#not that he’s kind or friendly or reliable

[tomato-puppy]

as a truck mechanic and someone who's spent a lot of time talking to truckers and small business owners, i have to add a note here:

California is beloathed in the transport/trucking industry because of the strict emissions regulations they impose on trucks that enter their borders. for financial and political reasons, truck manufacturers will tune their engines and implement de-polluting systems in the exhaust piping to make their vehicles sellable in California and then progressively roll out these technologies to everyone else. this is why trucks in Canada have anti-pollution systems compliant with California regulations even though canada doesn't have NEARLY as strict of exhaust control laws (and we often tear these systems out of our trucks' exhausts and engines, bypass sensors and reprogram the ECU to function without).

these de-pollution systems are very fragile, extremely expensive and limit performance. causes a lot of extra fees and downtime. and because there's a shiny fat sticker in the truck cab stating that this vehicle complies with Californian emissions regs, designed to look like an official seal with the outline of the state in the middle, anyone who knows a trucker or works in or around ground transport, has heard many words of unkindness directed at the state.

this is why people who wouldn't even be in the know about this kind of stuff and do not care the slightest about the plight of truck drivers, will parrot this line to bolster their criticism of "commiefornia" and their unrealistic leftist policies.

but yo. these newer pollution control systems reduce the amount of soot, microscopic particles and carbon monoxide to levels that are BELOW WHAT YOU'D FIND IN THE AIR IN MOST BIG CITIES. when i was studying to be a truck mechanic, we had a new Cummins engine and exhaust system on a bench in the classroom, and the teacher turned it on and ran the engine a bit, and we'd stick our face in front of the exhaust pipe and ... it's just like ... humid and warm air with a weird smell slightly reminiscent of piss*. he told us that they wouldn't be allowed to do this just for shits and giggles, but that we could close all the doors in the room and let that thing idle for the whole 2 hours of class and nobody would get a headache or anything. because it WORKS. modern day diesels, compliant with European or "Californian" emissions regs, are very very very "clean" and much more eco friendly than a gasoline engine of comparable power.

Californian emission regs is what dragged the north American trucking industry (manufacturers especially) out of the stone age of combustion engine technology when trucks used to roll coal like a fucking steam engine. in the last 10 years, for the first time ever, an American made diesel engine (the detroit diesel DD15 if i remember correctly) was finally "good enough" to pass very strict European pollution regulations tests and is now sold in European countries.

if California didn't "bitch and moan" about pollution from trucks, this wouldn't have happened. truckers don't hate the environment, they are pissed off because they're under paid and losing cash and work because of a broken de-pollution syste. and it is obviously very frustrating to them, and the bigass "California emissions compliant" sticker is a quick and easy target for blame. but when politicians pick up on this, they're just doing that thing where they seem like "they know how things are" and are sympathetic to the burden on the working class. they just want to use this as an example of how "caring about the environment" is fantasy at the expense of efficiency and reliability, at the expense of the poor workers.

but it's a lie. if truckers weren't underpaid, they wouldn't be as mad about it. and if the truck manufacturers weren't greedy, they'd improve the systems and their reliability further without passing the cost down to the consumers. and in no fucking sane world would anyone be doing EPA-mandated exhaust system testing ON A FUCKING FIRE TRUCK DURING A CATASTROPHIC FIRE.

And this is exactly why they hate fact checking.

[petrichormore]

The following is about Bad’s character not the CC!

I do wanna say that q!Bad’s insistence on wanting q!Forever to tell him he did a good job isn’t just because of any crush he has on him or whatever. It’s also because Forever is one of - if not the closest friend Bad has (tied with Baghera, or Max.)

And Bad is desperate to confirm that his closest friend/crush doesn’t just see him as a vending machine for resources/assistance/egg care. The reason he’s making such a big deal about it isn’t just drama - Bad is seriously starting to wonder if anyone on the island actually cares about him, or if they only talk to him because they need him to do something for them.

Because he told them about all the things he’d done for the island and what he wanted himself (he is saying “I will support you”), and they still elected Forever.

Because he told them he was on a vacation (he is saying “I am not okay”) and they called him crazy, and he was still expected always to be there. (With the exception of Baghera: who noticed and tried to talk to him, and Foolish: who noticed and let Bad build a roach-spawning summer home in his tower that is still there.)

Because he tells them hello and goodnight (he is saying “I miss you when you’re gone”) and they don’t do the same.

Bad is upset with Forever because he thinks he’s asking the question “Do you care about me?” and he thinks the answer is no.

Obviously, he isn’t. At least not in a way that’s easy to see - it’s not really Forever’s or anyone’s fault that he’s developed this mindset. And he is infamously terrible at communicating his feelings. But I do want to acknowledge that while “I want Forever’s attention and I’m too emotionally-constipated to admit it” is definitely part of it, there’s something deeper there too.

[norikuna]

MAMA, A DIVA BEHIND YOU! — toji fushiguro sfw!

prologue. → toji loves his son, he really does. unfortunately, young megumi is less than receptive when it comes to toji's efforts to impress the pretty neighbour who just moved into the apartment down the hall.

or five times megumi actively made toji's love life worse. and the one time he actually helped.

pairing. toji fushiguro x afab!reader

warnings. megumi is his own warning. mild age gap implied. non sorcerer au, toji is raising megumi on his own. reader has she/her pronouns. nothing else, just shenanigans :) toji gets knocked down a few pegs by his son 😭 mildly ooc toji <3

word count. song inspiration. paper rings — taylor swift

a/n. this is sooo silly and for fun lol 😭 i feel like you can tell this just isn't my genre or writing style 😭

mp3. i like shiny things, but i'd marry you with paper rings <3

TOJI FUSHIGURO didn't have a lot of treasures in life. he just wasn't that type of guy. treasures were for people with their lives together — the kind who budgeted for organic vegetables and owned matching socks. toji's list of prized possessions was short: a semi-reliable pay check, a fridge that kept his beer cold on a good day, and the one channel that aired late-night baseball games.

oh, and his kid. megumi fushiguro.

the little brat was the one thing in toji's life he could call a blessing without choking on the word. but lately? toji was seriously considering the logistics of international shipping. could you send a five year old punk to siberia? where was the paperwork for that?

everything had been fine. hell, downright manageable. until you moved in down the hall.

at first, toji didn't give a fuck. neighbours were usually either noisy or nosy, and sometimes the tragic combination of both. the last guy had banged on his door at least once a week, yelling about toji's late-night weightlifting sessions and muttering something about 'quiet hours.'

toji had pegged you for the same. maybe with a yoga met and too many scented candles.

but then, you showed up on his doorstep with a kind smile that could probably light up half the districts in the city. and a polite, sweet, "excuse me, but could you help me with my bed frame?"

and that was it.

the universe must've been real bored, because that was the moment it decided that toji fushiguro — self proclaimed expert on not giving a damn, was going to lose his damn mind like cupid has struck him with the painful arrows of a crush. and he was a goner.

take #1 — my neck, my back

spring in tokyo had come into full bloom, the kind of day where the air smelled faintly of sunshine, and the cherry blossoms drifted around like lazy, little freeloaders. below the apartment complex, the park wasn't much to write home about — a scrappy patch of grass, a couple of benches that looked like they'd seen some shit, and a swing set that squeaked like it had a vendetta against joy.

but for toji? it was good enough.

he'd figured this 'let me show you around because i'm so friendly' outing would be low effort. easy. casual and neighbourly, even. except now, he was leaning against a tree which was far harder than it sounded when his lower back was screaming at him louder than megumi had this morning about brushing his teeth.

but you stood nearby, smiling that damn warm and disarming smile of yours, gently plucking a stray blossom from megumi's messy hair. the kid, for his part, was pointedly ignoring you both, kicking rocks with the type of dedication usually reserved for a brat trying to avoid his homework.

toji cleared his throat, "so, uh, the area's not bad. quiet most of the time. that convenience store over there's open late. great for snacks. or milk. y'know, the owner's a bit of a bitc —"

"why are you standing like that?"

megumi's voice cut through his rehearsed tour like a rusty knife.

toji shot him a sharp glance. a look that screamed: keep your mouth shut, kid.

megumi just tilted his head, all faux innocence, and then delivered the killing blow with those sea-green eyes gleaming in what toji was certain was pure maliciousness, "dad, your back hurts again, doesn’t it?"

toji froze, scrambling for damage control, but you were already pressing your lips together, trying not to laugh. trying. but he could see the corners of your mouth twitching.

"back's fine," toji huffed, straightening up too fast. something in his spine must have popped loud enough to startle a crow off a branch, "solid a rock, hah! good as new."

megumi glanced at his scuffed sneakers, and then back up, "you said it was hard getting off the couch this morning. didn't you say you're old now and falling apart?"

toji's entire soul left his body. the punk was a traitor to a family name. he should have just sent megumi back to the clan long ago.

"don't you have a rock to kick?" he hissed.

"already did all that."

and that was it. your laugh finally burst out, bright and loud, ringing through the little patch of a park. toji found himself staring at you like some idiot in a rom-com who’d just realised he was completely doomed.

"kids, huh?" he muttered, throwing megumi a glare that promised revenge.

"kids," you agreed, eyes still sparkling as you excused yourself, something about leaving a pot on the stove. you gave toji one last look as you turned to go, warm and soft with that lingering amusement.

toji leaned back against the tree once you were gone, letting out a long sigh. megumi was still standing there, kicking the same patch of dirt, as though he were trying to discover unseen archaeological wonders underneath the earth.

"you're lucky i don’t sell you to a circus," toji grumbled under his breath.

megumi didn’t even look up, "you wouldn’t get that much for me."

smart-ass kid.

take #2 — the liar's pants are blazing on fire

walking someone home shouldn't have felt like scaling mount fuji, but toji fushiguro was now sweating bullet. the evening was crisp, the air cool enough to keep him from outright drowning in these stupid nerves, but it helped little.

the streetlights flickered on one by one, casting a faint yellow glow over the neighbourhood. nothing fancy — just rows of small apartments with laundry dangling off balconies and the occasional stray cat darting under parked car. it wasn't exactly romantic, but in the soft glow of the spring, it didn't look that bad.

you walked besides him, laughing at some half-assed joke he'd cracked earlier. and damn, toji liked that sound. more than he should've. more than he'd admit to anyone, including himself. now though, the silence had crept back in, and he was left psyching himself up for the move.

just hold her hand, his brain hissed, it's not rocket science. come on, man. no! wait, give her a compliment, call her hot. ugh, idiot. don't say that yet -

his thick fingers flexed awkwardly at this side as he tried to look natural. a valiant losing battle when every nerve in his body screamed, you have one job, fushiguro. don't ruin this.

"dad!"

toji's head snapped up like a startled animal, and there he was. megumi. his kid. his little shadow. gasping, clutching his throat, and staggering toward them like a samurai dying in glorious battle.

"dad! i — i can't breathe!" megumi wheezed, voice raspy as he doubled over in dramatic agony.

toji blinked. what the —

"i think i'm dying!" megumi croaked, collapsing onto the sidewalk with all the subtlety of a boulder tumbling down a hill.

toji sighed, already pinching the bridge of his nose. should’ve known. thid kid had been hanging around that white-haired freak downstairs too much. what had that gojo satoru been teaching him? shakespearean death monologues?

"what is it this time?" toji asked flatly, his voice like gravel.

"maybe, maybe it's the peanuts!" megumi sputtered, clutching his chest now, because why not? "the ones i ate at home! i think i'm allergic!"

toji stared at him, unimpressed. this was the same kid who could inhale salted peanuts by the handful, barely pausing for air, like he was training for some bizarre snack-eating championship.

"you're not allergic," toji deadpanned.

"i think i am!" megumi wheezed, dropping to his knees, his little hands shaking dramatically.

"oh my god!" you gasped, wide-eyed. "should we — i mean, do we need to take him to the hospital? i can drive —"

toji waved a rough hand, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left, "nah, kid’s fine. just go on home. i'll handle this."

"but —"

"it's fine," toji insisted, forcing what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even as megumi collapsed onto the pavement like he’d been struck by lightning.

you had hesitated, clearly torn, but eventually nodded, "okay… but call me if you need anything, okay?"

toji nodded, biting back the heat threatening to crawl up his neck. "yeah, yeah. go on."

the second you turned the corner, toji crouched next to his "dying" son, who immediately cracked one eye open and coughed weakly for good measure.

"what the hell was that?" toji grunted, "what did i say about huffing gasoline in the laundry?"

"don't do it."

toji flicked the punk's forehead, "mhm, so?"

megumi shrugged, sitting up and dusting off his pants. "thought i was allergic."

"to peanuts? that shit you eat everyday?"

"better safe than sorry, dad."

toji huffed, ruffling a hand through his choppy black hair. he glanced in the direction you’d gone, muttering under his breath, "you're lucky you’re cute, kid."

the next morning, toji opened his door to find a basket sitting on the mat. a pristine, gingham-lined basket packed with golden, buttery pastries and muffins that smelled like heaven. attached was a note:

for megumi! i hope he’s feeling better!

karmic justice demanded that toji sit down, scarf it entirely, and leave nothing but crumbs for the little brat. he'd earned that much.

take #3 — they didn't get my nose right!

toji fushiguro didn’t get flustered easily. fights? He could eat a punch for breakfast. bills? well, avoidance was a valid financial strategy. but you, sitting on his couch, smiling at him like you’d never met a red flag you didn’t want to rehabilitate, while unpacking groceries for him and megumi? that was uncharted territory.

terrifying.

the apartment was...presentable. which was more than he could say ten minutes before you arrived, when he'd barked at megumi like a drill sergeant to hide every suspicious stain and questionable stack of dishes. now, the faint sting of cleaning spray lingered in the air, and the tiny place almost looked cozy. not that toji would admit it.

"you didn’t have to bring anything," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"oh, it's no trouble!" you chirped, beaming like some kind of saint. "i thought you and megumi might like some fresh vegetables. and i couldn’t resist grabbing some sweets for him."

from the corner of the room, megumi's ears perked up at sweets. he dropped the crayon he’d been chewing (toji pretended not to see it) and padded over, all innocent wide eyes and suspiciously good behaviour.

"dad," megumi started, his tone way too angelic for a kid who regularly schemed like a demonic manga villain, “can i show her my drawing?"

toji utterly froze.

megumi never asked to show off his drawings. usually, he just thrust them into unsuspecting hands like a nosy salesman who couldn't take no for an answer. this? this was premeditated.

"uh," toji grunted, squinting at the kid. "maybe later. she’s busy."

but you, bless your overly trusting heart, smiled and said, "oh, i'd love to see it! i'm sure it's adorable."

toji didn’t even have time to stop him. megumi whipped out a crumpled paper from his pocket like he was smuggling state secrets and handed it to you with an air of triumph.

you unfolded it carefully, and toji wanted to crawl into the walls.

there it was: a chaotic, technicolor mess of lines and smudges.

and centre stage?

a terrifyingly accurate caricature of him labeled "dad," locked in what could only be described as a life-or-death struggle with a rabid raccoon twice his size. above his head, a speech bubble screamed, "no!" while the raccoon yelled back, "mine!"

toji groaned so loud it could’ve registered on the richter scale, "kid. seriously?"

your laughter was instant and loud, the kind that made you clutch your sides and tear up. "this — oh my god, this is amazing!" you wheezed, doubling over.

"it’s not even accurate," toji muttered, crossing his arms, his biceps straining against his shirt like they were trying to leave this embarrassing moment behind. "i won."

"dad didn’t win," megumi piped up, as smug as a kid who’d just blown up his old man’s spot in front of a pretty lady, "the raccoon stole the chips."

"megumi," toji growled, pinning him with a glare that would’ve made lesser beings tremble. the kid just shrugged, popping another crayon into his mouth like this was all part of his five-year master plan.

later, after you’d left, still giggling and promising to "treasure" the drawing, toji leaned over the kitchen table where megumi was innocently snacking on his candy.

'kid," toji said, his voice low and dangerous, "if you ever pull something like that again, i’ll eat your crayons. one by one. and i'll make you watch."

megumi didn’t even flinch, cool as a cucumber, "good luck. i hid all the good ones."

take #4 — take your broke ass home!

the neighborhood festival was the kind of event that came together with duct tape and misplaced enthusiasm. a few janky game booths, a cotton candy machine that looked like it ran on prayers, and a ferris wheel that creaked like it was auditioning for a horror movie. but toji didn’t mind. he had a plan.

this was going to be his moment.

he invited you under the pretense of "fun time" for megumi, but really, it was to show you what a catch he was. buff, capable, ruggedly charming — he was ready to prove it all. what better way than with a little festival bravado? he’d win you a giant stuffed panda or one of those oversized bears that could double as a couch. easy.

you and megumi stood by a booth plastered with painted bullseyes, rows of rubber balls stacked neatly on the counter. toji rolled up his sleeves, flexing his arms just enough to catch your attention. he reached into his pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled cash like he was buying the entire festival, "watch this."

from beside him, megumi crossed his arms. his eyes squinted with the kind of judgment only an six-year-old could muster. then, like a sniper, he fired off the line that would ruin toji's day.

"careful, dad," megumi said, voice loud enough to turn a few heads. "that’s our grocery money for the week."

toji froze mid-reach for the first ball and his jaw clenched. slowly, painfully, he turned to face megumi, who was standing there with a look of angelic smugness.

"megumi," toji growled through gritted teeth, "let's remember who brought you here."

megumi didn’t miss a beat, "oh, right. i'm just worried that dinner tomorrow is soy sauce soup."

"kid’s got jokes," toji muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, his cocky energy now entirely replaced by something closer to "please make this stop."

"oh, i don’t think he’s joking," you teased, tears forming at the corners of your eyes from laughing too hard.

"yeah, definitely not joking," megumi deadpanned, "dad’s gonna start eating protein powder straight from the jar."

"megumi," toji barked, praying for divine intervention that would include his son being carried off by a stork, "you’re grounded."

"for what? telling the truth?"

before toji could escalate into full-on dad-mode, the game attendant — clearly desperate to avoid whatever domestic drama was brewing, handed toji a stuffed panda.

"here, sir, on the house," he said with a strained smile, like he was hoping toji wouldn’t throw a ball through the booth.

toji grabbed the panda and shoved it into your hands with all the grace of a man trying to save face, "here. told you i'd win ya something."

you had just hugged the panda, still grinning ear to ear, "who knew you had a sweet spot? i'll cherish it forever, especially after hearing how hard you worked for it."

megumi, the little bastard, had already wandered off to scope out the cotton candy stand.

toji watched him go, then glanced at you, feeling oddly resigned, "i’m never bringing him to one of these again."

"oh, come on," you said, nudging him playfully, "i'm glad we came. this was fun. besides, he's a sweet kid."

he wondered if you were half-blind, but held his tongue. instead toji groaned, rubbing his temples, 'kid’s not eating for a week."

take #5 — brought the heat back!

it was a quiet thursday evening, the kind of night that lured people into thinking life wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. the sky was fading into a smug sort of pink, and a light breeze was making it just nice enough to forget toji's apartment was a little too warm because he’d cheaped out on air conditioning.

you’d accepted his invitation for dinner, and now here he was, a grown man trying to pretend he wasn’t about to impress the hell out of you with his cooking.

see, toji wasn’t just some dude who could barely boil water. nah, this man knew his way around the kitchen — specifically around a bowl of spicy curry that could win hearts. but he couldn’t let you know that.

toji liked to think that he had a reputation to uphold: rough around the edges, dangerously hot, and way too casual about everything.

so when you walked in, he scratched the back of his head like he’d just thrown the recipe together from a vague memory, muttering, "i dunno, figured i'd try somethin’ new. if it’s bad, there’s takeout."

except this wasn’t new. toji knew exactly what he was doing. his curry was legendary in very specific circles — namely, his own ego.

meanwhile, megumi was hanging around the kitchen like a suspicious little gargoyle, all quiet and sneaky-eyed. that should’ve been the first warning sign.

and when dinner was served, toji had to admit it, it looked perfect. rich, golden curry with just the right balance of spice, heat curling off the plates like a victory lap. hah, an easy win.

you had taken a polite bite, smiling at first. until your face suddenly froze like you'd just been slapped by a fire demon.

