#marketing questions to ask clients

[fvggroupblog]

Our goal is to forge long-lasting, win-win business partnerships. We value our work, but we value our relationships even more, which is why we do everything in our power to deliver above and beyond expectations. Performance is everything. ROI is our focus.

[endless-ineffabilities]

chemical override (4)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

Ewan wants to clear things up about the night out and his mystery companion, and the reader gets another surprise in LA. Will the two finally have their first date or will something get in the way once more?

Ewan's publicist Donna has never had any issue with her client before. Always present and accounted for, on time for whatever interview, photoshoot or audition he has booked for the day.

But she hasn't been able to get a hold of him in the past two days, which is worrying her to no end, because he is set to meet with a major casting director in New York some time in the coming week.

Donna may have a clue as to why. It's only been two days as well since the pub incident, when The Sun ran a story speculating on Ewan's lovelife - the exact kind of thing he's always been trying to avoid.

It had taken a life of its own, with fans taking it upon themselves to track down every clue of the girl on the internet. Her instagram. Her relation to the cast - apparently she is a cousin of Luke and Elliott. Even the marketing agency where she works. Louise, a 26-year old graphic designer, admittedly harbours a crush on Ewan, and when she heard that her cousins were hanging out with him at a pub nearby, she almost immediately invited herself and her friends over.

But that's all, according to Ewan. After talking to Luke, memories of the night came rushing back to him.

Stumbling out in the alley to send you that voice message. Rejoining the boys to see that they've got new company. Being introduced to Louise, with Tom joking that he should be careful with the missus. Wouldn't want her - you - to think that he's flirting with anyone else.

Even though that's exactly what happened. Not the flirting, per se. Not from Ewan's side, at least. Louise had been brazen with admiration, barely leaving his side the rest of the night. Asking him a bunch of probing questions he had neither the interest nor the patience to answer.

They had all thought the pub was safe from prying eyes. No one approached them for anything, not even a single look of recognition followed by the question, “Are you that guy from House of the Dragon?” Unfortunately, it only takes one rat for a headline to surface. Ewan Mitchell’s mystery girl has been the talk of the fandom and Donna has been trying hard to quell the rumours. 

Such is the nasty nature of the business, as she knows Ewan has quickly learned.

She dials him again, and to her surprise, the call actually patches through.

Her client's throaty voice is heard on the other line, "Hey, Donna, sorry if I've missed your calls."

"It's alright, it's alright, Ewan," Donna stammers. "Just glad to hear from you. Where are you? I've managed to do some damage control about those rumours and - "

"Oh, I'm in LA. I just landed about an hour ago," Ewan responds casually, not mirroring the stress in Donna's tone. Has he gotten over the fuss so easily?

"LA? You know your meeting is not till next week, right? And it's in New York. It's very, very important that you don't miss it, Ewan."

"And I won't," Ewan affirms, laughing dryly to console his worried publicist. "I just need to see about something over here."

Someone, he thinks. He's got his priorities straight.

"Work-related?" Donna asks, curious.

"Uhhhm," Ewan dithers, but decides against telling her about you. Not just yet. "Just visiting a friend. I'll stay here for a while then fly out to New York, don't worry."

"Okay, just keep in touch, alright? I'll send more details about the meeting soon."

"Sure thing. Thank you, Donna."

"Talk soon, Ewan. Take care of yourself."

Donna feels a huge sense of relief wash over her when the call ends, knowing the whereabouts of one of her biggest clients. But why LA? Perhaps Ewan just needed some time off after the flurry of annoying headlines put out in the UK.

Or maybe he's visiting with a friend? Who is stateside right now? Fabien's filming in Philly. The rest of the boys are still in England. But then...

Her thoughts land on the one thing - the one person - that would make him fly out on such short notice. Without giving thought to anything else, especially after the speculation on his romantic life.

Ewan's never been one to share about personal affairs, not even to his close-knit team, but no matter how reclusive he is, no one can deny the way he looks at you. The way he lights up when you're brought up in conversation. The number of times he had excused himself from their meetings to make a call, standing in the corner with a permanent smile etched on his face.

Oh, Donna knows now just who he is in LA for.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Like inevitable spectres haunting someone of his profession, Ewan noticed the papparazzi snapping away as he arrived in LA.

He told no one he would be coming, so it must be an automatic thing in the city. The photogs are always scurrying in the periphery, ready to catch anyone of note, no matter the degree of fame or notoriety.

If you were keeping up with such news, you would know he is in the city.

But according to your assistant Clara, who was kind enough to inform him of your schedule, you are still finishing up on another day of rehearsals for your upcoming rom-com. Ewan checked in the same hotel as you, planning to seek you out as soon as you arrive back from work.

He hasn't spoken to you since the voicemail, and since those false news broke out. Not that he can blame you - wouldn't anyone be suspicious of a drunken confession made by a guy who was allegedly in the company of another girl?

He hates it, being subject to all of this. This nonsense that is keeping you from him, not even worth any consequence.

But he will deal with the blows. As long as he sets things right with you. As long he gets you in the end.

He settles in his suite, getting ready to meet with you once more. He showers, shaves, tousles his hair. He even checks whether he smells decent after all of that - once, twice, and another time. Being nervous to stand in front of a crowd is one thing; it's a whole other conundrum for him finally see you again.

Maybe the crowds are more manageable, and it baffles him to realise so. He can put on a persona, be the actor, and disappear inside himself as the cameras flash bright enough for him to disassociate.

But not with you. He wants to show you everything that he is, who he truly is, and it scares him. There is no team to help him get ready now. It's all him, just Ewan.

Clad in his trusty black jeans and a comfortable hoodie of the same dark colour, he looks in the mirror one last time after receiving a text from Clara that you've arrived at the hotel about half an hour ago.

He contemplates opening the bottle of bourbon from the minibar and taking a shot of liquid courage - something to help him get his explanation ready. Just so he wouldn't stammer in front of you.

Just so you he can make you see, without any error or trace of doubt, that he meant every word in that voicemail, no matter how embarrassing it might have sounded.

He decides against it, imagining the wrinkling of your nose as you catch a whiff of the alcohol. It's cute when you do it, and he adores it so dearly, but he knows that it isn't the right moment.

He rights himself, rolls his shoulders, and he's out the door.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Jacob trails you inside your hotel suite, laughing at some shared remark about the scenes you rehearsed for the day.

They were emotionally demanding and even after tossing around ideas for hours, the two of you were unable to achieve a satisfying approach to the scenes.

Which is why he had proposed practicing well into the evening, and you found yourselves heading back to your suite together. He has his own house in LA, but your hotel just happened to be closer to the rehearsal studio.

"Care for a drink?" you asked him.

"Why the hell not?" he immediately assents in that easy, Aussie drawl. "We might need it for this shite."

You laugh in agreement, "Indeed. I've got some canned gin and tonics if that's alright.. or beer... or whiskey... " you trail off as you study the contents of your fridge.

"G and t, please, mate," he settles down on the couch, legs stretching in front of him. "We were so unproductive today. I just could not get that line right."

"Tell me about it." You hand him his drink, and he clinks it with yours with a mumbled cheers. "It was me who can't land the right tone," you say. "I mean, is my character supposed to be confused in that moment? Or angry? Or sad?"

"Or all of 'em." he shrugs. "Tricky, isn't it?"

You hurriedly fetch your script from a table, getting right down to it. "So for the first scene in the third act..."

Moments later, with cans of gin and tonic discarded on the coffee table, you and Jacob sit with legs crossed on the couch facing each other. Scripts in hand, you go through the lines over and over, with only seemingly minor tweaks each time. To an actor though, even just the slightest change of pitch or expression makes all the difference.

"Is that better? I think we almost got it," you say after a read-through.

"Yeah, so much better," he grins, holding his hand up for a high-five. Just as your hands smack in the air, another sound echoes faintly from the door.

"Someone's knocking?" Jacob asks. "You expecting anybody? Room service or anything?"

"No," you shake your head, trying to think of whether your assistant or publicist said anything about dropping by. "Maybe it's just housekeeping?"

"I'll get it," Jacob states, already padding his way to the door.

A beat later, you hear Jacob loudly exclaim, "Ewan, mate! It's good to see you!"

Ewan? A shiver runs up your spine. Craning your neck to get a view of a doorway, you catch sight of him, half-obscured by Jacob's tall frame.

Confused, surprised, and feeling some other emotion you can't pinpoint, you head over to greet him.

"How are you doing?" Jacob greets, shaking Ewan's hand, oblivious to the poorly hidden distaste in his eyes.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Ewan finds himself asking Jacob, a bit rudely, just as you ask him the same.

"What are you doing here?" you mirror his question at the exact same time.

"Oh!" Jacob breathes out a laugh, "Well, I'll go first. We were just practicing lines."

"In her room? Isn't it a bit late for rehearsal? I thought you're supposed to be off work." Ewan asks, and it sounds like an accusation. He starts to feel all kinds of uneasy - were the twins right about life imitating art?

You narrow your eyes at him. "We decided to continue running lines after rehearsal. There's a scene we can't get right. It's quite tricky - "

"Just the two of you? Alone, here?" Ewan tilts his head, gesturing towards the room like it's some forbidden place.

Jacob shakes his head, smile steady on his lips. If he's caught on to how Ewan must be feeling, he doesn't let it affect him. He gives you a look, as if to check your reaction, and you give him a reassuring shrug.

Ewan does not overlook this exchange. He clenches his jaw, irate from the assumptions popping up in his mind. Before he forgets his manners, he says, "Excuse me, I just... wasn't expecting... I just wanted to speak to you."

"I didn't even know you were in LA," you say, before moving aside to usher him in. "But I'm glad you are, of course. Come join us - "

He nods, making his way to the seating area, where he spies the discarded cans of alcohol and dog-eared scripts. Maybe he should have taken that bloody shot after all.

He laughs joylessly to himself, shaking his head. "Sorry, you guys. I just flew in today, and I must have been exhausted from the flight."

"Hey, no worries, mate," Jacob says. "You know what, I'll be on my way. Give you time to catch up and all." He picks up his own tattered script then gives you a kiss on the cheek, bidding you with a, "I'll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, sweetheart."

If looks could kill, and if his dear mother hadn't raised him right, he would have incinerated Jacob in that moment.

He is snapped out of his thoughts when Jacob claps him on the shoulder, "Great to see you again, mate. Have a good night, eh?"

Ewan knows he's being ridiculous. There's nothing wrong with two friends and co-stars spending some time alone to rehearse. Besides, last he heard, you were adamant that you and Jacob are just friends.

So why is he being so irrational? Why does the idea of you spending more time than necessary with Jacob, possibly falling for him, bother him so much?

Ewan realises that this is what jealousy must feel like.

He's had career envy before. Another actor landing a role he vied for. Someone else getting the praise he deserves.

But nothing like this. It's petty and possessive.

He wants you to just be his.

You stand in front of him once more after you walk Jacob out of the suite.

"Hey," you say, smiling weakly.

"Hi, darling."

Both of you want to do more. Say more. Usually you would greet each other with a hug and a kiss on a cheek, his hands lingering on your forearms even after you pull away, but the air is thick with tension.

You look at him with those bright, expecting eyes of yours, and Ewan just wants to cave in and make a sloppy confession. But not after that voicemail, no. He's determined to do this right. Words not slurred, head clear.

"So I got your voicemail," you finally say, smiling coyly. "That was... something."

"Hmm," he can't help but mirror your smile, as always. "It was, wasn't it?"

"I understand," you continue, taking a step closer, "if you were drunk. We all say things when we're off it that we maybe don't mean - "

"But darling, I meant every word," he says, way too quickly.

You laugh, the sound of it erasing whatever apprehension remained in him. "Do you even remember what you said?"

"I do," he counters, moving even closer to you. Another step and he'd be able to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you to him. "At least, some of - no - most of it."

"Oh yeah?" you ask cheekily, aided by the effect of gin. He still has your heart racing, but a part of you now knows that the feeling is mutual. "What did you say again?"

He sees that glint in your eye, and it causes him to smirk. "Why don't I make it simple for you, darling?" He closes the distance, one hand brushing the hair from your face.

"Okay," you swallow, getting lost in his blues.

"I missed you." He kisses your cheek. "I like you. A lot." He kisses the other. "And I, uh, I would like to take you on a date."

