#or a lazy general he’d appreciate it too :(

[petrichorium]

My nails r like the perfect length for head scratching rn it’s truly criminal that a certain red-haired pirate isn’t laying w his head in my lap to let me absent-mindedly scratch 🙄

[fear-is-truth]

𝓝𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝓐𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓 ── ft. 𝐍𝐀𝐌-𝐆𝐘𝐔 ┊남규

warnings — MDNI 18+・ fem!reader ・english is not my first language so bear with me・not proofread

❥ a/n: think i might’ve gone a lil carried away. oh well

𝓐 = 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄 . . . what he’s like after sex

nam-gyu is not particularly soft or sentimental about it. he’s not the type to whisper sweet nothings or linger too long in the moment unless it suits him. aftercare for him is minimal, functional—if it happens at all.

he might roll over or light a cigarette, letting the smoke curl lazily into the air as he decompresses. but he’s not completely thoughtless; he’d notice if you looked uncomfortable or out of sorts. “you good?” might be all he says, his tone almost indifferent, but the way his eyes flicker toward you gives him away—he’s serious.

if you ask for something—water, a towel, or cuddles—nam-gyu would sigh like it’s an inconvenience, but he’d still do it. begrudgingly, but he’d do it. he’s not used to giving, so gestures like helping clean up or asking if you’re okay feel foreign to him. he’ll grumble about it, but deep down, there’s a satisfaction in being needed.

his movements are kinda clumsy when he bothers to help. he’ll shove a glass of water into your hand or awkwardly brush your hair away from your face. physical closeness is rare unless you initiate it. if you nuzzle against him, he’ll freeze for a second before relaxing, letting you rest against his chest.

𝓑 = 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 . . . his favorite body part of his & yours

nam-gyu is obsessed with his hands—long, slender fingers that are both capable and calculating. he knows how to use them, and he likes to watch the way they move, whether he’s lighting a cigarette, adjusting his rings or gliding them over your skin.

after fights, he secretly enjoys when you tend to his scraped or bruised knuckles, even though he’ll complain about the sting of antiseptic. the way you fuss over him feels intimate, and he secretly enjoys it.

there’s a lewd fascination with how his hands look around your neck or slipping past your lips for you to suck on. not just sexual (though it is very much sexual); it’s also the thrill of control and trust, how you let him push boundaries.

has a not-so-subtle fixation on your breasts, and it’s written all over him whenever you wear something that accentuates it. tube tops, low necklines—they might as well be his weakness. his eyes linger too long, dark with something both appreciative and borderline lascivious, and he doesn’t even bother hiding it. likes to encircle his arms around you from behind under the guise of a hug, but uses that as an opportunity to grope and squeeze at your tits.

𝓒 = 𝐂𝐔𝐌 . . . anything to do with cum, basically

nam-gyu is not reckless when it comes to stuff like this; he uses condoms most of the time—even though he would prefer to fuck you raw, the two of you aren’t ready to deal with the consequences or extra effort. not in this economy…

he generally hates mess. not because he’s a clean freak, but because he’s practical to a fault. the thought of having to change the sheets annoys him enough to avoid it altogether. if things get messy, he’ll grumble about it, probably throw the blanket over the spot, and deal with it later—or make you deal with it.

sure, the sight of you on your knees—lips swollen, eyes watering—gulping down his load does something to him, but what he loves more is making a mess on you, your body is his favourite canvas. he’s not subtle about it either. the lazy smirk on his face when he sees the sticky aftermath on your chest, abdomen or ass? pure satisfaction. “guess we need a shower now,” he’ll say, acting like it’s the most natural solution. the shower is just another excuse to keep his hands on you.

𝓓 = 𝐃𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 . . . pretty self explanatory

pansexual or bisexual but would rather choke than admit it, even to himself.

and yeah, he’s totally a panty thief. likes to jerk off with your lace panties wrapped around his cock.

𝓔 = 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 . . . how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?

yes, he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he’s not shy about letting you know. his confidence is almost obnoxious, but it’s earned—he’s had enough practice to back it up.

his body count isn’t as high as he brags it to be, but working as a club promoter has its perks. his looks, charm, and the nightlife scene give him a lot of opportunities.

𝓕 = 𝐅𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . this goes without saying

definitely missionary or any position that lets him see your face. it’s not necessarily about the intimacy—he just likes watching your reactions, like he’s trying to gauge how much control he has.

he’s also into standing positions in small or semi-public spaces, like bathrooms or closets. the risk factor gives him a thrill, and he loves the idea of being impulsive and spontaneous with you.

when he’s sleepy but still wanting to fuck, he defaults to cowgirl. he’s too tired to put in much effort, so he’ll let you take the reins while he lounges back, half-lidded but still enjoying the view of your bouncing tits. his hands won’t stay idle, though—he’ll grab your hips, guiding you just enough to stay in control without actually moving much himself.

𝓖 = 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐘 . . . is he more serious in the moment? or is he humorous? etc.

he’s playful and teasing during foreplay—loves getting a rise out of you. but the second things escalate, he flips a switch and gets super serious. no laughing or joking in the middle of it—it’s like he’s hyper-focused, almost like he has something to prove.

𝓗 = 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 . . . how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.

the carpet matches the drapes, though he doesn’t think about it much. also, he’s naturally sparse down there, but still keeps it trimmed. not obsessive about grooming, but he knows the bare minimum is necessary.

𝓘 = 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐘 . . . how is he during the moment? the romantic aspect

during sex, nam-gyu isn’t traditionally romantic, but he’s deeply physical and expressive in his own way. he doesn’t rely on words or overt displays of affection; instead, he shows his emotions through the way he fucks you, like he’s trying to prove something to himself—or maybe to you. he thrives on control and the feeling of being desired, so he focuses on what gets the strongest reactions out of you.

emotionally, he struggles with vulnerability. if he feels too exposed or like things are getting too intimate, he’ll mask it by being rougher or redirecting the focus back onto you. for him, sex is both an outlet for his insecurities and a way to feel closer (in the spiritual sense and literal sense) to you without actually having to open up.

𝓙 = 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅𝐅 . . . masturbation headcanon

he’s pretty average about it—not an excessive masturbator, not abstinent; it’s just another part of his routine. usually to porno magazines, or even just your instagram beach photos. if you guys have made sex tapes, then he’d jerk off to that.

if you ever walked in on him, he’d play it off with a smirk and a sarcastic comment like, “oh, hey, you’re just in time.”

𝓚 = 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒 . . . one or more of his kinks

asphyxiation: there’s something strangely erotic to him about having his hand around your neck, feeling your pulse beneath his fingers. the power dynamic in that moment is a huge turn-on for him.

praise kink: he’ll never in a million years admit it, but hearing you tell him how good he is or how much you need him in that breathy way fuels his ego like nothing else. one of the rare things that makes him feel genuinely confident rather than overcompensating.

light bondage: he’s into improvising—using things like neckties or scarves to tie your wrists.

𝓛 = 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . favourite places to do the deed

your place or his are his favorites. while nam-gyu enjoys the occasional quickie in the club’s bathroom or a blowjob in his car, he’s not big on real risks—he likes the privacy and control that comes with familiar settings. the bedroom is his domain, where he feels most comfortable. to have the freedom to let loose without worrying about interruptions or consequences.

𝓜 = 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 . . . what turns him on

revealing outfits drive him crazy. whether it’s a short skirt, a crop top, or something sheer, he won’t bother hiding how much he’s staring. if anyone else is looking too? it flips a switch in him, equal parts possessive and turned on.

you being a little wild, rebellious, or feisty absolutely does it for him. that lana del rey lyric, “i heard that you like the bad girls, honey is that true?” yup. very true. might as well be written about him. he loves seeing you do rebellious, crazy shit—flipping off a guy who’s being a creep, starting a catfight—makes his blood rush south.

𝓝 = 𝐍𝐎 . . . something he wouldn’t do, turn offs

overtly public sex is a hard no for him. he likes the idea of risk but not the actual consequences, so anything too exposed or risky is off the table. he’s not into watersports either.

𝓞 = 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋 . . . preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.

definitely more of a receiver. he’s selfish about it and won’t hesitate to ask for a blowjob outright, expecting you to comply like it’s second nature.

however, nam-gyu knows when to step up—like when you’re mad at him or during your time of the month. in those moments, he’ll willingly switch roles and be a giver, partly to make amends and partly because it’s one of the few ways he knows how to take care of you.

𝓟 = 𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐄 . . . is he fast and rough? slow and sensual?

most of the time, he fucks you fast and rough, driven by his impatience and desire to be in control. he doesn’t like drawing things out unless he’s teasing you to get a reaction—then, he’ll slow down just enough to keep you frustrated.

when he’s drunk or sleepy, though, he’s slower, almost a sensual edge to it, like he’s savouring the moment because he’s too tired to rush. it feels more intimate than usual, even if he doesn’t realise it.

if he’s half-asleep but still horny, he’ll put in the effort despite his exhaustion. it’s less about performance and more about fulfilling that need, but his thrusts are deeper and in a more rhythmic, relaxed tempo. he’d probably crash right after.

𝓠 = 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 . . . his opinions on quickies

quickies are practically his bread and butter, especially when he’s at work or in a time crunch. he often initiates one in random places around club pentagon if he thinks you can get away with it. it’s part of the thrill for him—he loves the challenge of making you cum in a tight timeframe.

𝓡 = 𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐊 . . . is he game to experimenting? does he take risks? etc.

he’s open to experimenting as long as it doesn’t cross into his hard “no” zones.

𝓢 = 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐀 . . . how many rounds can he go for? how long does he last?

if he’s sober, he can usually manage one solid rounds, maybe two if he’s really into it. he tends to push himself, but he doesn’t have endless energy—he says it’s “more about quality over quantity.”

if he’s high, it’s hit or miss. sometimes drugs make him last longer, but other times, he burns out quickly, cummin’ too early and getting embarrassed about it.

𝓣 = 𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐒 . . . does he own toys? does he use them? on you or himself?

nam-gyu doesn’t spend money on toys, but he has a friend who runs a sex shop, and he’s shameless about “borrowing” or pressuring them to hand over new stuff.

he’s not really dependent on them but enjoys using them for variety, especially if it’s something you’re curious about. his main focus is on impressing you, so if toys can help, sure he’s all in.

𝓤 = 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐑 . . . how much he likes to tease

“unfair” is his middle name…and he’s so mean about it. he’ll pretend to ignore you, act aloof, or be completely indifferent just to get under your skin. loves it when you get flustered and whiny, feeding off your reactions like it’s his favourite pastime.

he’s got zero sportsmanship, though. if you flip the script and start teasing him, he’ll immediately get defensive or annoyed, like, “can you stop? it’s not funny.” he can dish it out but can’t take it.

𝓥 = 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄 . . . how loud he is, what sounds he makes

not super loud, definitely on the quieter side. more of a grunter and groaner. dirty talk happens, but it’s not a constant thing—he saves it for when he wants to rile you up. most of the time, his focus is on showing rather than talking.

𝓦 = 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐃 . . . a random headcanon

okay, hear me out: ever since he met the famous rapper in club pentagon he has some weird fantasy involving you, him, and thanos (his threesome dream team). it started as a passing thought—but the more he thought about it, the more it spiraled into something oddly specific.

𝓧 = 𝐗-𝐑𝐀𝐘 . . . what’s going on under those clothes

namgyu’s body is lean and deceptively strong. he’s not overly bulky, but his frame has a wiry, muscular quality to it. he was built for stealth and speed rather than brute force. his abs aren’t overly defined, but a v-line runs down to his waist.

okay okay i know y’all are waiting for this… approximately 6 inches erect and slightly curved to the right. rosy pink tip. definitely veiny, has a vein that starts on the side and breaks off into two and one goes all the way to the tip.

𝓨 = 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 . . . how high is his sex drive?

working at a club means being constantly surrounded by temptation and indulgence, which naturally keeps his desire elevated. despite this, nam-gyu’s self-control is remarkable—largely because of the demands of his environment. he’s learned how to compartmentalise and maintain razor-sharp focus, even in high-stakes or chaotic situations. but when the moment presents itself, when there’s no pressing business to handle or distractions to fend off, all that restraint slips away, and his libido skyrockets.

𝓩 = 𝐙𝐙𝐙 . . . how quickly he falls asleep afterwards

when he’s had a particularly intense time or pushed himself physically and mentally, he’ll crash immediately. on nights where he’s less physically exerted, it’s more of a slow burn—he lays in bed, smoke some fags to decompress, getting lost in the post-coital haze as his mind wanders.

 fear-is-truth 2025 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[carlislefiles]

holding hands in the dark | fushiguro megumi ╰►some nights he talks in his sleep. you stay quiet, holding his hand in the dark…some nights you do just that; other nights you wake him, tell him that it’s going to be okay, that he’s going to be okay. some nights he rolls over, and pretends he isn’t wiping away tears. other nights, he believes you. but most nights, when he realizes that your hand is squeezing his, whether you’re awake or not, he squeezes back. 4.2k words

a/n: I would say that this piece reads as very self-indlugent, but honestly, writing in general is self-indulgent for me, so rarely will a finished piece not feel a bit self-indulgent to me. this feels like a quintessential megumi nightmare fic, so hopefully it's as good as some others you may have read; of course, I always appreciate interaction, but I love my ghost readers, too :)

rare is the night when you don’t find yourself tangled in megumi’s dark blue, fresh smelling sheets. you’d both lived on the campus long enough to know that the whole curfew idea was not enforced. your lives were hard enough; gojo, nor yaga would take away the precious, minute bits of comfort you could find, not when there was already so little of it. they didn’t seem to care that you found that comfort in each other, though gojo’s teasing did seem endless. it didn’t bother you, at least not like it bothered megumi. rosy cheeks, half-hearted scoffs, eyes rolling…it seemed to drive him crazy, but then in his haze of irritation, he’d catch your eyes, and instead of a grimace, you’d find a soft small. he could almost read your mind—tease us all you want, it won’t change anything. your thoughts, your mind, your still, simple presence was an anchor to him, tethering him to all that was good in his sorry, sorry world. not just when gojo decided to tease, but when things seemed, or even were, really, really bad. 

most nights, you lie awake for a long time. the intense, almost comforting silence preferable to the unpredictability sleep brings. when conscious, you choose what you remember. once you submit yourself to numbing, mindless sleep, you’re no longer in control of what your mind conjures up; memories too painful to share, too painful to even remember. megumi’s noticed this, but he’s yet to say anything. maybe he thinks it’s not his place. maybe he thinks it would piss you off. either way, he doesn’t have to say anything, his presence, his heavy, warm breath against your back, his tousled hair tickling your neck, his arm draped carelessly (not carelessly at all) over your stomach—that is more than enough. and he feels the same. tonight is quiet. no wind, no rain, no crickets, no creaking porch swing, just megumi’s lazy breathing, and maybe that’s why you fall asleep so quickly. or maybe your body is finally used to enjoying the sleep you’ve so agonizingly deprived it of now that you can actually relax. 

