly. He watches as she starts typing on her computer, and the realisation that she’s probably currently taking a look at his file isn’t a particularly welcome one. “What about my other guardian? Can I bring her, instead?”

“This event is geared towards fathers,” she explains. It’s obvious she forgot her reading glasses today, Megumi thinks, as she needs to narrow her eyes to read the screen in front of her. “I have one Satoru Gojo noted down as your male guardian. Surely, he will be able to attend.” 

Megumi pauses. He blinks up at her expressionlessly, and fights off the urge to push his teacher down a well. You often preach about being kind to others, and that wouldn’t be very kind. 

“Can’t I take my oth—”

“I’m afraid not,” she interrupts him before he even gets the sentence out. It irks him. Megumi isn’t fond of speaking to begin with, so when he does, he’d prefer not to be cut off halfway through. “An exception will not be made. Please, make sure to bring Gojo-san to school.” 

Megumi briefly, and for the very first time ever, mourns the fact that you and Satoru weren’t married. A small part of him calls the man a coward for not asking you to. If he’d simply taken the step, then Megumi would be able to pass you off as Gojo-san. Unfortunately, he can’t, and it’s becoming increasingly clear that there’s no way around this problem. 

“Fine,” he grumbles. It takes all of his remaining willpower to not stomp out of the classroom. Once again, he thinks of you. It’d be extremely bad manners. He can’t find it in himself to wish his teacher a nice day this time, though, and so she’ll have to make due with a slightly less polite Megumi for today. 

There’s nothing he can do about it. Satoru will have to come to the school. 

Megumi suddenly despises the idea of Career Day. 

“I need you to come to my school next week.” 

Immediately, all chatter around the dining table stops. For once, Megumi finds himself annoyed at the sudden appearance of silence. Before he said it, he knew his words would most likely have such an effect—he just didn’t expect it to be so instant. 

He tries his best to feign nonchalance, as if the topic that’s coming up didn’t make him feel stressed-out beyond belief. The confused, startled glances you and Satoru share don’t do much to help him, either. Perhaps it’s because Megumi is looking straight at him; him instead of you. Yeah, Satoru, he isn’t a fan of it, either. 

“Me?” The man asks then, and Megumi has to resist the urge to say, ‘no, I meant the snail in the backyard—yes, you,’ in the most sarcastic voice he can muster up. Satoru once again steals a look at you, ever so oblivious to Megumi's mental remarks. “Don’t you mean—” 

“I don’t,” Megumi cuts him off solemnly. His lips are pursed shut, and he pokes the slices of pork belly in his bowl with his chopsticks. One didn’t need to be of particularly high intelligence to notice the boy’s displeasure.  “I have to bring a male figure for Career Day.” 

It’s slow, the morphing of Satoru’s face, but it happens gradually and doesn’t stop until he’s positively beaming. Megumi doesn’t like it one bit. Nothing good happens when he looks like that, and he’s quite sure that all that will spew out of his mouth in a few seconds will be nothing except for pure nonsense. 

“Well, luckily, I will have the day off, then!” Satoru chimes, with a smile so wide it causes two dimples to appear on his cheeks. You copy his smile, and gently go to poke the little dent in his skin—Satoru lets you, as he always does. Megumi would think of it as cute if he weren’t so annoyed. “I will be there.” 

It seems he was right. Satoru’s words are pure nonsense.

“I didn’t tell you when,” he comments dryly. 

The sorcerer blinks. His smile is still on his face, but it’s fading, and the dimples do so with it. Your hand hovers halfway in the air, stuck with nothing to poke, and you slowly bring it back down to your side. It seems neither of you had taken time to think about that small fact—Megumi blames Satoru for dragging you down with him; him and those indentations in his cheek that you always seem to coo over. 

“Oh,” Satoru mumbles. A crease between his brows forms as his brain hurries to catch up with the newfound information. A few seconds pass, and then the previous bravado returns. “Well, it doesn’t matter! I can take the day off. When do you need me? Tell me, and I’ll be there.” 

Megumi very much doubts he can take days off all willy-nilly like that, especially after he pushed his workload onto someone else to attend his science fair last time, but then again, what does he know? If Satoru didn’t care about the consequences of his actions, then Megumi wasn’t about to break his own head doing so, either. 

“Next Friday,” he mumbles. From the tone of his voice, it’s quite clear that he’d rather be saying anything else. “We have to leave at eight a.m., please, be on time.”

“Sure thing!” Satoru chimes, and with that, Megumi thinks the dreaded conversation has finally come to an end. 

All in all—it could’ve gone worse. At least Satoru didn’t prolong it unnecessarily. Nor did he add a bunch of relentless teasing. He glances at the sorcerer. Satoru is happily munching on the dinner you’d prepared, both his cheeks stuffed full with entirely too much rice. It’s unbecoming, and a reflection of his poor manners, Megumi thinks, and he doesn’t understand how you look at the man with such hearts in your eyes. 

Though, your more than adequate cooking seems to have saved him from one of Satoru’s onslaughts. He’s grateful. Even if he doesn’t particularly enjoy the sight in front of him. 

“Hey, ‘toru?” You ask, breaking the silence with a slight hesitation to your voice. It nearly sounds nervous, and both Megumi and Tsumiki look up in alarm. Satoru hums, still chewing away. “What are you going to tell the class?”

Satoru stops eating. His chewing comes to a halt, and his chopsticks freeze in the air. A slice of pork drops from between them, and falls back into his bowl—It’s not hard to see the cogs turning in his head. “Uhm, I. . .” He swallows the food still in his mouth, and clears his throat. 