"what, it's too spicy?" toji asked, as he watched you struggle to smile. your lips twitching like they were trying to run away.

"no, no!" you wheezed, "it's — it's really good. just got a lil' kick to it, that's all!"

kick? toji blinked. you looked as though you had been delivering a roundhouse to the face.

suspicious now, he scooped up a big bite himself. the moment it hit his tongue, he nearly choked. his sinuses exploded, his tongue went numb, and he could feel sweat instantly forming on his brow.

"what the fuck," he sputtered, slamming down his fork and lunging for his water. toji guzzled it like a man who’d just escaped a desert, while you valiantly kept nibbling as though your dignity depended on it.

megumi, sitting way too calmly at the table, didn’t even flinch. he was eating like the curry was perfectly fine, which made it even worse. this little freak.

toji squinted at his only child, "megumi. what did you do?"

"nothing," the kid said, wide-eyed and dripping with fake innocence. too fake, tsk, toji knew that look. "just...helped with the seasoning."

toji’s stomach dropped, as his blood pressure rose, "how much seasoning?"

megumi shrugged, stabbing at his rice like he wasn’t actively committing a felony, "i dunno. a lot. jus' wanted to be helpful, dad."

"y'trying to kill me? her? yourself?!"

you laughed nervously through the pain, "ah, toji. it’s really not that bad —"

"don’t lie, doll" toji snapped, shooting you a look, "sweatin' like you ran a marathon."

"so are you!" you shot back, snickering. and you weren’t wrong. toji's forehead looked like he’d just finished a full-body workout.

megumi leaned back in his chair, chewing slowly, and said with an infuriating amount of smugness, "i like spicy food."

toji pointed at him, wondering if it would be easier to pick up the kid and launch him out the window, "you better start liking ramen, ‘cause that’s all you’re eating for the next week."

"fine with that," megumi said, clearly unbothered, "isn't that what i eat all the time anyway?”

toji groaned, dragging a hand through his messy hair, which now stuck to his forehead in sweaty, choppy strands.hHe turned to you, desperate for some kind of redemption. "this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. it’s normally amazing. i swear."

"it’s fine," you laughed, even as you sipped water like your life depended on it. "honestly, i think it’s kinda cute."

that threw him for a loop. "cute? what’s cute about this? i just served you a bowl of liquid hell."

you grinned, a little too amused for his liking. "it’s the effort."

toji, for once in his life, had no comeback. he just sighed, defeated, and grabbed his phone to order takeout. megumi, meanwhile, looked entirely too pleased with himself, even lifting the bowl to his lips to smack away the remnants of the soup that he slurped.

interlude: the peace talks

you’re standing outside toji's dingy apartment building, where even the cracks in the walls look like they’ve seen some things. you’re not entirely sure why you’re here. okay, that’s a lie. you’re absolutely sure— it’s because of him. that rough-edged, broad-shouldered man who can bench press your common sense into oblivion. but of course, you’re telling yourself it’s "just to check in."

totally innocent.

you knock. a few beats of silence, then the door creaks open just wide enough for a face to peek out. it's megumi fushiguro, toji's odd kid, and his expression already screams ugh. the kind of look that says, "what does this clown want?"

"uh, hi," you say, suddenly unsure if you’re allowed to be nervous around a first grader, "is toji here?"

megumi stares at you like you just asked if the sky was plaid, "nope," he says flatly, but doesn’t move. he keeps the door partially open, like he’s either waiting for you to leave or deciding if you’re even worth his time.

"oh. okay, that's fine, i'll just —" you motion vaguely toward the stairs, already regretting this whole situation. but then the kid speaks up.

"why do you wanna see him?" his tone is casual, but his eyes? sharp like sea-glass. too sharp for someone so young. he’s leaning on the doorframe now.

you blink, mind going blank.

"i don’t...i mean, i was just dropping by to say hi. that’s all."

megumi tilts his head, scrutinising you like you’re a suspect in a crime only he knows about, "do you like my dad?"

you choke on what must be your last breath on this earth, "what?! no! i mean, what are you even saying, he's..."

you’re spiralling, and megumi's smug little smirk says he knows it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"sure," he says with a shrug, stepping back into the apartment. he leaves the door wide open like it’s an invitation — or maybe a saw trap. against your better judgment, you follow him in.

megumi plops down on the couch, picking up a laptop like you’re not even there, "you’re not the first," he mutters without looking up.

"what’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

he shrugs again, still not meeting your gaze, "just saying, dad’s got... fans." he says it with the kind of disdain only a kid can muster when talking about their parent, "but you’re, like... different."

"different how?" you ask, instantly regretting it. you shouldn’t engage. this is toji's kid, not your personal gossip columnist.

megumi finally looks up, one eyebrow raised, "you don’t seem as dumb as the other ones."

wow. compliment of the century. "that's way harsh. but thanks," you say dryly, crossing your arms. "and here i thought we were bonding."

there’s a flicker of something else in the child's eyes. a glimmer of protectiveness, maybe, "look, i'm just saying...don’t get your hopes up, okay? i don't think my dad's that type of guy."

you frown, perplexed at having this conversation with a child who barely comes up past your waist, "what makes you say that?"

megumi looks like he’s about to launch into a powerpoint presentation on why toji fushiguro Is a walking red flag, but then he stops. his petulant expression shifts, softens, just a little, "i don't anyone to be sad."

and there it is. the kid act drops for a split second, and you see it. he’s not just being a little punk — he's protecting himself. maybe he’s seen toji screw up one too many times, or maybe he’s tired of people coming and going from their lives. either way, you feel a pang of sympathy.

you sit down on the edge of the couch, careful not to invade his space, "i get it,” you say gently, "and i appreciate you looking out for me, and for your father. but...maybe your dad’s not as bad as you think."

megumi snorts, "yeah, right. i think he's a mess."

"well, sometimes messy people need someone to believe in them," you say, surprising even yourself with the honesty in your voice.

he doesn’t respond right away, just stares at the laptop screen like it holds the answers to life. finally, he sighs, closing it with a decisive snap.

"fine. you can...hang out with him. or whatever. i won't pull any dumb shit,” megumi suddenly pauses at the slip of his tongue, “wait, don't tell him i said that word. but if this screws up, i'm saying ‘I told you so."

he sounds like he’s just agreed to let you borrow his favourite video game.

you smile, relieved, "deal."

just then, the front door opens, and in walks toji, all feathery raven hair, sweat-slicked muscles, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder like he’s just conquered a small country. he pauses when he sees you, eyebrows raising in surprise. "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, voice rough but warm.

before you can respond, megumi pipes up from the couch, "we had important business."

megumi watches you leave, your footsteps echoing down the hallway. you turn back once, smiling at toji like he’s just said something funny — or maybe like he’s not completely hopeless. his dad stands in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically relaxed, a satisfied smirk on his face that makes megumi's stomach churn.

how disgusting.

the second the door clicks shut, toji sighs like some kind of romantic hero from the bad drama his dad loves to secretly watch, running a hand through his choppy black hair and scratching at the back of his neck.

"isn't she cute?" coming from a guy who once tried to flirt with a waitress by asking her how many push-ups she thought he could do.

toji disappears into his room, leaving young, burdened megumi stranded on the couch with his thoughts. his dad — the six-foot-four slab of muscle and bad decisions who calls protein shakes "wizard juice" — is clearly falling for you. and honestly? megumi doesn’t hate the idea. you’re nice. you don’t talk down to him like other adults, and you don’t smell like motor oil and regret like toji's usual crowd.

but toji? his dad couldn’t woo a cactus. if this is going to happen, megumi's going to have to step in. it's the responsible thing to do.

he grabs his laptop again, boots it up, and clicks on the email icon with all the gravitas of a general preparing for war.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: hey gojo i need help message: hey gojo i need help.

he hits send, satisfied. within ten minutes, there’s a reply. gojo's always on his computer nowadays, swamped by senior finals.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: hey gojo i need help message: why are u emailing me. i feel weird emailing a six year old.

megumi rolls his eyes. he’s six, not stupid. he definitely thinks he's smarter than gojo satoru.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: i think my dad has a crush.

there’s a pause. megumi imagines goji sitting in his weirdly pristine apartment downstairs, wearing those stupid sunglasses he insists are cool, trying to process what he just read.

the reply comes in two words.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: come downstairs.

then another one.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: re: re: hey gojo i need help message: let’s debrief. i got cookies.

megumi shuts his laptop, slides off the couch, and heads for the door. it's time someone with real intelligence got involved.

megumi fushiguro sits at the kitchen table, eating rainbow cereal and trying to ignore the way his dad is pacing the room like a stressed-out gorilla. toji fushiguro, a walking, grunting tank of a man, is mumbling under his breath about "women" and "bad timing" and something about his shirt being "too tight." not that his dad has any normal shirts — just those stupid gym shirts.

megumi, as the only person in this house with half a brain cell, knows exactly what’s going on. his dad's got it bad for you.

not that he thinks that his dad would admit it. no, his dad's strategy for dealing with his obvious feelings is to act like a complete idiot whenever you’re around. last time, he dropped a dumbbell on himself while trying to show off. the time before that, he laughed so hard at one of your jokes he spat coffee everywhere. megumi had to clean it up.

so yeah, his dad was hopeless, and apparently, it’s megumi's job to fix it.

but megumi doesn’t think of himself as a matchmaker. he thinks of himself as a tortured genius, forced to live among lesser idiots. and frankly, he doesn’t even like the idea of his dad dating. because that's gross.

but the truth is, megumi's tired of toji stomping around the apartment like a lovesick rhino, and if getting you and his dad together means toji might finally stop asking megumi if his hair looks "cool," then so be it.

he starts small. when you knock on the door that afternoon, megumi answers and blocks the entrance like a bouncer, just like gojo told him to.

"oh, dad's not here again," he says, casual.

your face falls, and megumi immediately clocks it. bingo.

"you're in luck today, lady. wait here," he interrupts, darting inside, "i'll grab him."

except his dad is in there, muttering something about a broken pipe in the kitchen, while tapping furiously on his phone. megumi marches in, hands on his hips.

"i let her in," he announces, like a town crier.

his dad looks up, like a deer caught in the headlights of his own stupidity, "what? why didn’t you tell me? damn punk," he scrambles for a shirt.

"i'm telling you now, dad," megumi says, dully, "also, you’re acting like a weirdo. just go talk to her. ask her out."

toji freezes, halfway into his shirt, "what's gotten into you, kid? gonna drop a knife on me, huh? what am i supposed to say?"

megumi resists the urge to roll his eyes so hard they fall out of his head, "i don't know. say hi to her. maybe don't mention the gym."

his dad frowns, "you're six, punk. what do you know? people like hearing about that shit."

"not normal people."

once toji is finally presentable — or as presentable as a man with permanent bedhead and a scar on his lip can be — megumi ushers him out of the room. then, like the misunderstood mastermind he is, megumi follows quietly, lurking behind the door to eavesdrop.

toji opens the door to find you standing there, fiddling with the strap of your bag. his usual dumb smirk creeps onto his face, "hey, didn’t expect to see you here," he says, leaning on the doorframe like he thinks he’s starring in a cologne commercial.

"yeah, i was just...in the neighborhood," you say, sounding way too nervous for someone who claims this is a casual visit.

megumi winces. they’re hopeless. this is your neighbourhood, too.

toji scratches the back of his neck, a nervous tick Megumi’s only seen when he’s trying not to embarrass himself, "well, uh, you wanna come in? i was just... doing some cleaning. we can...talk, or some shit like that."

megumi knows for a fact that there's a lie in toji's words. the only cleaning his dad's ever done is shoving everything into the closet and calling it "organised."

but somehow, it works. you step inside, smiling at him like he just offered you free ice cream. now, that would be a decent offer.

from his spot behind the door, megumi mentally pats himself on the back. phase one: complete. he decides to clock out, flopping back on his rumpled bed to pull his laptop back out, immediately logging back onto his game.

but by the time you leave an hour later, toji looks like he just won the lottery. you’re smiling too, waving awkwardly before heading down the stairs. and ugh, gross! you lean in and press a soft kiss to toji's cheek before you turn.

as soon as the door shuts, toji leans against it and lets out the most ridiculous sigh megumi has ever heard.

"hah, kid. she likes me," his dad says, grinning like a lovesick idiot.

megumi, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, crosses his arms, "that's foul. but no thanks to you."

his dad opens one sharp green eye at him, and scowls. "what’s that supposed to mean?"

"it means," megumi says, feeling a lifetime of bribery for ice-cream excite him, "you owe me. big time."

toji’s standing in the doorway, looking at megumi like he just asked him to join some cult. he scratches the back of his head, giving megumi that look — like he’s trying to figure out what the hell his kid is up to now.

"eh, you look weird today," toji mutters, a half-smirk tugging at his lips. he reaches down and ruffles megumi’s hair like it’s no big deal, making it stick up even more. his hair gets all spiky and untamable, and megumi scowls, smoothing it down, trying (and failing) to get his dark spikes to behave.

"yeah, whatever, dad," megumi mutters under his breath as toji turns and saunters off into his room. toji’s probably about to do a hundred push-ups and gloat to himself. megumi can already hear the dumb grunting from the other room.

as soon as toji’s gone, megumi sits back down at the table, shoveling a spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

for once, the apartment is quiet. no random phone calls, no weird people showing up, no random training sessions that sound more like a one-man wrecking crew than “exercise.” just peace.

it’s bliss.

he takes another bite of cereal, enjoying the calm and the fact that someone else is going to have to deal with toji’s nonsense for once. it’s about time.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: mission accomplished message: it worked. my dad's in love.

a few seconds later, gojo’s reply pops up.

to: demondog02@mail.com from: thestrongest@mail.com subject: re: mission accomplished message: that's great! wanna help me with the guy i like?

megumi squints at the screen, blinking twice. he closes his laptop with all the gravity of someone who has just solved world peace.

to: thestrongest@mail.com from: demondog02@mail.com subject: re: re: mission accomplished message: no.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He’s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

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

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.  

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

[manmuncher777]

HANDY MAN

Neighbour!nanami x reader

18+ SMUT - name calling, degradation, thirst, p in v, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking.

- You offer nanami dinner as a thank you for all his help, but when the tension builds, dinner takes an unexpected turn..

A/n - my babies, I couldn’t be more thankful for all the love on my recent posts!!! Ive just hit 500 followers, I love that 500 of you lovely people took the time to follow me. So please take this offering as a thank you!! I hope you love it as much as I do, and please remember JJK/AOT REQS ARE OPEN!! Like seriously give me stuff to write before I tweak out

Nanami Kento was the perfect neighbor. The kind of man who never forgot to return a borrowed tool, who held the elevator door even if he was in a hurry, and who always offered a polite nod and quiet “good evening” when you crossed paths in the hallway. Reliable, considerate, and so steady it was almost maddening.

You’d noticed him the day you moved in—how could you not? Tall, broad-shouldered, with an air of quiet authority that made your stomach do somersaults every time he so much as glanced your way. But he was polite to a fault, never lingering too long in conversation, never crossing the line between friendly and personal.

Until the day your radiator broke.

You’d knocked on his door hesitantly, clutching a screwdriver you had no idea how to use and praying he wouldn’t think you were an absolute idiot. He’d answered almost immediately, sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that looked like they could fix a lot more than just a radiator. You’d stumbled through your explanation, cheeks heating as you fumbled for the right words, but he’d only nodded, grabbed his toolbox, and followed you into your apartment without a second thought.

That was months ago. Since then, Nanami had become a quiet but consistent fixture in your life. A leaking faucet, a flickering lightbulb, a misaligned cabinet door—he handled them all with a calm efficiency that made you feel both grateful and hopelessly incompetent.

You’d offered to pay him, of course, but he’d waved it off with a dismissive hand. "It’s nothing," he’d said, his tone as smooth as his tie. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

And you had. Often.

You’d started baking for him as a way to say thank you. Cookies, muffins, the occasional pie—anything to feel like you were contributing something to the arrangement. He never complained, though you’d caught the ghost of a smile on his lips when you handed over a batch of freshly made banana bread last week.

Now, as you stood in your kitchen staring at the cursed garbage disposal that had decided to stop working, you couldn’t help but sigh. Your first instinct was to call the building maintenance, but the thought of a stranger rooting around in your sink made your skin crawl. You didn’t trust anyone else with your space—or, let’s face it, your dignity.

Your feet carried you to his front door almost automatically, and before you could overthink it, you knocked.

The door opened after a brief pause, and there he was, Nanami Kento in all his quiet, unflappable glory. He was dressed casually for once, a simple sweater that somehow still clung to his broad chest in a way that made your throat go dry. His hair was slightly tousled, as if he’d been running his hand through it, and he had the faintest shadow of stubble along his jawline.

"Good evening," he greeted, his voice deep and even, like the kind of bass that you felt in your chest more than you heard with your ears. "Do you need help with something?"

You offered him a sheepish smile, rubbing the back of your neck. "Uh, yeah. It’s the garbage disposal this time. I think I might have broken it."

He gave a slight chuckle—so slight you almost missed it—but there was no judgment in his gaze, only patience. "Let me grab my toolbox."

As he disappeared back into his apartment, you leaned against the doorframe and took a steadying breath. You’d grown used to his presence over the past few months, but that didn’t mean he didn’t still have the ability to set your pulse racing with a single look.

When he returned, toolbox in hand, he nodded toward your apartment. "Shall we?"

You stepped aside to let him in, watching as he made his way to your kitchen with the ease of someone who’d been there a hundred times before. You couldn’t help but notice the way his sweater stretched across his back as he bent over the sink, the muscles in his shoulders shifting under the fabric.

"You really don’t have to keep doing this," you said, leaning against the counter as he assessed the situation. "I feel bad always bothering you."

He glanced over his shoulder, his brow furrowing slightly. "It’s no bother," he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Besides, I’d rather help than have you try to fix it yourself and make it worse."

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. "I’m not that bad."

He turned back to the sink, but you caught the faintest twitch of his lips. "Of course not," he said dryly, reaching into the disposal with a confidence that made you feel completely out of your league.

As he worked, you found yourself watching him—really watching him. The way his hands moved with precision, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the way his sleeves slid up just enough to reveal the corded strength of his forearms.

"Everything okay?" he asked, not looking up, but his voice carried a note of amusement that made your cheeks heat.

"Yeah, fine," you said quickly, tearing your eyes away and busying yourself with tidying the counter. But your mind was already racing, the domestic ease of the moment mixing with the low, steady tension that seemed to hum in the air whenever he was around

Cooking dinner has always been your escape, a way to unwind and lose yourself in the simple rhythm of chopping, stirring, and seasoning. Tonight’s meal smells divine—garlic, ginger, and soy sauce melding together in a sizzling pan of vegetables and noodles. You hum along to the low music playing from your speaker, entirely at ease as you finish plating the food.

But as you start washing up, the peaceful evening takes a turn.

The faucet groans, sputters, and then sprays a rogue jet of water that soaks your shirt. You jump back with a startled yelp, frantically twisting the knobs to no avail. Water drips steadily, mockingly, pooling around the base of the sink.