you wouldn’t consider yourself the sentimental type—maybe that’s why megumi likes you so much. no need to dwell on the past, not when it’s so fraught with pain, not when it hurts that much. but you find yourself thinking of one of the first nights you spent in his room often. 

you’d been in there hundreds of times: to study, to hangout with him and yuuji and nobara, to hide from yaga after screwing up a mission, to makeout on his desk chair until you were out of breath. but you’d never been in his bed. for some reason, it seemed like he didn’t want you there, but you knew better than to let this hurt your feelings. megumi was a creature of habit, and a creature of thought. if he felt a certain way about something, didn’t want you to do something, there was a good reason for it, and when he wanted you to know that reason, he’d tell you. until then, you’d let him to conclusions on his own. he was so sure you were crafted specifically and perfectly for him. no one had ever understood him quite that well, and he was confident no one else ever would. 

he didn’t attach particularly good memories to his dorm room. nightmares, lying awake at night, cold-sweat wicking into his t-shirt, being afraid, being alone. after one especially grueling day, he decided he couldn’t take it anymore. couldn’t take the silence, the painstaking loneliness, and why should he have to? you always tell him that “if you ever need anything, just ask me. please. I want you to want me,” and with pleading, sincere eyes, he believed you. he did want you; more than he’d ever wanted anything, and normally that scared him. but his fear of being alone, of waking up gasping, being just too late to save someone, trumped any nervousness he had in asking you to stay in his room.

at 9:30 he practically dragged you from the kitchen, forcing you to rush your goodnights to the other students, and trudged to his dorm, hand-in-hand. he’d texted you earlier, asking you to sleep in his dorm. you’d assumed something had happened on this mission, but patient and kind as you were, understanding of the situation, you wouldn’t force it out of him. 

he didn’t offer much when you got there, just a quiet “thanks,” and a change of clothes he tossed your way like the fabric might speak for him. the shirt smelled like him—clean detergent, something like pine—and you didn’t comment on how warm it felt, like it had just come out of the dryer. the both of you crawled into bed without the usual banter. no sleepy teasing, no shared scrolling through stupid videos, no jokingly whispered “did you lock your door?” that megumi always answered with a deadpan yes and a kiss to your temple. he was silent. curled inward. you didn’t press. you just shifted behind him, let him mold himself to your back like armor, latched onto his arm wrapped around your middle, and let the silence settle around the both of you. 

maybe that’s why you heard it. sometime in the middle of the night, when the moonlight through the blinds painted silver slats across the blanket, you woke up to the sound of his voice. not fully—your brain was swimming in that hazy, half-dream place—but enough to understand. “no—don’t go—I said stay back—” his voice was raw, like he was begging. you didn’t move at first. you weren’t sure if he was awake, if this was something he wanted you to witness. your hand was still resting on his stomach, but you stilled it. waited. you’d still been half awake, willing your eyes to fully close, forcing yourself to breathe in fours, clenching the mild headache out of your skull, so you felt a little guilty, witnessing this. "I can’t—I can’t lose—” and then he jolted slightly, not fully waking, but like his body was trying to escape whatever dream had him trapped. your hand, so slowly, so carefully, slid from his stomach to his chest. you pressed it there, gentle, warm, and you whispered, just once, “I'm here, gumi.” he didn’t open his eyes. but his breathing slowed. you stayed like that until dawn.

he was silent the next morning. got ready quickly, and rushed you over to your dorm so you could get ready too. the almost domestic quality of it pulled on his heart more than he liked. 

the worst part of his dreams is that they followed him around during the day, too. they were too vivid, too devastating, too real to be forgotten the next morning. he always remembered them. this one had been bad, though they usually were. too late to save someone, too late to save himself. picture-by-picture playbacks of deaths he’d witnessed, civilians he thought himself too weak to save. he’d voiced these anxieties to you before and sometimes you’d grab his wrists, plead with him using just your eyes, tell him that it wasn’t his fault, there was nothing more he could’ve done, that no one was mad at him—but most of the time, you’d slowly wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest, close your eyes and breathe deeply. "I know. I understand. I feel the same way.” your lips didn’t say those things, but your actions did. anchored. that’s how you made him feel. 

he doesn’t say anything about his nightmare, and you don’t feel the need to bring it up. and maybe you’re a little scared, worried that if you say something, he’ll clam up, stop inviting you over, stop letting you help him. as infuriating as it was, that was megumi. when you first started dating, you didn’t allow it, still didn't sometimes.

“just let it go, it’s nothing,” he choked out and you could see he was saying it through gritted teeth. blood was slowly seeping onto the carpet beneath him, long since soaked through his uniform. 

"I said sit down, fushiguro. shoko may not force you to let her heal you, but I will.” you spoke with a low, final quality that rumbled in your chest. he hated going to see shoko, having to rely on someone so constantly, having to admit to pain, to defeat, even if the mission was successful. after helping him out of his jacket, slowly cleaning his wound, meticulously taping gauze on it, and forcing him to change it every couple of hours, he decided he would go see shoko. it was too intimate, too raw, too bare. he’d rather admit weakness to shoko than to you. 

but as time went on, megumi got better at being honest with you, and you got better at letting him. if he said he was fine, you didn’t argue, even if you knew it wasn’t true. if it made him feel better to lie, then so be it. there was a line drawn, of course, you only allowed each other to become a certain amount of not fine before caving, taking turns like a seesaw. but most importantly, you trusted each other. 

it’s been a few days since that night, but something lingers. megumi hasn’t mentioned the dream. not once. not in passing, not with a joke, not even in the awkward, half-mumbled way he sometimes says things like “you helped” when what he really means is "I needed you.” you don’t ask. not because you don’t want to—god, you do—but because that night, when your hand had found his chest and your voice had cracked through whatever hell he was stuck in, something in him had…settled. and sometimes that’s enough.

still, the weight of it clings to the corners of the room. tonight, you’re back in his bed. your legs are tangled together like always, his arm casually slung around your waist like always, the room dim and hushed and safe. like always. but megumi’s not asleep. he’s tracing lazy circles over your wrist with his thumb, absent and rhythmic. the kind of touch that means I'm thinking about something I might actually say out loud. eventually. you give him time. you always give him time. you’re so fucking patient, it drives him insane. finally, he shifts behind you, voice low and gravelly from disuse. “did I…say anything weird?” his breath warms the nape of your neck. 

you don’t roll over. just blink at the shadows cast by his blinds and answer evenly, “weird? no.” a pause. then: “but you said something.” you let out a soft sigh. “you were dreaming.”

"I figured.” his fingers pause. “you said…'I'm here.'”

you nod against the pillow. “yeah.” yeah, I am here, and I'm not going anywhere, and I shouldn’t have to say that because I know you know it, but I'm gonna say it anyway. another long beat of silence. 

then he says, softer this time, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard him, "I thought you were gone. in the dream. you wouldn’t listen to me.” you close your eyes. his voice has that raw edge again, like he’s apologizing for something he couldn’t control. like he’s ashamed of needing you, even in sleep. you don’t say I'm sorry. you don’t say it was just a dream. you just reach back and take his hand in yours, your fingers weaving together like it’s muscle memory. “I'm not going anywhere,” you murmur.

another beat. then he squeezes your hand. "I know.” good. 

you wake up the next morning before him. that never happens. megumi’s always the one with an internal clock so rigid it could qualify as a cursed technique. you, usually awake far into the night, could sleep well past any alarm. but today he’s out cold, face half-buried in the crook of your shoulder, his arm still wrapped around you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he lets go. you lie there for a while, letting the steady sound of his breathing lull you into something like peace. 

it’s strange, this softness. you’d never imagined you’d crave it, not like this., not when it’s so wildly, horrifyingly foreign. but with him, it feels earned. you glance over at his nightstand. his phone is face down. his alarm hasn’t gone off yet (like he even needs one). you could wake him. you don’t. instead, you shift just enough to turn toward him. his hair is a mess—like usual—and there’s the faintest crease in his cheek from the pillow. he looks younger when he sleeps, like someone who hasn’t watched too many people die. you don’t touch him, don’t dare disturb this rare moment of peace. you just watch. and maybe—just maybe—you let yourself imagine a world where this is normal. where you both get to wake up like this every morning, in a world that doesn’t punish you for finding solace in each other.

but megumi stirs before you can get too far into the fantasy. his eyes blink open slowly, bleary and half-aware. “you’re awake?”

you smile faintly. “don’t sound so surprised.” 

he hums. “it’s early.”

you shrug. “didn’t want to wake you.”

he shifts, stretches slightly but doesn’t move away from you. “that’s new.”

“you needed it,” you say simply.

he’s quiet for a while. then: “thanks.” thanks for being here, thanks for staying, thanks for everything I’ve never thanked you for. you reach up, brushing a bit of hair from his forehead. “you don’t have to thank me for that. ever.” his eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. for once, he doesn’t look away.

……

he’s gotten comfortable—too comfortable, he tells himself. he sleeps, almost the whole night through, without waking up, and when he finally does wake up, he can’t remember whether or not he’s had a nightmare. but, again, too comfortable. 

it wasn’t uncommon for missions to take a long time, to keep you apart for even more than a whole day. as tenacious as you both were, you soldiered on in silence. rare, if ever, was the “miss you,” text after a two-day mission. in fact, rare was it that megumi texted you ever. either he was busy with a mission or babysitting gojo, or he was with you, no need to text. but it had been four whole fucking days, and you’d texted him once, only after he had texted you first. there was a pit growing in his stomach, coiling and widening with each night he spent in your dorm—god, it smelled like you, where the fuck else was he supposed to be able to sleep?

after the first 32 hours, he’d caved. “mission going ok?” it was perfect. not too needy, but not too detached, right? making sure you were safe, without coming right out and admitting he missed you. he was weirdly proud of how good his text was at accurately conveying what he wanted it to. but anything even remotely positive vanished with your reply. 

“kind of.” 

kind of? kind of?! what the hell does that mean. he’s gonna scold your ass when you get back. don’t ever text me something like that again, when I ask about your mission tell me it’s ok. that you’re ok. if you’re not, you should’ve already called me. kind of. 

he’s standing outside the door of yaga’s office approximately 60 seconds later. 

“fushiguro? you can come in…” he says tentatively, like he’s confused. his door is open to student concerns, even if he doesn’t actually give a shit about them. 

but fushiguro can’t come in. he can hardly breath, can hardly think. kind of.  “mission. gojo’s on a mission with-with…it’s been four days. what’s going on?” if yaga knew him better, he’d pick up on the tremble that coats his voice, on the shaky quality of his hands, which are wringing each other to the point of bruises. 

“oh, well as you know, it’s a retrieval mission. you of all people should know that these things take time and —” 

“when will they be back?” he’s reigned himself back in, anchor, anchor, anchor. his voice is restrained now, his fingernails are tearing into the skin of his palm. yaga looks at him curiously. never, in all the time he’s been at the school, had fushiguro come to check in on one of gojo’s missions. 

“I'm not entirely sure. my best guess? late tonight. according to gojo-san, they’ve retrieved the cursed object. now it’s just a matter of getting it back here safely.” 

“any known injuries?” 

“nothing severe enough to mention.” megumi is gone before yaga finishes his sentence. tonight. tonight. you’d be back tonight, and hopefully not too injured that you couldn’t sleep in his bed. but, it’s like he thought. he’s gotten far too comfortable. 

……

he hears the footsteps before he sees anything. too many of them. too heavy. not yours. megumi's halfway down the hall when he spots the group—gojo leading, shoko behind, and between them…you. 

no. not you. not like this.

your body is limp in gojo’s arms, head lolled against his shoulder, blood still wet in your hair and smeared across your cheek like war paint. you're wrapped in a school-issued jacket that isn’t yours. your fingers twitch once, then go still. megumi stops in his tracks. his stomach drops. actually drops—like his body has gone cold, like gravity just gave up on holding him together. for a second, he thinks he’s going to throw up. his ears ring. everything narrows to a single, white-hot point: you’re not supposed to look like that.

you’re supposed to be walking in on your own. you’re supposed to roll your eyes when you see him, say something like, “miss me?” like you didn’t almost die. like the world hasn't shattered in your absence. but instead—you look broken. like something someone tried to put back together but gave up halfway. megumi doesn’t remember moving, but suddenly he’s there, beside the stretcher as shoko rolls you down the hall. his hand reaches out, trembling, stopping just short of touching your shoulder. he can’t bring himself to do it.

shoko’s voice is calm, brisk, she's not talking to megumi. maybe to gojo, he doesn't know. “she’s stable. internal damage is healed. I'll need an hour, maybe two, to get her pain levels down. her vitals are holding.” holding. like you’re a system being kept online. not a person. megumi feels bile rise in his throat. gojo starts to speak—something low, serious, rare—and megumi doesn’t even hear him. the words flow around him, soft and useless. explanations, apologies, something about how things got out of hand, how “she handled herself better than anyone else could’ve.” that he didn’t mean for this. that no one expected—

megumi tunes out. he’s just so fucking tired. he doesn’t care about the mission. doesn’t care about strategy or odds or what went wrong or why shoko’s voice is tighter than usual, why gojo won’t meet his eyes. all he knows is this:

you’re here. you’re home. but it’s not right.

instead, your lips are cracked and stained with blood, and there’s a gash just beneath your collarbone that gojo keeps not looking at. the air smells like antiseptic and copper, like death that hasn’t quite arrived yet. megumi clenches his fists. and he counts—one, two, three—each second dragging its feet as he waits for shoko to finish what she has to do. for everyone else to leave. for them to stop talking like it means anything. like any of it will matter if you never wake up. his fingers twitch. you’re here. you’re home. but you’re not you. and until you are, he won’t breathe right again. and he’s sure he won’t sleep, right?

the fluorescent lights hum above him—steady, sterile, unfeeling—but megumi only hears the shallow, rhythmic sounds of your breathing. at least that hasn't stopped. he keeps a careful hand on your pulse anyway, thumb pressing just beneath your jaw like he's trying to hold time still with the pads of his fingers.

you don't move.

you're warm now, though. shoko made sure of that. bandaged, stitched, healed just enough. but it's not enough. not for megumi. not when he walked into the infirmary expecting you to smile at him—tease him about how he got taller while you were gone, make some offhanded joke about gojo probably crying when he saw your injuries—and instead you’re laid out on a cot like a ghost. limp. blood crusted at your temple. 

he stood for a long time, just watching, waiting, praying. then he moves.

it's clumsy, almost pitiful, how quickly he sheds the stiffness from his body and crawls onto the cot beside you. it’s too small for the both of you, barely wide enough to hold one person, let alone two. he doesn't care. his arms go around you like he’s afraid you’ll evaporate. and then—finally—his eyes fall shut.

it isn’t that the nightmares don’t come. they try. they always try. but your body shifts, instinctively, into his. you sigh, weakly, in your sleep, and your fingers twitch against his shirt like they’re trying to curl into something familiar. megumi exhales. his whole body softens. not a sigh, not a breath—just melts. he sleeps harder than he ever has. the kind of sleep that makes hours fold into seconds. the kind that turns pain into numbness and then into nothing at all.

and when he opens his eyes again, there’s light bleeding through. and your eyes are open, too. bleary, unfocused. but on him. your fingers are entwined with his. his heart leaps so hard it hurts. "...hey," you rasp, voice scratchy and paper-thin. "I drooled on your shirt."

he lets out a sound—half a laugh, half a sob—and tucks his face into your shoulder, tightening his hold like if he lets go, you’ll vanish. "I thought you were dead," he whispers.