Right. It’s Career Day—but Satoru can’t tell a bunch of seven to eight-year-olds that he hunts and kills grimy, ugly, and freakishly scary curses for a living, now, can he? Megumi doesn’t think that would go over well with the other parents. The boy sighs. It’s just one thing after another. He grimly believes the world might just be out to get him. 

“I. . .Oh! I can tell them I’m a teacher,” his guardian scrambles for a solution, and Megumi can’t help but think it’s a little lack-lustre. Who would believe that guy is a teacher, anyway? Then again. . .Megumi doesn’t know a better fix for their current problem, either. He was so focused on the fact that it was Satoru that had to come to the school, he all but forgot about the fact that the dear thorn-in-his-side didn’t possess a normal job. “Suguru has told me a thing or two about his internship. I can take inspiration from there.”

Ah, yes. The famed Suguru Geto. Megumi has met him before. He hasn’t actually spoken to him, however. The man often visits, and has twin girls clinging to him when he does, and while Tsumiki seems to really like him—and them—Megumi doesn’t have an interest in seeking out some form of interaction, yet. Whenever he comes over, Megumi opts to hide in his room. Suguru never tries to disturb him, nor does he try to coax him into coming out. He’s very grateful for it. 

So, despite never speaking to him, Megumi knows about Suguru. Well, he knows enough. He knows Suguru went to school with the two of you, and he knows something really, very bad (nearly) happened that caused the man to take a step back from the world you all live in. What exactly happened (or what didn’t happen), Megumi doesn’t know for sure. You and Satoru almost never speak about it, and when you do, it’s in hushed voices—and you always stop immediately when he enters the room. 

But that’s okay. He doesn’t need to know. Suguru doesn’t force himself upon Megumi, and so he will extend him the same courtesy.  “I thought Geto-san wasn’t a teacher, yet?” Tsumiki speaks up from beside him, tilting her head to the side in confusion. “Mimi and Nana said he’s still learning. How can he be teaching, already?” 

“He’s not a teacher, yet, munchkin, well spotted,” Satoru answers with a proud grin. The nickname annoys Megumi—the feeling of irritation has been conditioned into his very being after Satoru chose it as the designated nickname for both of them. “An internship helps him build experience in the field. It means he is still learning, but he will do so while teaching.”

Tsumiki nods in understanding, her mouth opens and her lips curl into a small ‘ah’ as the information settles in. “So, you will pretend to be a teacher, then? At Megumi’s school?”

Satoru bites on his bottom lip, seemingly deep in thought. Seemingly—as Megumi is quite convinced he doesn’t ever think before he speaks. “I think so, yes,” he explains, and unknowingly retorates Megumi’s train of thoughts. How annoying. Satoru looks towards you for approval; it’s something he does very often. “It’s probably the safest route, no?”

“It’s our best option,” you say, and bring a thumb up to the corner of Satoru’s mouth. Gently, you wipe away a grain of rice stuck to his skin. It’s effortless, and nearly automated. Megumi wonders how many times you’ve had to do that. “Pretending to be a teacher shouldn’t be too difficult a task. Right, mochi?”

“Right,” Satoru echoes. His eyes track your every move, and the slight, pink colouring of his cheeks doesn’t seem to embarrass him even a little bit. Megumi thinks it should. Have some decorum. “I can do it, no problem.” 

“Alright then,” you say, and smile. First at Satoru, and then at Megumi. You look at the boy for a few seconds; you’re about to ask him if he’s okay with it. He knows you are, because you always do. “Is that okay for you, Megumi?” It’s like clockwork, almost. 

Megumi feels the need to answer with something snarky. Something akin to the sound of ‘What choice do I have?’ but he doesn’t—because you’re being kind, and you don’t deserve such a response. So, instead he turns towards Satoru.

“. . .Just don’t mess it up.” 

Satoru delivers a whole spiel about how ‘he’d never do that’ and that he’s ‘more than capable’ of telling a little white lie, but Megumi dilutes it to background noise rather quickly. He continues sputtering his nonsense when Megumi and Tsumiki stand up to clear the table, and still hasn’t stopped even when you and him start loading the dishwasher together—Megumi chooses to seek reprieve in his room while he’s distracted. 

It isn’t until many hours later, when Megumi leaves the sanctuary of his room to swipe a quick snack from the kitchen, that he first hears Satoru speak about something other than his great, and very much sufficient, ‘capabilities’. Your voices are muffled, and Megumi has to focus to make out your words. His soft, inaudible padding down the illuminated hallways comes to a halt. As if that would make his ears function better. 

“Are you sure you want to do this, Satoru?”

The boy frowns. With such gentleness in your voice, it’s hard to identify the worry lingering beneath the surface. Megumi moves a bit closer. He stops one step shy of bumping into the wooden surface, and peeks through the groove. The door is ajar—it’s something that allows him to watch how your eyes follow Satoru’s large frame as he paces around the room. It’s strange. Seeing him so. . .frazzled. 

Satoru nods. “I can do this, I know I can,” he says, and quits his pacing to look at you. Megumi can’t see his face, but he can see yours. He might as well not have, though, as he can’t make out the emotion that fills your eyes. It’s not one he himself has in his repertoire, that he knows for sure. “He never asks me for anything, princess. I have to do this right.” 

Ah, this isn’t a conversation Megumi is meant to hear. He should probably seize his eavesdropping, he thinks, and winces a little when he properly analyses Satoru’s words. They’re truthful. Megumi doesn’t go to him when he needs something. His first thought is to go to you—and his second, Tsumiki. And if he’s being honest anyway, his third thought very likely isn’t Satoru, either; He’d try to solve it on his own if it came down to it. Megumi frowns again. He doesn’t like how that realisation makes him feel. 