You let out a defeated sigh, leaning against the counter and glaring at the offending fixture. There’s only one solution—and only one person who comes to mind.

Pulling out your phone, you scroll to his name. Nanami Kento. The calm, reliable neighbor who’s been your go-to for everything from fixing a squeaky door to assembling your bookshelf. He’s the epitome of a gentleman, always courteous and collected, but beneath his polite demeanor is a man who’s effortlessly, almost devastatingly attractive.

Your thumb hovers over the call button for a moment. It’s late, and you hate to bother him again, but you know he won’t mind. Nanami never minds.

The phone barely rings twice before his deep, steady voice answers. “Hello?”

“Hi, Nanami,” you say, trying not to sound too frazzled. “I, uh… I hate to bother you, but my sink is leaking. It’s kind of a mess, and I have no idea what to do.”

There’s a soft sigh on the other end, one you can almost picture paired with the slight shake of his head. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, relief washing over you.

True to his word, there’s a knock at your door less than five minutes later. When you open it, you’re greeted by the sight of him: sleeves rolled up to his elbows, toolbox in hand, and an expression of calm determination on his face.

“Good evening,” he says simply, stepping inside with an easy confidence that immediately puts you at ease.

You lead him to the kitchen, gesturing sheepishly at the sink. “It’s, uh, doing that thing again. I tried turning the knobs, but…”

“I see.” Nanami sets his toolbox down, crouching beside the sink to inspect the damage. His large frame fills the small kitchen, and you can’t help but notice the way his broad shoulders flex beneath the fabric of his shirt as he moves.

You try not to stare, busying yourself with wiping down the already-clean counter. But your gaze keeps wandering—trailing over the defined line of his jaw, the way his golden hair falls slightly out of place as he leans closer to the pipes. His hands, large and strong, move with precise efficiency, wielding tools like an extension of himself.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says after a moment, his voice breaking through your thoughts. “It’s worse than last time. Did you notice the dripping earlier, or did it start all at once?”

“Oh, um…” You blink, trying to focus. “I think it started all at once. I mean, it wasn’t doing this earlier, and then suddenly—” You gesture vaguely at the mess. “It just happened.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully, his brow furrowed in concentration as he works. The room is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools and the steady cadence of his voice as he explains what he’s doing.

“You’ve got a loose valve here,” he says, glancing up at you. “It’s a simple fix, but if it happens again, you might want to consider replacing the whole faucet.”

You nod, biting your lip as your eyes linger on the way his forearms flex with every turn of the wrench. He looks so composed, so effortlessly capable, that you can’t help but feel a little flustered.

“Thanks for coming over so quickly,” you say, hoping to fill the silence. “I feel like I’m always calling you for something.”

Nanami glances up again, his gaze steady and warm. “It’s no trouble. I’m happy to help.”

Your cheeks heat under his attention, and you quickly turn away, pretending to fuss with a towel. “Still, I really appreciate it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He doesn’t reply immediately, but you catch the faintest flicker of a smile as he turns back to the sink. “You’d manage,” he says after a moment. “But I’m glad I can make things easier for you.”

The casual intimacy of his words sends a flutter through your chest, and you busily tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, pretending you didn’t notice. But you did notice. You always notice

The minutes stretch on as he continues working, and the longer he’s there, the harder it becomes to ignore the tension humming beneath the surface. You’re hyperaware of his every movement, every quiet exhale, and the way his presence seems to fill the entire room.

By the time he finishes, your nerves are wound tight, and you’re clutching the towel in your hands like a lifeline. Nanami straightens up, rolling his sleeves back down with a practiced motion before turning to face you.

“All done,” he announces, his voice calm and steady as always.

“Thank you,” you say quickly, stepping closer. “You’re a lifesaver. Really.”

“It’s nothing,” he replies, brushing his hands off on a rag. “Just a simple fix.”

“Still,” you insist, unable to stop the words from spilling out. “I feel bad that you’re always helping me out. You should let me thank you properly sometime.”

Nanami raises an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “There’s no need for that.”

“I mean it,” you say, a little more boldly this time. “Next time, at least stay for dinner or something. It’s the least I can do.”

For a moment, he’s silent, his gaze fixed on yours in a way that makes your heart race. Then, finally, he nods. “All right. I’ll hold you to that.”

His words hang in the air, heavier than they should be, and you can’t help but wonder if there’s something more lurking beneath his calm exterior. But before you can dwell on it, he picks up his toolbox and heads for the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts—and the faint scent of cedarwood lingering in the air.

As Nanami finishes cleaning up, wiping his hands on a towel with practiced efficiency, you catch yourself hesitating. The kitchen feels too quiet now, the weight of his presence filling the space even though he’s barely said a word. He’s so composed, so calm, and it’s that very quiet confidence that makes your heart race.

Before you can second-guess yourself, the words spill out. “You know… I made way too much dinner tonight. Would you like to stay and have some? As a thank you?”

Nanami pauses, his towel frozen mid-air. He looks at you, his honeyed gaze unreadable for a moment before it softens. “You’re sure?” he asks, his tone polite but warm, as if he’s already guessed your answer.

“Absolutely,” you insist, gesturing toward the plates on the counter. “It’s the least I can do. And besides…” You offer a sheepish smile. “It’d be nice to have some company.”

He doesn’t make you wait long for a reply. With a small nod, he sets the towel aside. “All right. I’d be happy to join you.”

You busy yourself plating the food, trying not to overthink the fact that Nanami Kento is about to sit down at your dining table. By the time you’ve poured two glasses of wine and taken a seat, the nerves in your chest have settled into a low, thrumming buzz.

He’s sitting across from you, shoulders broad and straight even as he relaxes slightly into the chair. The glow of the overhead light catches on his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and the subtle curve of his lips. You take a sip of wine, more to distract yourself than anything else.

“This smells wonderful,” he says, breaking the silence. His voice is smooth, steady, with a quiet sincerity that makes you feel like the effort you put into cooking was worth it.

“Thanks,” you reply, fidgeting slightly with your fork. “It’s just a stir-fry, nothing fancy.”

He raises an eyebrow, his gaze flicking up to meet yours. “Don’t undersell yourself. It looks like you put a lot of care into it.”

You can feel the blush creeping up your neck, and you quickly look down at your plate. “I just like to cook,” you mumble, hoping he doesn’t notice how flustered you’ve become.

But, of course, he notices.

“You’re sweet,” he says after a moment, his tone light but deliberate. “Always going out of your way to take care of people. I’ve noticed that about you.”

Your hand freezes mid-cut, and you glance up at him, unsure how to respond. The way he’s looking at you—steady, direct, but not overwhelming—makes your heart skip a beat.

“Well,” you say, attempting to deflect, “it’s the least I can do for someone who’s always fixing things around here. You’re like my personal handyman.”

Nanami chuckles softly, the sound low and warm, and you’re struck by how rare it is to hear him laugh. “I don’t mind,” he says simply. “It’s… nice, actually. Knowing I can be useful.”

“Useful?” You tilt your head, genuinely surprised. “You’re not just useful, Nanami. You’re—” You pause, searching for the right words. “You’re dependable. It’s a rare quality these days.”

There’s a flicker of something in his eyes, a quiet pride that he doesn’t vocalize but doesn’t hide either. He takes a sip of wine, and for a moment, the two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the tension simmering just below the surface.

“Do you always blush this easily?” he asks suddenly, his tone teasing but not unkind.

Your fork clatters against your plate, and you quickly press a hand to your cheek, which, of course, only makes the blush worse. “I—I’m not blushing,” you stammer, even though it’s a blatant lie.

Nanami leans back slightly in his chair, his gaze unwavering as he studies you. “It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he says, his voice low and steady. “It’s charming.”

The word charming rolls off his tongue with such ease that you’re left momentarily speechless. You take another sip of wine, hoping the alcohol will calm your nerves, but it only seems to amplify the way your heart pounds in your chest.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” you accuse softly, the words slipping out before you can stop them

He raises an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Doing what?”

“Making me flustered,” you reply, refusing to meet his gaze. “You’re teasing me.”

His smile deepens, though his tone remains as gentlemanly as ever. “Am I? I didn’t realize I had that effect on you.”

You let out a huff, half-exasperated and half-embarrassed, but you can’t deny the way your pulse quickens under his attention. He’s so steady, so sure of himself, and it only makes your own nerves feel all the more pronounced.

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?” he asks, his voice softening slightly, though the teasing glint in his eyes remains.

“Not like this,” you admit quietly, fidgeting with the stem of your wine glass.

Nanami doesn’t reply immediately, but the way he looks at you—calm, steady, and undeniably masculine—speaks volumes. There’s something in his gaze that makes you feel seen, like he’s not just looking at you but through you, peeling back the layers of your carefully constructed composure.

And the worst part? You don’t mind it.

The conversation drifts into safer territory after that, but the tension lingers, crackling quietly beneath the surface. By the time you both finish eating, you’re acutely aware of how close he’s sitting, of the faint warmth radiating from his presence, and of the way your heart hasn’t stopped racing since he walked through the door.

As you stand to clear the plates, Nanami reaches out, his hand brushing against yours for just a moment. It’s such a small gesture, but the electricity it sends shooting through your veins is anything but small.

“Let me help,” he says, his voice quiet but firm.

You glance up at him, and for a moment, the world seems to shrink to just the two of you. His expression is calm, his gaze unwavering, but there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes that makes it impossible to look away.

“T-Thanks,” you manage to stammer, your cheeks flushing all over again as you hand him a plate.

And just like that, you realize that dinner was only the beginning.

The rhythmic sound of water running and dishes clinking fills the air, a domestic symphony that feels oddly intimate. Nanami stands close behind you, drying the plates and bowls you pass his way, his movements steady and methodical, just like everything else about him. He’s not in a hurry; he never is, and that unshakable calm only makes your pulse race more.

You try to focus on the task at hand—the dishes, the soap, the warm water—but it’s impossible with him standing so close. His presence is magnetic, his broad shoulders and quiet strength commanding every ounce of your attention. The occasional brush of his hand against yours when he takes a dish from you feels deliberate, calculated, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

The plate in your hands is spotless by now, but you keep scrubbing, needing something to keep your hands busy. You tell yourself it’s just habit, that you’re not doing this to avoid turning around and meeting those piercing eyes of his. But then, his voice cuts through the quiet.

“You know,” he says, his tone low and tinged with amusement, “if you scrub that plate any harder, you might actually wear it down to nothing.”

You freeze, heat rushing to your face as you realize how long you’ve been working on the same plate. “I was just… making sure it’s clean,” you mumble, quickly rinsing it and passing it to him without looking up.

Nanami takes it from you, his large hand brushing against yours for just a second longer than necessary. He doesn’t say anything at first, but when you finally glance over your shoulder, you catch the faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“It’s clean enough,” he says gently, his tone teasing but not unkind. “Unless you’re trying to impress someone with your dishwashing skills.”

Your breath hitches, and you quickly turn back to the sink, grabbing another dish. “I’m not trying to impress anyone,” you reply, your voice higher than you’d like.

His chuckle is soft but rich, a sound that settles in your chest and makes your heart skip. “You’re a terrible liar,” he says simply, and you can hear the smile in his voice.

You grip the next dish a little too tightly, the soap making it slick in your hands. It slips, clattering against the sink with a loud clang, and you wince. Before you can recover, Nanami leans in, his chest brushing against your back as he reaches past you to steady it.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs, his voice impossibly close now, warm and steady in your ear. “Relax. It’s just dishes.”

It’s just dishes. But nothing about this moment feels casual or ordinary. His breath fans across your skin, his presence wrapping around you like a blanket, and you’re suddenly hyper-aware of how close he’s standing, how solid and warm he feels behind you.

“I’m fine,” you manage to say, though the words come out weaker than you intended.

“Are you?” he asks, his tone dipping lower, and there’s a quiet challenge in his voice that makes your knees feel unsteady.

You turn your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his gaze, and instantly regret it. His eyes are locked on you, sharp and focused, but there’s something else there too—something molten and heavy that makes your pulse flutter.

“You seem a little… distracted,” he continues, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Did I do something to make you nervous?”

Your grip on the next plate tightens, and you curse yourself silently. He’s teasing you, but not in a way that feels cruel. No, it’s worse—because it feels intentional, like he’s testing you, waiting to see how far he can push before you break.

“I’m not nervous,” you lie, rinsing the plate with more force than necessary.

His chuckle is quieter this time, but no less devastating. “Of course not,” he says, his voice a velvet hum that sends shivers down your spine. “You’re perfectly calm. That’s why you’ve been scrubbing the same spot for the last minute.”

Your cheeks burn, and you drop the plate into the drying rack with a little more force than necessary. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you mutter, finally turning to face him.

Nanami doesn’t even try to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. He leans back slightly, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regards you with that maddeningly calm expression. “Maybe a little,” he admits, his voice light but laced with something heavier. “It’s… endearing.”

“Endearing?” you echo, your voice higher than you’d like.

He tilts his head slightly, his gaze steady as it sweeps over you. “The way you get flustered so easily,” he explains, his tone softer now, but no less intense. “It’s… refreshing.”

You swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. There’s no hiding it now—he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and the worst part is, you don’t want him to stop.

Before you can respond, he steps closer, closing the small distance between you in a way that feels both casual and deliberate. You have to tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and the sheer size of him—the breadth of his shoulders, the quiet power in the way he moves—leaves you breathless.

“You’re not used to being teased, are you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper now, his eyes locked on yours.

“I—” Your voice catches, and you realize too late that you’ve stepped back, your hips pressing against the edge of the counter. There’s nowhere else to go, and Nanami is still so close, his presence consuming every bit of space around you.

He leans in, just enough for you to feel the faintest brush of his breath against your skin. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs, his tone dipping lower, “I’ll go easy on you.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to burst out of your chest, and you can’t tell if you’re more terrified or exhilarated. All you know is that you’re standing on the edge of something, and there’s no turning back now.

The air between you is thick and suffocating, charged with something neither of you have spoken aloud but both of you feel. You’re pinned by his gaze, unable to move, unable to breathe, as if the weight of his presence alone is enough to keep you still.

Then, without warning, Nanami moves.

It happens so fast you barely register it. His large hands grip your waist, firm and unyielding, and you let out a small gasp as he lifts you as though you weigh nothing at all. In a matter of seconds, you’re perched on the counter, your legs dangling, your pulse roaring in your ears.

“Nanami—” you start, but the words are cut off the moment he steps between your legs, his hands still holding you steady, his grip both commanding and careful.

He leans in close, his face inches from yours, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something. But then his lips are on yours, and the world tilts on its axis.

“Kento. Call me Kento, please”

The kiss is nothing like you’d imagined—though you’d imagined it more times than you care to admit. It’s not rushed or frantic; it’s slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that pulls every ounce of air from your lungs and leaves you clinging to him for stability. His lips are soft but firm, moving against yours with a precision that makes your head spin.

His hands shift, one sliding to the small of your back, pulling you closer, while the other cradles the side of your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. The contrast between the strength of his grip and the tenderness of his touch is intoxicating, and you find yourself melting into him, your hands instinctively gripping the fabric of his shirt.

When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. His eyes meet yours, and the intensity in his gaze sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re going to drive me insane,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, but there’s a softness there too, a quiet restraint that makes your chest ache.

You swallow hard, your fingers still fisting his shirt as if letting go would send you tumbling into the abyss. “Kento, I—”

He doesn’t let you finish. His lips are on yours again, hungrier this time, and the sheer force of it leaves you breathless. His hands explore your waist, your hips, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of your clothes.

But even in his passion, there’s a control to him, a carefulness that speaks to his nature. He doesn’t rush or take more than you’re willing to give; he waits, letting you set the pace, letting you guide him.

Your hands slide up his chest, over the broad expanse of muscle that feels impossibly solid beneath your fingertips. You can feel the way his heart pounds beneath your palm, and the knowledge that you’re the cause of it sends a thrill through you.

When you finally break apart, both of you panting, your eyes meet again, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small, almost bashful smile.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You let out a breathless laugh, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. “Me too,” you confess, your cheeks flushing with warmth.

His smile grows, and for a moment, you see a glimpse of something softer, something vulnerable in his expression. “Then let me do it again,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against yours once more.

And this time, when he kisses you, it feels like the start of something neither of you can stop

The dishes now forgotten about as Nanami presses himself between your legs, hands gripping your hips with a need. Your hands now making their way through his neat hair, pulling on the strands of gold, a few of them falling into his face. His lips pressed against yours so feverishly, this kiss was faster now, more passionate now as his hands travelled up your side, his touch burning through you skin.

Your deft fingers are toying with the hem of his shirt now, giving it a gentle tug, begging silently for him to remove it.

He breaks the kiss, and you worry you’ve taken it to far. But when you see that look on his face, his glistening lips and heaving chest you know you’re both thinking the same thing

“Do you want this?” he questions, his voice low and rough.

You couldn’t get your brain to function, too full of sinful thoughts to even produce a sentence. All you can do is nod as you stare hungrily at him, his slightly more disheveled look making him even more attractive.

“Use your words darling, I need to hear you say it.” He’s holding himself back, waiting for his chance. Trying to keep to his gentlemanly mentality, but as his eyes graze over you figure sat so prettily on that counter, he can feel it slipping.

“I want this, ken.” Your voice is hoarse from the intense kiss you just shared.

Ken.

Fuck.

God that sounded so good coming from you. He needed more

Next thing you know you feel the sharp bite of the cool wood of your kitchen table, Nanami had grabbed you, sitting you on the table as his mouth met yours again. He takes his shirt off throwing it somewhere in the room and fuck

Holy fucking fuck

You knew he was built, but oh my god.

He looked like something out of a romance novel, his tanned skin stretching beautifully over his muscles, tensing as he gripped on your body that was dwarfed by his. His forearms - the veins. His fucking abs and that delicious little trail of golden hair that started at his belly button. God you wanted to see where it went, but his trousers shielded it from view cruelly.

You could orgasm from just looking at him.

“Concentrate darling” he murmured against your lips, you could feel the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t your fault he was built like some kind of Greek god. You could only muster a moan in response. that gave him a chance to slip his tongue on your mouth.

He couldn’t believe he finally had you like this, all the times he had gone home after repairing something for you, imaging how he could bend you over that counter you were leaning against while you watched him work, imagining how you would look as he eased himself inside you. And now here you where whimpering into his kisses. Fuck he could hardly think straight. He was trying to be respectful, but it was hard when you were biting his lips after his kisses.

Your own shirt was soon to join his in being discarded somewhere in the room. His bare skin against yours felt fucking amazing, he pulled you close around him, one of his muscular arms wrapping around your back. Your tits pressed up sluttily against his chest and he could feel himself hardening at the sensation.

You made a mental note tot thank yourself for wearing a skirt this evening, giving nanami easy access to the skin underneath.

His huge hands trailed down to your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Your legs spread so sweetly for his as he traced over the sensetive skin of your inner thighs, his hands teasing just like his tone as they refused to go any higher than the hem of your skirt. Just dancing at the end of the fabric.

You couldn’t stop yourself, your hand wrapping around his wrist as you pushed his hand up your skirt. He chuckled into the kiss as your eagerness.

With your legs spread so perfectly for him he was able to get a perfect view of your panties, he broke the kiss for a moment as he watched his hand bunch up the fabric of your skirt as it went further and further up your leg, stopping when he spotted the colour of your panties.

They so happened to be red, matching the beautiful floral lace material of your bra as well

Fucking hell

Of course you were wearing a matching set.