"still might be," you mumble, eyes closing again. "...but at least I'm warm.”

he squeezes your hand. “you idiot.” and this time, when he cries, it’s quiet. it’s careful. it’s grateful.

……

things don’t necessarily change after that. at least, not in a spoken manner. but megumi…megumi changes. there’s little stoicism left in him. he tells you he loves you, everyday, when previously that was a scarce gift given only on the rarest of occasions. but the weight of it, despite it’s increased frequency, is just as heavy. 

shoko lets you leave later that day on strict orders of rest, no missions, and gallons of water. you don’t listen. megumi does. 

later that night, he’s worried again. or rather, he never stopped worrying. but now it’s worse. and he knows that you know, but he can’t bring himself to speak. to burden you with his anxieties, not when you’re already so burdened. 

however, he knows what you’d say if you could read his thoughts. “tell me anyway.”

"I had a dream the night before you came home. you were…we were…it wasn’t enough,” and god, why does voice sound like he’s crying?

you don’t say anything right away. you’re afraid if you do, it’ll break the moment like brittle glass. that if you turn around, you’ll see him pulling back into himself, tying those heavy emotional threads into too-tight knots again. so instead, you shift just a little—enough that your back presses more firmly to his chest, that your hand finds his and gently, deliberately, intertwines your fingers.

his thumb stills against your wrist, and then it squeezes, once. like a thank you.

“you don’t have to tell me about it,” you murmur, barely audible, eyes fluttering shut. “you don’t owe me anything.”

“yes, I do. I owe you everything,” he whispers. ”and even if I didn’t, I want to tell you.”

that’s how megumi says I love you. not in words, not directly. but in truths he fights to share. in silences he breaks for you and you alone. in the way he lets you stay—stay close, stay in, stay his.

and so, with the quiet hum of safety wrapping around both of you, he begins to talk. just softly, slowly. a few words at first—names, places, what he saw, what he felt. the way your voice cut through the nightmare like a tether to the real world. the way he woke up half-choking on a sob and found himself holding you instead of air. the relief, the shame, the aching tenderness of knowing you were real and warm and right there.

and you listen. you always do. you say little, not because you have nothing to say, but because he needs this. needs your silence. needs your hand. needs you here, breathing and alive and not a ghost. by the time his words run dry, you’ve turned to face him. he looks tired—hollow-eyed and frayed—but there’s something softer about him now. he’s unfurled, just a bit. just enough.

you reach up, brushing your fingers through his hair, and he closes his eyes like it physically relieves him. “megumi?”

“hm?”

“if I die, I'll haunt you.”

his eyes open again, and you see it—his reluctant smile, small and crooked. “you already do.”

you both fall asleep that night without meaning to. wrapped up in each other, wrapped in words spoken and unspoken. you fall asleep first, this time, not before searching through the blankets for his hand. and for once, so does megumi. no dreams. no terror. just you. just peace.

header images found on pinterest from an unnamed account, message for removal or credit

[merbear25]

What are akainu, aokiji, and Kizarus turn ons/turn offs?

Hey! I took a minute to consider what to include and decided against NSFW, so I hope you like it anyway! 💜💜

CW: SFW, gn!reader, headcanons

Innocent turn-ons/offs (Akainu, Aokiji, Kizaru)

Akainu

Turn-ons

Being a hard, studious worker would earn his respect but an extra flare of grace would have his eyes lingering a bit too long.

Respect towards your ethics and abilities would need to come before any romantic feelings blossomed. After this, he’d become more aware of subtle changes on the day to day: facial expressions, increase/decrease in talking, and punctuality.

Speaking of punctuality, he’d admire someone who could stick to a regime. This basic level of respect towards your work and him went a long way.

I have the strongest feeling that being extremely hygienic would be a major turn-on for him. This wouldn’t be limited to personal but keeping a clean workspace and home would also be important to him—orderly and pristine.

The scent of lavender and linen on your clothes and/or shampoo would be a guilty pleasure of his whenever you were near. Temptation pulled at him, but he resisted getting closer; that was until your relationship was established.

Turn-offs

There was nothing particularly wrong with having a strong or even abrasive personality, but when it became disruptive that was when it would put a rift between the both of you.

Having any kind of dirt on your clothes would be a major turn-off. If you’d just come back from a fight, you’d better tidy up before meeting with him.

An absence of professionalism wouldn’t be appreciated in the slightest. As a partner, he’d expect nothing but the best from you.

There would be no room for laziness or constant complaining in a romantic interest because he’d admire someone who pushed through the hardships with their head held high.

Aokiji

Turn-ons

When you brushed your hair behind your ear, the motion caught his attention. 

His eyes flickered over to you whenever you played with a random lock of your hair while deep in thought.

Being a dreamer would be something he’d be attracted to. There was something about the light in your eyes when you spoke of the future that made his heart race.

Bedhead and a sleepy appearance: you were adorable when you looked like a bit of a mess.

A soothing voice that didn’t usually reach a yell or scream would practically lull him to sleep (if he ever had an issue with that).

Someone who stuck to their morals and goals would earn his respect. This wouldn’t mean that they would need to perfectly align with his own, but instead mean they should remain firm in their core beliefs.

Cinnamon and apples would be his favorite scent that would quickly remind him of you. Of course the perfume, lotions, shampoo, and bodywash helped, but simply being reminded of your warm and comforting presence was the biggest draw.

An air of mystery would pique his interest, wanting to know what you may be hiding and being the one to uncover it.

Turn-offs

Having a flimsy sense of self. If you can be persuaded easily, that wouldn’t be attractive to him because there would be no base for trust.

Someone who was constantly on the go and never being able to appreciate down time would most likely cause some issues in a potential relationship.

No sense of humor. Though he wasn’t one to crack a lot of jokes, not being able to see the lighter side of life would eventually wear on him.

Being overwhelmingly pessimistic would not mix well with his personality. This wasn’t to say that having bad days or generally hard periods would be an issue, but when it spread to every and all aspects of life on even your normal or happy days that’d be when he lost interest.

Kizaru

Turn-ons

A sense of style, perhaps high-end more than anything else, would make you appear dazzling, a diamond in the rough.

Optimism that didn’t cloud your better judgement would be admirable. Having a mostly sunny personality would mix well with his character. This could mean your typical full grin but could also be the emotion you exuded in your quieter moments. Many give off an aura or air to themselves, so being around someone whose aura was overall pleasant would be a breath of fresh air.

Maturity would be a massive thing for him. Something about the way you could handle yourself even when tensions were high got to him in the best way possible.

Smelling of citrus and honey would remind him of the warmer months and have him dreaming of those less chaotic times again. The scents were warm, inviting and lively much like you, leaving him wanting to spend more time around you in the end.

If you were a good baker, he’d adore that. Knowing that the house would smell of tasty treats when he came home kept him smiling on more difficult days.

Turn-offs

Having absolutely no skills whatsoever. Skills was a term that covered many spheres, so not having at least one or two wouldn’t fare well for you with him.

Taking things to heart too often. The ability to let things roll off your shoulders like water off a duck’s back would be preferred, though he wasn’t unreasonable that some things would affect you more than others. That being said, being in a fragile emotional state constantly would be too much for him.

Not letting him compliment you at all. This didn’t include shyness, but instead would mean a love interest not enjoying him flattering them on their outfit, hair, personality, abilities, etc. He may not be excessive with compliments, but this would leave him feeling rejected if he didn’t get any kind of positive reaction.

[heliosunny]

Hi hi!! Can I request a yan! Jing yuan with an assistant reader? Like manipulative Yuanie. Thinking about how he’ll have one of the people who are your colleagues overload you with work so he can swoop in and save you like he was your “knight in shining armor”. Having you fill out lots of paperwork so you’ll have to work overtime and stay with him more is definitely something he’d do!

I think yan! Jing yuan would also take you out on ‘business dinners’ as he’d like to call it. 🤭🤭

I also wanted to ask do you take nsfw requests? Or maybe you can make a rules list too please!

Mwah ❤️ I hope you have a good day!!!

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Assistant!Reader

The workload had been suffocating lately. Stacks upon stacks of paperwork found their way onto your desk, each page demanding your immediate attention. Your fingers ached from gripping the brush for too long, eyes burning as you struggled to keep up. It didn’t make sense how your responsibilities had doubled out of nowhere.

"Ah, still working?" A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

Jing Yuan leaned against the doorway of your office, golden eyes filled with amusement as he took in the sight of your disheveled state.

"You're overworking yourself" he chided, stepping in. "That’s no good. If you collapse, who will assist me?"

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing your temples. "I don’t have a choice. These reports need to be done before the deadline."

Jing Yuan hummed thoughtfully, gaze flickering over the piles of documents. "Strange. I was under the impression that some of these tasks weren’t meant for you…"

His voice was light, almost casual, but something about it made your skin prickle. Before you could respond, he reached out, plucking a report from the top of the stack.

"Ah, this one" he mused, flipping through the pages. "This should have been handled by your colleague. How peculiar."

Your brows furrowed. Had you really been doing work that wasn’t meant for you? It made sense now—why everything had felt overwhelming lately.

Jing Yuan sighed dramatically, setting the papers aside. "It seems someone has been overloading you, either by accident… or design." He tilted his head, white strands of hair slipping over his shoulder as he offered a sympathetic smile. "I’ll have to look into this."

"For now" he continued, "why don’t you take a break? Stay a little longer with me. I was just about to have dinner—perhaps you’d care to join me? Consider it a business dinner, of course."

You shook your head, exhaustion pressing down on your shoulders. "I appreciate the offer, General, but I can’t. I still have work to finish."

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes flickered with something unreadable before he let out a soft chuckle. "Ah, such diligence. It’s admirable, really." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. "But overworking yourself won’t earn you any favors, you know."

Still, you refused to budge. "I’ll manage."

Jing Yuan sighed, feigning defeat. "Very well, if you insist." He straightened, a small smile playing on his lips. "At least allow me to lend a hand. I can ease some of your burdens—"

"No."

The word left your lips firmer than expected. His smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something in his gaze, something unreadable yet sharp.

You didn’t give him a chance to press further. With a quick bow, you excused yourself, diving back into your work before he could weave his words around you again.

By the time you finished, the lights are already on. The cool night air biting against your skin. You exhaled, finally free from the suffocating weight of paperwork.

Or so you thought.

Jing Yuan was leaning against one of the pillars near the entrance, arms crossed in an almost lazy manner.

"You’re late" he murmured, pushing himself off the pillar. "I was beginning to worry."

"General? What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Working until this hour—alone, no less? That’s hardly safe."

"I can take care of myself. How old do you think I am?"

Jing Yuan tilted his head, his amusement growing. "I don’t doubt that. But even the strongest warriors aren’t invincible." He stepped closer. "If you had accepted my help earlier, I wouldn’t have had to wait for you like this."

"You—waited for me?"

Jing Yuan let out a soft hum. "Of course. What kind of superior would I be if I let my hardworking assistant wander home alone at such an ungodly hour?"

His logic was twisted, you knew that. But the way he said it, the way his voice dripped with gentle concern, made it difficult to argue.

"Come," he said, placing a hand on your back, guiding you forward. "I’ll escort you home."

-----

The moment you stepped into your office, dread settled deep in your stomach.

More paperwork. MORE PAPERWORK?

The stacks had doubled—no, tripled overnight. Piles upon piles of documents sat on your desk, some even spilling onto the floor. It was impossible. There was no way this much work had suddenly appeared unless…

Your mind flickered back to the conversation from yesterday. Jing Yuan’s words echoed in your head.

"It seems someone has been overloading you, either by accident… or design."

A sinking feeling settled in your chest, but you shook it off. You didn’t have time to dwell on suspicions, not when you were buried under all this.

You spent the morning frantically working, but no matter how fast you went, the papers never seemed to end. By midday, your exhaustion became unbearable. Your pride screamed at you to push through, to handle it yourself, but reality was much crueler.

You needed help.

And you knew exactly who to ask.

Reluctantly, you made your way to Jing Yuan’s office, fingers curling into the fabric of your sleeves. The guards outside barely spared you a glance before letting you in.

Inside, Jing Yuan lounged comfortably behind his desk, golden eyes lifting lazily as you entered. His lips curled into a knowing smile.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise" he mused. "To what do I owe the honor?"

You hesitated. Even without looking at him, you could feel his gaze, sharp and expectant.

Taking a small breath, you finally spoke, voice quieter than intended.

"I… need help."

The silence stretched between you for a moment, thick with something you couldn’t quite place. Then, Jing Yuan chuckled.

"My, my," he drawled, resting his chin against his palm. "So even my diligent assistant has limits. How adorable."

Your face burned, and you instinctively looked away.

"I would never abandon a subordinate in need," he said smoothly while walking over to you. "But…"

You tensed as he stopped just inches away from you, his presence overwhelming.

"I have one condition."

You swallowed. "What is it?"

He smiled. "You’ll sit near me while we work. That’s all."

That was… it? No outrageous demand, no unreasonable request?

Sensing your hesitation, Jing Yuan leaned in ever so slightly, his voice a soft murmur. "Surely, that’s not too much to ask?"

You bit your lip before reluctantly nodding. "...Alright."

Jing Yuan’s smile widened. "Good."

Without another word, he led you to his desk, gesturing toward the seat beside his. The placement left little space between you, the close proximity forcing you to feel the warmth of his presence.

"Now," he said, handing you a brush, his fingers grazing yours for just a moment too long. "Let’s begin, shall we?"

As you dipped the brush into the ink, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had fallen right into his trap.

The quiet scratching of brushes against paper filled the office, the occasional rustling of documents the only other sound. You sat stiffly beside Jing Yuan, fully aware of his presence as he worked leisurely beside you.

It wasn’t just the closeness that unsettled you—it was the way his eyes would flicker to you every so often, studying you between strokes of his brush.

"You’re quite tense" Jing Yuan noted, voice laced with amusement.

You didn’t look up. "I’m just focusing."

"Hmm." He leaned back slightly, stretching. "I wonder… do I make you nervous?"

Your fingers twitched slightly around the brush, but you forced yourself to keep writing. "Of course not, General."

Jing Yuan chuckled, clearly entertained. "No need for such formalities. We’re spending so much time together—surely, you can call me Jing Yuan?"

You hesitated, but before you could think of a response, he smoothly shifted the subject.

"I must say," he mused, "this is quite an improvement. If I had known all it took to keep you close was a bit of extra work, I would have arranged this much sooner."

You turned to him, only to be met with his usual easy-going smile.