His eyes meet yours. His voice is steady, but you notice some nervousness in his gaze. How the tables have turned. You make Ewan Mitchell's heart go awry.

"Please, darling?" he timidly adds, the sentiment so sweet you want to blurt out yes immediately. Before you can, he's already leaned back, an explanation rushing out of his lips, "And... I'm not sure but you must have seen those headlines? They're not true, I swear. We were out drinking and - "

"I know, Ewan." You cut him off with a hand pressed gently on his chest but he keeps going.

" - some other people joined us. One of them being - "

"Luke and Elliott's cousin. I know. Elliott called and told me everything."

"Oh. He called you?" A huge sense of relief washes over him, better than any comfort he might have found in a shot or three of bourbon.

"Mhmm, he called me yesterday. So, you know, you didn't really have to fly out. I was about to call you eventually."

He smiles bashfully, eyes cast down as a blush spreads across his cheeks. Damn it, Elliott, you brilliant lad. He reminds himself to treat Elliott to a pint the next time he sees him.

"I still wanted to see you," Ewan maintains, pressing a kiss to your forehead and you're immediately enveloped by the familiar comfort of his scent. Surprisingly without the staple hint of cigarette smoke, due to his frantic scrubbing after the flight.

"I'm happy you're here," you say, wrapping your arms around his waist, cheek pressed against his chest. "And no offence to Louise or anything, but she needs to learn some boundaries with my - "

Ewan looks down at you fondly, squeezing your arms to prompt your next words, "Yeah, darling? Your what?"

"My - " you attempt to bury your face in his hoodie, but he keeps your gaze with a hand cupping your jaw. So you end up saving yourself with " - my Aemond."

"Hmm," he hums, lips curling, and it's so very Aemond of him it makes you feel warm all over. "Your Aemond.Your Ewan. I'm all yours, love."

The whole thing couldn't have gone any better, all things considered, and Ewan feels content to have gotten over his first brush with the rumour mill. What matters is right in front of him, and you know the truth.

"Are you staying in this hotel? How did you even know I was here?" You take his hand, guiding him over to the couch.

"Clara," is all Ewan says by way of explanation.

"Well, thank you, Clara," you declare. Ewan shuffles closer to you and rests his arm around your shoulders, planting a kiss on your forehead again. The gesture is already becoming instinctive, providing the both of you with a sense of ease.

"Darling?"

"Yeah?" you respond absentmindedly, fingers toying with the soft fabric of his hoodie.

"Is that a yes?"

You exhale deeply. As if it wasn't clear enough already. "What do you think, handsome?"

"I don't know, angel. You tell me," he counters cheekily, his fingers playing with your hair as you playfully glare at him.

"What if I say no, baby?"

"Then I'll have to work hard to change your mind, princess."

"And how would you do that, honey?"

His gaze darkens, and something flashes across his blue eyes as he whispers intensely, "Use your imagination, bunny."

"Ri-right," you bite your lip, then shake your head to snap out of it. "We'll have to draw the line at bunny."

He laughs at your flustered state, pleased by the effect he has on you. "What's wrong with bunny?"

That elicits a groan out of you, but you smile anyway. "I already said yes, Ewan. Quit it with the bunny."

"Alright, beautiful," he relents, making you lean even closer against him.

The haze of gin after a long work day starts to subside and the rush of emotion is coming back to you. You find yourself gazing at Ewan in mild disbelief, in awe that he just confessed that he wants you.

Feeling antsy, you stand and pace around the room. You start tidying things, putting your scattered knick-knacks back in your handbag. If you sit with him any longer, you just might end up hurrying things through and jump his bones already, kiss him the next time he does that hmm.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

"No," he says smoothly. "I just need you." The words make you stop in your tracks. He still sits in the same position, looking at you with that undeniable desire in his eyes.

"Uhhhm," your mouth feels dry all of the sudden. Nothing his tongue past your lips can't fix, your intrusive thoughts barge right in. "So... the... the media rollout's still going on isn't it? Should we check and see?" You take your laptop and plop back down next to him. He doesn't miss a beat and cuddles against you once more, wrapping his arm around your tense frame.

"I think so, darling." The media rollout is how the interviews and promotional material filmed by the cast is being released gradually, on a weekly basis, after each new episode comes out.

A simple search on Youtube confirms it, and the first thing that popped up is the Where is The Lie? video you did for Elle.

It was slated for just Tom, Phia, and Ewan but your Blackwood character became such a fan-favourite that they asked you to join in. Not to mention the frenzy you and Ewan caused online with the initial interviews you did together.

"Shall we watch this?" Ewan offers, solely for the intent of seeing you in the video.

You click on it, and for the next 8 minutes or so, all you can take note of are the signs that had clearly already been there. The fans were on to something when they claimed that you and Ewan are a really good ship.

The video starts with a clip of Phia hitting her head on the overhead lamp when she stands, prompting her to uncontrollably giggle along with you and Tom. Ewan, being the exception, is beside himself with worry, and he appears to instinctively reach for your hand as you sit beside him.

"Huh," Ewan smiles, taking your hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it.

Tom is the first to be put on the hot seat, and he slowly recites the three statements he prepared. "Ewan, pay attention," Tom blurts out when he notices that Ewan kept sneaking glances at you. "Sure, I'm locked in," Ewan says right back, as you and Phia share a look.

"What were you looking at?" you ask playfully, poking him in the side. "You seem plenty distracted there."

He snorts at himself in the video, when he ends up smiling as he caught your eye. "It was your fault. You were distracting me."

"I was not!" you exclaim. "I thought you were just being competitive then."

Phia is next to have a go. She tells you of a Wifi repellent necklace, a wrestling career, and saving a squirrel from a drainpipe. "The Wifi thing sounds like something Ewan would have," Tom jokes. "Oh sure," you concur, "except that he'd actually keep it so he can watch films." Ewan smiles at your acute observation.

"I'd also keep it to stalk your Instagram," Ewan mumbles from beside you. "And you know, just stalk you in general."

"I'm sure you do, Mitchell," you respond casually, but your face warms up anyhow.

It's Ewan's turn, and as he sits on the hot seat, you see Tom and Phia casting a look at each other then at the two of you, a secret message shared between them. "I bet she will know the answer right away," Phia says. "Yeah, how do we know the two of you didn't conspire together?" Tom asks. "Are you kidding me, you guys?" you laugh at them, thinking how silly they were being, not knowing then that they were definitely on to something.

"Darling, you have to know this," Ewan tells you specifically as you all try to guess the answer. "Oh, darling!" Tom mouths to Phia, dramatically flipping nonexistent long hair over his shoulder. Phia laughs at his antics, before nudging you and saying, "Which one is it? Which is the lie? I trust you." You respond, "Why me? You two should know this too!"

"Because I wasn't trying to date them, my love," Ewan says, smiling at the screen.

"Oh, come on now." You crane your neck up to press a soft kiss against his cheek before turning your attention back to the video. So you don't notice the switch in Ewan's breathing. The jumps in his heartbeart. The way he subtly clears his throat to deal with his flustered state.

The video comes to a close after your turn and even at the very end, Ewan can be seen admiring you as you give the closing remarks with Phia.

Admiring you, as he does in the moment.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he says, when you turn to look at him.

"Thank you," you reply softly, your voice barely audible.

Some time passes with the two of you catching up, talking about your upcoming projects, his big meeting in New York - all the while his fingers trace patterns on your exposed skin, his arm wrapped around you snugly.

"Have you been keeping up with the show?" he asks.

"The last episode I saw fully was... the second one? I got pretty busy after that. How about you?"

"Oh," he looks down in thought, piquing your curiosity, "so you didn't get to see the third episode yet then?"

"No, not yet," you shake your head, "but I've seen some stuff here and there."

He hums again and he wants to ask, have you seen his stuff? There are around a dozen or so potential jokes at play here. He has an inkling to tell you to watch the episode so you can see just what you're in for. So you can see him and all he has to offer. He'd also fumble through a justification, as he had done in some interview, about the new studio they had filmed in being cold as a fridge freezer.

What to say? What to say? He picks at some lint on his jeans, smirking to himself.

"Yeah," you eventually giggle at his obvious hesitation. "I've only seen some of the episode. But what I've seen... is enough to make me jealous of Madame Sylvie."

He stiffens, throat suddenly dry, but one look at your smile does away with his concerns.

He soon finds himself laughing, a muffled, "Oh, darling," whispered lovingly against your hair.

"That was very brave of you, Ewan," you express sincerely.

"Thank you, love."

"So... just how cold was it in there?"

Your shared, unrestrained laughter echo throughout the room.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Your first date was meant to happen the following night, but such is the nature of the job that Ewan's schedule gets moved up all of a sudden.

Once the bigshot casting director in New York found out that Ewan is already stateside, he requested that the meeting be held at the earliest possible opportunity.

He calls you while you are in rehearsals, profusely apologizing and promising to fly back to LA in the next two days, right after his meeting is all sorted.

"It's okay, Ewan," you reassure him, genuinely understanding. "I will see you when you come back. Good luck, I know you're going to smash it, whatever opportunity this is!"

"Thank you, darling," he says, already wanting to have you back in his arms already, mentally kicking himself for not kissing you when he had about a hundred chances to do so. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," you respond, blushing silly with the phone pressed to your ear. "But it'll only be two days."

"Hmm, doesn't matter. I need to take you on our bloody date, darling. I've already taken so damn long."

"Don't worry," you say, "I've already seen you way more than I should before the first date."

"Wha - " a protest forms on his lips, but he gets your point right away. "Oh. Clever, darling."

"I know."

"But I'm planning to give you something that's just for you. That the whole world won't ever be privy to."

You swallow hard, your very being heating up at his insinuation. "Don't make promises you can't keep, Mitchell."

"I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

Bonus chapter!

Nocturnal file 🤫

💌 next chapter

Taglist: @sprinklesprinkle888 @namelesslosers @skymoonandstardust @valyrianflower @luckyfirebasement @omgsuperstarg @elissanatok @callsignwidow @sinistersnakey49 @darkwriteracademia @yyrzmomo @queenofshinigamis @luvaerina @shamelessblazecrown @mirandastuckinthe80s @elleinex0x0 @pierrotlu @aegonswife @strangersunghoon @lunampacheco @writer-ann-artist @gaiaea @of-swords-and-words @ateliefloresdaprimavera @m00n5t0n3 @helaenaluvr @peachysunrize @annie-ruk @luvly-writer @ananas26t @athenafaes @lovelyteenagebeard @mamawiggers1980 @moongirl27 @luckyfirebasement @katherine93 @barnes70stark @justbelljust @cloudroomblog @somestufftoday @esposadomd @girl-in-the-chairs-void @insideyourimagination @hotdismylife @vyctorya @wildrangers @livcookesgf @dracaryxzs @aemondwhoresworld @aisselasstuff

The cast's Where is The Lie? video is an actual thing! I hope yous got the reference!

Notice how the two nerve-wrecked shites didn't have their first proper kiss yet??? Will they ever?? 😩😩😩

Taglist is officially closed for this one. Please bookmark this series or the masterlist (or follow my page) to keep up with updates <3

I can't even overstate how mad all the love for this series has been! I'm always looking forward to hearing from you guys - suggestions, comments, complaints are always welcome!

See you in part five! (preview: something will happen in NY that might cause Ewan to question things!)

[mortalityplays]

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

[neiptune]

surreal, but nice

cw: 7k wc, female reader, strangers to lovers, osamu doesn't exactly know how to handle one of the most famous music artists in japan suddenly popping in onigiri miya, inspired by notting hill, my sappy entry for the romcom collab hosted by @bloompompom! thank you @yellow-sword-lily, this fic is also a little yours :)

Miya Osamu is a creature of habit.

He gets up fairly early, showers, never leaves the small apartment without fixing himself a nutritious breakfast, more or less knows and is therefore prepared to what to expect from each particular day.

Downstairs there’s his beloved shop, a dormant creature he gently stirs from sleep each morning. When he doesn’t have to head to the market to select and order the freshest products, Osamu starts the day by contacting all his suppliers and arranging the deliveries. He then checks the inventory, reviews reservations, welcomes the only other chef to discuss any special preparations or new experiments. It’s not unusual for him to check his emails, monitor the website and official social media of the shop, the one thing he actually hates doing because he knows damn well one negative comment will ruin his day, especially since there’s nothing he can do to rectify mistakes made days, sometimes weeks before.