“Jesus christ sweetheart, anyone would think you’ve planned this.” He meant for his tone to be teasing, but with you silence and flushed face he knew there was some truth to this fact. God you were going to be the death of him, you were staring up at him like an angel, like you were the most innocent thing ever, but Nanami knew better.

“Shit- you did, didn’t you?” His hand was braver now, ghosting over your clothed pussy as he spoke, eyes never leaving your face. You gasped at the sensation, his touch was good, but not enough - you needed more

“Bet you’ve been breaking stuff around here huh?” Your hips bucking lightly, trying to meet his hand, to get him to apply a bit more pressure. He was lightly hovering over your clit now, he knew what he was doing to you.

“Ken-“ you went to beg him, but he cut you off. His hand pinning your hips to the table, stopping the pathetic humping.

“You naughty girl, messing around just to get me to come over.”

You were fucking gone at this point, your whole body must’ve been a shade of pink with how flustered he was making you. You never expected these sort of words to come out of his mouth, but you certainly weren’t complaining.

A sharp tug and you panties were gone, he fucking ripped them off you. You gasp as you stare at him pocketing the broken material.

“Such a dirty girl..” He trails off, entranced by the sight of your glistening cunt. His eyes were predatory, and you could see his resolve break.

His thick fingers swipe through the wetness of your folds and a echoing moan is ripped from you. He brings his fingers up, holding them in the dim light of the room as they glisten.

“So wet for your neighbour, sweetheart.” He smirks at you, fingers retreating to your begging cunt. delving through your slick folds as you can do nothing but take it, his hand still pinning any movement you attempt to make. The ease at which he was pinning you was an addition to your already fucked out brain.

His fingers quickly found your clit, drawing quick circles around the bundle or nerves. Your hands gripping at the tables edge, knuckles turning white as his movements never ceased.

His jaw tightening, god you were so fucking wet for him. Those gorgeous little whines that escaped you were noises he has only ever dreamed of. He knew he needed more immediately.

He didnt waste anytime before sinking his thick digits into you, relishing in the way your eyes shut and head dropped back, your teeth biting you lip despite the moan that sounded from you. You were wrapped so snug around him, he couldn’t stop from wondering how delicious it would feel as he slid each inch of his throbbing cock inside you.

His fingers reaching so much deeper than yours ever could, brushing against that spongey spot inside of you with each thrust, his palm pressed against you clit as he moved. You couldn’t help yourself. You reached for his muscular frame, pulling him into you as you clung into him. Your head hiding in his neck, crying out for him. Your nails digging into the muscles on his back

“F-fuck” You groaned out, you could hear the sounds you pussy was making as it greedily accepted Kento’s fingers.

“That’s it sweetheart, take it for me. Good girl” he whispers so reassuring, so sensual.

He’s only been fucking you on his fingers for a few minutes, but you could already feel your orgasm impending.

His fingers were like nothing you had ever felt before, better than any stupid toy you have bought, trying to imagine him while you were fucking yourself, better than any expensive vibrator.

“Ken-Please! Ah-‘ In that moment you didn’t know exactly what it was you were begging for, but you knew you just needed more. Your orgasm have never approached so strong before, your body tingling with excitement for the orgasm that was approaching. A smile on your fucked out face, a dry laugh interrupted by a moan. Fuck this was good.

Your manners never leaving you, even as you came on his fingers as he held you close, intense waves of pleasure wagging over your body as you shook. Even as your small frame trembled he didn’t stop, he wanted you to get the most out of how good you were feeling

“good girl” he kissed you head as your breathing started to slow, your chest heaving as you tried to suck in air. You can’t even remember the last time you had cum that hard - you don’t think you ever had.

Slowly pulling your head out of the crease of his neck, staring up at him with pure adoration in your eyes, it was enough for you to confess your love for him in that very moment. But it would be best to save that for later you thought.

“Im not finished with you yet love. Bend over this table and let me fix this leaking pussy of yours.” His voice was deep, laced with the lust that filled the air.

Without a second thought you comply, jumping down off the table, bending over. Soaked cunt on full display

Kento cursed himself mentally, it was going to be hard from holding himself back from splitting you in half. You were so good, too good. The way you listened so perfectly, and that look in your eyes after you came almost gave him a heart attack.

His warm hands tracing over the skin of your ass, kneading the plump skin between his hands. Relishing in the feeling of your perfectly soft skin. He couldn’t help and admire how perfect you looked for him.

You were practically quivering from excitement. You were so wet you were sure it was going to start leaking down your legs if ken didnt hurry up and fuck you. You let out a pathetic squeal as you heard the clinking of his belt as he finally freed himself

His throbbing cock standing tall as the rosy red tip leaked pre-cum, he didnt think he had ever been so hard before in his life. His cock begging to be shoved so deep inside of you it was making it hard for him to think straight.

You waited patiently as he lined himself up with your entrance, only to be disappointed to find he was just teasing you, he slowly drags himself through your wet fold, the stimulation wasn’t enough, but it still had you mewling for him like a bitch in heat.

Even nanami couldn’t take it much longer, watching your hips try and catch him, shuffling back in a silent beg for him to sheath himself inside you. Slowly, teasingly he slipped inside, only the first few inches. But I was enough to have you moaning out for him

“Fuck, More! Kentoooo.” You begged. It felt fucking amazing to finally have him inside, but you needed more and you weren’t feeling particularly patient about it. That delicious burn of the stretch of his girthy cock was only teasing you more. Your mind whirling with thoughts of him fucking you

Those thoughts soon silenced by a swift slap on your ass, leaving the skin blotting with shades of pink as you jolt forward at the sudden contact

“Oh? Where did your manners go pretty girl?” He smooths over the redden skin, admiring how good his handprint looked on your skin “or are you too full of cock to think?”

You’re whining underneath him now, who knew he could be so mean. You loved it. Your cock drunk brain only thinking about one thing as you tried to shimmy your hips back, forcing him further into you. Your hips stilled instantly when you recieved another slap to you ass.

“Shit! Sorry ken, please fuck me.” Much better kento thought to himself. You really needed it soon, your eyes brimming with tears that threatened to spill

The golden haired man was generous enough to oblige you more polite request, slipping inside you welcoming cunt even further, balls pressing against your hips when hes finally fully inside you.

The moan that he let out was absolutely guttural, lord you felt even better than he could’ve ever imagined. He hadn’t even moved yet and you were squeezing the life out of him. And that little noise you made, he was going to be thinking about that for weeks. The way you moan so sweetly for him when he finally gives you what you want. That was something he wanted to hear every fucking day

“Good girl” praise had never sounded better than when it came from nanami, that one comment had you whole body on fire. Your tits pressed up against the hard wood of the table, hard nipples tingling against your skin.

Finally he started moving, his thrusts slow and gentle at first, before he picked up his pace, brutally thrusting himself inside your welcoming walls. It felt like he was even deeper than before, like you could feel him in your throat, not that you were complaining of course.

“So slutty for me, begging me to come over when we both knew this is what you wanted all along.” He was rambling to himself, but you were hanging on every word “Not that I care, you could break every - fuck- every piece of furniture in this house and I’d come and fix it. Just to see your face.”

God what a man, how could he be so teasing, so dirty one second. To then hit you with a sentence that had your legs and heart melting for him.

His hand gripping at your hip, while the other snuck up your back, grabbing your hair and tugging at it lightly, raising your head from the table.

He pressed himself deep into you, “you like that sweetheart huh? You like it when im sweet to you?” His movement pausing, ordering your to give him an answer

“Y-yes- Oh Fuckkkk- ken I love it” youre quivering against him once more, the sensations of your previous orgasm still lingering, intensifying ever move the man behind you was making. He seemed pleased with you answer as his hips resumed their merciless thrusting. His bulbous tip hitting that spongey part deep inside your cunt. The one that had your eyes rolling into the back of your head, that familiar rising of another orgasm soon approaching

“Fuck you- haha- so perfect for me, so tight.” You were certain you might die if he kept talking to you like this, his rough voice travelling into your ears like honey. You could listen to him for hours.

“Wanted to f-fuck you for hours, but with the way your sweet little cunt is gripping me-“ hes cut off mid sentence to a deep groan. You little minx, you squeezed around him. A broken giggle leaving your lips before he fucked it away, replacing it with those moans he was so enjoying

“Fucking brat, should cum so deep in this pussy- Oh? Does my pretty girl like the sounds of that” that pathetic noise of your whimpers giving you away, shamelessly you nodded your head, you wanted nothing more than to have his cum leaking from your used hole.

You were surely going to be the death of him, so dirty. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, good because neither where you.

“Oh my- im gonna-“ You tried to get the words out, but you couldnt help but gasp as the pleasure of his cock stroking against your velvety walls

“Cum for me pretty girl.” He was fucking feral now, the noises coming for you pretty pussy, those squelches. You were fucking soaked, gripping him so tight. ”Fuck- need it, come on pretty”

It didn’t take much more than that, you were gushing all over him, juices overflowing around his cock. His eyes rolling back at the sight “Kento!” Was the only thing you could think to scream as you came.

Hips hips guiding you through the ride of your orgasm, not stopping even when your thighs were shaking. The grip he had on your hair tightening now as he chased his own orgasm. God he was amazing, almost too good. You couldn’t still yourself from the overstimulation. Squirming against him, mewling for mercy.

“I know baby, I know” he tried to soothe you, his balls tightening.

He came with a moan, your name more specifically. You had never heard anything better.

Hot spurts of cum coating your walls as his hips planted himself deep inside of your begging cunt.

You both stayed like that for a moment, his head drooping as he tried to compose himself, you panting against the table as your legs still shook.

When he was ready, he pulled out of you with a light gasp, helping you up as he carried you bridal style to your bedroom. Helping tuck you into bed after cleaning you both up

You both just lay there, basking in each other presence. His gentle kisses to your head and murmurs of sweet nothing lulled you off into one of the best sleeps of your life

You should’ve invited him over for dinner ages ago.

[deliciousangelfestival]

Only The Lonely - Bucky | Oneshot

Summary: Late at night, the last train is Bucky’s escape from the chaos of his life—quiet and predictable. It’s his only peaceful moment. But when a stranger’s simple kindness interrupts his routine, what starts as an annoyance slowly turns into something unexpected.

Character: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Genre: Romance, Action, Comedy, Slice Of Life

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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By the way I publish my book Arrogant Ex Husband in Kindle. 👉 Now available on e-Kindle Amazon! << here's the link.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

1:00 a.m.

The last train of the night. The final hour before the city sleeps, when the world quiets and only a few remain in motion. Most passengers at this hour are creatures of necessity—night-shift workers dragging their tired bodies home, partygoers sobering up after a wild night, travelers in transit, students cramming for exams, or employees finishing late.

And then, there are the unpredictable ones. The lost souls.

It’s the perfect way to describe him. Bucky.

His job makes his life unpredictable—demanding, stressful, suffocating. Every day feels like it’s crushing him, the weight of expectations pressing down on his chest until it’s hard to breathe. But this train ride, the one just before the clock strikes 1:00 a.m., is his sanctuary.

It’s the only time his mind is blissfully empty. The rhythmic clatter of the train wheels on the tracks is a comfort—steady, reliable, unlike the chaos of his day. He listens to the low hum of the engine, the occasional screech as the train rounds a curve. He likes the way the train sways, how it rocks him gently, as if coaxing him to let go of his thoughts.

Most importantly, he likes being alone.

But tonight is different.

When he steps into the nearly empty car and heads to his usual seat, someone is already sitting there.

Have you ever felt that irritation when someone rearranges your kitchen and you can’t find the salt? That’s how Bucky feels. A simmering annoyance, irrational but undeniable.

He grits his teeth but says nothing. It’s public transportation—he has no right to be mad. Instead, he silently takes the seat across from the stranger, determined to ignore them.

At first, you don’t notice him bristling across from you. You’re relieved to see another person, especially this late at night. You’ve never liked taking the last train—it’s eerie when you’re alone—but it’s cheaper than a taxi, and money is tight. Working as a hotel chef is exhausting, and every penny counts.

“Oh, thank goodness. I was starting to think I’d be the only one on this train,” you say, offering a polite smile, hoping to make conversation.

Bucky doesn’t respond. He barely glances at you, his eyes dark and tired, fixed on the window as if willing the world outside to distract him. His shoulders are tense, his jaw set in a silent refusal to engage.

You sense his exhaustion and decide not to push. He’s tired, you think. Maybe next time.

The Next Night. When Bucky steps onto the train, he immediately spots you. Sitting in the same seat as before.

He exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his eyes. Not again.

As if sensing his presence, you look up and wave. It’s a small, friendly gesture. Bucky doesn’t wave back—he just nods, a curt, obligatory acknowledgment. He doesn’t want to be rude, but he also doesn’t want to encourage conversation.

The train ride is quiet, but Bucky’s peace is shattered.

The Third Night. This time, you both arrive at the station at the same time.

You smile when you see him. “Hey! We’re train buddies now,” you say cheerfully as you walk side by side toward the platform.

Bucky scoffs, a quiet, dry sound, but there’s no real malice in it. He glances at you briefly and catches the faint scent of caramel. It clings to you, sweet and warm, a stark contrast to the cold, metallic smell of the train station.

You’re talking about something—your day at work, maybe—but he’s not really listening. He’s too focused on keeping his distance.

Then, it happens.

A loud, unmistakable growl from his stomach.

The sound cuts through the quiet, echoing in the empty station.

You stop mid-sentence, blinking in surprise. Bucky clears his throat, his ears burning with embarrassment. He tries to appear nonchalant, but the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

You stifle a giggle. “Looks like someone needs a snack.”

Bucky shoots you a glare, but there’s no heat in it. Just the begrudging realization that, for better or worse, you’ve become part of his routine.

You didn’t make a big deal of it—you simply reached into your bag and pulled something out. Holding it out to him, you offered, “Here, you can have this. We made too much in the kitchen today.”

Bucky glanced at the box in your hand. Before he could refuse, you added, “It’s monkey bread.” His gaze softened. It had been a long time since he’d had monkey bread. Hesitating for a moment, he finally took it. “Thank you.”

The sound of his voice surprised you—low and slightly raspy from exhaustion. It made you light up, a warm smile spreading across your face. “You’re welcome.”

The next evening, you boarded the train with a small container of cookies and handed it to him without a word. He didn’t say much, but the quiet kindness in your gesture spoke louder than words.

A few nights later, you offered him a neatly packaged serving of beef Wellington. “I can’t eat all this myself,” you said with a casual shrug. Bucky took it, feeling the warmth of the box seep into his cold hands. He wanted to say something but found himself at a loss for words, so he simply nodded, offering you a faint smile.

Then came fish and chips. “You’ll like this one,” you said, placing the box in his hands before settling into your seat. “It’s fresh.” Bucky chuckled softly, the sound almost foreign to him. He wasn’t used to this—someone thinking of him, sharing without expecting anything in return.

Day after day, you brought something new. Each time, he accepted it, and each time, he found himself looking forward to the brief exchange. Eventually, curiosity got the better of him.

“Why do you give me food every time we meet?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as he studied you from across the train.

You shrugged, as if the answer were obvious. “I just like sharing. Aren’t we train buddies?”

Your simple response caught him off guard. For a moment, Bucky was stunned. No ulterior motive, no hidden agenda. In your eyes, he was just a friend.

“I owe you,” he muttered, glancing away.

“It’s just extra food,” you said with a soft smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

That was the longest conversation Bucky had with another person, aside from those at his job. He thought only silence could bring him peace, but he realized that having friends could bring him peace too.

Then one day, you weren’t there.

He convinced himself it didn’t matter. Maybe you found a better job. Good for you.

But the train rides felt emptier. No chatter about your coworkers. No light-hearted complaints about your boss. No extra food in hand, given with that easy smile.

Something didn’t feel right.

Bucky found himself standing in front of the five-star hotel where you worked. He recognized the logo from the packaging you used. After asking a kitchen staff member about you, he was met with a puzzled look.

“She’s on the night shift. I’ve never met her,” the staff member said, scratching his head. “But I can ask my manager.”

Bucky nodded. “Thank you.”

Minutes later, the staff member returned, his expression more serious.

“She quit two weeks ago,” he explained. “Apparently, some guy came in and caused a scene—flipped a table, yelled about debt or something. The next day, she quit.”

Bucky’s heart sank. His chest tightened, and breathing felt harder.

Debt?

All this time, he thought you were the bright, carefree soul who brought light into his monotonous life. But now, he realized—you were the one hurting. Hiding behind your kindness.

He swallowed hard. “Thank you… and I’m sorry for bothering you.”

The staff member gave him a sympathetic nod.

Bucky walked out of the hotel, the weight of the truth pressing down on him. I never even asked…

He clenched his fists. He didn’t know anything about you—not your struggles, not your pain. But one thing was clear: He needed to find you.

👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

Bucky walked into his office during the morning shift—a time when he was rarely seen. Heads turned, confusion spreading among his coworkers as they whispered to each other. Bucky Barnes, the man who thrived in the shadows, was suddenly here in broad daylight.

“Is he… actually here in the morning?” one agent murmured.

“Maybe he couldn’t sleep,” another offered, but their eyes widened when they saw Bucky heading straight for the weapons locker.

The boss, a tall man with graying hair and a perpetual frown, stepped into the room just in time to see Bucky zipping up a weapon bag. His expression shifted from confusion to concern.

“Uhhh… Barnes, where are you going?” the boss asked, his hand resting on the doorframe as if blocking Bucky’s path.

Bucky didn’t pause. He slung the bag over his shoulder, his face unreadable. “Helping a buddy.”

The boss blinked. “Oh…” He nodded slowly, then frowned. “Wait. Who’s your buddy?”

“A train buddy,” Bucky said without missing a beat, securing the bag and striding past him.

The boss opened his mouth to respond, then closed it, watching Bucky disappear down the hall with a perplexed expression. “A train buddy?”

👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳👩‍🍳

The basement was cold and damp, the air thick with the stench of mold and oil. The dim light from a single flickering bulb cast long shadows across the concrete floor.

In the center of the room, you sat tied to a chair, your wrists chafed from the rough rope binding you. Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared at the group of gangsters lounging around, their faces hardened with cruelty.

One of them—a tall man with a scar running down his cheek—stood before you, arms crossed. “Your brother owes us a lot of money,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And guess what? We don’t care where it comes from. You’re gonna pay it.”

Your voice trembled as you shook your head. “I don’t have the money. I told you, I don’t—”

The scarred man sighed, rubbing his temples as if dealing with a stubborn child. “Put her in liquid cement,” he said, his tone casual, like he was ordering a drink. “Then throw her into the sea.”

Your blood ran cold. Panic surged through you, and you pulled against the ropes, your breaths coming in short gasps. “No. No! God, please, no! Help!”

The men laughed, their footsteps echoing as they approached.

Then—darkness.

The flickering light went out, plunging the basement into complete blackness.

“What the hell?” one of the gangsters muttered.

Suddenly, the sound of a struggle erupted—thuds, grunts, the sharp crack of bones breaking. One by one, the gangsters fell. Some screamed in pain; others were silenced before they could make a sound.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your body trembling as the chaos unfolded around you. What’s happening?

Then—silence.

A familiar voice cut through the darkness, calm and steady. “You’re safe. Open your eyes.”

Your eyes flew open, heart racing. You blinked, adjusting to the faint light as the basement door creaked open, spilling in a sliver of light from the stairwell.

Standing in front of you, weapon in hand, was Bucky. His dark hair fell into his eyes, his jaw clenched in determination.

Your breath hitched. “Bucky?”

He moved quickly, crouching in front of you and cutting the ropes that bound your wrists and ankles. His hands were steady, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—concern.