A careful shuffle of footsteps breaks him free from his thoughts. Megumi looks up, and catches how you place a hand on Satoru’s cheek. “I’m sure you’ll do great, baby,” you mumble. There’s a small, soft smile on your lips, one that quickly makes way for the peck Satoru places upon them. 

“Thank you,” Satoru whispers. One of his hands reaches for yours, and Megumi suddenly feels as if he’s intruding on something when the man brings them up to his lips to press a tender kiss to them. Okay, no, definitely intruding—ew. 

The boy scrunches his nose up in disgust, and hurriedly darts back towards his room. Suddenly, he has lost his appetite for a late-evening snack. Megumi lets out a deep sigh once he’s all tucked into his sheets again. Perhaps giving Satoru a shot wouldn’t be that big of a problem. Just one, though.

. . .Yeah, just one should be enough.

It’s the final, conclusive thought Megumi has before dozing off to sleep. Blissfully unaware of the conversation you and Satoru share—now behind a very closed door.

You stifle a giggle. The disappearance of Megumi’s presence outside your bedroom was quick and rampant as soon as Satoru started to kiss your hands. Something the sorcerer did very deliberately. It’s as if the boy suddenly forgot about the very special, very effective pair of eyes his guardian possesses. And with a cursed energy output such as Megumi’s, it would be hard not to recognise his presence.

“You did that on purpose,” you comment. “How cruel of you, mochi.”

Satoru hums, and kisses the inside of your wrist. “Maybe, the little brat shouldn’t eavesdrop, then,” he defends himself. There isn’t an inkling of guilt to be seen on his pretty face.

. . .Though, both of you still take some extra care to shut the door next time.

Megumi faithfully believes that, as of today, he has used-up all of his luck for the next five, no, ten years. It can only go downhill from here. For some inexplicable, mind-boggling reason—Satoru is actually pulling this off. That’s not all; he’s not merely winging it, he’s genuinely doing well. The boy can’t quite believe his eyes.

When he’d walked to the front with such an overexaggerated pep in his step, and an overabundance of bravado rolling off of him in waves—Megumi couldn’t help but watch on with a grim look, and a healthy dose of negative thoughts. It only amplified the nerves he’d collected so far during the walk to school. Somehow, watching Satoru give your flashcards a frantic do-over did very little to ease his bubbling anxiety.

There were many of them, flashcards that is. All possible questions his peers or his teacher could ever think of are written on those little pieces of cardboard. Courtesy of you, and your boyfriend. Megumi’s able to recall all those nights the two of you spend at the kitchen table—practising. He thought it was silly at the time.

But, as it turns out, it works.

Satoru is fun. To other people; Megumi doesn’t share the sentiment. Against all odds, he’s dynamic, and speaks with conviction. His flamboyant hand gestures have others think of them as amusing—captivating, even. Satoru is talking, and they’re all hanging onto his every word. No matter the fact that they’re all cleverly disguised lies.

Megumi can’t wrap his head around it. He doesn’t need to, however. If anything, he’s relieved that his peers think of his guardian as cool. While he certainly does not share the opinion, he isn’t too dense to admit that such a belief will save him a lot of embarrassment in the future. So, for this one, single day, he will let Satoru Gojo be cool. His snarky comments can resume tomorrow.

“Ah, it seems you have a deep love for your profession, Gojo-san,” his teacher says. She interrupts Satoru’s rant, and catches his attention as well as Megumi’s. Her voice is light and airy, and carries nothing that should cause him to fear the worst. Still, the boy feels on edge. “Though, I don’t remember the grade you are teaching. Could you tell us, again?”

Ah, and there it goes. The very first card in the elaborately built castle of lies.

Satoru pauses. A second passes, and then two, and three, and so on. He doesn’t speak for a good thirty, and Megumi can nearly see his mind leaf through his beloved flashcards—flashcards that are now neatly tucked into his pockets and entirely out of reach. That’s good. Because the absolute last thing Satoru should do now, is resort back to the flashcards.

Megumi shakes his head no as a signal.

“Ah,” Satoru says. “I teach kindergarten.”

Satoru didn’t catch the hint. Megumi wishes the ground would swallow him up. It would have been the correct answer—it is the answer that’s written on the flashcards—if Satoru hadn’t decided to go off route. Getting too caught up in the story he’d been free-writing, and allowing himself to get carried away by the looks of awe is resulting in his downfall, which, consecutively, will end with Megumi’s downfall, as well.

“Huh? But! What about the science experiment that exploded?” One of the children in his class whines. “I didn’t get to do that in kindergarten!”

“And the backflip you taught your students!”

“What about the first prize in the talent show? I thought your students were famous!”

The little bit of colour that normally resides in Satoru’s face steadily disappears, and he clenches his fist at his side. Ah, it’s great to know he’s at least aware of his mistake. That won’t help either of them at the moment, though. Megumi’s eyebrows furrow, and a feeling of distress overtakes him. It shows on his face. He doesn’t exactly go through the trouble of trying to hide it—there are bigger problems right now.

How utterly humiliating to be caught lying.

Satoru’s eyes find him. They’re just as troubled as his own. It worsens his anxiety.

“Oh, uhm, you see. . .” Satoru stammers, and Megumi’s stomach churns when the children around them continue to ask more and more questions. The wince his guardian lets out does little to soothe him. Megumi sighs, and looks at the ground. “Ah, I see. It seems you guys saw right through me.”

Megumi slides down in his seat. Maybe, if he tried hard enough, the ground would absorb him. It’s currently looking like a preferable fate.

“. . .I’m actually a detective.”

Oh, Jesus Christ.

“And. . .And for a detective, it’s very important to listen to what people say, because they could be lying!”