He has a chef, one dishwasher, three servers, two food delivery drivers and that’s about it. Osamu Miya is the owner, manager, host, executive chef, server and cashier of onigiri Miya. He juggles management skills, culinary talent and business acumen just perfectly. He’s prepared and knows exactly what each day has in store for him.

Until you happen.

Osamu has been cooking for almost three hours by the time the shop officially opens at 11AM. It’s not unusual for new faces to come in from time to time, despite his clientele being more or less established, but it is rare to hear the little door chime ring so soon. Except if his dumb brother happens to be in town.

But you’re not his dumb brother. You’re a new and yet strangely familiar face, even hidden behind thick sunglasses and a beret that one could deem more appropriate to a parisian getaway rather than a Kansai one.

“Morning�� you offer a little bow, hesitant by the door “you’re open, right?”

“Uh, sure” he smiles, still a little uncertain after a moment of astonishment “I don’t often have clients for breakfast. What can I get ya?”

“I’ve been told this is the best onigiri shop in town. I’ll let you decide”

You seem to consider your options for a moment, then decide to sit at the closest empty table. Osamu would usually provide more than a nod: he’d make conversation, ask questions. Forming bonds with whoever visits his shop and trusts his food is his favorite part of the day, as well as a great activity to engage in while his hands are busy putting the rice into molds.

“Close that mouth” is the only thing he utters under his breath, glancing at the server who set your table “yer catching flies”

“But it’s her!” Hiro squeaks as silently as humanly possible “I’m gonna ask for an autograph”

“You will do no such thing”

“We could hang it in the shop!”

“Go help in the kitchen, Minato called in sick today. I’ll handle this”

Hiro disappears behind closed doors but only after batting his freakishly long lashes to his boss, a heartbreaking disappointed look on his face.

Osamu takes a deep breath and squeezes the molds together, an action executed as gently as possible to keep the fluffy texture that makes his onigiri the best in town.

He knows you, of course he knows you. Not only your face was on any available surface for the entirety of the previous summer (posters, billboards, magazine covers to advertise your first ever concert in the Koshien stadium), he’s also pretty sure in high school Atsumu had perpetually ruined the walls of their shared room with some crappy adhesive squares used to hang your poster.

Osamu is not really a dedicated listener, he knows a couple of your most famous songs and that your success is damn near planetary. You have a house in Tokyo but spend most of the year in America, California if he recalls correctly, and you tour across Europe as well. Yet, it’s been easy to pick what to serve you. The gourmet options such as salmon roe or roast beef are off the table: they don’t make new clients feel special. What new clients need is a taste of authenticity, something that reminds them of home, and don’t you look just like the kind of person who could use some of that?

Osamu decides on pickled plum, tuna mayo and bonito flakes. One serving usually consists of three onigiri but he can’t resist adding an extra treat for you, a tenmusu onigiri. He’s recently perfected the recipe with an egg-free tempura batter that is still thick enough to absorb his special sauce.

He hopes it’s not creepy that he lingers by your table after he brings your meal: celebrity or not, you’re a new client. And Osamu can’t resist observing the wander taking over customers who are unfamiliar with his kitchen, as soon as they take the first bite. He hopes you are no exception.

“If this is an onigiri” you lock eyes with him and smile, glorious, radiant “what the hell have I been eating until now?”

“Probably not the best in town” he grins, proud, a slight blush already coating his cheeks. Damn it, he’s tempted to turn the baseball cap once more, let the brim shield his awkwardness. But that would be totally lame.

“Is it a family business?”

“No. It’s just… mine”

You hum, busy chewing on another bite. Then you swallow and ask another question, invite him to sit eventually, then apologize because he’s probably busy (he is) and has things to do (he does) but this is never going to happen again for Osamu, because he’s not Atsumu. And so he sits and makes conversation like a normal human being that definitely isn’t obsessively dwelling on how beautiful you are, how different your voice sounds when you’re not singing, how much he’d hate for a client to come in and pop that bubble. Which is exactly what happens and he doesn’t like it one bit how you interrupt your chuckle, lower your head, hunch your shoulders in an attempt to hide. He doesn’t like that he has to excuse himself, call Hiro back form the kitchen, make conversation with Suzuki-san, listen while he describes all his latest hospital visits in horrifying detail.

You look at him from time to time, the quiet shop owner suddenly turned chatty sparks your curiosity. He’s skilled with his hands and genuinely interested in what the person who must be an habitué has to say. He’s attractive, too. Especially as he tries to disguise the occasional glances directed your way or the disappointment that flashes in his eyes when you get up and start collecting your things.

“Can I get the check, please?” you approach the counter, pretend not to notice his hesitation. Osamu decides against indulging in the “it’s on the house” cliche, opts for treating you as any other client. With the exception of a small discount you won’t even notice.

“That was the best breakfast I had in a while” you collect the receipt and put in your pocket.

“You should come back, then. To have another” Osamu cringes internally as soon as the words leave his mouth and Suzuki-san’s chuckle makes him want to dig a hole to disappear into. But you smile, despite probably having heard the corny line a million other times, and tell him that you just might.

It would’ve been perfect: a beautiful ending to a glorious encounter. It could’ve been. If only you didn’t turn around so abruptly, a small shriek echoing across the shop as you came face to face with Mai, the sudden sound and panic causing her to jump and spill the fresh iced tea from the jug in her hand all over your painfully clean, crisp, starched, white button down.

You both freeze, your mouth open in a silent scream, an horrified look in Mai’s eyes that would’ve been comical on literally any other occasion. Osamu wishes he would’ve went with the “it’s on the house” cliche.

“Oh my god! Oh god! It’s you! I mean, I’m sorry!” Mai’s voice comes out an octave too high “my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Well, this is great” you frantically grab a handful of napkins from the counter and attempt to dab the mess on your shirt “I have a meeting in half an hour!”

“Please, take my uniform! I will pay for the dry cleaning!”

“Actually” Osamu chimes in as politely as possible, trying his best not to let his anxiety get the best of him “don’t take this the wrong way but, uh, I live upstairs. You can get cleaned up and…”

“You’re kidding, right?” your astonished look is almost glacial. It makes him falter just slightly.

“Or ya can leave with a giant orange stain on yer wet, probably uncomfortably cold shirt?”

“Miya-san!” Mai’s hiss and your shocked expression make him think that sarcasm probably wasn’t a good idea. Osamu sighs.

“Listen, I’m really sorry. These are the keys, you can go on your own, I promise the bathroom’s clean”

You eye him for a few seconds more, then decide against grabbing the keys from his hand.

“I’m gonna need a change of clothes”

Osamu blinks a couple times, dumbfounded. His clothes? You’re asking to wear… his clothes?

“Sure! Yeah, sure. Come on” now his voice sounds uncharacteristically squeaky and he clears his throat as you follow him up the stairs, Suzuki-san’s good grief still ringing in his ears.

Thank god he cleaned the entire apartment just the day before. As much as he likes to brag about being the tidy twin, deep down he knows he’s just as messy as Atsumu.

Osamu tries hard not to look at you, leaning against the doorframe with your arms crossed while he rummages in his drawers in search of something that could fit you. He shortly wonders if it’d be a good idea to offer a complementary bento box to make up for the disaster Mai caused.

“I’m genuinely sorry” he starts rambling because the silence is unbearable and some of Atsumu’s genes really do take over sometimes “the worst incident we ever had at the shop was my brother almost choking on his dinner. I had to perform the heimlich maneuver, it wasn’t pretty” god, where the hell are this clean, not embarrassing shirts?

“Guess this one will go down in history” your voice is less sharp now, which relieves him.

“Oh, no. I will never tell anyone about this, ever. Mai and Suzuki-san will have to sign an nda. A proper, legally binding one”

The laugh you offer sounds weirdly intimate in the small space of his bedroom, it makes the tips of his ears hot. Finally, he’s able to dig out a decent, basic shirt you accept by thanking him softly. When you lock yourself in the bathroom, Osamu rushes to the kitchen to tidy up the mess he’s left behind after that morning’s breakfast. No time to concentrate on how you’re actually, genuinely in his home, cleaning yourself in the same bathroom he showered in, without a shirt on.

No one’s ever going to believe him. Hell, he may not believe it himself by the end of the day.

“Hey” he jumps at your voice, sudden and closer than expected. You look good in his basic shirt, it suits you somehow. Did you shove your own in one of the bags you left by the door?

“Hey” Osamu says back and cringes for the millionth time “are ya hungry?”

You smile when he shuts his eyes for a second, right after the silly question leaves his mouth.

“Not hungry”

“Right. Of course. Thirsty? I have really good tea, from Shizuoka. And orange juice” he pauses for a second, then adds “or water”

Your smile grows, almost melts into a giggle. “Not thirsty either”

“Okay” he clears his throat “how about dessert? I made some mitarashi dango just yesterday”

“I have a meeting to attend”

“Oh. Sure, yeah, that makes sense” he wants to bash his head against the wall “I’ll walk you out. To downstairs” thank fuck ‘Tsumu isn’t there, he’d never let him live this down. Jesus.

You precede him to the door, gather your bags, then softly thank him for the shirt.

“Nice meeting you, Osamu” he nearly explodes when you say his name, no honorifics whatsoever. How do you even know? He hasn’t carried a name tag on his shirt for years.

“It was nice to meet you too” there’s no time to dwell on dumb, pointless questions “surreal, but nice”

He thinks if your smile could conjure waves, he’d gladly give up all the oxygen in his lungs and drown in them. Has someone ever looked as beautiful while smiling at him? He doesn’t think so. He can’t think. Not when you’re leaning closer, not when your arms are suddenly wrapped around his neck, not when you’re pressing your lips to his. Holy shit. You’re pressing your lips to his. And he’s forgotten how to breathe, let alone kiss. Osamu just freezes, like a marble statue, like a teenager who’s never touched a woman before. Right as he’s about to swallow the shock and fucking move, you’re already pulling away, eyes not leaving his despite the slight self-consciousness swarming in those irises.

And then you disappear, just like the dream he believed you were, all that’s left is an empty spot by the door and his heart slamming against a pathetically ill-equipped ribcage.

La Suite is one of the most luxurious hotels in the prefecture and Osamu feels out of place with the 30 onigiri order he’s carrying past a french restaurant and a traditional japanese one, all soft carpeting, dim lights and wide windows. So different from his.

He timidly explains that he’s there to deliver an order to a certain Bennet-san, who for some reason insisted he’d be the one bringing it to her hotel. They look at him funny but let him through and give the coordinates: top floor, superior double room. A woman meets him the second he steps out of the elevator and sternly asks him to follow her, a silly part of him wonders if he’s about to get murdered in one of the top 25 hotels in Japan. But then she knocks on a door right before swinging it open and he doesn’t even get to explain that he’s not supposed to get inside, she can take the bloody bag and he’ll be on his merry way, but once again Osamu fails to determine what the day holds in store for him.

Once more, it’s you. A less preppy version, one that seems so small in such a gigantic room, the sea breeze blowing from the terrace gracefully lifting up the hem of a tennis skirt you immediately fight to keep down as you promptly get up from the couch.

“Hi” he says, so dumbfounded he barely notices the door closing behind him.

“Miya-san” you bow, keep your eyes down, no sign of a smile he could by now deem familiar “I’m sorry for the trouble, I know the hotel is pretty far from the restaurant and you must be busy. This will only take a second”

Osamu’s brows furrow, confusion evident in the way he cocks his head. You don’t catch it, because your eyes are glued to the floor. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior. I don’t know what came over me, I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me”

His eyes soften as part of the tension leaves his shoulders. Truth is, Osamu is glad you’re apologizing: despite how beautiful and dreamy you may be, life is not quite a movie and he doesn’t exactly appreciate being blindsided by a stranger. He doesn’t really understand what made you think kissing him would be a good idea (was his awkardness interpreted the wrong way? Did his stare linger on your smile a second too long?) but he’s certain you meant no harm. A shitty person certainly wouldn’t take time out of her day to leave an autograph on a napkin, especially right after half a jug of iced tea was spilled on her shirt just minutes before. To Hiro, with love.