As the ropes fell away, you flexed your stiff wrists, the lingering ache a reminder of how close you had come to disaster. “Why are you here? How did you find me?”

“Aren’t we train buddies?” he asked, his voice low and steady as if the answer mattered more than he let on.

You blinked, your chest tightening with a mix of relief and gratitude. Despite the chaos, despite the fear, here he was—your train buddy. Slowly, you nodded, a small, trembling smile forming on your lips.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “We are.”

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[emo-batboy]

Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a ���perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

[hyomaslut]

──★ ˙🌟 ̟ !! gold star redemption program. 18+!

☆⌒(ゝ。∂).ᐟ ᴛᴇᴀᴍ ʙʟᴜᴇ ʟᴏᴄᴋ's ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴍᴀɴᴀɢᴇʀ

✿ ─ synopsis: you are the new manager for team blue lock and you have a great idea to make the players get along better. after all, positive reinforcement worked really well on dogs, why not men? ✿ ─ characters: isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, chigiri hyoma + kunigami rensuke referenced ✿ ─ cw: smut, fem!reader, she/her pronouns used, aged-up!characters(18+), pet names, kissing, penetrative sex, oral receiving/giving, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, hair pulling, overstimulation, rough sex, deepthroating/face-fucking, non-exclusive relationships, lots of jealousy, pda, use of foul language, suggestive themes, shidou is an asshole, rin threatens murder, somewhat proofread ✿ ─ notes: okay so every is going to ignore the logistics and mental gymnastics done to put all these guys on the same team and have any of this go on, right? cool. this work was requested by @anastasiablossomlove pls enjoy!

managing team blue lock was no task for a person of average conviction. anyone with less of a spine would be easily trampled and consumed by the members, all with big personalities and even bigger egos. you took to the role with exceptional organizational skills and a positive attitude that didn’t falter, even under the cold glares of the less compliant men of the team (cough cough itoshi rin cough cough barou shouei). before the end of your first week you had drafted up detailed and individualized meal plans, unique to each of them. by the second you had worked with the coach to create special training regimes that works towards their fitness goals while providing challenge and variety. right under their noses you dug your pretty fingers into every part of team blue lock, finding every issue and soothing every conflict, turning a group of somewhat wild animals into a well functioning machine with you at its core.

and not a detail slipped your eye. you could always tell when kunigami had pushed himself too hard in the gym by the stiffness in his shoulders. honestly you doubt you would’ve been able to convince him to let you help him if he wasn’t just as sore as you predicted. but the minute your palms were pressing into his back he was groaning in relief, “you’re an angel” grumbled under his breath. he’s a bit less embarrassed the next time around, blushing while asking you to fix him like you did last time.

you quickly took responsibility for doing chigiri’s hair before every practice and game. after seeing it fall out of its style and flap wildly in his face whenever he reached top speed on the field, you decided he needed something a little more reliable to keep it out the way so his eyes could stay on the ball. though when his hair was this soft, who could blame you for taking a bit longer than necessary, brushing through the knots and gently scratching at his scalp. plus, he didn’t seem to mind all that much, always red faced and all smiles, leaning into your touch. the thank you kiss he plants on your cheek lingers long enough to leave a matching blush on your face as a token of his appreciation.

being the backbone of their system earned you respect, acknowledgement, even affection from the overly friendly members of the team (cough cough bachira meguru cough cough shidou ryusei). no one could deny the benefits of having you around, always offering all kinds of helpful advice and showed not a shred of judgment when listening to their problems. and you weren’t exactly ignorant to the fact that your constant support was causing some of your new friends to become especially attached to you. maybe to someone else it would be a bigger concern, but in your eyes, this was only another opportunity to do more for your team.

that’s why you implemented the gold star redemption program to help motivate them. it was quite simple to follow, you had a chart with all of their names along with cute, slightly wonky doodles of them, and a list of ways to earn gold stars. from goals and assists to being on good behavior, whatever way they earn their stars, team members can then cash them in for certain prizes from you. the list had looked something like this…

2 ☆ = snack or drink of your choice 4 ☆ = a home cooked meal 5 ☆ = a kiss <3 7 ☆ = a massage <33 10 ☆ = private training session <333

the objective was to give incentives towards cooperation. not to mention, it’s always good to strengthen bonds with your team members. it seems, however, that you underestimated how much of your time this new system would take up. or maybe you just overestimated how easy it would be to keep up with the greedy desires of so many egoists at once.

ever since your arrival, anyone with eyes could see that isagi yoichi carried a torch for you. you let him talk your ear off for hours about tactics and players, never tired of his company or too busy for his rambles. it gets his heart thumping obnoxiously loud in his chest. so yoichi makes it his objective to dote on you as much as possible to try to make up for all the time you spend fussing over everybody else. always staying after practice to help you or walking you home. so when you start handing out stars for that kind of stuff, isagi is already making a steady income. he considers himself a gentleman, so at first he spends his stars on meals. and he’s more than happy to eat your cooking, stirring up all kinds of wifey fantasies in his head and enjoying his lunches with you. but at night, when he’s lying in bed, the big ticket item at the bottom of the prize board haunts him. and when he can’t take it anymore, he slips into your tiny little office that you share with the coach, a self-satisfied smile on his face when he lets you know that he just finished the stat sheets you asked him to fill out, earning him his tenth gold star. enough for one private training session.

in all the times you thought about sex with isagi, you’re not sure you ever pictured it to be like this. bent over your own desk, tennis skirt bunched up around your waist, your star player too eager to sink into your pussy to even push down your underwear. they stayed tugged to the side, thoroughly soaked from the way his hips meet yours in sloppy desperate thrusts. “i knew i needed to fuck you when i saw this skirt,” he confesses, eyes fixed to the point where you connect, mesmerized by the way his cock disappears inside you, “you’ve been tempting me all day, so be a good girl and take my cock, okay?” before you can respond he hooks a finger into the elastic of your panties to let it snap back against your skin, drawing a small yelp from you. he changs the angle to fuck you harder, deeper. you wonder if this could be the same sweet yoichi that carries your things and bashfully tells you your outfit looks good.

apparently that yoichi doesn’t exist once he’s balls deep inside you, all that’s left is the side of him you’ve only caught glimpses of when he’s dominating his opponents on the field. and if you thought that it was a chance encounter, you’re sorely mistaken as week after week isagi makes sure he earns his ten stars and you get to know just how mean he can be. his grip is always tight around your hair, whether it’s pulling and steering you into the position he wants or guiding your head down to take more of his dick. god forbid he asks you nicely for something like he always does when you’re not ‘training’. one time you even had the gall to suggest the idea to him and lived to regret it as now if you want anything from him, isagi is only accepting the most convincing of your begs. “c'mon princess, mind your manners, if you wanna cum then you’re gonna have to ask really nicely.” and no teary eyed puppy dog look will get you what you want, even when he makes getting your words out so difficult. truthfully, he never intends to be so hard on you, but having you crying and begging for his cock is the only way to soothe the devil on his shoulder that tries to tell him to take you for himself. in the aftermath, you start to recognize your yoichi again, sheepish in his apologies for how rough he was with you, kissing away the tears that run down your face. he’s lucky you’re too fucked out to charge him for them.

there’s not a world where you offer bachira meguru sexual favors in exchange for playing soccer and he says no. he was already gonna do that anyway, and now not only does he get to make even more of a game out of it, but his reward for winning is the cute little manager he’s had his eyes on for far too long? consider him sold. bachira knows it would be most fun for him to save up and have sex with you as soon as possible, but all of a sudden he has five and he’s itching for a kiss. one he decides to give you right before practice starts… in front of the whole team. but can you blame him? he’s already been waiting forever to feel those pretty glossed lips on his, you couldn’t really expect him to make it through the next few hours when he’s so close to getting what he wants. and you could maybe understand that, but was it really necessary to go for a full open-mouthed wet almost make out that left you panting when everyone’s eyes were already on you? you suspect not, but bachira doubles down, telling you it was of upmost importance that he got it in, else he wouldn’t be able to focus. he neglects to tell you that he overheard reo in the locker room talking about what he was gonna do now that he had five stars. shidou already made it very clear that he would be first to ten, so bachira had to be crafty in order to secure at least one first from you.

meguru was certainly one of the more needy players, right under nagi that required some form of encouragement every step of the way to get anything done. bachira usually does what you tell him to, but not without whining about deserving a prize for being good. quite frankly, you dread having to ask anything of him, because he is determined to be fully compensated for even the smallest of requests. even a task as easy as grabbing something on a high shelf was met with a cheeky smirk and a request for a kiss. and don’t think he’ll budge either, holding the item hostage if he thinks he can squeeze two out of you. it didn’t make it any easier that bachira didn’t possess a shy bone in his whole body, openly showering you in affection when the others were around, holding your hand and nuzzling his face into your collar. it was enough to make even a professional like you blush. he acted as if he was oblivious to the jealous stares of his friends, but the smug cat-like smirk he sends them and the way he only holds you tighter when you try to shyly brush him off gives him away. it may come as a surprise considering his reputation for being a bit delusional, but bachira tries to root himself in reality for once. he frequently reminds himself of the nature of your relationship and tries his best not let his imagination run wild with anything that would be beyond the boundaries you’ve clearly set. things like picturing himself taking you on dates, coming home to you at night, introducing you to his mom. they were all too dangerous to let his mind settle on them for too long.

and what better distraction than burying his face between your thighs. it’s hard to think of much when he hasn’t bothered to stop lapping at your cunt long enough to take a breath in a couple minutes. suffocating was the least of his concerns when the clench around his fingers lets him know your orgasm is just around the corner. meguru swears that your pathetic little whimpers and the slick dripping down his chin are like a straight hit of dopamine to his brain and he’s at real risk of addiction at this point. lidded amber eyes travel up to watch your expression twist into one of pleasure as you gasp out his name. now that catches his interest. when your vision clears and your brain is functioning again after that intense high, you search for his comfort as if you had done any of the hard work. but all you’re met with is that signature wild look that he gets when he brushing past the enemy team’s defense straight towards his goal. it’s your only warning that he’s far from tired and even farther from sated. “if i can keep going, so can you baby. i know you have more for me. jus’ need t’see you make that face one more time.” you have no room to protest, his tongue already finding your clit and working towards bringing you to the edge once again. by your fourth time cumming, you’re sobbing for a break and debating whether you should charge him four times over or give him a star for each one.

someone who was on board with your system from the second that you explained how it worked, was shidou ryusei. what better way to celebrate another one of his blood pumping, heart stopping performances than racing to the locker room to blow a load in his favorite girl while his teammates debrief with the coach? to him it was simple, you fuck him, you feed him, you take care of him, you spend time with him. shidou is, by all of his definitions, dating you. while some might be turned off by the idea of dating someone who isn’t offering exclusivity, he didn’t see it as much of an obstacle. not when he spent star stickers like a gambler on a slot machine, having you multiple times a week if the economy allowed it. and if he’s short a few, no worries, ryusei is quite the negotiator. it starts one week when he’s only missing a star or two, promising he’ll pay back the difference, you know he’s a good customer. it’s probably not a good idea to give in to him though, as the next time he wants a private training session, he’ll insist they’re only nine stars for him. he has made all kinds of fake coupons from 50% Off! to Buy One Get One Free! to even a homemade punch card in his own terrible handwriting. shidou was the first one to ever get a star taken away when he tried to give you an arby’s gift card in exchange for a blowjob. he didn’t try that tactic again.

the worst is when he tries to haggle in the middle of sex. your legs are thrown over his shoulders and his tip is kissing your cervix when he chooses to whine about not being able to kiss you because he has no stars left. he worked too hard to get good star credit, he can’t go into star debt!! “ and with his lips just hovering over yours, his hot breath fanning across your face, how could you say no? in a moment of weakness, you have unfortunately given an inch to shidou, infamous mile taker, and now it’s hard to get him to pay for any of his kisses, especially while he’s fucking you. you thank god that at the very least no one knows he’s been getting them for free… if only shidou would allow your life to be that easy. even worse than giving him an inch, you expected shidou to keep a secret. and you thought his big mouth was something you liked about him. until he’s using it to brag to everyone that he’s your favorite, practically your boyfriend, all because you let him get away with a smooch here and there. let’s just say you had to give out a lot of free kisses to smooth over the problem his bragging habits created.

honestly ryusei was starting to cause a lot of confusion outside of the team with his antics. what with his always hanging off your arm, giving you as much affection as you’d tolerate, calling you sweet nicknames. the people in your life were actually starting to believe you two were dating. not that shidou does anything to discourage such rumors, only grinning and agreeing every time someone mistakes you as a couple. hell, he was starting to get you confused, saying things during your training sessions that certainly didn’t fit the transactional nature of the act. “holy shit you’re so tight- love this pussy, l-love you so much. say my name. c’mon baby, say you love me and i’ll make you feel so fucking good.” and only because ryusei always makes good on his promises do you allow yourself another moment of weakness.

itoshi rin didn’t have much interest or faith in you upon first introduction. he sized you up as some nobody doing this whole manager thing as a fun extracurricular, so as long as you stayed out of his way he didn’t care what you did. with his luck, he shouldn’t be surprised that you were immediately in his way, extremely often, rambling to him about ideas and strategies that he had no intention on listening to. although even he could admit, he understood why the others were so easily charmed by you. he was wrong about how seriously you took your job. not that it changed anything. at least that’s what rin tells himself, but in reality your relentless efforts and endless dedication to supporting all of them was something that spoke to him, made him a bit soft for you. it didn’t help that you were his type in every sense of the word, your attractiveness doing nothing but make feigning indifference a lot harder for rin. your seemingly endless patience didn’t help either. you always responded in kind to all of rin’s harsh words and cold stares, never let his sour attitude deter your subtle acts of service like getting grass stains out of his uniform and making sure he stays unbothered during his yoga. against his will, he was slowly warming up to you, but you were still caught off guard when rin started cashing in his stars, even if it was just a meal. he had lots of them sitting idle on the chart waiting to be used, so you supposed it was only natural for him to get some free food out of it. but you were even more taken aback when a couple days later he requested a massage from you with insistence that he only asks because he’s been extremely tense as of late. which wasn’t entirely untrue. rin had been very tense. just not from anything soccer related like he’d like you to believe. he was tense from the stress of his budding feelings for you combined with the dread of knowing he probably will never have you all to himself. at least not with this stupid reward system in place.

he despises it. he absolutely hates going about his day knowing there are other guys, his shithead teammates, that are getting your time, attention, and affection for the price of a couple of stupid fucking stickers. he misses the days when shidou’s incessant bragging about how many times he was able to make you cum or bachira’s unnecessary details of what your pussy tastes like didn’t bother him. now his blood boils to hear them talk about you like that. that kind of anger makes it clear to him that being your friend was simply not an option anymore. which is how he settled on getting a massage from you. he would satisfy this overwhelming craving he has for you and go back to normal and be able to focus solely on becoming best in the world again without thoughts of you plaguing his mind. that was his hope going into it, but feeling your warm touch on his bare back, melting away years of untreated knots and neglected aches in his body, he could almost blush at the intimacy he feels. especially when that foreign kindness he loves so much is on display as you reassure him that there’s nothing to be embarrassed about and that you’re proud he finally put his pride aside long enough to let you help him. you’ve got him, hook, line, and sinker now. no use in struggling so hard, he supposes, as some part of him knows he’s doomed to fall sooner or later. perhaps it’s time to surrender. he fought a good fight, but his greed for you was candidly too tough of an opponent.

and to rin, surrender looked like asking you when’s the soonest he could book a private training session. you don’t think you could look any more shocked. rin had a quick turn around from someone you doubted even liked you, to someone reserving as much of your time as his stars could buy. the more often he was with you, the less time you spent giving those lukewarm brats the treatment he wants reserved for him. and he wishes he gave in a lot sooner when he feels the wet heat of your mouth around his cock for the first time. how fast he would’ve folded if he knew how pretty you would look on your knees for him. rin tried to be gentle and let you set the pace, but between hissing out curses and barely biting back moans, that same greed to get more from you has his hand twisting itself in your hair and pushing down on the back of your head. he couldn’t help it. and it was so worth it to watch you choke and sputter around his length but never pull away. he knew you weren’t a quitter. “shit, feels good… don’t stop,” he all but gasps, hips instinctively jumping to reach further down your throat, grip tightening when you try to come up for air. after a long moment of breathing through your nose you relax enough to let him ease himself the rest of the way in. rin sighs in relief when your nose finally presses against his pelvis. the way you look up at him starry-eyed and full of adoration made his chest feel heavy with desire to be the only one you ever look at. it drives him crazy that any guy on the team can see you like this, and that heartache has rin fucking your face to forget it. “fuckkk. don’t look away, eyes on me, g’nna cum in that pretty mouth.”

you couldn’t deny that your new attempt at encouraging the team had its kinks. while overall the amount of arguments that broke out between players lessened to keep on good star-earning behavior, you could tell that it came with its own set of tension creating problems. you also couldn’t deny that being pulled in every direction by men vying for your attention was both very time consuming and extremely gratifying, but you think you manage it well. save for when they were already pumped up with adrenaline from a game, that is when real issues arise. especially when a player from the enemy team thinks it’s a good idea to try and hit on the cute little lady holding the clipboard. fatal mistake.

it starts with your favorite pot stirrer, bachira, calling out from his position, making everyone else on the team aware of the situation. “no shot dude, she don’t want you! focus on losing!” you’re confident you can diffuse whatever is about to go down before you notice rin leaving the ball alone in centerfield to beeline straight towards you. threats are flying from his lips on approach, quick to get in the guy’s face, planting his hands on his shoulders to shove him back. “what the fuck do you think you’re doing? i’ll kill you if you don’t get the fuck away from her.” you think maybe you have a shot of getting rin under control if you just- your eyes widen in horror as a flash moves in from your peripheral. there are no words, just shidou drop kicking this poor stranger at top speed. you cringe as you watch shidou knocks this guy off his feet, cleats first, taking rin down with him. what a way to earn a red card.

this was a fun project and request tysm!!! i just went about it in the interpretation i found most interesting, i really hope it was to your liking!!!

© 2023 hyomaslut. please do not copy, translate, or repost any of my content onto any other sites.

[thezombieprostitute]

Can't Stand It

A/N: Written for @flashfictionfridayofficial.

Warnings: Bad boss. Please let me know if I missed any!

Summary: Working at a fancy restaurant with a demanding boss, you're starting to reach your limits. So is your favorite customer.

You're grinding your teeth in frustration and your shift hasn't even started yet. It's not that you don't like the work you do, it's just the people you have to work with, specifically your boss. If you could be a waitress for a boss that didn't insist on waving his dick around, sometimes literally, you'd be happy to do the job.

Instead, Mr. Hansen has you working the worst shifts for collecting tips and making sure your schedule is unpredictable. You know it's because you turned down his advances. Go figure, he can't handle being turned down.

Some of your favorite customers have asked after you, including Mr. Levinson, or Ari, as he insists you call him. You heard through some of your coworkers that Mr. Hansen got some harsh words from Ari because you weren't working your usual shifts. You smile at the thought of someone putting that asshole in his place.

You're doing your prep working and just trying to avoid Hansen so you don't have to fake your smile so much to your customers. Most of them don't care about fake smiles, but the big tippers always seem to appreciate the genuine ones.

Talia interrupts your work telling you, "Mr. Levinson just arrived. I made sure to seat him in your section."

"Thank you, so much!" You're definitely smiling for real now.

She gives a playful scoff. "I did it as much for me as for you. If Levinson found out you were working and I didn't seat him in your section I don't doubt I'd get an earful."

"Still, thank you so much."