It’s a sad, pathetic excuse for a save. Megumi briefly ponders the distance between his seat and the door. Perhaps he could make a run for it. The subway station is very close by—getting on and travelling to an entirely new city to start a new life doesn’t seem like such a bad option. He sighs. No, that’s not possible. You and Tsumiki would be very worried. What else is there to do, though?

“You all picked up on my lie, which tells me every single one of you could make a great detective in the future.”

Megumi thinks Satoru might have some underlying mental problems. Though, they can’t possibly be as severe as the problems his classmates have—for they all believe the nonsense he’s giving them. Bright eyes, filled with hope and admiration, stare up at the man at the front of the class; impressed hums and entertained smiles get passed between the parents standing at the edge of the room. And Satoru, well, he seems entirely too proud of the fact that he made a bunch of children think they’re destined for a career in law enforcement. But, be that as it may, it works.

The children stir up unrest—the good kind this time, the kind that vocalises their excitement—and all rush to ask the detective a question. But, before they can even open their mouths, Satoru claps his hands together. It seems he has decided enough is enough, and it’s one of those very rare moments where Megumi agrees with him. The boy needs this to be over already.

“Alright, that’s it for today,” Satoru says, and feigns disappointment. He pretends to be affected by the sad groans of the children—keyword being pretend, as to the trained eye it’s quite clear that he wishes to leave. “I’m not allowed to tell you more.”

Ah, see, now that’s a good card.

“Wait, but, what about. . .”

“Ah, sorry, that’s confidential. Detective stuff, y’know?”

Confidential. Megumi thinks that might just be his new favourite word. The lingering feeling of anxiety slowly starts to subside with every step Satoru takes towards the back of the room—to the back, and away from the spotlight. His eyes follow the man’s large frame, but Satoru never chooses to look at him in return. His line of sight is firmly focused on the floor. It confuses Megumi, but he chalks it up to a mere whim.

All things considered (and minus the near cardiac arrest he went through), today went pretty well, after all. Much to his surprise.

Perhaps Megumi doesn’t hate Career Day. A strong dislike is more like it.

Megumi can’t count the times he wished for Satoru to be quiet. The exact number is much like the digits of Pi—huge, and absolutely never-ending. He can, however, count the times he didn’t wish for him to be quiet. As of today, that stands at a very solid one.

The birds around them chirp, and the bustle of other people is heard all around them—but they’re the only sounds gracing his ears. There is none of Satoru’s incessant chatter, nor is there even a glimmer of gloating about a job well-done. It’s eerily silent, and Megumi isn’t sure what to make of it. This isn’t quite how he imagined the walk home to go. Far from it, if he’s being honest.

“What’s up with you?”

It’s possibly the first time Megumi decides to break the silence, ever. The boy frowns, and fiddles with the straps of his backpack. There isn’t a middle-ground with Satoru, he has found out. Either he speaks entirely too much, or unnervingly little. There’s a tiny pebble in his path, and Megumi feels the need to kick it forward—so he does.

“I kind of messed up there, huh?”

The kick doesn’t have nearly enough force to it. Megumi watches as the little rock skips forward. Once, twice, and then it comes to a standstill again. “Yeah, kind of,” he agrees.

“I’m sorry,” Satoru rushes out. It’s said so fast, as if it physically pains him to say it. Perhaps it does. It’s sincere, however. There isn’t even a hint of a joke to be found. Something must be bothering him. “It didn’t go how I wanted it to go, and I don’t know why I went astray, and forgot about the cards. It—well, it was pretty stupid.”

Megumi doesn’t exactly feel the need to deny it.

“So, I get it, okay?” He continues, seeing the boy’s silence as an empty space for more conversation—more rambling. Since that’s what it is; rambles, plain and simple. Megumi doesn’t see the need for such a fuss. “I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan, and. . .”

“It’s fine.”

Satoru blinks at him. “What?”

“I said it’s fine,” Megumi repeats. Because it really is fine. Admittedly, it wasn’t smart of Satoru to all but discard your carefully planned presentation, but it ended well enough regardless. No harm, no foul. “Thank you for coming.”

That small, short sentence is enough to stop Satoru in his tracks. Megumi doesn’t, however. The man is very tall, he’s sure to catch up in a jiffy; he doesn’t need him to wait. There’s another small silence, though this one feels a lot more comfortable than the last. Satoru takes his time to process, and Megumi lets him.

“W—What?” The sorcerer stammers in shock. There is no need for Megumi to turn around and see—he can hear the smile curling onto his lips. “Did you just. . .”

“I won’t say it again,” Megumi grumbles definitively, and picks up his pace. The very tips of his ears heat up, and the apples of his cheeks turn red. The feeling of embarrassment. This wasn’t exactly how he’d envisioned it to appear when the day started.

Satoru attempts to run after him, to catch up. “Megumi!” He calls out, the very prominent, very familiar whiney lilt now back in his voice. Megumi didn’t miss it. “Wait for me, I didn’t hear you! Could you repeat that?”

“Yes, you did!” Megumi says, and throws him an annoyed glance from over his shoulder. He tightens his hold on the straps of his backpack. “Stop lying.”

“Nuh uh!”

“What are you? Six?”

Satoru’s toothy grin is infuriating. But—it’s familiar. And Megumi discovers he’s much more at ease when that grin is on display, than when the man in question is moping around. It’s a lot less alarming.

“And a half,” Satoru adds.

The scowl that’s on Megumi’s face appears almost instantly when he goes to ruffle his hair. For a man whose technique largely surrounds being untouchable, he has a surprising lack of awareness concerning this thing called personal space.