"Just a joke," he reassured lightly. "Unless… you’d rather I keep you overworked? I could make sure you need my help every day."

There it was again. That subtle pressure wrapped in velvet words.

You swallowed hard and forced a polite chuckle. "That won’t be necessary."

Jing Yuan exhaled as if disappointed. "Pity."

Hours passed, and despite his slow, deliberate pace, he finished his portion faster than you. He hummed, watching you struggle to keep up.

"You’re still working?" he asked, feigning concern. "You really should take a break."

"I can’t afford to. There’s still too much left."

Jing Yuan hummed in thought. Then, as if struck by an idea, he leaned in slightly, his voice a near whisper.

"How about this?" His tone was warm, coaxing. "I’ll help you again tomorrow… but only if you have dinner with me afterward."

"You deserve a meal after working so hard," he continued, resting his chin on his palm. "And it’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Just the two of us, away from all these dreadful reports?"

It sounded harmless enough.

Reluctantly, you nodded. "Alright."

Jing Yuan smiled, pleased.

"Good" he murmured. "Then it’s a promise."

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, casting the Xianzhou Luofu in a soft, warm glow. Lanterns flickered to life as you walked beside Jing Yuan, your exhaustion weighing heavily on your shoulders. He had insisted on walking with you, his usual lazy smile in place, but there was an unmistakable satisfaction in his gaze.

You had been too drained to argue.

The restaurant he chose was far from the usual places where officials gathered for formal meetings. It was intimate, the kind of place that felt too personal for just work.

"You didn’t have to pick somewhere this… refined" you murmured, hesitant as you stepped inside.

Jing Yuan chuckled. "Nonsense. You deserve a proper meal after all your hard work." He guided you to a private table tucked away from prying eyes, his hand lingering just a second too long against your back.

As you sat down, a waiter arrived almost instantly, as if they had been expecting you.

"Order whatever you like," Jing Yuan encouraged, waving a hand dismissively. "Consider it a reward for your dedication."

You hesitated before cautiously selecting something modest. The last thing you wanted was to feel indebted.

Jing Yuan, on the other hand, ordered without restraint.

"You know" he mused, "I admire your work ethic, but I do wonder—do you ever take time for yourself?"

"I don’t have much choice. The workload has been… demanding."

His golden eyes glinted. "Ah, yes. It seems someone keeps piling too much on you, doesn’t it?"

You glanced at him suspiciously, but he merely took a sip of his wine, his expression unreadable.

"It’s a shame" he continued, "how easily people take advantage of you. Always so responsible, so eager to prove yourself… It makes you an easy target."

His words struck a nerve—not because they were wrong, but because he was speaking as if he weren’t the very person orchestrating your exhaustion.

"You make it sound like I’m helpless" you muttered.

Jing Yuan let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Not at all. You’re quite capable… But even the strongest warriors need someone to protect them sometimes."

There it was again. That gentle, insistent push—reminding you that he was the only one who truly saw you, the only one who cared enough to step in.

Your meal arrived, breaking the tension momentarily. You focused on eating, but Jing Yuan never stopped watching, his gaze following every small movement you made.

"You should eat more" he remarked at one point, nudging a dish toward you. "You push yourself too hard. It worries me."

"This is just a business dinner" you reminded him, almost as if you were reminding yourself.

"Of course," he agreed easily. "Just business."

But the way he poured you another drink, the way his fingers brushed against yours with each small gesture, told you otherwise.

Jing Yuan was in no rush to leave, drawing out the meal with casual conversation and idle remarks about work, yet every topic always circled back to you.

"You should rest more." "You work too hard." "It must be exhausting, always carrying everything on your shoulders."

His voice was gentle, warm, the perfect balance of concern and admiration.

“I should head home” you finally said, setting your chopsticks down. “It’s getting late.”

Jing Yuan tilted his head slightly, his golden eyes studying you in silence. Then, he sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair.

"I suppose you’re right" he said, sounding almost disappointed. "I wouldn’t want to keep you from your much-needed rest."

Relief flooded you—until he added, “I’ll escort you.”

You tensed. “That’s really not necessary...”

"I insist."

You swallowed your protest, knowing that arguing would only drag this out longer. With a quiet nod, you allowed him to walk you home. The city was quiet at this hour, save for the occasional passerby. Yet somehow, despite the openness of it all, you felt cornered.

Jing Yuan didn’t speak much, but the silence between you was anything but comfortable. When you finally arrived at your door, you turned to him quickly, hoping to end the night before he could push further. "Thank you for the dinner, General."

Jing Yuan smiled. "No need to be so formal. After all," he reached out, lightly brushing his fingers against the back of your hand, "we're much closer now, aren’t we?"

Your breath caught in your throat, but before you could step back, he withdrew his hand with a chuckle.

"Rest well, I'll see you at work tomorrow."

With that, he turned and walked away, his figure slowly disappearing into the night.

-----

Jing Yuan had been in a good mood that morning.

You had shyly asked for his help, relied on him, and even allowed him to walk you home. His patience was paying off, you were already beginning to lean on him, just as he had planned.

So when he strolled into the office, humming softly to himself, he expected to find you waiting for him, as usual.

Instead, what he saw made his easygoing expression freeze.

There you were, standing beside another officer, chatting casually as if the exhaustion from yesterday had never existed.

Jing Yuan’s sharp eyes immediately honed in on the scene—on the way you nodded, the small laugh you let out at something the officer said.

That wasn’t part of the plan.

The lazy, pleased expression he had worn all morning dulled into something unreadable.

Slowly, he stepped forward, his presence casting a long shadow as he approached.

Your conversation stalled the moment you noticed him. The officer beside you stiffened, standing at attention.

"Ah, General!" the officer greeted with forced politeness. "Good morning."

Jing Yuan’s golden eyes didn’t even acknowledge him. Instead, they remained on you.

"Good morning," he said pleasantly, but there was no warmth in his voice. "I hope I’m not… interrupting anything important?"

"No, we were just talking about-"

"Ah, I see," Jing Yuan interrupted "And here I thought you had your hands full with work."

The officer looked between the two of you, sensing the tension. "I should get going" he mumbled quickly before excusing himself.

"Was something wrong?"

Jing Yuan chuckled, shaking his head. "Not at all," he said lightly, stepping closer. "I just found it surprising."

"Surprising?"

"That you still have the energy to entertain idle chatter… after all that work."

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, Jing Yuan placed a hand on your shoulder—gentle, yet firm enough to root you in place.

"Come now" he murmured, voice as smooth as silk. "There’s still plenty to do, isn’t there?"

In that moment, you understood—he wasn’t pleased.

And he wouldn’t let this slide.

The tension from the morning never fully left.

Jing Yuan acted as if nothing had happened, his usual lazy smile in place, his voice carrying the same smooth, amused tone.

But you could feel it.

The real punishment began soon after.

It started subtly.

Your workload, already overwhelming, suddenly doubled.

Requests that would usually be divided among the other assistants somehow all ended up on your desk. Forms, reports, urgent documents—all requiring immediate attention, all piling up at an alarming rate.

By noon, you could barely breathe under the pressure.

Still, you pushed through, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.

But just as you were starting to make progress, Jing Yuan’s voice interrupted your focus.

"Ah, this one’s incorrect." he mused, holding up a form you had completed earlier.

You blinked, frowning. "But I—"

"Fix it for me, won’t you?" he cut in smoothly, placing it back on your desk.

You stared at the document, confusion creeping in. You were certain you had filled it out correctly. But when you reached for another, you saw that the one you had submitted before, the one he himself had approved, was suddenly filled with minor errors.

Mistakes that hadn’t been there before.

Had he… altered them?

Before you could question it, he spoke again, his tone light and teasing.

"It’s unlike you to be so careless" he mused, resting his chin on his hand as he watched you. "Are you perhaps… distracted?"

He was toying with you.

And yet, what could you say?

Accusing him directly would only backfire.

So, you swallowed your frustration and forced yourself to keep working.

By the time evening arrived, exhaustion clung to you like a second skin. You could barely think straight, your hands aching from the relentless writing. Just as you were about to gather your things to leave, a shadow fell over your desk. Jing Yuan.

"You’ve worked so hard today" he said, his voice like silk. "Why don’t I treat you to dinner again?"

Your body screamed for rest, but you knew—this wasn’t an invitation.

It was a test.

And you already knew what happened to those who disappointed him.

So, with a quiet nod, you accepted.

And just like that, he won again.

-----

I think I'll update some rules if I have time.

For now, I don't receive NSFW content, it's a bit challenging for me in that field. :3 I rather focus on what I'm capable of doing rather than accepting all requests and giving you unwanted results.

[simplyreveries]

Hello! I love your blog and your creative works they are absolutely amazing! 😋

So I was wondering if you were able to do a F!Yuu/MC that just sits themselves into Leona, Floyd’s, Jack, and Riddles lap and just gives them a sweet kiss on the neck?

Just wanna see how their reactions would be if they would be surprised or flustered and such. Ignore this if you don’t want to do but I do greatly appreciate if you do! Love your works 🥰🥰

thank you thank youuu!!!<33

leona kingscholar

his once closing eyes were peaked open when he feels you move to sit yourself on him, he’ll grumble something tiredly and put his arms around you allowing you to only lean further into him. he is sucking up any sort of attention and affection from you, he feels a sense of pride and knowing that you're so willing to do that to him.

leona will only want more out of you, I mean, believe it not he is pretty greedy with his time and attention from you. be ready to have him practically moving you and sitting you on him so he can rest. he loves the feeling of you being so close to him, sometimes you may feel him give you some lazy kisses back.

since he can tell how much you seem to like doing that to him, leona finds himself prompting to do that whenever you seem to be sad or just generally in a bad mood, he'd barely think twice before pulling you onto his lap and into his arms with a hand rubbing your back in a comforting manner.

floyd leech

don't assume he hasn't tried to do the exact same thing honestly. he is so utterly affectionate and all over you practically all the time, he feels like he can never get quite enough of you. whenever he seems to be in some irritable and sour mood he’ll whine and come find you complaining how annoying a teacher like trein is or that he is just bored and wants to be entertained. as soon as you come up to him and even do something as a simple kiss, he is feeling soo much better.

he’ll literally ask you like anywhere or anytime to just come over and sit so he can hold you, and he's in desperate need of your affection and kisses. you’ll hear him call your name or “shrimpy” mostly as he holds out his hands so you can pull you onto him. you’ll feel as he laughs once he’s got you in his arms, getting out of them is a whole different hassle.

floyd enjoys burying and rubbing his face into the crook of your neck, he kisses you endlessly on the neck as well, even attacking it with light bites here and there. he'd giggle and laugh telling you how cute he finds you whenever you do this.

jack howl

he feels like he cannot speak as jack is beyond flustered when you suddenly do that, i mean he is not complaining but he doesn't know how to handle all this. he’ll nervously put his arms around you, more in a comforting kind of manner and feel even more flushed when you begin to press kisses to his neck— he never realized how sensitive it is too..

also laying and sitting up against jack has to be so comfortably sweet, he is so warm, and despite his build he is so careful with you, it's cute really. it feels like he has you in a good hold but at the same time his hands around fully grabbing onto you because it makes him so nervous.

ever since you did that, he really finds himself wanting so much more of it, though he couldn't ask himself he'd just be incredibly close to you hoping you'd get the idea. like floyd, he'll put his face into your neck but only because he feels like he can barely even look at you but finds himself loving your scent haha.

riddle rosehearts

he’d only be fine with it if it weren't in the public eyes of anyone else because he’d deem it too improper as dorm leader but more so that he wouldn't be able to handle even a second of that with how nervous and embarrassed he’d feel. riddle already has trouble being able to kiss you on the cheek or the corner of your lips, when you do something like that, he is basically frozen.

his mind goes blank as he stammers and asks you what it is you're doing, but he’ll let out some aired laugh when you kiss him on the neck, carefully and slowly he would be able to out his arms around you and nervously accept it. he is beyond touch starved so he really does feel almost needy for any kind of affection from you.

riddle would ease slowly into loving it, he feels like he is melting around you like this. he’ll have some bashful smile on his face as he happily eats up the kisses and the feeling of your skin against his. he doesn't mention this, but he seems to adore the feeling of your heartbeat against his.

[mya-valentine]

How would the League Of Villains react to female reader singing “Carry on wayward son” (from Supernatural) but she is singing it in a soft calming tone like if she is doing something, like cooking, or cleaning, or doing some work, and they think she has a beautiful voice?

Headcanon: The League of Villains Reaction to S/O Singing Softly

A/N: Wanna know what's crazy???? I just finished binging Supernatural like three days ago, so the feels of that song is still strong 😩

The League of Villains would probably have mixed but captivated reactions to the reader singing "Carry On Wayward Son" in such a soft, calming tone.

Tomura Shigaraki: At first, he might find the singing distracting, especially if he’s in the middle of scheming or playing video games. But as he listens more closely, he’d begrudgingly admit, maybe just to himself, that the reader has a beautiful voice. It might remind him of a rare, peaceful moment, though he'd never openly acknowledge that.

Kurogiri: While going about his duties, Kurogiri would be silently pleased by the calming atmosphere your singing creates. It might remind him of a quieter, more civilized time. He wouldn’t say much but might brew a cup of tea for you as a subtle sign of appreciation.

Dabi: He’d probably lean back and enjoy the sound, giving a lazy smirk. He might not show much outward reaction, but inside he’d find it oddly soothing. He could comment with something sarcastic like, “Didn't take you for a singer,” but he’d secretly like it and might even hum along quietly, appreciating the calming effect of the song.

Twice: He’d be conflicted, as usual. “This is so beautiful! Wait, no, it’s distracting!” He’d flip between being mesmerized by the reader's voice and worrying about staying focused. However, he’d definitely end up loving it, saying, “You should sing more often! But not too much—no, sing more!”

Toga: Toga would be instantly enchanted, stopping whatever she’s doing to listen. She might sway a little, smile wide, and even try to sing along. She’d likely compliment the reader, maybe saying something like, “You’re so cute when you sing!” and even ask her to sing more often. The softness of the tone would fascinate her.

Mr. Compress: Ever the performer, Mr. Compress would appreciate the artistry in the reader's singing. He’d likely stop whatever he’s doing to fully enjoy it, even giving a small, theatrical applause when the song is over. He’d say something elegant, like, “Such a beautiful voice deserves recognition.”

Spinner: Spinner would be quietly appreciative. He wouldn’t say much but would nod along to the melody, feeling a rare sense of calm among the usual chaos of the League. He might offer a quiet compliment later, like, “You’ve got a good voice.”

In general, the League of Villains would be intrigued and soothed by the unexpected contrast of a calming, soft voice singing a powerful song like "Carry On Wayward Son." It would offer a rare moment of peace in their chaotic world.

.

.

.

Masterlist

[sirnotsircos]

Monroe "Money" De Riva

dunno what is it but the Crow background in Dragon Age: Veilguard has got me obsessed with creating fandom content again so here's a little (too long) backstory for my sweet prince Money and how they meet Viago.