Heading out the dining area, you make right for Ari. You'd never admit it, but between his ocean blue eyes, long hair, and strong physique, he's definitely shown up in several of your dreams. Your face heats up as you recall some of them. You have to stop for a moment and shake your head to clear up your thoughts.

Ari smiles wide when he sees you. "It's about time I got to see you again!"

"Yeah, my schedule's been crazy," you tell him as you hand him a menu. You omit the reason for the crazy schedule as it wouldn't do to set Hansen off again.

"So I gathered," his voice softens as he takes the menu from you.

The two of you chat a little before you get his drink order and head to the kitchen to grab it.

"There you are!" Hansen yells as soon as you're in the kitchen. "Where the hell have you been? Your prep work is sloppy and, worse yet unfinished. You wanna tell me what you've been doing?"

"My job," you snipe back. "I have a customer and I need to get their drink."

"We don't get customers at this time," he shoots back. "I made sure to schedule you for now specifically because of that."

"Well you can go out and look for yourself, Mr. Hansen. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta get the man his drink."

Bringing Ari's drink to him, you try to plant your smile back as it was before your encounter. Unfortunately for you he's very observant.

"What happened?" His tone is kind and your smile turns a little more genuine.

"Just a little spat is all," you shrug. "It happens, you know?"

His expression turns stern. "Is someone giving you trouble?"

"Well, yes, but that's what bosses do, right?" You try to make sure there's a joking tone in your voice but his expression indicates he isn't buying it.

"Do you like your job? Do you enjoy working here?"

"Honestly," your voice quavers. "I can't stand it. My coworkers are okay but my boss is killing me. He keeps jumping my shifts around and is metaphorically on my ass all the time because I refused to let him literally be on me."

Ari's fist tightens in frustration. "Come work for me." You'd say it's an offer but his anger makes it sound more like an order. When you hesitate he continues, "I need someone reliable and friendly as my secretary. My current one keeps putting off clients with his cold, sarcastic demeanor. I can promise you it'll pay better than this job. And your schedule will be a lot more stable."

You hear a loud crash in the kitchen, followed by Hansen shouting at everyone and everyone.

"I'm in," you tell him, holding out your hand.

Ari takes your hand in his, giving it a firm shake. "Happy to have you aboard. Can I watch as you tell Hansen you're quitting?"

You laugh, "sure!"

As he follows you into the kitchen, you don't notice Ari's eyes on you. He was just hoping to ask you for a date, but he's not one to turn down an opportunity to get to spend more time with you. He's hopeful you'll feel the same about him.

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @irishhappiness; @lokislady82; @ronearoundblindly; @thiquefunlover63

[alfascorpiionux]

How to recognise the placements | Sun, Moon Edition ~ part 1

Sagittarius Sun: people who exude friendliness, are talkative, open minded, but also stubborn with their ideas. They can get mad about small things but usually don’t hold onto anger. Probably interested in some kind of sport or multiple. Talk freely about things many would shy away from: sexual experiences, family problems etc. Can be forgetful at times or overly insistent with their idea, blunt. They are pretty realistic people, with feet planted on the ground.

Some of the friendliest people you can find overall.

Gemini Sun: friendly, talkative but a little distant emotionally. Super smart, maybe a little nerdy. Interested in technology, new discoveries. May seem a little shallow or uncommitted.

Overall a great conversationalist with a wide range of interests.

Probably many acquaintances and/or friends (depending on other placements).

Could be quarrelsome or on the contrary resort to passive-aggressiveness. Very attuned to social dynamics in general.

As other air signs, he/she can seem a little detached from reality at times, with “his/her head in the clouds”.

Values friendships a great deal.

Aries Sun: changing when it comes to communication, sometimes talkative other times lost in their own world. Generous to people close to them; could be sort of mean/blunt with strangers. Explosive outbursts when angered. Could have a hard time admitting when they are wrong; sort of bossy at times; very hardworking and self-motivated people who always provide for people close to them and are dynamic and creative communicators with a special kind of charisma that draws people in.

True to their word, but impatient people. Could be passive-agressive about the most unusual things.

Words of affirmation is one of their love language. They like giving and receiving gifts too.

Aquarius Sun: can feel like a stranger in their own skin. They are super smart, individualistic and friendly people who have a really difficult time fitting in. They somehow always feel like the odd one and could at times push away people without really meaning to. They value friendships a great deal and would do almost anything for a close friend. They are super loyal at time to the wrong people. Compassionate, unique and insightful are words that would describe them well. They think outside the box and like being objective in communication. They can be sensitive in close relationships and people could take advantage of their kindness because they tend to ignore their problems and not always speak up when they need to. In fact when they do people always look at them strangely and give them the side eye. They can feel awkward about they way the speak and/or their personality in general. Could have trouble communicating their ideas and needs especially when young.

Libra Moon: these people will always be kind and polite in public, even when they’re seething inside. Have a sense of style and broad outlook on life, relationships. They like being liked even if that means not truly revealing themselves or keeping their anger hidden. They can be huge gossips at times and usually compare themselves to the people around them a lot or at least pay great attention to those around them, sometimes to a fault. They can falsely interpret people’s words/intentions at times. Wide circle of acquaintances is likely. Could be talkative or not. Quite idealistic in love.

Could have problems with passive-aggressiveness or fear of conflict.

Could be musically talented or love dressing up, decorating their home nicely.

Capricorn Moon: private, pragmatic, reliable people. They likely don’t talk about their private lives, not to just anyone and could take secrets to the grave. They are true to their words and constant in their actions. Could fear showing vulnerability and prefer keeping their emotions in check and solving their problems by themselves. They are always making plans, setting goals for themselves and like being productive. They cannot just sit still and do nothing all day.

Very hardworking and ambitious, sometimes to their detriment.

Very patient and calm in face of adversity.

Sagittarius Moon: it’s not that easy to recognise and it can go very different ways. They are people who love being active and hate feeling cooped up in any shape or form (of course this could mean commitment phobia too). Adventurous, love trying out new activities. Travelling is likely on their agenda as well. Highly philosophical and righteous people, at times egocentric. Friendly, talkative but not necessarily emotionally open. Very individualistic. It could take a while to really get to know them. Very curious people who love learning new things and expending their horizons in every way. Sometimes they can be emotionally unstable/have anger issues especially when feeling restricted in their activities.

Overall very optimistic and friendly people to have around who will surprise you with their questions and their special outlook on life.

Pisces Moon: have a truly charming aura that draws people in. They are kind, sensitive people who are somewhat introverted. They need their alone time and are likely musically talented. People want to get to know them but it’s not always easy. They can be a little changing in friendships or just ignore their friends altogether, especially when they fall in love. Many crushes are possible. They are idealistic in love. Very tolerant but also sensitive, they really absorb the energies of those around them. Could exhibit selfish behaviour as a manner of self-protection when feeling overwhelmed with life. Could be flacky with appointments and is rather moody. Emotional yet private, could keep secrets for a long time if he/she wanted to.

Likely loves being in nature and/or animals.

Aries Moon: very present and emotionally intense. Explosive outbursts when angered but usually they don’t last long. Doesn’t really hold grudges. Very active and curious. A little blunt in communication and doesn’t always notices subtleties. Steadfast and loyal especially to the people he/she loves. Very expressive emotionally (depending on the Moon’s position) and could have a hard time lying because their emotions are literally written on their face when they speak.

Likes making friends and talking to new people. Generous person.

Aquarius Moon: very tolerant, diplomatic and intelligent communicators. Very individualistic much like the Sagittarius Moon and needs their space in relationships. If the Sun is in Libra/Gemini it could lead to the person becoming very popular in their community.

Probably has many friends and is very intellectually curious and compassionate.

At times he/she could feel like an odd duck even when surrounded by likeminded individuals.

Creative, insightful but a little rigid in their beliefs. Could get offended if you press the right buttons but is not necessarily argumentative. Very loyal in friendships though it takes some time to really get to know them. They like being objective and not express their emotions as freely as other placements. They can be stubborn and unpredictable at times and definitely have a temper.

Leo Moon: loves attention and praise and adores being in the spotlight. Very warm, loyal and kind friend who’d always go the extra mile for you. Fiercely protective, especially of their close ones. Creative, passionate, a little dramatic, they’ll always have their way in the end. Creative, confident and charismatic individuals who draw people in. Likely very stylish.

Could become somewhat egocentric and shallow in relationships and loves being right.

Virgo Moon: is perfectionistic, detail-oriented and critical both of others and themselves. They like planning ahead and are constant and pragmatic in pursuing their goals. They can read into other’s intentions and can at times find faults when their is none. They like analysing themselves and others people. Are likely very health-oriented and conscientious people. Reliable, stable and good-natured are words that describe them well.

Scorpio Moon: very intense, loyal and highly serious about personal relationships. They know the value of a given world and can get really pissed off by dishonest, flaky people. They cannot but live their emotions deeply and they’ve likely have gone trough some really heavy, possibly traumatising experiences in the past that have shaped their current emotional world. They are the “ride-or-die” kind of people and it takes a really long time to gain their trust as they are typically quite distrustful of others, especially in the beginning. But if you’ve managed, they will never ever abandon you and would bring you the stars in the sky if they could to make you happy. They will listen to your problems and become your biggest confidant and friend. Be careful not to betray their trust, though. They aren’t known to be the most forgiving people.

Cancer Moon: very loyal, caring and kind but also private people. They would do anything for a family member and can be fierce and sassy when angered, contrary to what others may think. They are organised and rather methodical people but also sensitive, emotional and very in tune with what others are feeling. Can make extremely loyal and trustworthy friends.

At times they can be shy and secretive and don’t exactly like conflict. They could hold onto grudges as well, if someone really upset them.

[ciciyup]

Pack Wolf X Fem! Reader who doesn't reciprocate his feelings headcanons.

Summary: In their wanderings, they find their imprint as soon as they see her for the first time; However, she doesn't seem to feel the same way.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

Sam Uley:

Seeing you for the first time, he would have almost involuntarily gotten down on his knees if it hadn't been that they were in a public place and you were accompanied. It was something unique, something he didn't expect, but there you were, and Sam felt the need to get close to you no matter what. Him approaching you to talk about whatever as an excuse to get to know you wasn't rough enough; he needed to see you again.

As soon as he brought up any kind of topic he noticed how incredibly kind you were when you addressed him, but he also noticed how you didn't even seem to be feel the same. There was no spark in your eyes, no accelerated breathing, no special something that seemed to unite you. You were supposed to be soulmates, weren't you? You were supposed to be perfect for each other, so why as time went on did you seem to treat him like any other normal person? Why wasn't there "that" something in your eyes when you looked at him? Sam had imprinted himself on you, he knew it, everyone knew it, but they also seemed to notice his constant attempts to be closer to you, his constant silent pain.

You treated him well of course, you were friendly to everyone on the reservation, you were sweet to Sam more than he could ask for, but he still didn’t seem to be strong enough with his advances for you to see him the way he was expected. Even after explaining his secret and about the imprint, you seemed to try to feel a connection with him; you spent time by his side, you did everything you could, but the feeling just didn’t seem to be there. No matter how hard you tried you couldn’t feel the connection and as time went on you began to wear yourself out and try to find something that just wasn’t there. Finally explaining to him that you couldn’t go on and giving him a clear rejection.

Even though your rejection seemed to hurt him much more than expected, he decided to suffer in silence, prioritizing your feelings over his. Sam would become understanding and calm, not losing his temper, even though he knew how painful it would be, knowing that imprinting shouldn't be forced. Though promising that if only you wanted him, he would be there for you, a good friend or brother, even a companion. Imprinting would involve prioritizing your well-being above all else, so Sam would do everything he could to make sure you were happy and safe, even if that meant keeping his distance so as not to make you uncomfortable.

Though Sam would try to be understanding, the pain he felt was indescribable. Even though you hadn't cut him out of your life completely, just being so far away from you would be hard to handle, starting to feel internal conflict due to the intensity of the imprint itself, having moments where it's hard for him to deal with the lack of reciprocity, seeking support in his pack or those closest to him to handle his emotions.

If you allowed them to stay close, even without a romantic bond, Sam would try to be a reliable friend, being there for you when you needed it, a shoulder to cry on, someone to tell your problems to; whatever you wanted, he would do it. Acting quite mature and empathetic, focusing on what's best for you, even if it meant giving up his own feelings.

Paul Lahote:

Being someone with an explosive temper, Paul probably wouldn't handle rejection well. Trying to get close to you intensely as soon as he meets you, mistaking your lack of reciprocation for shyness or fear towards him, as if you weren't looking at him confused enough since you barely know him and he already seemed to know you all your life. Even though you treated him friendly, he could immediately tell that there didn't seem to be that emotion in your chest upon meeting him, leading to frustration with the pack, following him on the way home, trying to reassure him and explain to him that it would take some time and you would finally agree. It didn't.

Despite his frustration, the instinct to protect you would be greater, as seeing you every few days wouldn't be enough to calm him down, frequently showing up to make sure you were okay, even without you asking, which could seem invasive.

Over time, Paul would have several changes in attitude; The great irritability would be clear to everyone in the pack, and the growing, unstoppable pain would lead him to have fits of rage at anyone who crossed his path, though he would avoid taking it out on you, deciding to walk away, which only made it worse by being away from you. He would feel hurt and disoriented, not being able to understand how it was possible that you didn’t feel the same; you were made for each other, he had imprinted on you. Why was nothing happening? Why was it different with you when you were supposed to be the perfect match for each other?

You tried, you seemed to try many times, more than you could imagine, wishing you could feel the same so that both of your suffering would end, but it wasn’t like that; you couldn’t manage to feel anything and you couldn’t force yourself any further.

Although Paul was unconditionally devoted to you because of the imprint, he would also begin to realize that forcing your feelings was not only unfair to you, but painful to both of you. Trying to stay away and trying to figure out how to handle the situation. Even though Paul was stubborn, he wasn't completely insensitive. His loyalty to the pack and its values would drive him to show respect for your feelings and be a silent support for you. Understanding that imprinting didn't mean control or obligation for you, he would start to act more understanding and respectful, prioritizing what you wanted. Still, he couldn't help but care about you, protecting you whether silently or not from any danger, be it supernatural or human, trying to do so discreetly so as not to make you uncomfortable.

With time and the help of Sam or the other pack members, Paul could accept that their bond cannot be forced. Choosing to be close to you as a friend or support in your life if you so desired, and if so, he would remain as someone protective and loyal, focusing on your well-being and happiness. Although rejection would not be easy for Paul, as he would feel a void in not being able to live the fullness he expected from imprinting, he would learn to accept it with resignation and maturity and less impulsiveness. Even without reciprocation, Paul would continue to feel a connection and be willing to do or be whatever you wanted without expecting anything in return.

Embry Call:

He had always heard about the stories of imprinting and its importance; most of his companions in the pack already had their imprints, although he understood it, he never really understood it, until he met you. It was a very strong pass on the ball, making his companions ask him to go get it, being the closest, and at the edge of the water there was you, who quickly grabbed the ball that was hitting your feet to give it to its owner.

The first contact was different, very different from what Embry had imagined; everything seemed to stop after seeing you, the waves of the sea and the noise of his companions playing seemed far away and took a backseat; everything was reduced only to you. Approaching somewhat nervously, not knowing how to act, he managed to have a brief chat with you, internally hoping that you would agree to see him again. Yes, of course he had noticed your great lack of emotion or bright eyes; It wasn't how his companions had told him in their own experiences, but Embry wanted to believe that maybe it was different with you, maybe it would take a little longer.

Although he approached it with patience and understanding, he would still be confused after not noticing any change in his advances towards you without achieving anything, trusting more than he should, with a silent hope that, with time, you could come to feel something for him. However, he would never act selfishly to force this possibility.

Embry would begin to experience an internal struggle during the following days. Sure, he felt a deep and unbreakable connection towards you, but, on the other hand, the lack of reciprocity on your part would cause him emotional pain. Although he would not be upset with anyone, much less with you, the feeling would squeeze his chest tightly. At those times he would try to seek help from the pack, trying to understand and deal with his pain, some of them even trying to advise him or encourage him to focus on your needs instead of his feelings so he wouldn't suffer so much.

In the face of your rejection, Embry would react immediately; the pain was inevitable, but the imprinting would lead him to accept this reality, putting his personal feelings on the back burner. Even if you didn't feel anything towards him, Embry would dedicate his life to protecting and supporting you, your well-being being his priority. Behaving gently, making sure not to cross boundaries that would make you feel uncomfortable. Being close to you when you needed him, acting as a calm and reliable guardian. He would try to establish a friendly relationship with you if you wanted it. Trying to understand your interests, your passions and the things that made you happy, adapting to your needs. Probably looking to spend time with you casually, so that the pain of separation in the bond that united you didn't hurt him too much, but at the same time he would try not to suffocate or overwhelm you. Trying to maintain a fun and relaxed attitude to make you feel comfortable and maintain a good atmosphere.

If you were to express at any point that you needed space or didn't want a close relationship, he would accept it, even though it would inevitably hurt him. Embry would completely respect your wishes and feelings, as well as your boundaries. Imprinting would guide him to be patient and understanding, willing to wait or just accept whatever you decided. Even if you didn't feel the same way, it would be hard for Embry to stay completely away because of the bond. Trying to be close in indirect ways, helping you without you realizing it, or making sure you were safe.

Although Embry would accept anything you asked him to be or do, he would act with great devotion, dealing with his own pain with dignity, striving to be positive in your life. The situation would be somewhat complicated and painful, but his character would allow him to find ways to cope with it without ceasing to be faithful to the bond that has been created, putting your happiness and well-being above all, only wishing the best for you, even if that meant seeing you with another person.

Quil Ateara:

At first, he might not fully understand why he was attracted to someone in particular, as it wouldn’t be something that happened consciously, but rather something instinctive. Seeing you for the first time only makes him feel confused and disoriented; he knows that he is something strong, something unique, needing to be closer to you.

His protective and caring nature would come to the fore, making him inclined to do everything he could to get closer to you and interact in some way. His pack mates would explain this to him as the poor boy seemed to still be just as confused, though unable to answer their questions as to why you didn’t seem as interested or why you didn’t seem to view him with the same affection and devotion as he had when they had first met; perhaps Sam would step in explaining that it would all be a matter of time.

While Quil would be understanding because of their bond, he would quickly become aware that you didn’t feel the same way. He could tell just by looking at you; When he arrived, There wasn't that emotion when I saw it, even if it had only been a few hours since you'd seen each other, noticing your gestures and your efforts to try to find something that didn't seem to be there, that tiredness of continuing to try something you couldn't force and that sudden distance.

This initial rejection could make him feel hurt, even if your actions weren't intentional. The pack members would be a constant support for him, but he would experience the pain internally. The impression is a powerful thing; this would make Quil put aside his regrets and feelings in order to understand you, beginning to respect your wishes and not force a relationship; however, his emotions would still be intense. He would become more attentive and protective, trying to help you in any way he could, trying to gain your trust without rushing things. He would show himself as a close friend or even a brother, doing things you liked, showing a more relaxed part of himself so you wouldn't feel pressured or uncomfortable. His desire to take care of you might be something that expresses itself in less obvious ways, such as making sure you're okay in everyday situations or trying to make you feel special.

If you were to continue to reject any attempts at closeness, whether romantic or emotional, Quil could go through severe pain due to imprinting. His nature would push him to fight for you in whatever ways necessary to even have some sort of relationship with you, even if it was minimal, but his respect for your own boundaries would keep him in check. Acceptance would be difficult, but over time, Quil could learn to live with the deep connection he feels towards you, without trying to pressure you. Making it clear to you that he would be there for you if you wanted it, like a brother or a friend, taking your health and happiness as a priority, and if you were to continue not wanting any interaction with him then Quil would accept it, prudently staying away, even trying to take care of you silently, since the bond would not let him go away completely.