After a moment, he clears his throat. “Can ya look at me?”

You meet his gaze hesitantly, mouth a thin line of harsh disapproval directed at yourself. For a second, you remind him of someone and he almost breaks into a smile.

“Thank you for apologizing. We’re good”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah!” he chuckles “you didn’t have to place such a big order”

You blink twice, then start nervously fiddling with your fingers “ah, actually I didn’t do it to… well, those onigiris are just really good. I wanted to take some extra ones with me”

“You’re leaving?” he doesn’t mean to sound disappointed, especially not while you’re so intentionally keeping your distance.

“Kinda. My record label rented a house in the countryside, I’ll spend most of the summer locked in, trying to finish my new album. I couldn’t do it in America, I missed being home but didn’t want to endure Tokyo’s chaos so I ended up picking Hyogo. Sorry, you didn’t ask to know all that” you chuckle tensely “we leave tomorrow and I didn’t want to go without apologizing first. That’s all. You may go now”

Osamu hums. “I may go? As in I’m excused?” he laughs when your painfully stoic expression melts into sheer horror.

“No! Of course not, I didn’t mean it like that!”

“You take yourself too seriously” he grins “I’m just messin’ with ya”

“That’s not very nice of you”

“Would you compare it to kissing a stranger out of the blue?”

“Oh god” you hide your overheated face in your hands “you said we’re good!”

“And we are” Osamu steps closer to gently place the bags still in his hands on the marble topped pedestal coffee table. It’s just fun to tease you, one of the many irritating habits he shares with his brother.

His brother. Osamu looks up, a risky desire taking shape in his head and threatening to spill over the tip of his tongue.

“I’m really sorry, Miya-san” you repeat and he doesn’t love that you’re now calling him that “uh, this is your shirt. Cleaned and ironed. Thank you for…”

“Whatcha doing tonight?”

You freeze, paper bag still in hand. “Uhm, nothing interesting”

“No packing?”

“My manager does that for me”

He chuckles. “Right. Chances you’d want to spend your last night in the city at an even less interesting birthday party?”

Osamu waits patiently while you weigh your options, recognizes the confusion in your hesitant stare but doesn’t quite understand why there’s a weary vibration to your voce when you accept, the slight disappointment that flashes across your features.

It’s only fair, you think as he parts from the room with a smile and the command to secure those onigiris in a fridge. If showing you off to his friends like some valuable conquest is the way he wants to even the score, you’re in no position to deny him. You’re the one at fault and you’ve been given a chance to make up for it by wearing the facade you wear best.

Then why does it feel so disheartening, this time?

When Shinsuke opens the door, he’s more surprised by your presence than the carefully wrapped gift in your hands. Not that he doubted Osamu: why send a message to the group chat telling everyone that a) he was bringing someone and b) they should’ve absolutely not behaved any differently than usual if not better (in bold), if he wasn’t actually going to show up with a plus one?

Still, a small part of him did wonder if Atsumu’s and Rintaro’s relentless teasing finally got the best of him. Shinsuke doesn’t think that his friend works too much or that he should start “looking around” before “his hair starts greying again only this once naturally”. He remembers Osamu rolling his eyes at his brother when he implied that at this rate he’s gonna have to tie the knot with the restaurant, only to then space out for most of the evening as everyone else found new topics to migrate toward.

In short, Shinsuke wondered if Osamu was going to come up with a last minute excuse to justify the empty spot next to him at the table. But it seems that spot is going to be taken after all, by you nonetheless.

“Nice to meet you, Kita-san” you smile after Osamu introduces you by your name and nothing else, not a wink, not even a subtle hint or a reasonable explanation “happy birthday”

Shinsuke accepts the gift with a polite thank you and he’s almost made sure you could preserve a nice, normal memory of stepping foot into his house for the first time, of course failing to consider the Hinata factor.

“Thank god, Osamu, I’m so hungry- holy shit! Is her your gift? I only brought a cap that says farm hair don’t care!” there’s a strange but seemingly friendly redhead looking at you with eyes so wide you fear they might roll out of their sockets.

“Shoyo, any chance you checked the chat today?” Osamu smiles at him widely but Kita recognizes the tension at the corners.

“What? Of course not, I was busy picking a cute gift” Hinata smiles too but his excitement is genuine “hello, nice to meet you! Please come in, you can help us set the table!”

You chuckle and meet Osamu’s horrified eyes for a second, his posture relaxes as your gentle reassurance puts him at ease. I’ll be in the other room, then. Leave it to Hinata to make a gigantic deal out of a special guest only to treat her as one of his buddies ten seconds later. You seemed comfortable, though, as one always feels whenever Shoyo happens to be around.

“Who is she?” Shinsuke doesn’t mean for his tone to be so conspiratorial but he keeps it low, just in case you might still hear them.

“A friend. Kinda. Ya wouldn’t believe me” Osamu takes his jacket off and hangs it by the door, then picks up the plethora of bags from the floor and makes his way into his friend’s kitchen.

“No, I mean… who is she? Why does Shoyo know her?” Shinsuke follows suit, intent on helping him distribute all the food he’s brought in the different plates he has prepared. Osamu shakes his initial surprise off with a chuckle.

“Only one of the most famous pop music artists in Japan”

Kita stills his movements for a second, then absorbs the new information with a simple nod. “Right. And you met her at the shop”

“How d’ya know?”

“Where else would you be meeting a pop music artist?”

“Don’t make it sound so obvious” Osamu pulls a face and Shinsuke’s eyes twinkle with mischief.

“Well, she’s here. With you. Is it like… a date?”

“No” the peremptory answer comes embarrassingly fast “it’s her last night in the city, she’s here because she didn’t have anything better planned”

“But you invited her”

“Yes”

“Because you like her”

“I don’t-” Osamu gestures vaguely with his hands “it’s not like that. ‘Tsumu used to have a poster of her face in our room, for fuck’s sake”

Kita hums. “So what you actually mean is it can’t be like that”

“I don’t see the difference”

“I do”

“Well-” a loud commotion Osamu has been trained for over two decades to instantly recognize as his brother’s voice, makes the words die in his throat. By the time him and Shinsuke return to the colorfully decorated living room (courtesy of an overly enthusiastic Hinata and one resigned Rintaro), Atsumu is already talking your ear off and seemingly invading your personal space multiple times as he follows you around the table you’re setting with Suna like a golden retriever on a sugar overload.

“Shoyo, you were supposed to keep her safe” Osamu glares at his brother and takes a mental note to scold Aran too, later. For snickering.

Hinata doesn’t get the chance to defend himself because of course Atsumu’s the only one who could outshine that intense excitement with his own.

“Samu! What the hell? If this is yer gift to Shin, what are ya plannin’ to get me exactly?”

“Can everyone stop assuming she’s here as a thing and not as a person?” it comes out harsher than intended and Osamu feels his face grow hot when all those present simply stare at him. When you stare at him.

Suna clears his throat.

“Cut him some slack, he came out of the bathroom and we could barely convince him she’s not a hallucination” you chuckle at that, which makes the ever stoic Rintaro look away with a faint blush blossoming on his pale cheeks.

“Wait” Atsumu looks at you, then at his brother and his brows become progressively furrowed “she’s here with you? As in, you invited her? And she said yes?”

Osamu wonders why he thought a simple admonishment in the group chat would be enough. He has half an idea of shoving an onigiri right into his brother’s loud mouth and not perform any maneuver whatsoever when the rice obstructs his airways.

“Actually, I wanted to come” you chime in so gently it takes a few moments for him to register the words “I’m leaving tomorrow and when Miya-san mentioned it was one of his friends’ birthday, I shamelessly asked if I could tag along. Hope I’m not a bother”

Kita is looking at you the same way Osamu is, puzzled. Hinata almost chokes on his coke and starts coughing profusely, so much that Aran has to lend him a napkin.

“A bother? No, of course not!” his nose might be on fire but by god, he physically cannot let you believe such nonsense for a second too long.

Atsumu’s mouth hangs wide open, brows still knit that make his expression overall hilarious “you make her call you Miya-san? Yikes, bro” he turns to you and makes a scene of slamming a hand on his chest “please, feel free to call me ‘Tsumu. I think we’re intimate enough by now”

“Given that we took five selfies and you made me sign my name on your abs, I also think we’re intimate enough” your grin seems genuine, which only startles Osamu more.

“Ya made her do what?” oh, there are probably not enough words in the japanese vocabulary for the way he’ll have to apologize at the end of the night.

“It’s fine, I didn’t mind” you shrug “but if I could ask everyone a small favor…”

“Sure, anything!” Atsumu’s interruption only makes your smile grow wider “I’d really like to celebrate Kita-san’s birthday like you’d normally do. Please don’t make a big deal out of me, it’s his night after all”

“She’s asking not to be treated like a circus act” Aran whispers to Hinata, who blinks his big brown eyes in quiet understanding.

“Done!” Atsumu’s fist hits his chest right where the heart is as he solemnly declares “you’re one of the boys now, consider yourself a pal”

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu” he tries to keep his composure but nearly implodes as you direct your attention to Shoyo “no, Hinata-san, this doesn’t mean we won’t be taking that picture I promised. Don’t worry” your wink is the prettiest, most wonderful thing he’s ever witnessed and thank fuck he’s done drinking that coke because his airways suddenly feel clogged.

Kita thinks this is already the most entertaining birthday he’s ever celebrated.

And celebrate his birthday you all do. Normally, as per your request. You sit between Rintaro and Osamu at dinner and masterfully divert the attention from yourself whenever the questions start piling up. The uno reverse technique works well: your curiosity feels flattering and everyone is happy to satisfy it. The questions you direct are extremely specific, your laugh echoes alongside everyone else’s and Osamu can’t help but think that, in some odd way, you fit in seamlessly. 

Keeping his eyes off of you isn’t but a strenuous fight with himself, it’d be lovely if looking would be the only activity he’d be allowed to engage in. It’s not hard to guess why hordes of fans and admirers are so enamoured: you’re such a natural. Polite, poised, funny, charismatic. Making you laugh feels like a privilege, having your brows raise in interest makes the story one’s recounting instantly fascinating. And yet you’re not doing any of that on purpose, he can tell. The one thing you’re being intentionally careful about is avoiding his gaze and making sure your arm doesn’t accidentally brush against his.

Osamu wants to ask himself why but also refuses to indulge in childish fantasies. What, he thought you liked him? Part of him believed you’d accepted to come to some stranger’s birthday party purely to spend an evening with him. Bullshit. Everyone in the world knows who you are and he simply owns an onigiri shop in Hyogo, one you happened to visit by sheer chance. He’s the guy you are so embarrassed to be seen with, you had to come up with a lie to justify your presence at the very same table that seems to adore you.

But when he jokingly throws a grain of rice at Aran, you hide your chuckle behind your hand. If he speaks, you always turn to look. Osamu doesn’t remember a social gathering where he tried to come up with just as many things to say, desperately conjuring genes that always weigh heavier in Atsumu. Unfortunately, the one person he could always count on, his dear friend and trusty supplier, decides his birthday night is the perfect occasion to stab him in the back.

“I’m sorry, I just need to ask” Kita refills your glass with fresh wine from across the table before retracting to his seat once more “your encounter with Osamu, how did it happen exactly?”

“Yeah, was his onigiri so good you wanted to-”

“Do not finish that sentence, Shoyo” Aran clears his throat as Suna, next to you, has a hard time swallowing his stir fry noodles.

“She heard my shop was the best in town, which it is, came to try it. That’s the story” Osamu wishes he could disappear into his kitchen as he often does when things at the restaurant get uncomfortable.

“I don’t buy it” Shinsuke shrugs “is that really the whole story?”

Kita’s knowing stare really hasn’t changed since high school and it seems you’re affected by it just as much as every other human. His eyes bore right into yours, trained to detect hesitation or even the hint of a lie, giving you no escape. Goddamn it, he’s still the team captain, there’s no running from him.

“Well” you gently swirl the glass in your hand, suddenly very much focused on the crimson liquid swooshing inside “I also kissed him”

This time someone does actually choke and, of course, it’s Atsumu. Right as Rintaro utters an ever quiet holy shit, he explodes in a coughing fit and Aran promptly strikes between his shoulder blades with the heel of his hand, perhaps with more force than needed. Thankfully, Atsumu manages to swallow his bite and, despite the tears threatening to run down his cheeks in all their shimmering glory, still conjures the energy needed to point an intimidating finger at his brother “ya bastard!”