It's worth noting that Money uses They/Them pronouns however only discovered this in their later teens, for the purposes of gender exploration and a reasonable amount of self insert-ness going on here, Money is referred to with the pronouns assigned at birth in this first installment of self indulgent writing.

4.3 K words

Canon typical death and gore

themes of abductuion and trafficking discussed

Crows and Coin

All along the borders of the Tevinter Imperium, the bright dancing lights of the circus filled the dark nights of war time. For years a traveling band of performers moved from city to city, town to town, collecting cheers and coin, bringing smiles and laughter and whisking away worry. During the winters they would lug a big tent around, park near a town for weeks at a time and bid visitors welcome, and during the summer just a stage and clearing would do.

In the front wagons was the coin, the acrobats, the stage manager, in the middle wagons the provisions, the chests of contriband, stowaways, and in the rear the set, and the crew. Money, no older than six when she’d wandered into the tent during the circus’ brief stint in the Free Marshes, was never allowed anywhere near the middle wagons. They were always filled with crates, the extra plain looking ones with long sealed lids and too much hay, then there were the people she couldn’t talk to. Sometimes they were dressed in dark boring outfits that stood out only on account of the fact they were travleing with a circus, and other times they were garish and spoke loud with sing songy accents.

Either way, Money was to stay away.

 Baron made sure all the kids’ stayed away in fact. There was “real honest work to be done” and work Money did. When Baron had first found Money she’d had no name and matted eggplant hair that needed shaving, there was a generally irritated grunt that meant her and that’s all she knew. She’d only been named Money after he found she had a pension for finding it and stowing it in her pockets or shoes and anywhere no one could find easily. A joke, Money would later learn to appreciate the morbidity of. 

“Gon’ call you Money, you’ll never be without it,” Baron chuckled to himself, “but ye’ got to give me mine back.” 

Baron was a big man, his real name wasn’t Baron, no one used their real name in the circus. He was a qunari with a wild mane of white-grey hair and horns he kept cleaved at the root and filed down. He wore hats at all times, the only time Money could remember seeing Baron without one was when it fell off in his sleep, if he slept at all. He had ashen skin but he bathed in red mud and kept covered so that he passed as an unusually large human. He was loud, his laugh louder, and his anger loudest.

It was Baron who’d petitioned for Money to stay, he’d been the keeper of most of the kids who resided with the circus infact. It had also been Baron who started Money on her words and letters, and Kelon, the eldest boy, on her numbers. It was Hymn, the second oldest who taught her to look sweet so she’d get in less trouble and Huin the second youngest who showed Money where Baron kept his best sweets. Although Money’s hands grew calouses in the six years she lived with the circus, she stayed for family and the coin was a happy coincidence. 

At twelve Money was broad shouldered and kept her hair shaved to a shadow, it was a habit now and people stared less than the few times she’d let her curls grow out. Baron had always preached that the first rule of working for a circus is that you work for the circus, you are not the circus. Keep it simple. Money had no intention of performing or entertaining, she liked hanging out in the rafters and hauling the sand bags best. And so when she was too lazy to lather and shave her head she rubbed inked mud across her hair and wore hats like Baron. Keep it simple. 

The first really cold night of the year, the circus crossed over into Antiva for the first time. Aslo, the ringmaster said it was warmer and he could delay the hassle of the big tent for longer but Money knew it had something to do with their guests. Since they’d joined the caravan at the outskirts of Minrathous they’d been making a pretty direct haul towards Antiva with less stops and shows than were typical for this area. Money knew better than to ask any questions, and in all honesty she wanted to see the Antivan Coast enough that she was glad for the pace with which they were moving. 

As soon as they crossed the border Baron grew grim and tense and all together displeased. He led the caravan onto lesser traveled bumpy roads, the kind that made Money’s legs feel like jello when they’d finally stop for a rest. Four days into Antiva, they made camp no more than a kilomete outside of a town, the first place they’d set up a show since arriving in the country. It was warm enough for no tent as Aslo had guaranteed but the show was trimmed down so when it would get to it’s coldest everything would be packed away. This was also the first night their guests left their carriage since joining, they stretched their legs during dinner but kept to themselves.

Kelon said the woman looked like her name was Frivolousia with her long gown and incredibly intricate braids, and the man looked like a Craig with his poor form and rounded shoulders. 

“I dont know,” Hymn, with her long golden hair and sprite-like features, stared after Frivolousia and her long red gown, “there’s nothing wrong with dressing for your station.”

“Hm?” Money looked over her shoulder and stared intently, that woman looked like a bloody blotch to her. 

“You don’t ever think about wearing gowns like that?’ Hymn asked whistfully.

Money shrugged.

“If you had all the money in the world to buy whatever you wanted, what would you wear,” Hymn posed the question to all of them.

“First Warden Vestiges!” Huin puffed his chest out.

Kelon rolled his eyes, muttering something about clothes being the last on his list of things to buy if he had that kind of money.

Hymn turned to Money expectantly.

“Um-” Money chewed her cheek, “a cape?”

The books Baron would read to her always had people in capes on the front. “What's that fuzzy stuff called again?”

“Velvet?” Kelon raised his brow.

Money shrugged again.

For Money, shrugging either meant yes, no, maybe or sometimes possibly, I dont know. Money didn’t talk much. Luckily for her, the regular crew learned to understand what she meant most of the time.

“Okay so a velvet cape, a blighted tin can,” Hymn pointed to Money and Huin respectively, then to Kelon “and naked?”

Kelon huffed and began to defend himself, Huin spraying a mouthful of potatoes across the table. Hymn was equal parts proud of herself and vexed by the onslaught of starchy spray. It was a night like any other show night, they ate early and all together, the kids got shushed half-heartedly a handful of times despite the rest of the company being equally as raucous.  

As night fell and the camp settled Baron took up his normal post of insomniac. He fed the caged animals extra rations he knew Aslo wouldn’t appreciate, checked the wagons, the tent stakes and the horses. All was just as it should be, as it always was. Except for a door, a carriage door. It was a middle carriage. The door hung open, not ten minutes ago when he’d passed it the first time, it was closed. He peered inside from ten feet away, darkness swallowed the interior. The only thing Baron could make out was the distinct gleam of thick liquid running in a thin trail off the step.

Money awoke with a start, the wind rattling the canvas wall of the tent next to her. She was a light sleeper, always had been. Once awake it was nearly impossible for her to fall asleep, especially with Kelon’s snoring. He sounded like a bear, gruff deep gargling snores swelled in his chest with every long breath. Money hugged her blanket close and stepped down into her boots, keeping the laces loose so she could slip them back off once she got to her destination.

There was one place she could always go when she needed to sleep, Baron’s wagon. 

It wasn’t until she was nearly halfway to where Baron had parked his wagon that morning that Money felt the heavy silence that lay over the camp. There was no light, no stray lanterns or dimly glowing tents, not even the cats that somehow followed the caravan wherever they went were wandering about. The stillness felt oppressive. Money almost wanted to freeze in place feeling as though the silence was watching her, judging her for moving. The thought of being outside in the open any longer than she had to be overruled that instinct. 

She scurried along, staying close to the sides of the tents and wagons. When Money reached Baron’s wagon she found the flap wasn’t tied down and someone had been rummaging around. Baron wasn’t a particularly organized man but he had piles and his piles had a method to them. These piles did not. Money noticed the chest he usually kept as the foundation for his stacks of books was open, the inside cleaned out. 

A hand came down right infront of Money’s eyes and clapped down over her mouth, another wrapped around her shoulders tight. She howled. Money didn’t have a flight instinct, she’d never had that luxury before so she never took it now. Her hands were up and clawing in an instant, flesh raked off under her nails.

“Fu- Maker!” was Aslo’s hiss of pain.

In one sweep Aslo spun around, letting go of Money as he went. She sailed through the air for what felt like much farther than the six or so feet she did. She hit the ground hard, grass shredding beneath her as she skidded to a halt. In a second she was scrambling to her feet, Aslo was already launching his foot into her. Aslo was slow and not entirely prepared for most sorts of fights, however he was neary six and a half feet tall and his foot was heavy enough to throw Money back into the ground. 

Then came the fire. 

The sky was dark and starless, though any other stargazer that night in western Antiva would have had a clear view. Dark smoke had filled the air, billowing off the benches set around the perimeter of the stage. As Aslo’s foot made contact with Money’s chest the flames that had been eating away at the wood of the benches finally hit the black powder barrells used in the show’s pyrotechnics. Flame and combustion filled the air, wood splintered everywhere. Aslo stumbled back and winced away, his long gaunt face darting back and forth between the explosion and Baron’s wagon. 

Money wheezed in a breath, the hit left her chest feeling empty and aching. The air was hot now, the cool crisp air of the evening gone with the flames. She pushed herself backward as Aslo looked away and rolled herself under the trailer next to Baron’s wagon.  She came out the other side and scrambled to her feet, not wasting a moment’s breath looking backwards, she bolted. She ran away from Aslo, and away from the fire which lead her back towards her tent. As she ran, tent flaps were thrown open, people scrambling out. 

Those who’d traveled with the circus for as long as Money remembered scrambled for water buckets with bare feet and sleep quaffed hair. Those who Money didn’t know, the new hired hands from Minrathous carried drawn blades and already laced boots. Baron always had laced boots. Shouting filled the camp, and soon followed the clear ringing of blades on blades. Money’s veins froze in her skin when she realized what she was hearing. 

Everything was moving fast, too fast. The flames were roaring now, the sky swirling and everyone who rushed past Money was nothing but shadows.

A great big hand found her shoulder, and at first her breath caught in her chest and her fists balled. She pulled away hard and as she raised her fist she looked up into two familiar glassy grey eyes. Baron. 

“Money,” he was panting, thick dark blood covering his front, “what are you doing out here?”

“You’re bleeding-” There was a lot of blood.

“I’m fine, Money you have to get inside-” Baron grunted as Aslo barrelled into him. 

Aslo was younger than Baron, but Baron was bigger and a fighter through and through. It wouldn’t have even been a contest if Aslo hadn’t already skewered him through the ribs with a tent stake. Baron roared and swung a big fist in a wide berth, making contact with Aslo’s head. Aslo was nearly thrown to the side, if Baron had been at full strength Money had no doubt Aslo would be out cold.

Money held a shriek down, her throat pulled tight. The blood that had previously painted Baron’s front was now flooding with his own. It was darker and swelling so quickly Money couldn’t imagine it all coming from inside of him. She rushed forward. Her hands, small in comparison to Baron’s hulking frame, pressed down on the wound. Somehow it was to stop the bleeding — or maybe leaving the stake in there already did that — or should she be cleaning it or —-

Baron shoved Money away with his forearm, not hard enough to throw her off her feet but enough to get her out of the way as he rolled to his feet between her and Aslo. Before Aslo could even get to his feet a series of sharp thuds hit him, one in the neck, two in the chest. Three gleaming daggers. Aslo gasped and rattled, then sputtered and fell face first into the grass. Hissing. Choking. Then stillness.

Baron and Money turned in unison, the source of the daggers a young man, no older than his early twenties, in fighting leathers was perched atop a trailer. He was sporting a cloak, heavy and bearing the viasage of feathered wings.

“Crow,” Baron grunted, his chest heaving to take a single full breath. He was rattling.

The young man barely acknowledged them. Instead he turned his back and slid off his perch. He drew three more small throwing daggers and in the flash of an eye launched them towards what Money thought was object darkness. The thuds and groans that echoed after the singing of the blades begged to differ.

“Crow,” Baron called again, this time his voice was commanding, as if he had business that could not be ignored.

The young man turned to face Baron and looked him over thoughtfully, his styled moutache twitching with what Money could only guess was annoyance.

“Please,” Baron huffed, his big hand nudging Money, “there are children here…”

“They are not our marks,” the man said dryly, “they will not be touched.”

“Not good enough!” Baron shouted, a cough ripping through him and sending him onto one knee.

Money turned to him but he kept an arm out and held her at a distance.

“Money go,” he huffed.

‘No!” Money sobbed, hot tears welling in her eyes.

“Not with me, she’s not,” the man Baron called Crow scrunched his nose, “she’s a kid.”

“Exactly,” Baron was more ragged breaths that voice now, blood seeping into the fabric of his trousers.

The man stared at Baron, a strange look that Money didn’t bother to decipher crossed his features. He played at being stoic but he had yet to leave. Baron withdrew his hand from his back waistband. A roll, several layers of thin paper thick, of twine tied documents in his hand. “A contract,” he started, “for her safe delivery from this camp to a city.”

The man’s chin dipped sideways, his brow knit with peaked interest.

“The payment,” Baron thrust the papers forward past Money’s face, “Qunari  battle plans, logistics, code phrases- you name it, it’s here.” 

The man looked around, a cautious scan before jumping over the trailer and striding towards Money and Baron. He closed the distance quickly, he was agile and nimble and Money barely saw the grass beneath his feet shift. He snatched the papers from Baron’s hand and with a quick glance at the outermost document his eyes lit up. He looked over the roll and surveyed Baron carefully.

“Who were these meant for?” he asked, his eyes intense and probing.

“Highest bidder,” Baron gave a rueful grin, his eyes drooping, “Magisters passed —  biases ‘n all that.”

Crow raised a brow and he looked Baron over again, a gloved hand reaching forward almost reluctantly. Money made to intercept what she thought was no doubt a blow, the man was a killer after all. He swatted her hand away like it was nothing and yanked Baron’s knit cap from his head. 

“Ah,” Crow blinked, “we Crows are more open to… possibilities.” 

He placed the cap on the ground and held out his hand. Baron stared for a moment, Money could tell he was losing lucidity. It took a deep steadying breath and a few good long blinks but Baron mustered the strength and focus to raise his hand, coated in his own blood and clasp it in Crow’s. They shook hands, both Baron and Crow grimaced. The moment they let go, Crow wiped his gloved hand on his leathers and stood, depositing the roll of papers into a pouch at his hip.

“Very well,” Crow nodded, “a Crow always fullfills his contract.” 

In one swift movement Money was limp in his arms, braced against his chest and he was off into the dark tree line, a spattering of crows following him into the night.

***

The trees were dense and lucsious for this time of year, the sun barely poking through save in whispers of gold through the shifting leaves. Money felt heavy, like her body was an hourglass and all the sand had flowed to her back pinning her to the ground. This was a level of exhaustion she’d not felt since she was on the streets weighed down by hunger and illness. Only then the emptiness that gnawed at her was hunger, tangible pain born from neglect. This was different, so ravenous and crippling the bruising in her chest merely an inconvenience in comparison. Money had never lost anyone, before Baron and the circus she simply just didn’t have anyone.

She kept her eyes closed, the glowing greens and golds of nature untouched by her own cataclysm, mocking her. She wished she were melting into the plush earth below her, swallowed whole and forgotten.

“You can’t fool me, kid,” Crow’s melodic voice broke her solitude, “I know you’re awake.”