Although he would approach the subject with enough maturity and patience, the pain would still be there and would not go away completely, affected by the events and why it had not worked out as expected with him regarding the imprint. He would leave room for you to make your own decisions without interfering and accepting what you wanted, but even deep down wishing that one day you could feel the same as he felt for you.

Jared Cameron:

He's confused. The imprint was supposed to be an unbreakable and deep bond, something that makes you feel like the person you're imprinted with is the only one who can fulfill your deepest needs, just as the other person should feel, in a way, the same, practically incomplete if the other wasn't there. What had gone wrong? You make him feel a great desire to protect and care for you, but in the face of this the reality check comes faster than he could prevent, realizing that you don't actually share the same feeling.

His astonishment was inexplicable, since it was incredible how in one moment he was playing with his companions and in the next seconds he saw you and everything seemed to stop. The experience was transformative and overwhelming, but it also came with the weight of understanding that you didn't feel the same. Jared can realize it, perhaps not quickly enough to notice it the first time he sees you, trying to deal with his own feelings in between, but as the days go by and as he gets closer to you, he could tell. He understood it immediately; He couldn't force you to love him on the same level. It seemed to hit him like a bucket of cold water, trying to process it as maturely as he could, but with it came frustration due to the unbreakable connection he felt and the lack of reciprocation from you; it was a constant, throbbing pain that he never imagined feeling.

The imprint bond would make him understand in part that he couldn't rush or force your feelings, just as his own personal integrity would make him understand and cope with it. He would make him respectful of your space, being kind and calm. Adopting a supportive stance, hoping that, in time, you would come to understand and accept the connection between you with or without a relationship in between.

Jared would feel a strong need to protect you due to the imprint. Driving him to be close, more than you would want. Despite his desires to be close to you, Jared would be aware of his limits, avoiding being evasive, but intervening discreetly if you were in danger. Even though the imprint makes him feel like you are his “everything,” he would understand the need to not be dominant or possessive, given that you don’t share the same feelings. Even though your rejection was already expected by him, when it comes, it seems harder to digest than he had imagined. Knowing that this was what you wanted, Jared would respect it by putting aside his thoughts and feelings to please you, trying to balance his desire to be close to you with the need to give you space and time to process what was happening.

Over time Jared would learn not to idealize this in a destructive way, even though the bond makes him think that you are the person he is meant to be with, he also understands that nothing can be forced. And even if you weren’t ready to feel the same or directly didn’t want anything with him, Jared wouldn’t pressure you, but he wouldn’t stop being there, waiting patiently.

Seth Clearwater:

When he first saw you, the world seemed to stop. The connection was instant and overwhelming; the imprint completely transformed him. Of course, he had heard of his pack mates and often saw them with their mates, but this seemed to be something much more intense than Seth could have imagined. You become the center of his universe, not just as a potential mate, but as someone to protect and care for no matter the consequences. The intensity of the feeling overwhelms him, but also fills him with hope and happiness.

Being sweet and genuine, Seth would not force his presence in your life, but would instead seek to approach you in a natural way. Starting with a few casual one-liners about the day, following it up with a few topics that led him to ask for your name, as well as his presence and humor, would have him confidently asking you to see him again. The following days he would show his kinder and more generous side: helping you with small things, making you laugh and spending time by your side as someone unconditional.

Over time, Seth would notice that, although you appreciated him and enjoyed his company, you showed no signs of feeling something deeper. Perhaps he would have noticed it much earlier, but he wanted to lie to himself believing that it was just a matter of time. Although his advances continued to be noticeable, you seemed to no longer enjoy the more intimate approach, which led you to confess that your feelings were not the same as those he had for you. This would be devastating for Seth, since the imprint was not something he could control or diminish. Despite this, Seth would not allow himself to blame or pressure you, understanding that everything should be free and mutual.

He would begin to go through an internal process of sadness and acceptance; his innate kindness would keep him focused on what was best for you. Although it would be painful for him to observe how you did not feel the same, he would commit to staying in your life in the way you wanted. In private he would lean on the pack, who comforted him and gave him advice, especially Leah, who would understand his pain due to her own experiences, helping him deal with the emotional burden.

Seth would continue to be a part of your life if you wanted him to be, and if not, then he would accept it with great internal pain, but accepting of your wishes, watching over you from the shadows. He would never impose his feelings on you or expect you to reciprocate, seeking the best for you. And if you wanted to cut contact completely, then Seth would accept it without complaint no matter how much pain it caused him, putting your feelings before anything else.

Despite the pain, Seth would maintain his hopeful nature by looking for ways to adapt, learning to handle his unrequited feelings and channeling them into something positive. He would dedicate himself to protecting you from a distance or focusing on strengthening relationships with his family and pack. Over time he could learn to balance his imprint with his own need to move on, although the connection would never completely disappear.

Jacob Black:

He had always found the subject of imprinting strange and even aberrant; seeing how his companions seemed to abandon themselves so that someone else could practically take them as if they were their own to do with as they pleased was simply something Jacob didn't seem to or wanted to understand. Everything changed when he saw you; he now understood what everyone was talking about. He feels the powerful pull of imprinting, an unbreakable bond that reconfigures his world around you. His senses sharpen, his heart beats hard, and the need to be close to you becomes overwhelming. In that instant you become his absolute priority, overriding any other connection or concern.

Jacob would look for ways to approach you naturally, using his charisma and sense of humor as tools to gain your trust. He would try to become a close and constant friend in your life, willing to listen to you, support you, and protect you from any danger, even if you weren't aware of the extent of his commitment.

Over time, Jacob would probably manage to become an important figure in your life. He would accompany you in your everyday problems, offering you solutions or simply his presence. His actions, driven by imprinting, would be selfless and focused on your well-being. However, as the relationship progresses, he begins to notice that although you appreciate him and feel comfortable, you show no signs of developing feelings towards him. Although you try hard to give and surrender to him, you know that you cannot match his commitment; despite your constant attempts, you just don’t succeed.

Once you confess to Jacob and give him the clear rejection, he would experience an emotional storm. His pain would not come from the rejection itself, but from the inability to fulfill what he perceives as his purpose: to make you happy. It would make him rethink and ask himself if he is doing something wrong or if he is meant to live with those one-sided feelings. Even though he wants you to see him the same way, he wouldn’t try to pressure or manipulate you due to imprinting forcing him to prioritize your desires and well-being over his own. Even though you didn’t feel the same way, Jacob wouldn’t be able to emotionally detach himself. He would continue to care for you, making sure you were safe. He would try to find comfort in friendship, focusing on being a support in your life without expecting anything in return.

If you wished instead to have no relationship with him at all, wanting to cut off contact, even though he would feel deeply hurt, Jacob would respect your decision. Having to fight his own instincts to not constantly seek you out, even going so far as to feel great constant pain and guilt, would lead him to isolate himself from the pack and his friends, constantly morphing to release pent-up tension and emotions, feeling unable to explain his suffering or find comfort.

Even though others in the pack couldn’t fully understand the pain of an unrequited imprint, they would offer comfort and support; Even Sam would try to guide him to handle his feelings so that the bond wouldn't be so painful.

Jacob would learn to deal with frustration and pain, taking comfort in secretly caring for you if you didn't want him around, and if that wasn't it, then he would settle for being a good friend in your life. Despite the lack of reciprocity, the bond wouldn't fade. The imprint is eternal, and although the pain might soften with time, he would always feel a special connection to you.

━━━━━━✧ 🦢 ✧━━━━━━

[lilsmv1]

orange cat - OP81

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: What happens your neighbour's adorable orange cat starts to pay you daily visits?

Word count: 1k

London welcomed me with its perpetually gray skies and damp weather, a stark contrast to the sunny shores of California I had left behind. As I settled into my new apartment, I couldn't help but feel a pang of homesickness for the warmth of home.

For the first few weeks, I hardly saw my neighbours, lost in the shuffle of unpacking and adjusting to my new surroundings. But one persistent visitor soon made himself known – a vibrant orange cat that would perch itself on my windowsill, peering into my living room with curious eyes.

At first, I found it amusing, but as the days went by and the cat became a regular fixture, I grew concerned. Surely, someone must be missing their furry friend. So, I decided to take matters into my own hands.

I scribbled a quick note on a yellow post-it, explaining the situation and tucking it under my neighbor's door. "Your cat seems to be visiting me often," I wrote. "Just wanted to let you know in case you're worried."

Days passed, and I received no response. I wondered if my neighbor had even seen the note or if they simply didn't care about their wandering pet.

But then, one evening, there was a soft knock on my door.

Opening the door, I found myself face to face with a handsome young man, his expression sheepish yet friendly. He held a small box in his hands, the smell of freshly baked pastries wafting from within.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he began, his accent unmistakably Australian. "I'm Oscar, your neighbor from next door. I just wanted to apologize for my cat bothering you. And, well, to say thank you for looking out for him."

I couldn't help but smile at his genuine demeanor. "No problem at all, your cat is lovely, I was simply worried you might wonder where he was" I replied, accepting the box of pastries. "I'm glad to finally meet you, Oscar" I replied, introducing myself as well.

"Do you maybe wanna come in? I can make us some tea or coffee and we could eat the pastries you brought?" I added.

"I would love that!" replied Oscar with a warm smile.

From that moment on, Oscar and I struck up an unexpected friendship. We bonded over our shared love for his cat and baked goods, finding comfort in each other in the big city of London, so far from our respective homes. Oscar told me all about his work as a Formula One driver, and I could not help but be in awe of how passionate he was. I, on the other end, told him about the teaching opportunity that got me to move here, and I would often tell him cute stories from my classroom.

As weeks turned into months, our friendship deepened. Oscar proved to be not only a generous neighbor but also a reliable friend. Whether it was helping me fix a leaky faucet or lending a hand with heavy groceries, he was always there when I needed him.

Our weekly movie nights, whenever Oscar wasn't out of the country, became a cherished tradition, a welcome break from our everyday lives. We'd take turns picking films, debating over classics and hidden gems late into the night.

But amidst the laughter and camaraderie, I couldn't ignore the growing feeling in my chest whenever I saw Oscar. He was kind, funny, and undeniably attractive – qualities that drew me in despite my best efforts to keep my distance.

One day, as I scrolled through Twitter during a lazy afternoon, I stumbled upon something that caught me off guard. Pictures of Oscar, smiling brightly alongside a beautiful girl with long blonde hair.

A pang of jealousy shot through me, surprising in its intensity. I realised then, with startling clarity, that my feelings for Oscar ran deeper than I had initially thought. But it was too late – I was now pretty sure he was already taken, and I had no right to interfere.

Unable to shake off my newfound jealousy, I began to distance myself from Oscar, avoiding our usual interactions and retreating into solitude. But my sudden coldness did not go unnoticed.

One evening, there was a sharp knock on my door, and when I opened it, there stood Oscar, his expression a mixture of frustration and concern.

"What's going on with you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with hurt. "You've been acting strange lately, and I want to know why."

"I'm not" I replied defensively.

"Come on, don't give me that bullshit" replied a rather angry Oscar. "You've been avoiding me. Have I done something?" he asked, his voice laced with vulnerability.

I hesitated, the weight of my emotions heavy in the air between us. But then, with a surge of courage, I found myself blurting out the truth.

"I... I think I'm in love with you, Oscar," I confessed, my voice barely above a whisper. "And seeing you with someone else... it hurts more than I thought it would."

For a moment, there was silence, the tension palpable. But then, to my surprise, Oscar stepped forward, his eyes burning with intensity.

"God, you can be so dense sometimes" he breathed

"Hum, excuse me?" I replied, clearly offended.

"The girl you're talking about, that's my new PR manager."

"Oh..."

"I thought I was being fairly obvious as to how I feel about you." he said softly, reaching out to cup my face in his hands.

And with that, he closed the distance between us, his lips meeting mine in a heated and passionate kiss, leaving me breathless.

[edamette]

Analyzing König's presonality

Original post made in TikTok by shikided, published here with their permission.

Let’s start with the fact that König is not shy or self-conscious.

Social anxiety in his case is expressed rather by aggression towards others. Aggression is his defense mechanism (it is different for all people, for some may be a smile, for example).

He can treat people coldly, as well as rudely, out of a subconscious fear of getting into an awkward situation, of being in a vulnerable position. Of course, he is unlikely to like being in a crowd, but this does not mean that he will start to panic and blush, after all, he is a disciplined soldier.

However, König is active and restless, as evidenced by the fact that he was not accepted as a sniper not only because of his height, but also because of his inability to stay in place for a long time. (This is suits his stormy temper)

His expressiveness is especially noticeable in the way he speaks, and Jim Boeven conveys this perfectly. Just compare the original voice acting by Konig and, for example, the Russian one. In Russian, his voice is much calmer and more direct, more balanced, which is out of character.

König is impudent, proud, sharp-tongued. “Pick your guts off the floor” or “and they said that I couldn’t be a sniper” – he’s literally spitting bile, and this still hurts him, as a consequence of the fact that he’s trying to look like a sniper, making himself a mask with his own hands. This desire meant a lot to him, and this is to some extent his personal protest. König did not fully accept the refusal, did not resign himself.

König is brave, even somewhat passionate, not afraid to rush straight into the heat: “get me back into the fight”, “I’m ready for another round”, “don’t worry, leave the heavy lifting to me”.

However, he understands the advantage his height and build give him and uses it. Moreover, he knows how good he is on the battlefield, and does not hesitate to say about it: “finally, some worthy adversaries”, “they are no match for me”. These phrases reveal a need for personal self-affirmation due to his childhood bullying and humiliation. König compensates for the lack of recognition with arrogance and pride, as even his name (King in German) suggests.

This, like his defense mechanism, can cause a disdainful attitude towards other soldiers: “who taught you to shoot?”, “not bad, I’ve seen better”, “let’s be honest, it’s better off in my hands”, “hands off, it’s mine”, curses are also present.

Some fans for some reason see him as a big child, few others as a brutal killer.

König is a fighting unit, a man trained to kill, that’s true, but that doesn’t mean he’ll kill you for some little thing. He can, of course, but he won’t. König is a hostage rescue specialist, His task is not only to eliminate, but also to save.

Pay attention to his pose in the menu. König does not look shy and cute. On the contrary, his movements are calm, even relaxed, he demonstrates confidence and strength. He raises his hand and points at the player, as if to say “Pikachu, I choose you”, or “we’re gonna make this day”

His phrases sound friendly towards us, like “together we should be victorious”, or “you can be in my team any day” and even “with you until the end”

He seems to be encouraging his comrade, with whom he is now leading a mission. König is closed and cold, but loyal and kind towards his people. Due to his character, I doubt that he has many people whom he truly values, such a person will be very attentive and selective towards those who surround him, therefore he seems to me be a loyal and reliable friend to those whom he truly considers them his loved ones.

Summary: König is an interesting character with a psychological point of view, with his own bee in his bonnet.

Closed, arrogant, cocky, loyal, devoted.

[yandere-sins]

Lingyang or Jiyan accidently releasing a more animalistic side when yn is threatened and needing help to calm down

I wanted to do something for both of them but this idea just shot in my mind and I couldn't get rid of it, so just Jiyan and I accidentally jumped over the comfort part (feel free to re-request if you want to see that kind of scenario, I do have an idea for it, but I was hit hard with a lot of inspiration for this kind of story, sorry!), but I totally agree with your thought here!

[Warning: Yandere, Kidnapping, Attempted non-con by intruders, Violence (Murder, Mention of blood and separated body parts, Description of monster traits, Stabbing someone), Depiction of shock and paranoia]

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

In all the time you were stuck with your captor, you never noticed just how beastial he truly was.

Jiyan was a lot of things. He was kind, friendly, and reliable. People flocked to him to admire the general, wanting to stand next to him for just a moment to bask in the glory he radiated. When he stood there, relaxed and with a faint smile, everyone felt safe, their worries simply washing away. You, too, had been blinded by the false sense of relief his presence promised, approaching him without a second of hesitation and without a spark of fear even when his eyes snapped to you, widening in inexplicable yearning. You let yourself be charmed by him, whisked away with the promise of togetherness, a once off chance to be with him. And you'd come to regret your decision to take his hand, to allow him to lure you into his 'monster den' even though you should have seen the danger signs.

Love at first sight, he called it as he pinned you to his couch. You didn't fight him—couldn't fight him. The pain of his fingers digging into your skin was enough to make you go rigid; how could you have fought someone as strong as him? He spoke of devotion and adoration even when he kissed you against your will. When he pulled you with him towards a secret elevator, he still assured you that this was for your best.

And even when he forced the bitter-tasting potion down your throat that made you drowsy and defenseless, he swore nothing would ever happen to you. Jiyan promised you'd be safe and protected as he caught you in his eyes while you lost your conscience. But that was a lie—everything was.

Jiyan was a lot of things, but he wasn't kind. A kind person wouldn't kidnap someone and force them to live isolated from the rest of society, no matter how much you pleaded and begged. He wasn't friendly either because when you fought him, he fought back. So many days were wasted in fear, screaming matches and hiding from him. So many times he'd force you to be with him, be held by him, let him love you. A nice person wouldn't do that. A friendly person wouldn't have hurt you this way.

But most of all, he wasn't reliable.

Because even when he swore up and down that you'd be safe in this underground prison, that he'd protect you from all that his twisted mind imagined would harm you outside this cage he had decorated for you, chained you up in, and confined you to a lifetime in solitude, even then some burglars managed to find you.

Jiyan's changes in his heart were terrifying.

But to be at some random strangers' mercy was even worse.

You thought they might help. That you could finally be freed. But when the intruders started to smile and leer at you, who was vulnerable and unable to run from them, all hope vanished. You screamed and cried, knowing there was no one who could hear you. Like so many times before with Jiyan, no one knew your whereabouts and this prison was supposed to be safe from outside and inside threats. You tried to fight them, begging them to stop like so many times before with Jiyan, but they wouldn't. In your fear and panic, you wished for the general to save you, even though you knew he wouldn't make it in time.

So, although unwelcome, the surprise was huge when, instead of having the hands of two unknown strangers rake all over your body, you felt their disgustingly warm blood soak into your ripped clothes. You couldn't look away from the slitted, brilliant eyes of Jiyan that seemed to burn with the fire of a dragon, furious and raging. And when you did snap out of it, you closed your eyes quickly to avoid looking at the severed heads and gruesome looks of death on the intruders' faces.

You didn't look up when you heard their body parts fall to the ground with squelching sounds, the warm blood soaking everything. You didn't even open your eyes when you felt Jiyan's uncomfortably familiar arms wrap around you. You sobbed silently into his shoulder as he lifted you up, reeking of blood and death, because you were too afraid to make a sound.

Because what stood before you, cradling you against his chest and holding you as you cried was no man—but a monster. A beast much like the Tacet Discords that haunted the lives of all citizens of Jinzhou. His hold might have been meant to be a comfort, but his arms were rigid with terror, and he held his breath ever so often as he kept hyperventilating in anger. But holding you, even he seemed to calm down, his face rubbing against your head and his chest rumbling with a purr. If not for your presence, you were sure he'd have turned into a terrifying beast, mauling these intruders for whom you held no sympathy. Gnawed at their bones, destroyed every last inch of their bodies, and swallowed them whole.

Just like he wanted to do with you.

You remained still even if you wanted to fight for your life at that moment. You waited for Jiyan to put you down, wipe the sweat-soaked hair out of your face, and place an apologetic, desperate kiss on your forehead before he turned away, muttering, "I'm sorry."