“That’s a joke, right?” Hinata’s eyes have once again grown three sizes.

Kita doesn’t ask, the answer is written all over Osamu’s crimson red face. He was right, no one would’ve believed him.

“No, I really did” you take a sip from your glass and now everyone is looking at you like you’re some kind of alien. Except for Atsumu, who’s still glaring daggers at his brother.

“So this is… a date for you two?” Suna’s just as shocked as everyone else but seems to be the only person currently able to string words together.

“Oh, no” you brush the question off with a gracious wave of the hand “I just did it to thank him”

This time the silence stretches for a moment too long. Atsumu seems on the verge of passing out.

“You kissed him to thank him?” Kita cocks his head.

“Yeah. I mean, he was very kind. Have you never kissed someone to thank them?”

“Uh… no. I don’t think so”

“Really?”

“Do you…” Aran hopes to the gods that the words don’t come out the wrong way “do that often?”

“Aran” as much as Osamu wishes the earth could swallow him whole, he doesn’t want you to think his friends may be implying something they’re really not.

“I didn’t mean it like that!”

“It’s okay” you let our a nervous chuckle and because Osamu is sitting so close, he hears the shaky breath too “I know it was wrong. I tend to forget that’s not what normal people are used to. I apologized and now we’re good, right, Miya-san?” your eyes meet his and he feels his heart drop right into his stomach.

“Why are you used to that?” he asks instead of replying to your question and you just. Freeze.

“Yeah…” Hinata quietly chimes in “that doesn’t sound like something anyone should be used to”

For the first time, you don’t know how to respond. Osamu senses your panic, can read it in your eyes, but is too baffled to think of something smart or chivalrous to say.

“Holy shit, ya know what that means?” Atsumu slams both his hands on the table and both you and everyone else jump “it means she thinks I’m hot! In another life, I’d have a chance! Sorry, Shin, I know it’s yer birthday but I think this is the best night of my life!”

A quiet, astonished moment follows, then the table erupts in genuine laughter. You’re giggling so much you have to hold your stomach, Kita is shaking his head in resignation, Suna rolls his eyes with affection. Osamu settles for a smile as he relaxes against his chair once more. His brother may be loud and annoyingly inopportune, but his quiet support never once faltered throughout the years. One doesn’t need to be an old acquaintance to be taken under Miya Atsumu’s wing: if he senses as much as the hint of unease, his charismatic idiocy is summoned right away at the service of whoever may need it. Yet his loyalty remains unshakeable: Osamu knows that, in his stupid head, you’re already forbidden territory.

His mind is dizzy with confusion he doesn’t know how to properly address. As Kita blows out the candles on the cake he’s made, Osamu feels a wave of affection inundate his heart. He remembers that are nights like this that are worth being present, even if he has to get up at dawn or his sink is full of dirty dishes and he’s exhausted. Life only ever feels right when he’s with his friends or his family. It’s a routine he’s trained hard to get used to: work, work, work, carve out small moments to spend with those who come and go. It’s important for him to be there, when they come.

Osamu almost misses it, too focused on cleaning an extra plate or two in the kitchen, to make sure the birthday boy can get to relax once they leave. And then you call for him, a small crack in that poised facade of yours when his name almost slips out. You rush into the kitchen and urge him to hurry up, they’re already singing happy birthday to Kita-san. Come on, you’re missing it!

You probably wanted to go for his sleeve and found his hand instead, dragged him out of the room so quickly Osamu barely had the time to put the towel down. For some reason, once in the living room you don’t let go right away and neither does he. You only do so to clap with everyone else and even then it’s not entirely possible to establish who lets go first. Regardless, Osamu gives your hand a light squeeze and hopes you notice, despite there being no signs to indicate that.

You’re the first two people to excuse themselves: he refuses to let you go back to your hotel on your own, doesn’t give two shits that you have a driver or could well afford a cab because it’s a beautiful evening and Osamu is itching to have as little as ten minutes alone with you. He watches as you formally offer a hand to Suna and he grins as he shakes it, gently taking it in between his in a respectful attempt at suggesting that there’s no need to be so ceremonious.

You exchange quick hugs with everyone else, take the picture promised to Hinata, chuckle lightly when Atsumu timidly asks for a kiss on the cheek just because “it’s the american way of saying goodbye!” and of course you accomodate the request. Osamu is almost willing to bet you genuinely had fun but he also can’t seem to shake off the odd feeling suggesting you’ve somehow taken it upon yourself to just… appease everyone for the entire evening. Like some kind of duty. He doesn’t want you to think back to this evening like a task that had to be carried out.

“Oh my god, I cannot fucking believe it!” Atsumu’s shriek echoes loud and clear in the empty street  as soon as Kita shuts the door and you meet Osamu’s exasperated glare.

“I’m genuinely not sure what I should start apologizing for” he runs a hand through his brown hair and his stress makes you smile as you fall into a comfortable walking pace.

“I should start by thanking you for inviting me. Can’t remember the last time I had such a normal night”

“My friends are many things but I don’t know if they really fall into the normal category”

You laugh at that. “I think they’re really nice. It was fun. I didn’t know there were two of you”

Osamu grimaces, lightly shaking his head “good call, he’s the thing I should start apologizing for”

“I liked Atsumu” of course you did, don’t they all? “you’re lucky to have such good friends and a brother. Is it true what they say about weird connections us twinless mortals wouldn’t get?”

He sighs. As much as Osamu hates stereotypes and all the disadvantages that come with not being able to be his own person, the curse of always being considered nothing but part of a set, he knows the bond with Atsumu is just as rare and irreplaceable as people make it out to be.

“Well, I can pretty much always read his mind. But it’s not a twin thing, s’just an Atsumu thing” he shrugs “most transparent, honest person on earth”

“You’re both very kind” your observation strikes him. It hits the nail on the head: he does his best but it’s unusual for someone to notice ‘Tsumu’s selflessness right away.

“Could say the same about ya” he’s eager to direct the topic to the thing he’s really interested in, the one person who refused every bit of attention directed her way throughout the night “that tea collection must’ve costed a fortune. Shinsuke loves tea, yer manager picked well”

You hum, gaze focused on your feet. “Actually, I picked it”

Another thing Osamu has in common with his brother, the ability to royally fuck up in such a short amount of time.

“Oh, I didn’t-”

“It’s okay, happens all the time”

“What happens?”

“People assuming things” you’re not mad, there’s just a sad vibration to your voice. If he could punch himself in the face, he would.

“I’m sorry”

“Don’t be” Osamu hates the smile you toss at him. He hates it so much he stops in the middle of the sidewalk and watches you turn around, confusion flashing in your disenchanted eyes.

“There’s a pretty cool park ‘round the corner. How about a detour? If you’re not too tired”

You hum in agreement, ask him to lead the way. Careful, Osamu, you’d like to say. This same polite regard is what got me in trouble the first time.

The park, which is more of a garden really, is a slice of eden in the jungle that any city inevitably ends up feeling like. Lowlands, an abundance of irregular but colorful flowerbeds that seem to glow in the dark, the warm air of the evening saturated with the sweet scent of lime trees, a gravel path you both follow all the way to a small, wooden playground. It’s only natural to gravitate toward the swings, relish in the comfort of the stillness the evening offers. It always feels like the earth rotates slower, pace decelerating to give you more time to enjoy the things it’s hard to appreciate during your hectic days.

Osamu approaches the swing like an old friend, takes hold of the chains with both hands. He lightly pushes off the ground with his feet while pulling back, giving you a perfect view of his perfect profile.

“I don’t want to assume” he says quietly “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yeah” you rest your head on the chain you’re holding, still looking at him who won’t look at you.

“Why did you tell ‘Tsumu you asked me to come tonight?” the actual question dies in his throat. Were you that embarrassed of being there with me?

“You seemed pretty self-conscious. I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable” and I guess that way, you got to seem cooler.

Osamu almost chokes on his own spit from how surprised he is by your answer. What the fuck.

“I wasn’t-” not for the reason you seem to believe “I didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable!”

You smile, patiently waiting for the moment where he’ll finally turn to meet your gaze instead of persistently staring at his feet. “I don’t think I ever felt that comfortable in a room filled with men”

“That shouldn’t be an exceptional occurrence”

“Right. But it is”

He spends a few moments trying to come up with the right words, a handful of seconds spent with part of his brain wishing he could have a talk with all the men who made you feel unsafe. How many? Where, why? Are they the reason why Osamu wants to get so desperately close and yet keep a respectful distance, not to scare you off, not to be another name added to the list of creeps you surely hate?

“Why did you kiss me?” those are far from being the right, considerate words he was trying to summon, but they bubble up from his throat before he can stop them.

You hum, pensive “I don’t know. You’re pretty, you’re gentle, I thought t’was what you expected to happen. It’s what men usually expect in return”

“In return for what?” he fights the urge to keep his eyes down, confident that the darkness will conceal the redness of his cheeks. You think he’s pretty and the first thing his dumb brain is able to link the revelation to, is Atsumu. Shit, he was right, this means you do find him attractive as well.

“Anything, really” your chuckle is devoid of actual humor “I know this night was supposed to make up for it but I didn’t expect to have so much fun. Regardless, I hope we’re even now”

Osamu furrows his brows.

“Ya think that’s why I invited ya?”

“Why else?”

He almost laughs, incredulous. You hide that mistrust really well, Osamu has to give it you. It feels unfair that life has given someone who seemingly has everything, so many reasons to think you can only be seen as an empty shell, some trophy with the sole purpose of being flaunted.

“You said you were leaving. I didn’t like the idea of not seeing you again”

“Really?” your lips curl into a small smile “the weird girl who jumped you on your first meeting?”

“You’re weird” he concedes “and selfless. Intelligent. Maybe jokes are not your forte but, hey, ya get to look like that” your laugh compliments his really well and Osamu can’t help but think he’d like to sit in a park, in the middle of the night, and talk and laugh and be with you just once more.

You briefly wonder if the man sitting so close to you is aware of just how devastatingly charming he is. Part of you wishes he’d want to take you out on a proper date, let you meet his friends on different occasions, include a weird stranger in such a well balanced life. Part of you also knows you’d never want to ruin that for him. Not for someone like Osamu. People who are unfortunate enough to stumble across you are almost always harassed away, it’s a life you’re used to and can’t bring yourself to run from. It’s who you are and, most importantly, all you have. It’d be too dangerous for your heart to desire anything different.

But he’s looking at you as if you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, land emerged from the sea millions of years ago for his eyes only to experience such a sight. No one’s ever looked at you with such wonder.

“I don’t want to assume” he holds your gaze locked to his, swing dangling lightly as he leans closer “so is it okay if I ask?”

“Yes” you utter a little too breathlessly.

“Can I kiss ya?”

You hum in affirmation and close your eyes, heart beating a little faster than what you’re used to as you sense his proximity. He smells nice, radiates warmth and his soft hair tickles a little when his lips gently press to your cheek.

Osamu smiles when he catches a glimpse of disappointment flashing over your features, the first of many clues he wants to learn how to interpret correctly. The cracks in a facade he’d make his personal mission to tear down.

“I know you have to go away tomorrow” he gently moves a strand of hair away from your forehead “but I wondered, if you didn’t, whether you might let me see ya a little. Or a lot, maybe”

You lean into his touch, calloused fingertips still barely grazing your skin.

“A lot sounds good”

[femmefatalevibe]

Femme Fatale Guide: 15 Essential Business Skills Everyone Should Master

Articulate, confident communication

Crafting effective, compelling pitches

Operating and communicating through a solution-oriented framework

Research of all types (Google, market research, studies, polls, interpersonal conversations, etc.)

Learning how to streamline, edit, and organize information in a clear and logical way

Accumulating high-level working knowledge/proficiency in all tools and programs directly related to your type of work/industry

Budgeting and financial optimization (investment, tax benefits, etc.)