Crow. Rage boiled in Money’s gut, her muscles suddenly alive with vendetta.  He’d started this, him and his contracts. Money had never taken to sharing Baron’s rage, she’d always had been hard to stir any great emotion in. The world was cruel whether you screamed about the injustice or not. And yet, she was on her feet, bare against the tangled vines and charging. The thought that Crow was a trained assassin and not so easily sundered as to fall to a child’s fit of grief, hadn’t crossed her mind until she was already sailing downwards. Crow had side stepped her charge with ease and pressed a guiding hand to the back of her neck, steering her left away from a still smouldering fire pit. 

Dirt filled her mouth as she grunted on impact. Crow didn’t touch her after that, waiting patiently for her next move. In a series of clumsy movements Money rolled to her feet, dug into the earth and surged forward again. This time as Crow side stepped she reached out and latched onto a knife hoslter strapped to his thigh. She latched on and didn’t let go even when he parried her again, her momentum sending her spinning to the ground. Her weight on his leg was enough to pull him down too, the two kicking up dust and dirt. 

He’s down. A small victory considering he was a trained assassin and she was a child.

“Alright, that enou-” Crow began to chastise when Money interrupted him with a solid fist.

She made hard contact with his nose. She’d never punched anyone before. It hurt. Crow’s eyes nearly buldged from his head and he growled in pain. In one smooth movement his arm threaded up between them and came down on the side of Money’s head sending her world into orbit. He planted a foot at her stomach and shoved her away from him. 

“Mierda-” Crow huffed, his hand scooping up and amount of blood running down his face even Money was startled by, “-stupid fucking contract-”

He spat a glob of blood a little too close to Money for her liking.

“What is wrong with you?” He grunted rolling to his feet.

“You,” Money growled,the bruising in her chest was starting to feel much less like a mere inconvenience now. 

“Why?!” 

Money’s voice caught in her throat. Why? He’d technically killed Aslo. Why? Why did Aslo kill Baron in the first place? Why? Baron was the only good thing to happen to her. Why? 

Money threw herself onto her side, her eyes blurring with hot tears. She made it to her knees before a deep sob came, the blurred silhouette of Crow swayed awkwardly before her. 

“Why-” she breathed shakily, “whe were you there?”

“What?” Crow blinked.

“You ruined everything,” tears rolled down her cheeks, “why?”

“I’m a Crow I dont owe you-”

“WHY?!” She’d wanted to sound stronger, she’d wanted to be demanding like Baron had. Instead she found she was begging.

Crow hesitated, his bloodied hands awkwardly hovering above his hips and pockets. He settled with crossing them, tensing only a little as his blood spoiled his sleeves.

“We had a contract,” he spoke carefully, “the man I killed, he was in the contract.”

Money didn’t know what she was hoping for, what she thought knowing would do for her. She could have guessed that much, it still didn’t answer why. 

As if reading her mind Crow sighed.

“What your father gave me-” Crow sounded less sure of himself now, “ in exchange for your life… the Qun reports are a very large bounty, one so large perhaps the Crows would be willing to dismiss a contract to obtain.”

Aslo was trying to save himself.

Blood boiled in Money’s veins. Crow had been the one to kill him and that fact was melting her from the inside out. She felt it consuming her, revenge.

“Don’t do that,” Crow stepped forward and nudged Money’s foot with his own, “he’s dead, he got what he deserved.”

Money was starting to feel exposed with how Crow seemed to be able to read her. She didn’t like being so known. She took a long, deep breath. The air of the forest was cool and smelled sweet. She stared ahead, keeping her eyes still and willing the tears to stop. She didn’t need him, not with her, not in her head, not as a bodyguard. 

“Stop that,” Crow cleared his throat, “stop wallowing. That man was a slave trafficker, he smuggled nobels who deserved worse than death to safety all for a little  gold. There were a lot more people than just you who deserved a pound of flesh, but they couldn’t. I could. The crows could. You didn’t even have to pay to see him gone.”

“Who was he?” Money looked up at Crow. No one used their real names in the circus. 

“Marus Caldori, a slaver and real piece of work,” Crow scowled, the least neutral expression he’d had all day save after Money broke his nose, “he had many enemies throughout the Free Marshes.”

“And they paid you to kill him?” Money ground her teeth together, she imagined the other people who’d wanted him dead. 

“They paid for the Crows to kill the Orlesian nobles you had traveling with you,” Crow looked away, “ but his name was mentioned in the contact.”

“Why then —you killed him?” Money frowned.

“I Kirkwall, while we followed their trail north I met he parent’s of a little boy and little girl who were taken in the night, sold into slavery in the Tevinter Imperium by one Mr. Marus Caldori.” Crow uncrossed his arms and looked over the drying blood. “Some contracts are more worth taking than others, but all contracts are necessary.”

Money imagined all the Aslo’s Crow had gotten the chance to kill, all the wrongs he’d gotten to right. Perhaps she was conflating his accomplishments, perhaps she was thinking better of him than he really was.

“Why’d you become a Crow?” Money looked up at him, annoyed now how much taller he was than her.

“W-what?” Crow’s facade faltered for no longer than a breath, “that’s… none of your business.”

“Revenge?” Money pried, Crow knew too much for it not to be, “did you get it?”

Crow was quiet for a moment, his lips pressed together in a firm line. 

“Soon,” Crow conceded, “I’m working my way up.”

Money nodded, she thought hard about it, “I could be a crow.”

“You?” Crow laughed, an actual smile on his blood crusted lips, “ A crow?”

“I broke your nose,” Money grumbled.

“I let you,” Crow huffed.

“You didn’t let me!” Money pouted, “I got a good hit in!”

“Sure” Crow rolled his eyes, “and I certainly was not holding back at all against a child.” 

“No need to be embarrassed,” Money shrugged, “so, uh, how does it work? Being a crow?”

Crow looked her over as if he was making a final judgment. His arms crossed again and for a moment he looked unsure. 

“Well,” he held a hand out to Money who was less than enthused about taking the soiled glove, “for starters what’s your name?”

“Money,” she scrunched her nose as she took his hand.“De Riva,” Crow said in response, “you’re new house name. I’m Viago, your house Grandmaster. Don’t make me regret this… starting with your name, what the fuck is that?”

[bloodandoranges]

Through Your Eyes

Astarion x Reader/Tav / short / soft and sweet / Tav draws Astarion, he gushes

Thank you for all the love on my first post! I’m working on some Karlach stuff right now because I noticed that she’s really lacking in fics so obviously that needs to be rectified.

Astarion tapped his foot, leaning back against his hands as he waited…he liked to think he was a patient man, but…he was not.

“Darling, how much longer will this take?” He complained, tilting his head from side to side as if his muscles were aching.

Tav glance over her sketch pad, a soft laugh escaping her. “… Astarion, I’ve been drawing for ten minutes," she spoke, gazing intently at him for a moment… before getting back to work.

He gave a bit of a huff; though it clearly wasn’t genuine annoyance. He actually really appreciated it. She was a wonderful artist. He’d caught her doodling their companions and seeing how well she caught their likeness? He was eager to see himself from her eyes… and well, eager to see himself in general.

Cazador may have been more than happy to splurge on portraits of himself, but his spawn? He wouldn’t even dream of it. He frowned a little at the thought, and Tav gave a soft laugh.

“Stop frowning… I want to draw that beautiful smile.” Of course, she wasn’t to know what was on his mind. Astarion blinked, eyes widening a bit…clearly? He hadn’t noticed he was outwardly expressing his frustration.

He gave a little huff, readjusting and giving her a sly smile. “…You know that’s not what I mean," she spoke, lowering the sketch pad…He caught the slightest glimpse of himself and beamed. “That one!” she laughed, eagerly fumbling to adjust the sketch.

“Oh come now, you’ve got to be done, surely!” he sighed frantically as he crawled over, arms winding around her waist as he nuzzled into her shoulder, gazing over the sketch… His face softened immediately at the sight.

There he was, basking in the sun and settled in front of his tent, an adoring smile on his face. His hair was coiffed, somehow curled around his face perfectly despite the whole no mirror thing… He looked ethereal. There were a couple more sketches on the page too, showcasing his face up close, wrinkles and blemishes and all.

Of course, he knew he was gorgeous; he’d had zero doubts about that. But to see what he truly looked like? Drawn by someone who treasured him so dearly? It almost bought a tear to his eye. Almost.

“Darling, these are simply divine…” he whispered, taking the sketch pad from her to admire them. “We should get them framed.”

“Wh- they’re not /that/ good!” she cried, eyes wide at the suggestion.

“Nonsense! They’re everything to me…” he cooed, setting the sketch pad down to cup her face, gazing at her with so much love.

Tav flushed, hands slowly moving to settle over his. She really didn’t feel like a couple sketches warranted framing, but it was clearly important to him. “…Okay, Astarion. I’ll get them framed,” Tav cooed, kissing lazily at his palms… Which turned into lazy kisses, which turned into Gale loudly scolding the pair from across the camp.

They looked at each other, laughing loudly as they untangled themselves to stand… And just like that, they were off to the city.

[inquisitornocturn]

NSFW alphabet no.4 - Beckett

Beckett was suggested by the lovely @porcelainseashore

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Beckett will stay by your side and cuddle, letting you recover and just waiting to see if you need or want anything extra. If it’s the shower you want – he will carry you there, if it’s sustenance you want – he will make sure that you have it, and if it’s just rest that you want – he will have his arm around you and let you rest for as long as you need.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Definitely a man who appreciates an ass and likes giving it some playful bites or a good smack or two. On himself Beckett likes his hands the most and if you like to hold his, or guide where you want it to touch, then you definitely got him interested. It’s a combination of both confidence in showing what you want and seeing his own hand being led lovingly and with trust.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Not really concerned with cum specifically, he does prefer not to limit himself with condoms, but if for whatever reason you ask him to wear it – Beckett will. His willingness to adapt to his partner also extends to facials, cum swallowing, etc and he will do what you ask him to do. So if you ask for none – he won’t force you into swallowing or anything else.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Beckett enjoys predator and prey play a lot, but wouldn’t admit it because for him that’s fulfilling a stereotype he doesn’t care fitting into. While he doesn’t see any shame per se to be a Gangrel, he still would prefer not to make his enjoyment of the chase a public knowledge.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Preparation and aftercare are definitely not foreign words in Beckett’s vocabulary, but he’s not too experienced. If you per chance asked him to rig up a sex swing – he’d just laugh and tell you that this is way too much (but definitely would be curious if you rigged it up yourself and invited him to try it out). So he has enough experience to leave you a total mess and satisfied, but when it comes to more niche or newer trends in the bedroom he might lack the knowledge.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggy, especially if it’s in front of a mirror where he can see you watch yourself getting fucked by him. Facial expressions and reactions that Beckett can observe in you are as important to him as making you come. His very close second favorite is the mating press, again he can watch you very closely and enjoy every little micro expression you make while he’s balls deep.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

More teasing than goofy, but there will be comfortable laughs throughout if the sex is more of a lazy passion moment, than just lust. Comfortable with you and in your presence, Beckett will try to make you laugh during those relaxed nights because he enjoys seeing you happy just as much as panting and moaning.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

While he definitely tries to keep himself clean and bathed, generally Beckett does not care much to groom his body hair. If he trims his bush – he does it rarely and only if it’s needed for convenience, which again doesn’t happen that often. However, if you wish for him to trim down there, Beckett absolutely will because to him it genuinely makes no difference and if it’s something you want then he will put it enough effort to do it, but eventually will try to convince you to change your mind, because all in all, Beckett can’t really be bothered with such details.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Encouraging words and gentle touches are not out of Beckett’s repertoire, he’s very romantic when he’s deep in his feels and will make sure that you are comfortable even if the mood is rough fucking. He would never try to hurt you no matter what and will stop mid-fuck if he suspects that you are in pain or unhappy with anything at all, just to ensure that you are feeling the best you can.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Does it and often too, especially if you’re away from him and something reminds Beckett of you. For him it’s usually quick and just to get the pressure off his mind/sate the need that flares up until he can actually be with you again. He also likes to tease you with it, letting you walk in on him slowly stroking it and telling you with a smile that it’s because you don’t give him enough attention.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Outside sex. Beds are comfortable, but nothing beats the thrill of fucking under the stars or in some old forgotten tomb Beckett is visiting. If he can, he will always arrange sex to happen outside of whatever haven you two reside in.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

As mentioned above – somewhere outside, but for him having you bent over some tomb or a historical relic is just the best. Of course, he won’t risk it if the fucking could damage whatever surface he wants you on, but if after inspection it is safe – then you’re not escaping his passion.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Generally Beckett is more or less a loner, preferring to do things on his own and at his own pace, but with you, his chosen partner, the fact that you are with him is already a turn on. If you’re as passionate about same things he is, like uncovering the origins of Kindred, he will rarely lose his erection.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

With new age pet play is something Beckett absolutely won’t participate in, not only because he can actually shapeshift into a wolf, but also because he doesn’t believe in submission in such way.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving, receiving, observing, anything goes. He’s very skilled at it himself and does expect you to know what you’re doing with his cock as well, but he won’t mind teaching you exactly what he likes. Same way he will ask and make sure that he is giving in the exact way that you enjoy most.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Prefers fast but sensual. Deep thrusts that make you gasp and mewl until you’re out of breath, but as a treat he will sometimes take it slow, as if to tease you until you’re begging for more, for release, for him to go faster.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Beckett does not enjoy being rushed, but will do it even if he will act as if he’s doing so begrudgingly and only because you want it, but you both know that he enjoys them and the thrill they bring. Just don’t try to distract him if he’s doing something really important, like trying not to get killed for example!

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s the man of a mind that is willing to try everything at least once and usually he doesn’t take much to be convinced to try out a new toy or a new position, but he will rarely bring it up himself, leaving leading such experimentations to be your avenue.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Generally, Beckett can go for several rounds but prefers not to. He’s a man who’s always on a mission, so to speak, so spending entire night in bed is not something he actually wants to do except on very rare occasions. Such occasions might arise when you two need to remain in haven for a night or two, then he will take his time and show you how exactly he can ruin you (in the best way possible of course). Leaving you so exhausted that you can’t even get out of bed without assistance.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Beckett doesn’t own toys but if you do – he will use them on you. On himself he’s not too eager, being old-fashioned in that way, but he would never deny you, so toys, if you wish so, are very present in the bedroom. He doesn’t see them as competition, but as help to reduce you to a whimpering mess, which is the state Beckett enjoys seeing you the most in.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Very teasing, very cheeky. Beckett will pull out and pretend that he doesn’t know what you want until you’re frustrated and begging, or he won’t let you reach your climax just yet, grinning and telling you to spell out exactly what you need and how.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Medium loud. Not whispering, but not the screaming type either, but loud enough that not only you are absolutely sure he’s lost in the moment, but whoever might be trying to listen in as well. He often forgets himself if you two are somewhere where being quiet is the better option and you will need to silence him yourself just to remain discreet.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Beckett loves when a person with strong character submits to him sexually. On your knees sucking him off or whimpering under him, if he knows that otherwise you can rip off kine heads with your bare hands without a problem or lead a coterie – then he will be ever so much more inclined to see you vulnerable and undone, it’s like a special type of power trip to him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Slightly bigger than average and has a nice curve that hits just right when he’s all inside of you. The tip is slightly smaller than the shaft and the middle of it is the thickest.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

With a right partner – Beckett will be very sexually active, but you will need to show him that’s what you want first before he learns how high your own sex drive is. However, if you encourage him to indulge as often as he wants, he will do so without a problem and very, very often, not slowing down unless you ask him to.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

First to fall asleep because if he’s with you and just had sex – that means both of you are safe and most importantly, you are safe in his arms. So he easily lets himself to succumb to slumber without any worries until next night.