“Ugh,” Megumi groans, and pushes him off. It doesn’t work. Satoru gravitates towards him again—almost as if he’s a magnet. He doesn’t attempt to move a second time. In moments like these, it’s best to let Satoru get it all out of his system. “You’re so stupid.”

It’s true. He does think Satoru is stupid, but he can’t deny it—Satoru tried his very best today, and in the days prior. Which makes him one of the very small, barely existent group of people who have done so for him.

It seems one shot was enough, after all.

© MADE BY SANATOMIS — please, refrain from stealing, copying, or reposting any of my works.

taglist: @luv-gin @sad-darksoul @parttimep3t @nanuer @bubbletae7 @chilichopsticks @gabirii @nyxlai @rattywatty @chaoticevilbakugo @ploylulla @sugasbrownsuga @littleagxs @m3ow1 @booksarekindaneat @frankenstein852 @bananasquash @jasm-1ne @chicken-fifi @yanelis-world @satory @satoryaa @sasfransisco @faetoraa @softiehee

[taintedcigs]

even if it’s a false god — e.m.

part two; we'd still worship this love

pairing: modern!college!fboy eddie x fem!reader

warnings: smut!!!!!!, 18+, MINORS DNI or ill bite u. p in v, cr*ampie, kinda br*eding kink, unprotected s*x (wrap it up irl angels, this is fiction.), angst angst angst, ASSHOLE FBOY EDDIE!!!, drinking, degrading, swearing, praises, nicknames, vv slight ch*king kink if u squint, some rough stuff.

summary: in which you are friends with benefits with modern!fuckboy!eddie (wc:4.1k)

a/n: i was def thinking of a pt.2 for this while writing it tbh. mr asshole munson needs to repair some hearts!!! also i made the pic in the middle bc i couldn't find a fitting picture w this lyric lmaooo!! did not proof-read!! ignore any mistakes AND PLSS send me ur thoughts ily xo, em

“It was fun babysitting you, sweetheart, but I have to dip,” Steve whispered in your ear with a sympathetic smile, his hand pointing toward the blonde who was impatiently waiting for him. 

“What?” You asked, baffled. “Steve, you fucking promised!” You groaned. 

“Jesus Christ, do you not have any ounce of self-control?” He asked, and you gave him an intense look.

“Obviously not!” You huffed, arms crossing against your chest, causing Steve to chuckle. 

“Robin will come back eventually! And in the mean time, just stay the fuck away from him,” He warned. 

“Now, I gotta get laid.” He winked. You tried to open your mouth, but he interrupted. “I swear to god, Y/N, I don’t wanna hear another word from you, you’ve cockblocked me enough this week.” He said, annoyed.

You rolled your eyes, huffing as you stood straight, “Fine! Have fun.” You exclaimed, and Steve grinned, “I will, sweetheart. And you, just... hide from him or something.” He shrugged as he guided the blonde girl out of the door. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were pathetic, asking for Steve and Robin to babysit you, so that you wouldn’t end up under Eddie again, so that you could at least save some of the self-respect that you were sure probably didn’t exist at this point. 

They knew each time you said you were done with him, it was a lie. They knew you’d go back for more, but now it had been two weeks—two whole weeks—where you managed to stay away from him, blocking him for good. 

And you could feel yourself cracking; you wanted—needed—him with every fiber of your being, and it was driving you crazy. 

He drew you in with whatever he did, like a magnet always pulling you toward him, making you need to be around him, at all times.

You missed the way his hands grazed your thighs, the way he fucked you so rough and senselessly, but also so gently. The way his pretty mouth framed compliments so fucking sweetly, but turned dirty the moment he was pounding into you, praising you but degrading you at the same time. 

He was so good at fucking, but was shit at everything else.

Just like you.

So the idea of being friends with benefits sounded like heaven when you first suggested it. No feelings attached, no exclusivity, just fucking each other's brains out while also having someone to chat with afterward.

It was supposed to be simple—so fucking simple. 

But the moment feelings got involved, it turned out for the worst. Jealousy was a bitter monster that gnawed at the insides of the two of you, and it had turned into something so incredibly toxic that you knew you had to end it. Your friendship was long gone now, turning into a bitter competition where you either fucked or argued.

Exclusivity was not something the two of you ever discussed, you knew you were bad at relationships, and Eddie knew he wasn’t good at feelings, so it was a topic you always danced around. Arguments ensued the moment one of you fucked someone else, and bitterness was present in your veins like it had always been there. 

When Eddie decided to fuck another girl two weeks ago, you decided you were done. This wasn’t good for the both of you, and you needed to stop it as fast as you could. 

You knew the emptiness you felt right after you fucked was not worth it, no matter how good Eddie was.  

You were tired of sobbing into Steve’s chest drunkenly, confused about what you even felt for Eddie when he was out there fucking another girl. 

It was starting to leave a bad taste in your mouth, and you didn’t want to hate Eddie—not more than you already did at the moment. 

But there stood Eddie, curly hair laid messily on his forehead as a guitar pick adorned his neck, his infamous leather jacket paired with those black pants were your nightmare—dream—combo, he was sprawled on the couch, thick thighs spread apart, you wished you could part them further with your hands, rub him through his pants as you got down on your knees for him, giving his delicious pink-tip kitten licks as you tasted his salty pre-cum—

What the fuck was wrong with you? You shook your head as you turned around immediately, gazing into your empty cup as you hurried off to the kitchen. 

Your cheeks grew hot from embarrassment, you seriously had no fucking self-control or respect. 

“You need any help?” Eddie’s voice rang in your ear.

“‘M fine,” You muttered, voice barely audible. 

“You know I’ve been lookin’ for you.”

“Why? Did you finally run out of girls to fuck on campus?” You said snarkily, a smirk tugging on your lips. 