Reading and interpreting legal contracts/documents

Setting rates, boundaries, and learning when/how to delegate

Good posture, direct eye contact, and a firm handshake

Building streamlined systems for onboarding, different repeat project scopes/workflows, and KPI measuring

The art of following up, listening to (potential) clients' needs, asking thoughtful questions, and benefit-oriented salesmanship

Consistently reading, learning, and studying current events/cultural platforms/industry and field-related knowledge

How to spot customer/client/business partner red flags

Self-management, task/project prioritization, and optimization of your personal energy clock + levels

[celestie0]

Hey!! Do you have any ihm headcanons for gojo and y/n?

I honestly love them both so much especially reader. Your writing is amazing

suuure!! i mean they're not like officially in a relationship yet so these will just be kinda random facts about them i supposeee, some separate and some together :0 but i hope they're still interesting haha <33

in holy matriphony headcanons

ᰔ note. for anyone new here, these headcanons are based off of my gojo x reader long fic series called "in holy matriphony"!! header art by @/3-aem

ihm!gojo woodworks in his free time. he’s building a coffee table right now. he passed out in his workshop last weekend because he accidentally inhaled too many wood stain fumes

ihm!gojo already has a college fund set up for his future kids (he started it when he was 26 lmfao)

ihm!gojo on that note is veeery financially responsible (unlike ihm reader hahaha)

ihm!reader only chose nursing for her post undergrad plans because she dressed up as a nurse once for halloween and it drove choso crazy and that’s basically what she ended up rolling with for the rest of her professional career 👍🏼 (a questionable yet relatable decision)

ihm!gojo’s ex-wife, who shall still remain mostly a mystery, is actually someone he’s known since he was four years old (childhood friends to lovers type beat)

ihm!gojo’s favorite weekend pass times are hanging out with juno, taking his boat out to the lake, and watching SNL

ihm!reader secretly really wants to go for a ride on the lake on ihm!gojo’s boat but she’s spent so much time yelling at him for parking it halfway across her driveway curb that she feels like asking would be damage to her ego

ihm!gojo & ihm!reader were actually veeeeeery civil with one another when they first met, like very sweet neighbors, but then obviously things became sour down the line haha

ihm!gojo eats a generally pretty clean diet other than the occasional takeout on a friday. he PIGS out when he’s sold a house though. also, he’s a massive slut for home baked goods especially if they were made just for him. one time juno brought him a plate of (very burnt) chocolate chip cookies and he damn near cried (it’s the thought that counts)

ihm!gojo became a real estate agent fresh out of college but his actual major in college was entirely unrelated to marketing, sales, or business (shall be revealed later) 

ihm!reader was voted prom queen not once but twice when she was in high school and she believes that’s when she peaked in life

ihm!gojo gets sent on business trips to foreign countries pretty often by his brokerage firm to assess new housing markets and he always tries to bring back souvenirs for everyone in the neighborhood (except reader because he once brought her a stuffed animal from the airport in taiwan but he saw her throw it away in her garbage bin on trash day :( …she’s so mean sometimes)

whenever ihm!gojo & ihm!reader have arguments over things, they always vent about it to their neighbors in passing, and reader gets so pissed off when neighbors take gojo’s side because she’s literally lived there her whole life and yet they have the audacity to advocate for HIM

ihm!reader holds a lot of resentment towards her father because he was a heavy smoker for the entirety of his marriage to her mom, and so she suspects the reason her mother has cancer in the first place is because of the secondhand smoke 

ihm!gojo is obsessed with avocados. he eats avocado toast everyday. and he makes a meaaaaannn bowl of guac. he only has one avocado tree in his backyard right now but he would like to have a whole farm of them someday

ihm!gojo is really social, he loooves to talk to people and get to know them and ask them for their whole life story even if he just met them like two minutes ago lol, but his actual close knit  group of friends is only like 3-4ish guys

ihm!gojo gets frequently invited to his clients’ dinner parties, christmas parties, thanksgiving meals, kids birthday parties etc lmfaooo but he often has to politely decline

ihm!reader’s doctor is very concerned for her symptoms of insomnia (due to her abnormal sleeping schedule from nights shifts) because she already has risk factors for alzheimer's from her mother and insomnia only increases that risk

ihm!reader’s favorite store ever is costco. she wants her ashes to be spread across a costco parking lot

a/n. hope u enjoyed :0 much love!!

[fvggroupblog]

Our goal is to forge long-lasting, win-win business partnerships. We value our work, but we value our relationships even more, which is why we do everything in our power to deliver above and beyond expectations. Performance is everything. ROI is our focus.

[busy-baker]

Sending the Astarion x reader thing where reader gets him a mirror backed with something other than silver so he can finally see himself!!

It would be so fluffy and sweet, finally being able to style his hair properly and admire himself 😔😔

(I wanna give him a lil kiss kiss on his entire face <33)

Oh this will be fun! @roguishcat is also doing this prompt so it will be interesting to see our differences! ☺️

GN!reader x Astarion

Your hand swiped a torn cloth on the reflective surface in front of you. You dug into every crevice of the ornately carved wood surrounding it. You refused to leave even a speck of dust behind.

For nearly a year, you had perused through the market, searching for someone to handcraft what you had in mind. It couldn’t be too small but not too gargantuan so it would fit in the bedroom. It needed to be grand and eye catching but still fit in with the decor of your home. Nothing too gaudy but be the only one of its kind.

Your search ended with a satisfied smile and considerably less gold in your pocket, but it was all worth it. Six months and many dodged questions later, your gift survived transportation and now rested against your bedroom wall, waiting for your love to return.

For centuries, Astarion had suffered without the ability to see himself. With silver backed mirrors and his vampiric curse, his appearance was lost to him. There had been portraits commissioned and hours spent telling him how beautiful he was, but none of that held a candle to possibly seeing his true form looking back at him and copying his movements.

The times had shifted though. The modern age had begun anew and with that came aluminum. Cheaper, plentiful, and as far as you knew, wasn’t on the list of vampiric weaknesses. An aluminum backed mirror was a chance you were willing to take. Anything for Astarion to glimpse at himself once again.

Over the years, he had stopped glancing when passing by in clothing shops or peering behind you as you fiddled with your own hair during the morning. It was a lost cause. You could only hope this time it wouldn’t be.

Hours ticked by as you anxiously waited. You paced across your wooden floors, read several chapters of a novel, and shifted the mirror to different areas more times than you could count. Your fingers twisted together as your nervousness increased. It was agonizing to wait for so long.

Just as you were about to give up and toss a cover over the gift, the front door creaked open. You quickly and quietly went to the chair at your desk, sitting and appearing busy with a pencil and paper.

“Darling?” Astarion called to you.

“I-I’m in the bedroom, my love!” You cursed yourself for stuttering. You sucked in a breath to calm your racing heart.

His footsteps approached, the soles of his shoes tapping rhythmically across the floor.

You looked up as he leaned in the doorway. His jacket was tossed over his shoulder and tie was loosened, a few buttons undone to reveal his chest.

He sauntered in and went to you, a gentle kiss placed on your forehead as you turned to face him. He was blocking the view of the mirror. You tried to subtly shift to see behind him but there was no way of doing so without him noticing.

“How was your evening, my sweet?”

“Oh, uneventful,” you lied. “How were your clients today?”

“Picky, as usual.” He shifted away and your eyes darted to the mirror.

A gasp left your lips. It was only a piece but you caught sight of a few silver curls as he walked by. It worked. It had well and truly worked.

Tears began to brim and spill down your cheeks. You sniffled and swiped at your face with your palms. Astarion’s head turned to you from where he sat on the bed, removing his shoes. His eyebrows furrowed and he stood, going to you and crouching by your legs. His pallid hands came up and grasped yours.

“What’s brought this on? Has something happened today?” He asked, thumbs caressing your knuckles.

You shook your head, letting the emotion flow through you. You slid from the chair and dropped to your knees in front of him, pulling him into an embrace. Your head leaned on his shoulder, watching in the mirror as your tear stained cheek rested on the fabric of his shirt.

He was fully there, arms wrapped around you. His hands clutched at your back and eyes closed as he soothed you.

“Darling, please tell me what’s wrong?”

You pulled back and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. Your hands came up to his face and you leaned your forehead to his. Crimson eyes met yours and more tears fell as you thought about him seeing his own eyes for the first time.

“Nothing is wrong. Nothing at all,” you told him. “In fact, everything in this moment is perfectly right.”

“What do you-”

His words stopped as the hands that held his face gently turned his head and he saw the mirror, reflecting him back in all his glory.

He stared for several minutes, quietly observing and then he looked back to you.

“Do you…I mean, would you mind if I…”

“Go ahead, my love. It’s all yours.”

You watched as he pushed up from the floor and hesitantly stepped towards the mirror. His hands reached out. They traced along the frame at first, following the intricate details of peacocks and vines. Then, they grazed over the surface, as if he could reach in and touch himself. He left faint fingerprints where you had spent so much time meticulously cleaning, but it didn’t matter. He could smear his hands over it as much as he liked. It was his.

His hands touched everywhere. His felt the softness of his curls, the fine lines of his face, the broadness of his shoulders. He opened his mouth, tilting left and right while he poked at his fangs. His fingers pulled down his eyelids. He was lost in the pools of red that followed his every move.

You sat in silence. You knew it would take him some time. You wanted him to observe every detail of himself that you had the luxury of many, many years of memorizing.

After almost an hour, he turned to you. You waited for him to speak, but instead he rushed to you. You were pulled up and his lips crushed to yours. His fingers wound in your hair and you grabbed onto his forearms for support.

You were both breathless when he pulled away. His smile was wide and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“How? Is that why you’ve been so secretive?” He asked, a silver brow raising.

“It’s made with aluminum instead of silver,” you said and then playfully poked his chest. “And yes! I know how nosy you can be! It wasn’t easy holding that in for so long!”

He kissed you again. A finger came up to tap your nose. “You clever little thing.”

You beamed with pride at him. A sense of relief washed over you, knowing that he now had something that he once thought would be lost forever.

“Do you believe your beautiful now?”

Astarion waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, I already know I am, but it doesn’t hurt to have solid proof.”

“Well, what would you like to do now since you’re finished fawning over yourself?”

He yanked you closer to him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist. His mouth dipped close to your ear, a smirk gracing his lips.

“What do you say we move the mirror to the front of the bed and spend the rest of the night fawning over each other?”

You giggled at his request. It seemed like he wouldn’t be the only one enjoying his reflection for the night.

[chososwifey24-7]

I saw an idea with this prompt, and I honestly couldn't help myself. So here is a story with nanami!

Clock maker nanami x fairy f!reader

Genre: fluff

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

A meticulous and hard-working man. Well known for the delicate designs in wood, the attention to detail, the pure skill.

Plenty came to purchase from nanami, knowing they were getting a good product, but many came with clocks to fix, or simply to get rid of. That was the case with this client.

"Look, I'm telling you right now. I haven't seen this thing work in 4 months. It was my late wife's. A family heirloom if you would. I thought a man like you would have better use of it."

The man in front of nanami held the clock in front of him with shaky hands. The wrinkles on the man's face speak his age.

"Of course, but wouldn't you like it back if I were able to fix it."

Nanami was humble. He knew he could fix it but preferred to be humble on that rare off chance that he couldn't fix it.

"No, you can keep it. What use will I have of it? Also, I don't have the money to pay you."

The man left as quickly as he came with no other words than those. Left with a limp in his step, and nanami with a broken clock in need of fixing.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

Nanami sat at his work bench, absolutely stumped. He had replaced the batteries in the clock a few times, got it to work, and then it stopped.

He wanted to take it apart, but the screws were a bit tight. He tried to work them out none the less. To his surprise after he loosened them a bit they came out with no problems.

He peeled off the back, and to his discovery, a woman lay inside. No, not just a woman. A fairy.

Dormant and asleep soundly. Her knees hugged to her chest, her wings folded delicately on her back, and her hair done in a little bun.

It was rare to find fairies these days. Most gone into hiding because they were valuable on the market. The question was how this one ended up here.

Nanami shone the light into the clock to see if there was any way that he could take her out without hurting her.

Upon the light hitting the fairy, she woke up with a start. She coughed and sneezed a bit from the dust collected inside the clock, before her gaze met nanami's.

Nanami gave a small smile of reassurance before backing up slightly. He didn't want to startle the poor thing.

The woman shot up out of the clock after stretching her wings and looked for the nearest exit. Seeing a slit from the window in the small clock shack she zoomed for it.