[lemonxdaisybby]

NSFW Headcanons for Yakuza 7/LAD Peeps

I literally had no idea what to title this, but the title is self-explanatory so I suppose it’ll do ✨

Let’s gooooo

Ichiban Kasuga:

Bit of a vanilla guy when it comes to sex, and is more of a sub. Probably doesn’t have a ton of experience too, so would allow you to take the lead.

Enjoys missionary most, or likes to be sat up as you ride him. Basically any position where he can clearly see your lovely face, he likes.

Blowjobs would ruin this guy, he is a sucker for them. First time you gave him one, he thought he’d died and gone to heaven. Would be super gentle when receiving, and would refrain from shoving your head down. He might involuntarily thrust into your mouth though, but only because your lips around his dick just feels so good. Would hold your hair back for you, if it’s long enough.

Not the best at giving oral at first due to lack of experience, but he is very eager to learn how to please you, and would be very appreciative of you guiding him on what to do.

Overall, he’s just an absolute sweetheart and just wants to do his best to please you.

Yu Nanba:

Another vanilla.

Controversial mayhaps, but he could be a switch. Can take the lead if you want, but does generally prefer it when you’re in charge.

He would most likely be a bit stiff/awkward the first few times you fuck, as he can be a tiny bit shy, but he definitely relaxes and catches on quickly to what you like, and what works best for both of you.

Doesn’t have a huge sex drive, and also another one with not tons of experience.

Enjoys lazy, sleepy morning sex, and he firmly believes that there is no better way to start the day.

Gets rather flustered when giving oral at first, but the little noises and hums he would make are to die for.

Of course he enjoys getting blowjobs, but would almost be a little shy about receiving? Would probably ask if you’re sure you want to do it, and would make a point to reassure you that you don’t have to.

Does love a good handjob though. This man is lazy, and would find it so nice to be able to just sit back and let you do your thing.

Adachi Koichi:

Sex on the brain. This guy is always down to get laid.

He’s definitely more dominant, and would love to just pound into you from behind. Has a surprising amount of stamina for a man of his age.

Would maybe accidentally leave bruises on your hips when taking you from behind. Man’s got a strong grip. Would make it up to you after with lots of big teddy bear cuddles.

His beard is definitely gonna tickle you. Whether he’s kissing you, nuzzling and biting your neck, or has his head in-between your thighs, you’re gonna feel the tickly stubble.

Loves boobs. He’s gonna be biting them, sucking them, kissing them…he just can’t keep his hands off them.

If you ask him nicely, he would lie back and let you take control, if that’s what you wanted. Probably wouldn’t happen too often though.

If you guys were out and about, and he managed to find a nice, secluded spot where you two could fuck without being caught, he would totally be down for a quickie or a blowjob. However, if there’s any chance of you two being caught, then absolutely not.

Saeko Mukoda:

Most likely a switch. Can take the lead no problem, but happy to be more of a light sub if you would prefer to take charge. Nothing extreme, however.

Knows what she likes, and also what she doesn’t like so much. Would probably establish boundaries very early on, which is good.

Respect is so important for her, so she wouldn’t be in to anything remotely degrading. She’s a very proud and independent woman, and it shows in the bedroom too.

More on the gentle, vanilla side, but if she was rather frustrated or in a teasing mood, she would definitely get a couple of bites in. Nothing hard enough to leave a mark though. Wouldn’t leave any hickeys, and probably wouldn’t want to receive any either.

Likely doesn’t have sex that often. She’d want to be in a relationship with someone before fucking them, or would need to at least have quite a strong, intimate bond. For that reason, she’d likely have toys so that she can satisfy herself, but doesn’t use them too often as her sex drive isn’t that high. Would be willing to use toys during sex with her partner, more so with a female partner.

Seonhee:

Dom, dom, dom.

Not an extreme dom, but is definitely the one in charge. It just comes naturally to her.

Would have a decent amount of experience. Probably has had a couple of fuck buddies in the past, but with very clearly established boundaries and rules. This woman is very no-nonsense.

Amazing with her fingers, and knows it too. Oozing confidence, and would catch on so quickly to what you like, and what makes you absolutely weak. Would just be so smug at the sound of you moaning as she works her magic.

Wouldn’t give oral often, if it all. Of course, she is happy to receive oral. Would somehow still be in charge, even when receiving, and likely wouldn’t be very loud, but would make a few appreciative noises. The harsh grip she has on her partners hair would be a dead giveaway that she’s enjoying it, however.

A busy woman with a lot on her plate, so her sex drive wouldn’t be majorly high.

Already knows what she likes and doesn’t like, so maybe wouldn’t be that open to trying new things, unless it really appealed to her.

Joon-Gi Han: 

He’s giving bottom vibes, or maybe a switch at a push?

Is a total tease. He knows he looks hot, and when he’s horny he will attempt to seduce you whilst still appearing all coy. Flashes you ‘fuck me’ eyes, and his voice just turns smooooth as butter.

Takes orders well. Order him around like a lil sex butler, although no degrading stuff and no being mean! Order him to strip, command him to eat you out, tell him to fuck your brains out, he will do what he can to please you.

He’s very honest and straightforward. If there’s something he doesn’t like or enjoy, he’ll tell you.

Not massively experienced due to his past, but is open to trying most things at least once.

If you ordered him to choke you or be too physical in any way, he would refuse. He is very protective, and would never want to even risk hurting you. It would just feel wrong. He might tie you up if you ask him though, but he’s not great at being a top so you’d maybe have to lightly guide him still.

His moans are so heavenly, especially when he’s getting his dick sucked. Would definitely have a firm grip of his partners hair whilst they suck him off, but nothing painful.

Likewise, when he’s giving oral, the little appreciative hums and groans he makes are amazing. His hands would be gripping on to your thighs so tightly, and he would literally be eating you out like a starved man.

Overall, his main focus would be pleasing you. He wouldn’t be too focused on his own pleasure.

Tianyou Zhao:

Probably a top. He’s so flirty and playful, and it’s kind of hard to imagine him not being somewhat in control.

Very good with his hands, and would be an absolute pro at fingering. Could make you finish from that alone very easily.

He probably enjoys seeing you flustered, so would definitely be a huge, massive tease. Likely gets a bit of a kick out of seeing you blush.

Loves, loves, loves ass. Any position where he’s taking you from behind with a good view of your ass, he’s there for it. Loves squeezing your ass, grabbing it, slapping it, you get the gist.

Also loves nothing more than burying his head in between your thighs, and sloppily eating you out.

When getting his dick sucked, he’s probably gonna thrust in to your mouth or push your head down. Would praise you and tell you how good it feels if you deepthroat him.

If he can get you somewhere private when out in public, he would be down for a quickie if he was super horny.

[niyabiblioteca]

ot13!svt reaction to you pulling their hair

————————————————————————

seungcheol- i don’t think he likes it tbh. seems like he’d prefer to pull yours himself if you’re into it but once you pull his all of a sudden his scalp is super sensitive and he starts to whine

jeonghan- bro cmon. bro has had luscious long hair SO many times in his life, you think its for nothing? surely he’s found more to get out of it other than looking fabulous. a subtle tug on them tresses and he’s acting like a bitch in heat, groaning with a lazy smile on his face.

joshua- i think his reaction depends on when and how hard you do it. say you’re making out and your hand just ends up in that fabulous mullet, then it’s tolerable. but if you guys are actually fucking and you pull his hair, oh baby prepare to have your shit beat UP.

jun- hes such a cat omg. i think he likes having his hair played with in general. no matter what you do to it he’ll lean into your hand to get as much from you as possible. regardless of your intentions for pulling his hair, he’ll always softly melt into the feeling.

hoshi- do it in bed and the fucker growls. yeah, growls. at you. may even roar. idk there’s not much else to say but uh yeah he likes it.

wonwoo- finds it funny tbh. he’s so used to being the one manhandling you that when you do something remotely aggressive to him it just seems adorable to him. he could be balls deep in you and will literally just giggle when you pull his hair after fixing his glasses that got fucked up from you doing so.

woozi- does NOT like it. he doesn’t care how long his hair gets he would greatly appreciate it if you treat it with care. you can massage his scalp at the most, but pull it and you are probably getting the silent treatment.

dk- he would turn into a sub immediately. you just get a good grip on that shit and pull his head down towards yours, GIRL. whimpering, moaning in a high pitch tone, calling you whatever pet name you want and treating you with whatever you desire, the whole shabang.

mingyu- challenges you. he’s a fucking giant, and could punish or throw you around so easily from doing it. but because he knows that’s what you expect, that’s what you want, he won’t give you that just yet. you can pull it attempting to assert some fake dominance and get a rise out of him and this motherfucker just says “harder”. you oblige, he says it again just to see the shock fall onto your face.

minghao- his scalp is so sensitive from all the dyeing that any pulling hurts so he probably wouldn’t be the biggest fan. that and i just think he values his hair a lot. he wouldn’t be mad but would kindly tell you to let go.

seungkwan- it also hurts him but he likes it. if he’s eating you out, he is doing it with vigor just to get you to tug on it in ecstasy. with that incentive in mind he always does his best when working his tongue on you, and pulling his hair just makes him feel so rewarded and makes him reward you as well.

vernon- he’d be shocked that you did it. its never even been brought up but out of nowhere you did it. discovers that he might like it but won’t say it. he’ll freeze and just HOPE you do it again sometime.

dino- LOVES IT, but would never admit it despite you knowing full and damn well. if he’s fucking you and you pull his hair, he will groan at the top of his lungs and just pause to try and stop himself from coming too fast. almost gets angry because he knows what you’re doing, but again he can’t say anything about it because he would never admit it.

————————————————————————

hiiiiiiiiiii

[exuvianen]

misc. stationery hcs [housewardens]

short stationery + penmanship hcs with the housewardens!

cw: n/a

notes: another old piece... just some silly hc's don't take them too seriously. i tried writing the same amount for everyone but it’s kinda clear who i’m biased towards… feel free to drop an ask or to add on! likes + rbs are appreciated <3

wc: ~1100 words?? wow. that's more than i expected.

riddle rosehearts ; housewarden of heartslabyul

has everything you need for school. pencils, pens, erasers, notebooks, binders, glue, tape, scissors,  you name it, riddle has it.

sorts each subject by color, and color codes all his notes/subjects. do NOT mess up his order! 

has extremely neat handwriting - it’s a bit on the smaller side, but it’s easy to read.

riddle shares his notes with others when they ask him for help, so he makes sure it’s legible and easy on the eyes.

as for stationery in general, he probably doesn’t go too wild. standard neon highlighters, blue and black pens, plain covered notebooks, etc. it’s simple, but it’s good enough for riddle.

overall pretty good taste, a little basic, but everything is of good quality.

leona kingscholar ; housewarden of savanaclaw

literally does not care about stationery. he’s the idgaf king.

he’s that kid who never brings a pencil or pen to class. he barely remembers to bring his notebook too. and he only has one (1) notebook that he uses for everything (he probs doesn’t even take notes in class, he alr knows everything lol).

constantly borrows stuff from ruggie or sends him to buy stuff from sam’s shop. he’s lucky he has ruggie.

has a fancy pen from farena that he never uses, but keeps at the bottom of his drawer. 

does the bare minimum, probably “borrows” other people’s pens/pencils when he loses his. has borrowed at least 20 pens, but was too lazy to give it back. they sit on top of his desk. 

he literally doesn't care about aesthetics, he just gets random stationery to get the job done. has the most mismatched items.

azul ashengrotto ; housewarden of octavinelle

definitely invests in some quality paper and pens. also a stationery nerd who has everything in his office.

probably has those notebooks/folders with the corny motivational quotes like “the grind never stops” or “no pain no gain”. kinda cringe but he likes them b/c they motivate him.

he’s the type to take notes in class, then rewrite them later. he sells the rewritten notes to other students for a steep price.

jots down ideas or gossip he hears in the margins of his notebooks. he rarely doodles, but sometimes he might draw things from the coral sea if he’s feeling particularly homesick.

color codes all his notes, but uses more neutral colors as opposed to the standard bright/neons. he also has sea-themed folders or notebooks. 

he's fascinated by what land-dwellers use, as paper/ink typically doesn't last in the sea. he really tries a variety of products and enjoys it a lot! and takes notes for his future businesses

kalim al-asim ; housewarden of scarabia

the guy who has an excessive amount of stationery. probably buys 20 of the same pen because he likes it so much.

he gets those notebooks/folders that have cute animals or wild patterns on them. i feel like he’d also get a lot of stuff with floral designs.

doesn’t care much about the quality/brand of the things he’s buying - rather, he’s more interested in how cool or fun the item looks. 

def owns funky-colored pens, erasers that smell like food, and sticky notes shaped like animals. probs decorates everything with stickers (he loves scratch-n-sniff ones).

the margins of kalim’s notebooks are filled with doodles. some things he draws often are his favorite dishes and animals, and his family members. he probably uses his notebook to plan parties/parades instead of taking notes. jamil has a stroke

his handwriting is very expressive. it's loopy and wide when he's excited, small and sloppy when he's dozing off, and extremely messy when he's scribbling frantically.

vil schoenheit ; housewarden of pomefiore

owns sets of matching stationery. coordinates his pencil case with his notebooks and folders. probably a fan of minimalism and deep, rich colors. 

has high-quality pens and uses fancy highlighters to annotate his notes (i’m thinking those midliner highlighters and muji pens). he spares no expense for his tools.

color codes all his notes/different subjects, and has a specific color scheme for each subject. he is VERY particular about his color sorting. do NOT mess his categories up.

his handwriting is elegant and beautiful. he probably practiced and experimented with his handwriting a lot due to his fame (he signs autographs and he wants his penmanship to look pretty for his fans!)

he has pinterest worthy notes. he posts them on his magicam stories occasionally to show them off, and to encourage his fans to study hard too.

his fashionista side bleeds into his stationery choices, so he only buys items that are 1) of the best quality and 2) suited for his image. he does NOT cut corners.

idia shroud ; housewarden of ignihyde. 

does not use stationery LOL (or avoids it. technology is just more convenient for him).

everything is done on digitally, on his computer, tablet, or phone. he’d decorate his laptop or tablet with stickers though, like of his fave idol group “premo” and such. 

if he does own stationery, they are game or anime themed. also limited edition. he def collects merch, like pins and badges as well. i feel like he’d make itabags and stuff but he’d never go out in public with them. he’s too socially awkward just like me fr

he has those cool multifunctional pens, the ones with like 10 different colors, and can also double as a screwdriver or some kind of tool. 

he’d also have a lot of cute cat-themed items. they're just too cute, and he can't resist buying them! he's rich so it's fine...

he's probably designed super multifunctional pens before. he definitely has the brains and resources to do so.

malleus draconia ; housewarden of diasomnia

archaic stationery. still dips his pen in ink and writes with a feather /hj

he’s fine with the basics though. he just rolls with pen, paper, and ink. it’s good enough for him. 

has beautiful, fancy cursive handwriting, but it’s hard for people to read, especially for his schoolmates b/c the younger generation doesn’t really learn cursive anymore. think like... the penmanship of historical treaties or declarations. it's charming and still legible, but you just need a bit of time to be able to read it. 

probably owns and uses enchanted quills passed down from his family. it reminds him of home and he treasures them greatly. when he’s homesick he’ll twirl them between his fingers. 

he used to break a lot of pencils/pens with his sheer magical fae grip. he’s learned how to control his strength a lot better now, but he still prefers his enchanted writing tools. 

he's not used to modern technology, so he gets a kick out of trying novel stationary items as well. this pencil is also a pen, a highlighter, and a flashlight? wowie!