“Don’t act so fuckin’ innocent now, sweetheart.” He tssked, causing you to throw him a quizzed look.

“Didn’t you go home with Mr. Jock last week?” He was being possessive again, and you hated how it picked up your heart rate, you were stupid.

“So?” You quirked a brow, teasing him, and he gave you a slight chuckle.

That smug asshole, why did he have to always look so good?

“So…how was it?” He asked, and you could feel his jaw tensing as he took a step closer to you, trapping you between the drink stand and his body.

“You’re disgusting.” You groaned as you pushed him away from your face. You were not going to give in.

“That bad, huh?” He mocked, scrunching his nose.

You rolled your eyes. “No.” You lied.

It was bad, really fucking bad; the guy lasted 30 seconds and left you with nothing. That greedy bastard.

But you weren’t going to let Eddie know that.

“He was really good, actually.” You were lying through your teeth, and thankfully, Eddie didn’t seem to notice. An intense rage flashed through his eyes.

“You sayin’ that punk is better than me?” He slurred into your ear, his breath ragged and hot as it fanned against your neck. He smelled so fucking addicting—a mix of sandalwood and nicotine, earthy and making you crave him at the same time. 

You don’t even know how he even came to that conclusion, but it was funny, seeing him like this, nostrils flaring as rage filled his veins, like he was in torture hearing about the guys you fucked, he deserved that.

But your silence at his question meant everything to him; he didn’t need an answer. You knew he was better, and he knew that you were crawling closer to his palm now.

He grew more confident because of the way you stuck to him. “I've seen him in the locker room, sweetheart. He’s not that fuckin’ impressive.” You didn’t mean to gasp, but it slipped past your lips quickly.

“Munson!” You warned, a smile tugged on your lips, and you realized how pathetic you were being again, but it was too late now. 

“Don’t think he can make you smile like I do, either.” He grinned smugly, his calloused hands quick to pull the strand of hair on your face, to see the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled, so fucking promising.

“You're a jerk,” You spat, groaning as you turned around, trying to avoid him, but it was no use; the damage was done, and you were putty in his hands again.  

He had a tight hold on your arm, possessive again, and you were sick for enjoying his rough side. He spun you around to meet him, eyes dark, before he held you in place. “A jerk who makes you feel good,” Eddie purred in your ear, fingers tracing toward your exposed skin, one touch from him, and you whimpered, all that anger fading away so quickly.

He chuckled darkly. “Missed those sweet lil’ whimpers,” He whispered in your ear again, fingers quick to find their way toward your panties. 

He drew slow circles with his thumb while you tried to remain tight-lipped, but it was impossible. 

“Jesus—fuck, Eddie som—someone could see...” You didn’t mean to throw your head back against the wall. Your eyes fluttered shut, and Eddie shrugged. 

“Don’t care, sweetheart.” 

“Well, I do.” You didn’t; Eddie could fuck you right here, right now, and you’d be fine with it, but you weren’t ready to admit this to yourself, and you didn’t want to take the chance of Robin seeing you like this. 

He groaned as he dragged you into the nearest room. You would’ve cried at the loss of contact if he didn’t have a tight hold on your body, calloused hands gripping at your curves, and your thighs rubbed together at his touch. 

Eddie was quick to pin you against the door, his hand curling around the back of your neck. He smashed his lips against yours without hesitating, kissing you the same way he made you feel; explosive, hard, and dizzying. 

He pulled back to look at you. 

Sweet Jesus.

His gaze was intense, and it made you feel so fucking exposed that it startled a gasp out of your lips. 

You fisted his shirt when you had enough, yanking him closer to you so that you could feel his body pressed into yours. Everything you felt was pure hunger, craving him deeply.  

Your heart was pounding in your chest when you felt his rock hard bulge grinding against you, calloused hands gripped your ass as you whimpered; you were at his mercy now. 

“What were you sayin’ last time? That this would never happen again?” He mocked, whispering against your face, his gaze never leaving you. 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was impossible to keep up your act when his fingers started ghosting over your thighs again. “Fuck. You.” You spat. 

“You don’t have to ask me twice, baby.” He grinned, chuckling when you whimpered under his touch.

“God, I love those sweet noises you make for me…” He murmured, you rubbed your thighs again at his words. “I bet if I flipped that little skirt of yours… I’d find you gushing for me.” He groaned. 

And you remained tight-lipped. God, you didn’t want to feed into his huge fucking ego, and you wanted to wipe that smug smirk off his face. 

But he was so right. Your thighs were dampened by how aroused you were. 

He was quick to slip his fingers past your panties, a grunt escaping his lips once he pushed past your folds, your slick covering his fingers. He chuckled darkly. “You’re soaking my fingers, honey.”

“I—Fuck—I hate you.” You squeezed your eyes shut, and Eddie reveled in it, his fingers pushing inside of you while his thumb stayed on your clit. 

“Always sayin’ shit you don’t mean, baby.” He mocked. “Gonna make you beg for my cock, if you keep’ talkin like that.” 

You were panting and head dizzy as he pushed his fingers in and out of you. You were going to lose it, and he had barely started.

When he finally undressed both of you, you were out of it, while his hands were still on your clit as he groaned at the sight in front of him. 

You were perfect. 

His breath was ragged when he traced your chest, eyes bulging when he realized you had no bra on, pleasure ignited in you more and more when he cupped your breasts, teeth tugging your nipple as his fingers still toyed with your clit.

“Perfect tits, just made for me, huh?” He growled, making you mewl; you were putty in his hands, and with each movement, you were getting closer and closer to beg him for more. 

The more you whimpered, the rougher he got with you, curling his finger inside your cunt as he hit that one spot, eliciting a moan from you as you threw your head back.