"Wait!"

Nanami shouted, slowly putting his hands up in a defensive position.

"I won't hurt you, please."

He held out his palm gently and looked at her with a soft smile.

She looked at him slightly worried. Rightfully so. She had been sleeping and holed up in that clock for about 4 months.

She slowly flew over to nanami and landed in his palm. She couldn't have been taller than 4 inches.

Nanami smiled at her and leaned in, and examined her beautiful facial features. She leaned back a little, surprised by nanami's curiosity.

She reached a curious hand up of her own and touched his glasses tenderly. She tilted her head to the side and in her own voice. Which wasn't quiet at all, surprisingly, began to speak with nanami.

"What's your name?"

He smiled a little more.

"Nanami, and yours?"

She looked at him and repeated his name to herself a couple of times to get the hang of it. She then processed that he'd asked her a question.

"I'm y/n. It's nice to meet you."

Nanami nodded and returned the phrase. He watched her closely as she inspected around his clock shed. All of the tools and clocks.

She was simply fascinated. She stopped in front of one of the clocks, and her delicate hands ran over the design. The pretty flowers and leaves. It adorned the gorgeous gold outline of the clock.

She turned back to nanami with a smile and flew towards him timidly.

"You made that?"

She asked gently, landing on nanami's shoulder, and looked at him.

"I made the wood design and replaced the framing, but the clock itself was brought to me as a gift. From a very dear friend of mine."

She nodded at every word he said and smiled lightly.

She enjoyed nanami's warm presence. His soft smile, his tired eyes. She found it intriguing that he worked himself so much that he was tired, but it suited his facial features.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

The next few days were spent getting to know each other. Likes and dislikes, and she even ended up helping nanami around the shack.

Most of all, she enjoyed watching him work on the masterpieces of frames for clocks and how he could quickly and easily fix a clock.

Every now and then, she would grab a tool nanami asked for, or she would remind him to clean up his desk when she saw it getting slightly disheveled.

It became more light atmosphered with her around. It became more like a home than a workplace for nanami.

Their most recent project was slowly coming to a close. The clock that she was found in. Nanami was simply finishing up the frame for the beautiful clock.

He added a few touching details and his most favorite. A carving of her in the frame, along with her a few flowers and beautiful leaves.

He had fixed the clock itself fairly quickly. A few cogs needed replaced and the batteries. Now the finishing touch. The frame.

He slid the clock into place and eyed his work with pride. He dared to say it was his best one yet.

She let out a little gasp when she saw the frame and looked at nanami with wide, excited eyes. She loved it.

She flew to nanami absolutely ecstatic and hugged one of his fingers.

"It's perfect!"

She squealed as she turned back and forth between looking at him and at the frame. He only let out a light chuckle as he responded.

"Just like you."

[my-my-my]

KINKTOBER DAY 4 - Aphrodisiacs: Mayuri Kurotsuchi x Gender Neutral Reader

Summary: Captain Kurotsuchi needs bodies for his new inventions, and a random old shopkeeper in District 53 has clients to serve. Distribution of illicit drugs seems to transcend the World of the Living, with shinigami and regular souls alike, flocking to the market, but how does Captain Kurotsuchi test his products in the first place?

TW: MDNI! Abuse of power, Mayuri having no sense of ethical obligations as a researcher, what I think drug dealing/trafficking would look like in Soul Society, fictional recreational drugs, dubious consent, fondling, non-consensual drug use.

Word count: 2516

Read on AO3 here.

 “Kurotsuchi-san, thank you for the products last month. It was quite the hit with my customers.” The elderly woman prattled on as she hobbled around her store. Dried plants, herbs and bottles containing questionable liquid filled every nook and cranny of the shop.

“Did any of them report side-effects?” He asked, inspecting her wares, taking fistfuls of items into his haori’s pockets. He continued to rummage through the store, as the old lady watched in amusement.

“Aside from what you told me before hand, no, none did. They remarked they all felt refreshed.” To which Mayuri looked at her, then immediately grabbed something off the shelf behind her. “If you could make that batch again, it will be hit. I can find the ingredients that you need.”

“You will sell what I make.” Mayuri sneered, looking down at the old woman, “I don’t take orders.” But he continued to take things off her shelves.

The woman laughed, “yes, yes. Of course.” She walked over to where she kept her money and pulled out a small, yet heavy pouch, “this was the share from last month.” Mayuri held the pouch in his hand, opening it up and nodding at the money inside. “And of course, everything is on the house for you.” She smiled as he walked out of her store without as much as a goodbye.

Mayuri reviewed the notes he made about the different products he invented under the guise of “research” for the Gotei 13. A few members across the 13 squads knew of his backdoor research, but none dared to report him to the Head Captain.

For all intents and purposes, the Head Captain believed that Mayuri was conducting research for the betterment of Soul Society…

And it just so happens that some of his products fit in line with that thinking.

Technologies, therapies, interventions, Mayuri has done it all, but only a few of them ever see the light of day. Which is how he aligned himself with the herbalist on the outskirts of Rukongai District 53. She would distribute his products to the masses that travelled through her shop, and he would have a willing patient population to test his inventions. They would both profit off the success.

Last month’s product was some type of pain-relief liquid. This month he wanted to try something different.

Taking out all the items he had taken from the woman’s shop, Mayuri inspected each item carefully. Nemu and Akon approached him but left immediately as he shrieked at them to leave.

He trusted Nemu and Akon more than any of the other seated members of his squad, but this process was for him alone. No one was to interrupt him. And so, Mayuri continued his inspection, scrapping off bits of each item, suspending liquids in other liquids. He analyzed and tested different formulas, noting down each one.

Hours had passed, then days, and later weeks. Mayuri would only leave his lab if “the idiots” needed him for something. To which Nemu and Akon translated it as “anyone” outside the two of them that needed his attention.

But at last, his product was complete. Now he needed test subjects.

Mayuri walked along the corridors of the Shinigami Research and Development Institute, disregarding all the fuss and commotion they brought when they noticed him around. He paid no attention to them; they weren’t the test subjects he was looking for.

Instead he made his way to the connected, yet distinct, Squad 12 barracks. Not all his members were involved in the SRDI’s mandate, nor did he want them too, “that would be too boring.” He coldly explained the other captains, not knowing he just wanted soldiers to experiment on that weren’t working in the SRDI as well. That would make things complicated if an invention of his backfired.

You on the other hand, didn’t notice your captain immediately, as you were preoccupied bringing in large manuals of some chemicals for the institute. You dropped the heavy load when you heard Captain Kurotsuchi shriek your name.

Turning around, you bowed your head immediately to the man, “good morning, Captain!” You yelled. You didn’t want to admit it to you friends in other squads, but your own captain terrified you.

“What are your duties today?” Mayuri asked, peering at you as you remained bowed to him.

“I’m delivering these manuals to Lieutenant Akon, then picking up chemicals for Hiyosu, sir!” You answered, anxiety crawling through your body as you felt Captain Kurotsuchi stare at you intensely.

“Deliver these to Akon, then meet me in my lab, immediately. Ignore Hiyosu’s request.” “Yes, sir!” You yelled, watching him walk away, while you struggled to carry the manuals to Akon.

You fidgeted in front of the heavy, locked door to the captain’s personal lab. You weren’t sure if you should knock, announce yourself, or maybe the captain had a secret camera somewhere and didn’t see you there.

But without warning, the door immediately jolted open, scaring you. But you pushed through your fear and entered the lab.

There were numerous devices thrown around, with open bottles, of what you assumed were chemicals, covering several tables and lab benches. The lab smelt bizarre, but it wasn’t necessarily off-putting, yet it wasn’t sterile like you imagined it to be.

You saw Captain Kurotsuchi type something away, scoffing and typing faster. He glanced at you and then resumed typing. You stood there, waiting for him, as he continued to type. You tried to stifle a yawn as you looked around the lab again, “Sir, how long do I have to wait? Lieutenant Akon gave me some additional duties to attend to.” You politely asked.

“And when does Akon’s orders supersede mine?” Mayuri coldly said, the atmosphere of the room getting chilly as your anxiety was going into overtime.

“It doesn’t! I just wanted to be mindful, that’s all.” You nervously explained. You noticed you were sweating and tried to calm yourself.

“Are you nervous?” Captain Kurotsuchi asked, as he moved away from his computer. He stared at you intensely, his golden eyes scanning over your body, as if he was dissecting you.

“No! I’m not.” You lied, hoping your voice came across as confident.

The captain grabbed your hand and forced your wrist open, shoving an innocuous blue pill into your palm. “Take this, it’ll help with the sweat.”

You wanted to die. Your captain noticed you profusely sweating and commented on it. You stared at the pill, your hand slightly shaking, while anxiety filled you up again. Your gut began to turn as you brought the pill to your lips. A part of you doubted the pill would do anything but calm you down.

“Well on with it!” Captain Kurotsuchi yelled, “you said you didn’t have all day!”

“Y-Yes sir!” You stuttered, shoving the pill into your mouth. You struggled to swallow it, noticing your mouth was incredibly dry, but managed to get it down.

It was then Captain Kurotsuchi pushed you on to a chair, and wrist and ankle shackles were thrust on to you. “S-sir?” You asked, eyes bulging. Your anxiety was rampant. “What is this for?”

“It’s a test.” Captain Kurotsuchi said, watching you.

A test?! Your mind screamed. “Why am I being tested?” You pleaded, shaking in your seat.

Captain Kurotsuchi rolled his eyes, “not a test for you, fool. A test for the medication.”

“But you said it would help with my nerves!” You panicked, shaking even harder in your seat.

“In theory, yes, but it hasn’t been tested until now.” You began to hyperventilate at what you were hearing. Until… your brain felt like everything was going by slowly.

Huh? What’s going on? It was as if your anxiety melted away and you were faced with something… pleasant? You stared at your captain but were unable to say anything.

You heard him say something, you saw his lips move, but you weren’t processing what was said.

Captain Kurotsuchi approached you and inspected your body. He poked your face, prodded your chest and flicked your wrists. He took samples of your blood and saliva, while checking your dilated eyes.

Little did he realize; his touch was doing something to you.

You sighed, happily, “sir that feels so good” as you leaned into your seat. Your body felt sensitive, but not in pain. You didn’t notice the vials of blood he had taken from you already.

The captain looked at you in curiosity, and this time undid a portion of your uniform, leaving your chest bare. Another blissful sigh escaped your lips as Captain Kurotsuchi lightly touched your chest.

“Does this feel good?” The captain asked, grabbing your face. You grinned and nodded your head.

“It feels really good.” You mumbled, drool dribbling down your lips. You felt the familiar pangs of arousal flaring across your body, causing you to squirm.

Captain Kurotsuchi stepped back and watched you writhe, taking note of all the physical symptoms you were displaying. “What else do you feel right now?” He asked, staring at you.

But you didn’t respond, eyes glazed over as your hips moved within the confines of the seat. The motion you made felt good, too good you thought, and you needed more of that.

And so you proceeded to rock your hips back and forth, the friction from the seat rubbing against your growing arousal. You moaned loudly and threw your head back and continued on, your hips moving faster as you orgasm came closer. Captain Kurotsuchi sighed, approaching you once more. He slapped your face, to which you gave another loud moan. Your pace didn’t slack

You saw the captain’s lips move and felt something bind and secure your hips. You whined at the sudden loss; you were so close! Until you felt the cold hand of your captain down your pants. Your legs were already spread apart from the ankle shackles, leaving Captain Kurotsuchi with easy access. You groaned again as you felt him touch you.

Captain Kurotsuchi’s touch was merciless though, as he aggressively touched you, feeling your arousal spread against his fingers and in your pants. You then realized you didn’t feel the hip bindings anymore, and let your hips slam up and down the seat, his hand still touching you vigorously.

You bit your lip, and wondered if you tasted blood? You couldn’t tell, but everything felt amazing, yet surreal. It was then you felt the captain push his palm against you, rubbing more vigorously than before. The intensity was too much to bear, and you cried, your orgasm ripping through.

A scream erupted in the lab and Mayuri watched you slump into the seat, unconscious.

Captain Kurotsuchi removed his hand from your pants, inspecting the remnants of your arousal covering his fingers and palm. He pulled your hair, forcing your head up to his level, but you were out cold. He slapped your face again, but no response.