"I should have never left you. I'm sorry you had to go through that; please forgive me."

He was sorry for what happened, maybe even for scaring you with the reveal of his true self.

But that monster wasn't sorry for keeping you locked here, especially now with the death of two people hanging over your head like a sword ready to strike. Cursing this place for all eternity, and haunting the nightmares you'd undoubtedly experience from now on.

You knew you had to be first.

If you didn't, that monster would kill you too, ruthlessly and cold. Brutal and heartless.

Jiyan had already proven that he couldn't be trusted. That he wasn't kind, wasn't friendly, and wasn't reliable in any way. And now that he had to lick off the blood from his deformed hands, who was going to say you wouldn't be the next victim that this beast could devour?

There was something almost therapeutic about pulling the long, elegant hairpin from where he put it that morning and lunging forward to stab it between his ribs. You could feel his heart beat against the metal as the beast cried out in pain. Perhaps betrayal, too.

This time, you looked at him as he gave you the treacherous eyes of a puppy. When he grabbed the pin, holding it in place, you watched as blood dripped from the wound, mixing with the red puddles on the ground. His words were stricken with grief over your betrayal when he asked you, "Why?" and when you looked into his eyes, he suddenly didn't appear so monstrous anymore. He looked like a wounded man. One you came to know quite well, albeit unwillingly.

But you.

The way you stared at him unblinking, your reflection so clear and miserable in his eyes... your skin had paled from the horrors you experienced, the wrinkles deeply etched into your face like that of a haggard witch. You lost weight from refusing to eat and were clothed in garments you could have never afforded by yourself. You stabbed him without thinking twice. You didn't seem like yourself anymore. You didn't even feel human.

Perhaps Jiyan wasn't the man anyone thought him to be, but even so, even a beast like him could still love you at your lowest. Still care for and save you when it seemed impossible. Still apologize for his mistakes, exactly like a human would.

And you thought to yourself that maybe, watching as he went to patch himself up, preparing to forgive you once again for acting out as he had to pull the hairpin he gifted you out of his ribs,

maybe you had become the monster instead.

[yua0ra]

𝐓𝐞𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞… 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭?

WARNINGS: theodore nott x hufflepuff!fem!reader, speechless!theo (lol), bold reader, mentions of weed, mentions of mattheo riddle, SFW, not proofread. english is not my first language.

miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: House stereotypes don’t define the personality of a student, more the values and the attitude that they are more likely to lean on. Theo learns this when he has to leave his shyness aside and ask you for a little favor.

WC: 2.7K AN: My first Theo blog! SO thrilled! More to come tho :)

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓:

Theodore Nott has hit his breaking point. His Herbology final is around the corner, and despite hours of studying, he feels so annoyingly unprepared. It’s the one subject where he truly needs help, and it couldn’t have come at a worse time.

Enzo, his usually reliable study buddy, is knee-deep in preparing for his practical exam in Care of Magical Creatures. Mattheo, on the other hand, has absolutely no interest in anything beyond the most basic knowledge of plants, only venturing into the greenhouse when he’s collecting a bit of weed for his own purposes. Draco and Blaise? Well, they’re too wrapped up in their own world, more concerned with their latest gossip than anything remotely academic. Pansy? Yeah, that’s not even an option.

So, Theo’s left with one option:

You.

The sweet, intelligent Hufflepuff who most definitely knows how to have fun, attending literally each and every party that the school has thrown yet when required, sits in the corner of the library, your nose buried in a book, always so effortlessly composed. The one person in the entire school who seems to have a natural talent for Herbology.

You’ve caught his eye for a while now, but he’s too shy, too nervous to approach you. He spends far too much time admiring you from afar, but that’s all he’s ever done—watching you as you confidently navigate through the subject he struggles with, never knowing how to bridge the gap between you two.

Desperation is a powerful motivator, though. He’s tried every other option and failed. With no other choice, Theo finds himself standing outside the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room, heart pounding, mind racing. He rehearses what he’ll say in his head—should he be casual? Straightforward? Or maybe play it off like it’s no big deal? But the words don’t seem to come.

The thing is, despite his reputation, despite his intimidating family name and the distance he keeps from others, there’s something about you that disarms him completely. You’re not like the others. You’re kind, warm, and so elegant, so put together, it leaves him feeling self-conscious about his own fumbling attempts at social interaction.

But there’s no other way. He’s backed into a corner. Theo takes a deep breath, pushes past his nerves, and steps forward. It’s now or never.

“Hey Mate! You coming or what?“ He looks up, a friendly Hufflepuff holding the door for him.

Truly, they are nice. A Slytherin would never, ever, invite another fellow student into their sacred den.

Theo hesitates, wondering if he’s made a huge mistake. What if you turn him away? What if you laugh at him for asking such a stupid thing? His heart pounds louder in his chest as he takes another step forward, determined to follow through.

He finds the common room in a quiet lull—no loud chatter, no bustle of students. Only the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth and the occasional rustle of pages turning. Then he sees you. You’re curled up in an armchair near the window, your bright eyes scanning a textbook, and for a moment, Theo stands there, just watching. The way the warm light from the fire dances off your hair, the way you lean in slightly as you read—it’s all so hypnotising, so you.

His throat tightens, and he suddenly feels foolish for not having prepared more. The sharpness of his thoughts cuts through the haze of nervousness, and he realizes this is exactly why he’s never managed to speak to you before. He’s always been too scared. Too unsure.

But before he can talk himself out of it, he’s already moving toward you. His footsteps are quiet, almost tentative, but you notice him as he approaches, lifting your head to meet his eyes. That instant eye contact is enough to send his stomach into a nervous knot, but he forces himself to stand tall.

“Hey, uh… I, uh… Could I ask you a favor?” Theo’s voice cracks slightly as he starts, and he curses himself internally. Why does he have to sound so awkward?

There’s a curious expression in your eyes, as though you weren’t expecting him to ask but aren’t exactly surprised either. You raise an eyebrow, and a small smile plays on your lips.

“If you’re looking for Enzo, he’s with Hagrid right now,” you begin, your voice calm, like you’re relaying a mundane piece of information, and Theo blinks in confusion, sitting down opposite of you but waiting for the rest. “And if you’d like to know where the stash is, it’s behind the Angelicas,” you continue, as if you’re discussing the placement of a few plants rather than something a bit more illegal, that could defiantly get you expelled.

You pause and then add, “I mean, I had to relocate the whole plantation because before, it was under the Venomous Tentacula, and more often than not, instead of getting high, students would get fucking poisoned.”

Theo freezes, his eyes widening in shock. His brain is still trying to catch up with the strange, casual way you’ve just dropped that bit of information. The weed, students getting poisoned. He blinks again, as though his mind needs to reset. “Wait, you’ve been… what?” he finally stammers, unsure of how to respond.

You laugh softly, clearly enjoying the bewildered expression on his face, and lean back in your chair a little, letting the firelight cast a warm glow over your face. “Yeah, it’s been a bit of a headache,” you continue, your tone light and almost mocking, but there’s a sharpness to your words that makes Theo realize you’re completely in control of the situation.

“At first, I had to move everything under the Tentacula because it was… well, convenient, you know? Students wouldn’t even dare to try to steal. But then the bloody thing started getting violent. I lost two strains and a few students before Mattheo and I figured it out.” You chuckle again, shaking your head as if it were just another mishap to add to your long list of Hufflepuff gardening troubles.

Theo freezes, his jaw going slack as his mind races to process your words. Mattheo? He blinks rapidly, trying to make sense of what you just said. Mattheo, his best mate, the guy who couldn’t be bothered to do anything that didn’t directly benefit him, was working with you? In the greenhouse? With you—a Hufflepuff, the sweet, hot and intelligent, did he mentioned hot, student he’d always admired from afar?

“Wait—Mattheo?” Theo stammers, his brain still struggling to catch up. “You and Mattheo are… working together? In the greenhouse?” He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea.

You raise an eyebrow, amused at his reaction. “Oh, yes. He’s actually surprisingly useful when it comes to problem-solving. I’m not saying he’s a botanist or anything, but we managed to figure out how to move the stash without getting caught. I have to give him some credit for that.” You laugh again, enjoying Theo’s stunned expression, as if this were all just another normal part of your life.

He slowly blinks, processing your strange perception of his friend. “Mattheo? Useful? I mean—really?” His voice is a mixture of disbelief and awe. “That’s—uh, that’s not the Mattheo I know.”

You shrug, a wry smile on your face. “Trust me, I was shocked, too. But it turns out he has a knack for finding creative solutions when he’s not too distracted by… other things.” Your smile turns sly, and Theo gets the sense that you’re holding something back, something more than just the simple partnership you’ve described. But the fact that you and Mattheo are so involved with each other in this capacity makes something in him shift—a mix of surprise, confusion, and maybe just a hint of jealousy, though he can’t quite place it.

“Honestly,” you continue, your tone dropping slightly, “he’s actually been a pretty good ally. He knows how to be discreet when it comes to things like this—he’s good at keeping his mouth shut when necessary. You’d be surprised, really.”

‘Yeah, he has definitely kept his mouth shut in regards of whatever this is’ Theo thinks and he can’t help but laugh, though it’s tinged with disbelief. “I’ve never once thought I’d hear those words come out of your mouth, especially about him,” he mutters, half in awe, half in confusion. “But—really, the greenhouse? You’ve been doing all of this behind the scenes?.”

You nod, leaning back in your chair slightly, your gaze flicking to the fire. “Yep. It’s been a bit of a secret, but I’m used to keeping things under wraps. Some of us prefer to stay low-key, y’know?“ You flash him a teasing smile, and for a moment, Theo wonders if maybe he’s been misjudging the quiet Hufflepuff house all along.

Theo tries to process the revelation. His mind is still spinning, trying to picture Mattheo in the middle of it all, acting as some sort of ally to you, when he can barely even manage to get through his homework without drama. “I… wow. This is a lot to take in,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck as he lets out a deep breath. “You and Mattheo? That… doesn’t make sense, but it kind of does?”

And it actually does make sense. You’re fucking fit, party girl at heart, cool but apparently laid back, so yeah. He could see why Mattheo had taken an interest in you.

“Well, there’s a lot more to me than just a green thumb,” you say with a grin, obviously enjoying watching him try to piece it all together. “But I’ve must misjudged your reasons as to you approaching me,” you say, the teasing in your tone softening just a bit, “so tell me, Nott,”—and now you flash him a smile, that sweet, knowing smile that makes Theo’s heart skip a beat—“what’s the favour?”

Theo’s throat tightens at the question. The heat rises to his face, a little caught off guard by how smoothly you’ve shifted the focus back on him.

“I—uh, I—” Theo starts, then stops himself, taking a breath. He needs to focus. Focus on the fact that he did come to you for help.

But something about the way you’re looking at him—your eyes sparkling with amusement—makes it hard to think straight. He stares at you for a beat, trying to compose himself, but you’re so easygoing, so effortlessly you, that it’s like you’re pulling him into a side of the world he didn’t know existed.

“I… I really need help with Herbology,” he admits, his voice finally steadying, though it’s clear there’s an under-layer of shyness somewhere in between. “I’m kind of screwed if I don’t get this right. I just—I figured… you’re the best person to ask.” He forces a small, awkward laugh, trying to cover the tension that’s building in his chest.

You watch him, your gaze steady, and something in the way he stumbles over his words makes a knowing smile curl at your lips. There’s a certain vulnerability to Theo that’s only just beginning to peek through, and it’s clear to you that he’s not just here for Herbology help. Maybe he started that way, but now—well, now something else is bubbling underneath.

“Is that all?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, watching the way his cheeks flush with that mix of embarrassment and nervous energy. The way he keeps trying to brush it off, but you know he’s not as composed as he likes to pretend. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who gets rattled by plants.”

Theo shifts uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck again, and you can’t help but find it endearing. He’s trying so hard to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s a little out of his depth. “I’m not,” he mutters, the words a little quieter now, the walls he tries to put up crumbling just a bit more. “It’s just… I really need to pass this exam. And you’re the best at this stuff.”

You smile again, but this time it’s realer, like you’re letting him breathe for a bit, seeing the genuine panic beneath the surface. “I know,” you say with a quiet confidence, your tone soothing him, almost like you’re comforting him without meaning to. “I’ll help you. It’s not a big deal.”

Theo looks at you, grateful but still a little lost. You seem so calm, so sure of yourself. It’s almost like you’re made of something he can’t quite figure out.

“I… appreciate it,” he says, his voice quieter now, but still genuine. He leans back in his chair, looking down at his hands for a moment, unsure what else to say. But his mind keeps wandering to the way you look at him—how you’ve kept him off balance with your easy smile, the casual way you talk about everything. “I don’t know, it just feels like I’ve got no idea what I’m doing half the time.”

You raise an eyebrow, not letting him off the hook that easily. “Really? You seem like someone who knows exactly what they’re doing most of the time.” The teasing lilt is back in your voice, but there’s something almost… tender underneath it. “Or maybe you just like pretending?”

Theo doesn’t know whether to laugh or be more embarrassed, so he does a little bit of both. “I guess pretending is easier,” he admits, the words coming out before he can stop them, and there’s a quiet honesty in his tone that catches you off guard. “But… you’re not what I expected.”

You look at him curiously, the firelight from the hearth casting a warm glow across your face. “What did you expect, exactly?”

He hesitates for just a moment, before speaking slowly, almost carefully, like he’s weighing each word. “I don’t know. Someone… different. Someone more… Hufflepuffy?” He chuckles awkwardly at the last part, trying to sound casual, but the truth is, he’s starting to realize that he doesn’t really know what he expected. You’ve made him question everything he thought he knew about you, and now all he can do is stare at you in a sort of awe.

You let the silence hang in the air for a beat, your lips curling into a smirk. “Hufflepuffy?” you echo, sounding amused but with a touch of challenge. “So what, you think just because I’m a Hufflepuff, I’m supposed to be all flowers and rainbows? Just because I know how to work with plants and enjoy life doesn’t mean I don’t have a little bit of edge, Nott.”

Theo looks up at you, his heart pounding a little faster, the realization hitting him full force. “Yeah,” he mutters, half to himself, “I guess I didn’t expect you to be this… cool.”

You smile at that, the corners of your lips tilting up in a way that makes his chest feel a little tight. “Cool, huh? I’ll take that.”

For a moment, there’s a soft pause, the tension between the two of you shifting, the way your eyes meet his, the way your smile holds a little bit more meaning, and the way his pulse races just a bit faster. It’s something else, something that’s starting to make him question everything he thought he knew about himself, too.

“So, uh,” Theo says, his voice suddenly feeling a little hoarse, unsure of what to say next. “Do you want to… get started on the exam stuff?”

You nod, leaning in just slightly, but there’s an air of something unspoken between you now, something neither of you has said aloud. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

But as you begin to pull out your Herbology notes and you start discussing the plants and the key terms for the exam, the words seem almost secondary.

The way your fingers brush against his when you hand him a diagram. The way your laughter makes him feel like he’s somehow stumbled into a world he wasn’t prepared for but doesn’t want to leave. Everything feels just a little more alive, a little more charged than it ever has before.

And as Theo looks at you again—at the calm, effortless way you move through the conversation—he realizes that what he thought was just a favor for a Herbology exam is turning into something much more… complicated. And for the first time in a long time, he’s not sure he’s ready to figure it all out. But something about that uncertainty feels exciting.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

✨️💎Jupiter and the signs💎✨️

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

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💎Masterlist💎

♣︎Jupiter in Aries: They tend to be more enthusiastic, assertive, energetic, and full of ideas about how to initiate, promote, or expand ideas. You can also be more stubborn and very persuasive in getting people to embark on your plans and ideas. As Jupiter represents the principle of growth and the notion of something higher, the actions of those born under the influence of Jupiter in Aries can lead to personal development more easily.

♣︎Jupiter in Taurus: indicates a predisposition to use money and material resources correctly and beneficially. Jupiter in the sign of Taurus has a strong tendency to attract wealth and have a good sense of the value of things. Those who obtain it like to enjoy material comfort, good food, various forms of art and the good things in life in general. They appreciate what is good and what has personal value, even if it is expensive.

♣︎Jupiter in Gemini: they tend to be intellectually curious, they can read a lot or be that type of person who is always on the Internet looking for new information, news, curiosities and teachings. Their curiosity can be aroused in different areas, so they tend to be mentally restless and enjoy movement. Valuing communication is an essential part of those who have this position, for example Working in the communication industry, whether with journalism , advertising, public relations or tourism.

♣︎Jupiter in Cancer: these individuals focus on family experiences, knowledge base, past and personal roots. The place where they belong and call their own, is also a place where friends and acquaintances can find greater comfort in case they have problems guiding the course of life. There is a desire to create a safe, comfortable, friendly, welcoming and prosperous family environment that can also be used for educational and fun activities.

♣︎Jupiter in Leo: Optimism, generosity and a kind way of being are highlighted. You tend to like to be admired and valued. Jupiter in the sign of Leo brings the tendency of leadership. Its natives generally arouse enthusiasm in other people, and therefore have the potential to be good leaders. The generosity, firmness and reliability of these natives stands out.

♣︎Jupiter in Virgo: The person will care about the details and the precision of his behavior. It influences the person to appreciate the details, the kind that he can do a lot with a little. They have a superior, prudent, intellectual, analytical and practical nature; They differentiate what is essential from what is not essential, truth from fiction, what is valid and what is not. Their judgment is generally excellent.

♣︎Jupiter in Libra: They are people who tend to worry about the moral principles that guide society, their unions and their interpersonal relationships. Natives with Jupiter in Libra believe that love and justice can create a much more harmonious social order, being more generous people and, for this reason, more popular and loved. These personal characteristics can make them develop activities related to the public. It is not uncommon for people with this position to be attracted to becoming diplomats, salespeople, presenters, etc.

♣︎Jupiter in Scorpio: tends to have a greater appreciation for everything that is hidden, secret. They like to investigate and delve into other people's minds, as well as more ethereal topics, such as death, the occult and religion, for example. Jupiter in Scorpio can discover secret information about the private affairs of others in an extremely natural way. People have the potential to become more resourceful and have very strong and resolute opinions regarding their beliefs.

♣︎Jupiter in Sagittarius: One of the main interests of those who have Jupiter in Sagittarius is higher knowledge. Topics such as philosophy or religion, education and foreign cultures have a lot of meaning and are appreciated. They tend to choose their own system of thought that will govern their behavior and the way they view life. This is the type of attitude that can earn a person the respect and admiration of others in many situations.

♣︎Jupiter in Capricorn: You can demonstrate greater economic or political responsibility, being prudent, cautious and trying to be fair in your judgments. For people with Jupiter in Capricorn, management, status and recognition tend to gain more importance. Due to Characteristics such as ambition, patience, administrative ability and the wisdom to deal with the resources acquired throughout life, those born with this position generally manage to save money and own property.

♣︎Jupiter in Aquarius: they tend to enjoy interacting with people of all classes, races or creeds, without much distinction or prejudice. They tend to be more tolerant and understanding, recognizing more easily that everyone has their place in the world and that in all positions there are lessons to learn. Jupiter in Aquarius are more likely to engage in philanthropic activities aimed at helping others.

♣︎Jupiter in Pisces: they tend to be more emotional, understanding and endowed with a greater sense of compassion. Having spiritual or philosophical convictions, with this positioning, becomes more possible; People can develop a more comprehensive, universal and fulfilling spiritual understanding. Because of this greater search for elevation, they tend to eventually enjoy moments of isolation, becoming more introspective. By meditating, you can better develop this intuition and renew yourself spiritually.