“P—please.” You whimpered, and Eddie tutted. 

“I’ve seen you do much better than that.” He hummed. This arrogant asshole was going to be the death of you. 

“P—please, Eds, please.” You begged, and your moans died down your throat, before he slowly dragged his fingers out and shoved them back in. 

Your head cocked to the side in pleasure, and he was quick to take advantage of it, licking a path from your neck to your ear, grinning. 

“Mhmm… not good enough, baby.” He purred in your ear as you whined, “Jesus fucking Christ—” Your cursing was interrupted when he yanked his hands away. 

No. No. No. No!

“Shitshitshit—Please, Fuck, Eds...” You murmured, eyes shooting wide open, “Need your cock inside’a me.” You mewled again. 

His dark chuckle reverberated through you, “See, that wasn’t that hard, was it?” He mocked, causing your eyes to narrow. 

“You assho—” He didn’t let you finish as he wrapped his hands around your throat, just enough to punish you but just enough for pleasure to course through your veins. And it felt so fucking good. 

You shut your mouth quickly, “What were you saying, baby?” He purred. 

God, that egotistic prick was pushing you to your last fucking limit; you could do it, you could hold it off. But on the other hand, you could feel yourself pulsing with need; if he didn’t pound into you soon, you knew you would’ve been a pathetic blabbering mess.

“Please, please, Fuck me,” You grunted. “I need you, Eddie.” He didn’t respond as he tapped your thighs, signaling for you to wrap your legs around his chest, and you were quick to oblige. 

Mind spinning before you got a chance to process what happened, he slammed into you with a vicious thrust, he was so fucking thick that it made you let out a guttural scream, tears welled at your eyes as you tried to adjust to his size. 

It wasn’t long before your loud noises turned into incoherent babbles and squeals as he kept his pace.

“Holy shit, baby,” He groaned, watching his cock sliding into you, “Such a warm fuckin’ pussy, and so fucking tight… Jesus…”

You trembled beneath him, tits bouncing up and down as your mouth hung open each time he slid further into your cunt, and Eddie wanted that image etched into his brain forever. 

He tilted you upward, hitting spots you weren’t even aware of. You were quick to wrap your hands around his frame, your nails digging into his back, roughly.

He was the only one who knew you like that; both emotionally and physically, and the same went for you, that’s why the two of you never could truly let each go, clinging to each other like a child did to their favorite toy.

You know no one else could fuck you like he did, and that smug bastard knew it, too.

The way he was pounding into you while uttering curses at your ear, furiously slapping into your body as if you were nothing but his personal fucktoy, truly his.

And you realized how sick you were for liking it, truly enjoying being this way with him. 

“You look so fuckin’ pretty when you take my cock, such a tight fuckin’ pussy and all mine, yea?” He panted causing you to nod, you were barely able hold his gaze, and he groaned before his hands roughly grabbed your cheeks, forcing your head in his direction. 

“Look at me baby…” He purred, “Look, how well your cunt is squeezin’ me. You feel that, peach?” He sheathed himself further into you, and you could feel your walls clench around him, a contented groan leaving both of your lips. 

It was fucking perfect. Everything was rough and messy, there was nothing emotional about the way you fucked. You were both using each other to cum as much as you wanted to, not stopping until you were both sweaty bodies.

He could make you come apart in seconds if he wanted to, knowing your body better than anyone else. And you could make the scary freak Eddie putty in your hands if you wanted to; it was a fucked up game of control that had the two of you going at it for hours. 

Was it fucked up? Yes.

Did it feel good? Absolutely. 

“Would that asshole be able to make you come apart like this?” He asked, fingers digging into your hips, sure to leave a bruise.

This wasn’t the first time Eddie had been possessive; it was a sick, twisted game that you also participated in, almost as if both of you knew that you could never be with anyone else.

You nodded mindlessly, you weren’t going to give into him that easily, again, he grunted at your lack of reaction. 

“Tell me, baby.” He growled, his pounding slowing down to make sure your orgasm was out of reach for you, torturing you until he had you begging under him.

You weren’t sure if you wanted to give up this fast. “Beg me, honey.” His movements picked up, and his hands were quick to toy with your clit, a sharp burst of euphoria rang through your body, leaving you speechless. 

You clenched around him—a big fucking mistake—and he grinned smuggly again. “I know, baby, I know you’re close.” He panted. “I can make you cum, angel.” He promised, “Just say the word.” 

“Asshole,” You groaned between his forceful thrusts, and he chuckled darkly. You rolled your hips against his when his movements faltered, seeking the warmth and the friction when he thrusted into you fully, filling you to the brim.

And that prick was thoroughly enjoying your torture. “Tell me it’s all mine, that you’re all mine.” He purred against your ear. 

You couldn’t. You shouldn’t.

But the way his thumb circled around your clit, so agonizingly slow, and the way his cock was prodding into you so slowly was torture. God, if he just picked up his pace.

Don’t. 

You try to convince yourself, but it's to no avail, you are clenching down on nothing, and it hurts. Your hole is pulsing now, and you need him more than ever. 

“P—please,” You mewled, causing Eddie to give you a slight smirk. “Please what, baby? Use your words.” 

“I’m all yours,” You murmured, “He could never fuck me like you could.” You added, humming contently, when Eddie started to pound into you relentlessly again. 

“Please—I need to—Jesus, Eds.” Your words slurred into a moan as he increased his speed, his finger circling your clit roughly. 

“Oh fuck, fuck, baby. Feels so good.” He panted.  “Please—please make me cum, sir.” You sobbed, unable to hold it back anymore. 