He scoffed at you, rubbing his hands on your uniform as if to clean them. Not satisfied, he washed his hands in the nearby sink. He watched you in the corner of his eye to track how long it would take you to wake up. Once he was clean, he undid the shackles and left you in your seat.

He proceeded to type away today’s event in his product diary. Roughly two hours had passed, and you awoke, which he noted. Your clothes were still on your body, albeit barely, but before you could register what just happened, the captain handed you another pill and you forgot what had even happened.

“I’m sorry about that Captain Kurotsuchi. Did you need me for something?” You asked, confused as to why you were sitting in a seat, and he was staring at you intensely.

“How’s your anxiety?” He asked, his eyes focusing on you.

My anxiety? You thought, “well, I don’t feel anxious right now.”

“Anything else?”

“Um…” you hesitated, trying to think, “my body feels relaxed, like I got a massage?” You tried to explain.

“Nothing else?”

“Not really. I feel fine.” You remarked, checking your body. You remembered taking a pill, then waking up.

“The pill you gave me…” you asked, as you fidgeted in your seat, “does it make you fall asleep after?”

“Yes.” Captain Kurotsuchi lied. “Now get out. You’re done here for the day.” He turned around and went back to his computer, typing away once again.

“Yes, sir!” You squealed, bolting out of his lab. “These soldiers today are a bunch of noisy imbeciles.” Mayuri muttered under his breath, as his lab doors shut close once again.

It was a rare moment to have a day off from your squad duties. Months had passed since the incident with Captain Kurotsuchi, and the memories of it fading from your mind. But you remained grateful to not have done any further direct work for him. Your friends, from other squads, had decided to visit District 53, as they heard rumours of an herbalist with unique concoctions that would heal the body, mind and soul. One of your friends admitted they were struggling with some intimacy issues and Squad 4’s treatment options weren’t working. Your friend had heard that this herbalist would have something to cure that.

You and your friends browsed through the shop, taking stock of what was there, when your friend spoke to the shopkeeper. Although they were quiet, you could hear whispers of “trouble” and “hard to orgasm.” The old lady smiled at them, “I have just the remedy for that, my dear.” You went over and saw her pack in a small bottle of familiar blue pills.

“I’ve had these before!” You exclaimed, “they work wonders. I felt amazing afterwards.”

Your friend stared at you in shock, but the shopkeeper gave you a wide grin, “is that so? I’ve been selling them for a while now.” The old lady rambled, “they’re quite popular with you Shinigami folk.” She cackled, packing the bottle into a pouch. “I’ll pass that along to the creator” she kept laughing, “I’m sure he’ll be ecstatic.”

“When did you take these?” Your friend asked, “you never mentioned it.”

You thought about it, but you couldn’t remember when exactly, but the vivid colour of the pill was seared in your memory, as well as the pleasant association you had with it. “I’m not sure, but I think I took it when I had a really bad anxiety spell. I don’t even remember where I got it from.” You said, trying to recall when and where you took it.

But nothing came up, and strangely enough, you couldn’t recall an blanks or gaps in your memory.

“Or maybe I dreamt it.” You laughed, “I can’t even describe the feeling anymore, I just remember feeling good when I took it.”

“Well if it’s good enough for you, then I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Your friend joked, paying the shopkeeper. Soon night was approaching, and you escorted your friend back to their barracks. Once you made it to the Squad 12 barracks, you made a mental note to ask Captain Kurotsuchi if he knew about the little blue pill.

Thanks for reading!! Mayuri is definitely an interesting character to write for, so I'm not completely sure I nailed it. Either way, I hope you guys enjoy it!

[myhornysaga]

My War Criminal Husband

Established relationship, Graves x fem reader

A/n: idk anything about law, lawyers or courts kindly do NOT come for me. Thank you!

You and Graves are a match made in hell.

You, a criminal lawyer with a sharp tongue.

Philip Graves, a war criminal, CEO of a private military company and your husband, your partner for as long as you could remember.

You two together, are a force to be reckoned with.

Graves knows you, you know Graves. You both are each other's immovable rocks that keep each other grounded. A reminder of both of your roots and how it all started...

You trust Phil and Phil trusts you.

And that is why you are now representing his PMC at the Court.

It is a highly televised affair so all eyes are on you. Phil didn't come because he's currently in the midst of a Contract but thats confidential info besides he knows you're good under pressure and can handle things well in his absence.

The party involved, prosecutor claims "'Commander Philip Graves' and his boy band have committed war crimes on foreign soil. Killing civilians, children and women with that bomb drop! We need to disband this mercenary group with immediate effect!, your honor". The old man growled as he finished his sentence and glared at you while sitting back down on his seat.

As if! You thought. The Shadows isn't just some pmc in the market or Phil trying his luck in business. It is something that Phil and you created from ground, from dust with extensive planning and research did The shadow company formed. Raising it like a child you both never had. Phil describes it best.... "we're all just one big family!"

And no way in hell would you let some cranky old man Mr Tithabeault, tell you to 'disband' your company! It is like a neighbor asking a mother to maim her child!

"Your honor i object." you stood and started your piece.

All eyes were on you now. Everyone is watching. Heck the entire thing is televised around the globe. So you knew you have to be careful with words and attitude because you weren't in just any court. No, you were representing The Shadow Company at the International Court of Justice in Hague, Netherlands.

------------××××××××××××××××××--------------

After grueling session between the prosecutor and you, the defendent. You delivered your final piece.

"Your honor my client is not just deciding to wake up one day and plan on bombing on foreign soil as Mr Tithabeault here suggests." You took pause and took a look at the prosecutor to deliver the final blow.

You continued, "..No, oh no! The Shadows Company is working under Contract alongside a Country's army. It is a confidential information so my apologies i cannot specify the country. But regardless, your honor, my client's working with the Army which, by default", you knew just few more words and this case's win is yours. You glanced a final smug glance at the prosecutor before continuing..

"..by default my client is considered an extension of his then-contractor. Not some, to quote Mr Tithabeault, rogue 'boyband'!" And with that finishing line you took a sigh as you sat back down in your black robe.

You knew you have won the case beacuse it is a bogus case in the first place! Graves' receives a lot of accusations every now and then and you are too used to fighting the same fight over abd over again.

But the only reason this case became a high profile case is because your husband has quite a list of enemies and 'some' of these people just have 'some' people in high places. Thus this one horse got dragged to the ICJ.

--------------------------------------------------

The verdict came and just as you had predicted, you won.

Same shit, another day. Simple as that.

You smiled as you walked out of the prestigous International Court, to get into your car.

You had two Shadows by your side for your protection.

Just as you stepped outside the building, in a minute you were swarmed by thousands of reporters, protesters yelling screaming hounding you with questions on the trial, cursing you for representing a mercenary group and what not.

But you couldn't care any less. You know you had a job which was to have Phil's back and you did your job well.

The two shadows cleared the way for you to a 3rd shadow opening the car door for you to enter into your black bullet proof SUV.

The moment the door closed you took deep sigh of relaxation.

The 3rd shadow entered the passenger seat and the driver started driving to The Ritz Hotel where you are residing for the duration of the trial.

"Maam", the shadow on the passenger seat called out for you.

Your eyes were getting droopy due to exhaustion but the man's voice woke you up from your daze. "Yes?"

"Maam you have a call from shadow 0-1 ugh", he corrected himself thinking you may not be aware of the field callsign " its Commander Graves", he finished as he handed you the satellite phone.

Your eyes lit up on the mention of Phil's name.

"Phil? We won", you muttered with a hint of past work loads exhaustion still there.

"Y/n? Babe you did great today! I knew you'll get it done..", he said from other side.

You could hear he's happy, "ah it was nothing. Same stuff just different day honestly..", you are tired from all that work load of late night research and stress and it was evident in your tone subconsciously. But you tried to hide it while talking to him. Hell you haven't seen him for a month!

"Saw you on T.V. babe. You looked hot. I'll make my payment to ya for being my lawyer as soon as i come home.."

You chuckled at his suggestive comment, "oh you better!"

He sensed your exhausted tone from miles away.

"...'Kay babe gotta go now. The boys will take care of you till you reach home. Tell em to hit me up as soon as you drop, ya?"

"Yeah, ofcourse.."

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Part 2

M.list

Series masterlist

[luc-obsession]

Taken

Diluc sat in his office chair, skimming over his monthly stack of vendor contracts and trade agreements. He signed about half the ones he read.

He no longer sat besides his lawyer - he knew enough legal jargon to read these papers alone. He also knew the tricks of the trade, which half of his customers tried to pull.

It seemed they were hoping he’d miss a word or two, or forgive the typos of an extra 0 they’d make.

He had no problems from his older, more experienced clients; it was the newer ones who typically made these exploitative “mistakes”.

He’d teach them that he maintained the upper hand - or at least equal footing - in all his dealings.

And you were no exception.

His door opened.

Two of his maids, holding you by your wrists, brought you inside.

Diluc thanked them; they nodded in response.

They left, closing the door behind them. A click followed.

You shrunk back from him.

Diluc knew you were hurt - betrayed, even. He had taken you for his own gain.

He brought you here to deal with the aftermath.

“Have a seat.”

You sat down, avoiding his eyes. There were dried tears on your face.

“Ask me anything. I know you have questions.”

You remained silent. This wouldn’t do.

“Answer me.”

A string of obscenities left your lips. This also wouldn’t do.

“Play nice, or I’ll cut your portions.”

Again, you fell silent. Then you started singing his tune.

“I trusted you, Diluc! So why did you betray me?”

“Sumeru is quite dangerous. I hear the enemies there are twice as harmful as Liyue’s.”

Diluc needed back your trust. What better way to earn it than a few well-crafted lies?

“But I know my way around a fight!”

“Not enough to defeat a Level 90 Terrorshroom with only Hydro and a sword.”

Both of which he’d taken from you.

“I’m keeping you here for your protection, and you were eager to go.”

You sighed.

“If you went and never returned…I don’t think I could bear it.”

“Look, I think it’s great you care about my safety and all, but adventuring is who I am.”

You were right. The light in your eyes had dimmed - because of him.

If he let you indulge yourself and explore Sumeru, you’d leave him for over a month, and possibly never return.

If you stay with him, you’d never leave Mondstadt again. You’d lose the thing that made you, you. The very reason he loved you.

It was already beginning to fade.

Still, he wouldn’t be Diluc if the only person keeping him sane left for so long.

He couldn’t go back to being a shadow of his former self.

“I understand, but I need you.”

Your eyes widened.

“Is that the actual reason you kidnapped me?”

“Yes, my love.”

“But I don’t return your feelings,” you spat. “I only love good men!”

“I am a good man. I’m keeping you safe, aren’t I?”

“I’d rather die than live with you!”

That hurt. But he wasn’t surprised.

Diluc clapped his hands twice. There was nothing more he could say.

His maids opened the door again.

“Come, we’re going back to your room.”

“Back to your room.”

They grabbed your wrists and marched you out of the door.

You longed for Teyvat’s treasures, but Diluc couldn’t let you have them. So he’d do the next best thing: spoil you into longing for him instead.

. . .

Every morning, Diluc laid a massive breakfast on your dresser.

Whenever he made steak, you’d get stacks of four, with cheese slices sandwiched in between. He’d give you enough hash browns to fill your plate, piled high enough to reach the jelly bowl in the center.

The night after your discussion, he’d gotten his maids to test every soap on the market. They wouldn’t stop until they found the one that made their hands gentlest, hair smoothest, and faces clearest. Then they picked that brand in the scent you loved most, all on Diluc’s dime.

You bathed in that daily. When you came out, you were dressed in the finest silk robes and dresses, doubly as soft as the ones you used to wear.

He’d ordered you a copy of each of Mondstadt’s and Inazuma’s most popular book series, up to the latest volumes. He knew how much you loved Yae’s tales.

But not Sumeru’s. That would remind you of his transgression, and Diluc was determined to make you forget.

He gave you bottles of your favorite wines. Let you play games of Invocation TCG with his maids, or even him, if you’d like.

He even let your old friends visit, once he’d made clear that you weren’t going anywhere.

But nothing he did brought back your old smile. Nothing revived the light that once shone in your eyes.

He’d turned you into the very thing he was afraid to become.

Now he couldn’t stand the sight of his own reflection.