And that was all Eddie needed to hear. “Cum for me, honey.” He pleaded, and you gave him low whimpers as he started fucking you faster again, watching the way his cock disappeared into your gushing cunt.

“Wanna feel you cum on my cock, baby.” He breathed. 

“Shit, feels so good, Eds.” 

“Jesus—Please… I’m going to—” You bit down on your lower lip, unable to stifle the moans leaving your lips as his assault on your clit was enough to bring you over the edge, 

“I’m gonna—I’m…Holy shit, oh god!” You sobbed, whole body convulsing in pleasure as you came around his cock, your vision blurred and mind foggy as you didn’t realize how your orgasm was triggering his. 

Eddie was whimpering for you now, “So fucking good, holy shit.” He panted, movements getting sloppier.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, baby. My perfect fucking girl, yea?” He heaved a breath. 

“I’m gonna fuck this—Gonna fuck my load into you, peach.”

“Gonna fill you with my cum—Fuuuck.” He growled, animalistic noises escaping him as he exploded inside of you, thick ropes of his warm cum painting your walls. 

He groaned when he slipped out, mouth-watering as he enjoyed the sight of you fucked out of your mind, and his load dripping down your thighs. 

The relief you had was short-lived as that sinking feeling came to you again, the emptiness, the loneliness.

Was all of it worth it?

The two of you dressed in silence; the weight of what you did was hitting you all at once. You did it again. You had sex with him again. You let him use you again—it didn’t matter if you used him too, it meant something different for you than it did for him.

All those thoughts you had about feeling good faded out quicker than you thought they would.

You were so fucking pathetic.

Jesus Christ.

You felt sick, what the fuck did you just do?

As soon as Eddie got dressed, he gave your cheek a sloppy kiss. He was going to leave you all alone again.

You should be fine with this, this is what always happens.

Don’t—don’t say anything, just take your last bit of self-respect that is possibly non-existent and leave without another word—

“You’re…leaving?” You exhale, your mind racing with ideas.

Shit. Just shut the fuck up.

“Don’t act so coy now, sweetheart.” He gave you a slight smile, but all you wanted to do was slap it out of him.

“We both know what this was.” He muttered, that conceited dickhead still had that smile on his face.

“And what exactly was ‘this’?” You pointed to the space between the two of you.

“Fucking, no strings attached?” He added, shrugging. The fact that he had no clue about anything was pissing you off.

“Unbelievable.” You gave him a dry chuckle.

“What?” He asked, baffled.

“Is that all I am to you, just a warm body?” You said, face crinkling with disgust.

“I’m confused.” Eddie said. “You—you were the one who fucking suggested this.” He breathed.

“Well, I’m un-suggesting it!” You exclaimed angrily.

“You—you are so fucking confusing!” He spat. “I told you—I told you we could be more... told you we could try... us.” He stuttered. “You were the one who refused!”

“You were drunk! You can barely fucking say it now!” You spat back.

“What... what do you even want, Y/N?” He asked, holding his gaze.

“Do you want a relationship? Do you want something meaningful?” He pondered, a sarcastic chuckle escaping his lips.

“Is it so wrong for me to want that? To want something real?” Your voice carried so much emotion, and that’s what killed him.

He couldn’t have a relationship with you even if he wanted to; he recognized his own turmoil, and he feared he would drag you right down with him. No matter how similar you seemed to be, he was sure he’d ruin you, completely and utterly. And not in a good way.

He swallowed physically; the lump in his throat wasn’t going to go away.

He couldn’t let you have hope; he couldn’t let you down again—he had done that enough.

''A relationship with you is the last thing I see myself doing.'' He almost whispered, but you heard it loud and clear.

Your brows were quick to furrow, and your jaw was was set in a tense manner. The lust in your gaze was long gone by now, containing only rage while you glared at the source of your pain.

“Fuck. You.” You spat, tears threatening to spill but you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction

“You are a sadistic fucking asshole, Munson.” 

“Jesus… I think we should stop—whatever the hell, this is.” He exclaimed.

“Fine by me!” You exclaimed back cheeks heating up from anger.

“I really am done with you, this time.” Despite the intensity of your gaze, he could sense the subtle vulnerability in your eyes. The subtle pain that was fueling your anger

“Oh, I’m sure you are.” He chuckled smugly. This was something you two had joked about before, but it wasn’t funny now.

He saw you in the palm of his hand because you always came back to him, he was right… until now.

The fact that he laughed in your face at the thought of being in a relationship with you was too much, even for your low self-esteem. 

“I don’t care what you think.” You didn’t even hold the rage you held before; only disgust was visible in your tone.

“You’re dead to me.” You replied curtly, your voice distant and chilling.

And Eddie knew how much he fucked up, truly.

There was nothing he could do now.

“I didn’t mean it like—” He regretted what he said immediately, but you dismissed his protests, gathering your jacket in your hand as you slammed the door behind you.

Tears blurred your vision as soon as you left, the lively sound of the party clouded your mind as you silently sobbed, trying to find Robin.

You knew how unattainable he was, and how much he truly hurt you, and as fucked up as it was, that's exactly why you loved him; led by blind faith that it would be different.

[meowdyjac]

Ok so hear me out!

Demon Stan x Priest Fiddleford.

(This is just his imagination he is not cool enough to convince the priest to break his celibacy streak)

vv more thoughts on this below vv

So im just throwing ideas out here, but in this Stan is a demon haunting Fiddleford, a lonely divorced priest, and is trying to get him to commit sin or go insane. Unfortunately for him, the fear of being haunted by a demon wears off when Fiddleford realizes hes basically harmless and is just mildly annoyed by his presence (Stan is just floating around him listing sins Fidds should do)

Despite Fidds annoyance, Stan does make good company.