[levandright]

hello! thank you for this fun event first of all, you’re so generous to be doing this, i hope it’s just as fun for you as it is fun for us and i hope you don’t become stressed with too many requests hahaha 🩷🩷

my persona: i am 168cm (5’6?), my fashion is a comfortable style, i like to wear baggy jeans and neutral colors, crop tops and nice shoes, and i never wear makeup 🫣

i am an introvert (ISTJ/ISFJ) i find it hard to talk to new people but when i do speak i can easily make friends, my best quality is probably my humor and im a very good listener, im empathetic but also logical, i like learning and im very critical, im chill, im a bit lazy/unmotivated, im not very loud, my humor is absurd things/illogical things, characters i relate to the most are: garfield, coraline, alice in wonderland, shrek. im procrastinating, sympathetic, soft-hearted, soft-spoken, reserved, affectionate, anxious, traditional, non-conforming, gentle, generous

i did a personality test and it told me: “You tend to focus on the straight facts in front of you, instead of thinking about hypotheticals and other possibilities. You do not spend too much time dwelling on your own emotions or past experiences.” “While you often organize and schedule your time, you also appreciate spontaneity and the value of just letting things happen. You try to do just the right amount of planning, but not too much.” “In group situations, you are more reserved than most people. You tend to speak less often, speak more softly, and smile and laugh less frequently than others in these settings. You are more comfortable when playing a supporting role, rather than taking charge and leading the group.” “You strive to be helpful and cooperative, and people often see you as a team player. You are more likely to do what is best for the group, rather than only do what is best for you.” “You tend to worry and imagine the various ways that things could go wrong. You also ruminate on your past decisions and wonder whether you did or said the right thing.”

my favorite season is winter because i love the snow and the cold, i am a virgo sun virgo moon libra rising virgo venus virgo mercury and pisces mars.

i like playing the sims, reading books, dancing, watching comedy/horror movies, i love watching the office and pen15, but my biggest hobby is eating food with friends or hanging out with friends in general

my ideal type would be a pure, respectful, kind guy with good intentions, like kinda innocent but not in a babyish way, someone who wants to take the lead and is good at expressing his love, a guy who blushes easily and likes to joke around/tease each other. my favorite trope is friends to lovers because i have to be friends with someone/comfortable with them before dating them, and my love languages are 1. physical touch 2. quality time 3. acts of service

my fandom: nct dream!!! and i would like a moodboard please <3

FINDING YOUR MATCH...

MATCH FOUND! your match is... NA JAEMIN

JAEMIN notices the small things that make you happy, like your love for food, playing sims and reading. when he's not feeling like doing anything, he'll go watch you play the sims, probably has luna or lucy in his lap to pet while watching you torture play with your sims.

JAEMIN would plan cozy and fun winter dates—building snowmen, sipping hot chocolate at cafes, or strolling through snowy parks while bundled up together. he’d hold your hand to keep it warm or even wrap his scarf around you, grinning as he says, “can’t have my favorite person freezing out here.”

JAEMIN compliments you effortlessly, noticing every detail: “the way your hair falls over your sweater is so pretty,” or “you look amazing, but what’s new? ah, i know! you're wearing the crop top i bought you~” his words would always feel genuine and make you blush.

JAEMIN holds your hand in quiet moments, wraps you in warm hugs during cold winter evenings, and finds every excuse to keep close to you. adores your clinginess in private, lets you rest your head on his shoulder or snuggle close to him while binge-watching your favorite shows.

JAEMIN is someone you can always rely on when you're feeling frustrated or stuck, he would cheer you on with sweet and encouraging words like: "you got this!" or "it'll take a while, but i know you'll figure it out."

JAEMIN wholeheartedly embraces your sense of humor. if you laugh at something completely random, he’d laugh too. sometimes at the joke and sometimes just at how amused you are by it. the two of you definitely have your own inside jokes that no one else understands, he texts you memes or funny clips that he thinks you'd like.

JAEMIN would be the first to notice if you're feeling anxious and start being more reserved, he'll offer you comfort quietly and will simply sit beside you while holding, and squeezing your hand until you feel ready to talj.

.☘︎ ݁˖ lev notes : haha ty! don't worry its fun for me too :) making the playlists and moodboards is very enjoyable for me. the amount is a lot i must admit, but its not as hard as it looks like (well i don't think it is cause im having fun thinking of headcanons but other ppl might struggle to keep up with so many matchups i will say) i just honestly missed when matchups used to be more popular T-T but that was like 2-3 years ago back in peak tumblr era, i loved getting matches back then so now that im a writer i want to have others experienc what i did back then! .☘︎ ݁˖ want to find your own match? apply here! curious about other matches?

[superpyodan]

Kenny... Thing?

Words? About Kenny? In this economy?

I wrote this a little bit ago, but I'm not sure if I'm going to use it in my fic or not. Take it, though. If you end up seeing it again on AO3 in like, three months' time, I apologise

(WC: 1,113)

One of Kenny’s favourite things about the farm is the freshwater river that runs straight through it. In the summer, it feels like a blessing — When he gets too hot while working on the farm, he can take a moment to pause and dip his feet into the river. When he doesn’t feel like making the excursion to the beach, he can fish on the farm. It also means he can have ducks, that swim around during the day and play together in the river, just like his grandfather did. There is life all around him; The farm has a heartbeat, the sun rises in the east, and the river never stops flowing.

His favourite thing about Pelican Town in general, is the beach. It’s definitely a trait he picked up from Alex, what with the amount of lazy days they’ve spent together lying in the sand, and the times where they swam in the ocean with Haley and Abigail. Kenny likes to paddle in the rockpools across the rickety bridge, sit in the spot where the sea meets the shore and feel the tide coming in, and draw little characters in the wet sand with his finger. He enjoyed building sandcastles with Jas the other day, and was even able to appreciate the loose sand in his pockets from Jas’ shell collecting. Of course he had to carry them — Jas’ dress didn’t have any pockets.

Ultimately, many of his favourite things are summer-adjacent. The river, the beach. Fruits and light mornings and the sun against his skin. His hair sticking to the back of his neck, and walking in the grass with no shoes on. It makes sense: Summer is a happy season. Everyone feels better in the summer. They can sit in the hallway with the door open and bathe in the nice breeze. Haley always gushes about being able to wear summer clothes, and Shane likes being able to take long walks in the evenings. Seb says he hates the summer, but Kenny knows the serene feeling of smoking a cigarette at four in the morning when it’s still warm outside and the birds are just starting to chirp. It’s unmatched.

So, why isn’t Kenny happy? He asks himself the question every day. He’s not quite sure when he became so sad again. His life was fairly stable for a good couple of years. He’d have ups and downs, but so does everyone — That doesn’t make him special. Not much does. He didn’t notice the gradual descent until it was too late. He’s not sure of the core of the issue, or what triggered it, but what he does know, is that he’s heavy. Supposedly, a cloud weighs a shit ton. They weigh a shit ton, and people are never pleased to see the sky obscured by them.

Today is an unusually cloudy day, for the season. It’s the first thing Kenny notices when stepping out of the farmhouse in the morning. Underneath the clouds, he sighs and picks up his almost-empty watering can. He takes it to the river, submerges it, and then goes to stand in the middle of his tomato patch. They haven’t quite grown yet — He estimates they need a couple more days. The wait will be worth it, though. When they’re ripe, he can make spaghetti for dinner. Maybe invite Alex over, if he cares. That, or Kenny could just watch the tomatoes go bad in his fridge, day by day. It’s like a roulette.

He’s learned to enjoy cooking — Just not for himself. He’s spent entire days making soups and stews and grilled fish and vegetable platters for his friends. He largely chooses his crops based on what other people like. In the fall, he grows pumpkins for Abby and Sebastian. In the summer, hot peppers for Shane. Cooking for others is an expression of love and care He’s never been good with expressing that through words. Cooking for himself, however, is a chore he tries to avoid as much as possible. In the city, he lived on takeout from Jenny and Nick’s restaurant, and a pantry full of snacks.

Sitting in the crop field now, he wonders how Jenny and Nick are. Only briefly, because thinking about it for too long tends to make him feel guilty. Still, he sits his chin on his hand, elbow rested atop his knee, and allows himself a moment or two of contemplation. He’s a little cold in just his T-shirt, thanks to the thick clouds the day has provided him with. He wants the sun to come back, and in turn, wonders if Jenny and Nick would ever want him back. Does his mom want him back, too? His father, his ex-boyfriend?

Probably not. It’s been too long. But, it’s been a long time since Kenny’s brother died, and he still wants him back. So who knows.

Who Kenny is getting back, is Alex. But, he’s not excited, or happy, or relieved like he’d usually be. He didn’t wake up with joy, or smile to himself while watering the crops, or fluff up the cushions on the sofa. Sure, seeing Alex will be nice. Spending his birthday together will be nice. But there’s something unusually tense in the air — Either that, or Kenny’s just taking the weather to heart. Maybe he’s just tense, in general. Probably that. Alex being around will probably help. They’ll talk. It’ll dissolve his tension. It doesn’t dissolve his nerves, though.

Kenny would never want to admit that he’s been lonely. He’s spent a lot of his life alone, and has somewhat learned how to enjoy his own company. Or at least, be content with it. But this loneliness is different to all the others he’s experienced — It hasn’t been self-imposed. Rather, it’s been thrust upon him, and now he doesn’t know how to deal with it. Everyone’s gone. Emily is leaving. But Alex is coming back, so Kenny won’t be lonely anymore. They’ll have spaghetti, if Alex cares. Maybe they’ll go to the beach and eat fruits in the sunshine again. It’ll be nice, until Alex inevitably gets stripped away from him again, just like everything else does. Then, Kenny will be alone, sat in his crop field, underneath the clouds.

At least he has the cat, and the promise of carrying seashells for Jas in his pockets once more.

[tealmist55]

Can I request fivesoka and “one kiss isn’t enough” for the mistletoe prompts 👀💕

Thanks for this request! I enjoyed writing this one so much! 😁

Also tagging @ahsokathegray, since you also requested this prompt for Fivesoka. I am planning to write this prompt for them again, so I'll answer your ask then!

Hope you enjoy! 💙

It's also here on AO3.

--

79’s had always been bright and colorful, in keeping with the tone of Coruscant night life, but Ahsoka really hadn’t expected the establishment to sport Life Day decorations. A massive green wreath hung over the entrance and strings of multi-colored lights decorated the exterior of the building, including the doorway. Inside, the same colorful lights outlined the bar and tables, and other various lights, plants, and sparkly ornaments were sprinkled throughout the bar.

Her friends in the 501st had invited her out for drinks that evening. It was the first time their leave had lined up since she was promoted to general and officially transferred to the 332nd. She was excited to see the troopers she had worked alongside for so long, but there was one man in particular who she was looking forward to reuniting with.

As soon as the blue and white armor came into view, a chorus of greetings flooded her montrals. She couldn’t help the joyful grin that spread across her face as she slid into the booth beside Fives. With how many people were squeezed into the booth, it was a bit of a tight fit, so it only made sense for her to sit close enough for their legs to press together.

His amber eyes locked on her blue ones for a heartbeat before she turned to the rest of the troopers.

The clones and their former commander quickly caught up, exchanging battle stories and developments in a few of the guys’ personal lives. Then Ahsoka commented on 79’s unexpected Life Day decor and their conversation shifted to their surroundings.

“There’s even mistletoe hanging in some of the corners,” Echo pointed out. He nodded towards a vacant corner near their table and Ahsoka was able to spot the green plant with white berries hanging from the ceiling.

“Interesting. Any of you guys get a kiss tonight?” she asked, raising her eyebrow markings suggestively.

She wasn’t quite sure what she expected the response to be. Jesse and Kix both raised a hand and then, to her surprise, Tup shyly raised his fingers as well.

“Good for you, Tup!” Ahsoka leaned across the table to offer him a fist bump.

“Hey, what about me?” Jesse whined.

“Fine,” she chucked, offering her fist. “Good job, Jesse.”

“How about you, General?” Hardcase asked. “You going to kiss someone?”

“Maybe you should kiss Fives,” Jesse burst out, before she could answer. “Normally he’d have gotten ten kisses by now, but the lazy di’kut hasn’t even tried.”

“Hey, I could’ve gotten a kiss if I wanted one,” Fives protested.

“Maybe you should prove it then,” Hardcase challenged. “How about it, General?”

Now the entire table was staring at her, except for Fives, who was making an effort to specifically not look in her direction. Normally she wouldn’t participate in traditions like this, but… She couldn’t help casting a glance at the man next to her.

“I suppose,” she agreed, feigning reluctance. “Is that okay with you, Fives?”

“Sure, why not?” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter one way or the other.

“Don’t be too eager now, you guys,” Jesse teased, sarcastically.

Neither Ahsoka nor Fives acknowledged him as they stood and made their way over to the nearest mistletoe.

“They have no idea, do they?” Ahsoka asked, lowering her voice so only Fives could hear.

“Nope.” The ARC’s mouth spread into a half-grin. “Not sure if I’m thankful or offended that no one actually asked why I stayed in my seat all night.”

“I appreciate that.” She knew Fives’ reputation for frequent hookups as well as anyone or at least the reputation he’d had before they became a couple.

“Did you expect anything less?” His voice was teasing, but she saw the way his amber eyes flickered earnestly.

“Of course not,” she reassured him, softly.

“Hey!” Both of their heads jerked in the direction of their table as Jesse called out. “Are you two going to kiss or what?”

Fives flicked a rude gesture at his brother, while Ahsoka rolled her eyes. Then they turned back to each other.

She wasn’t sure how they were going to play this. No one knew about their relationship, aside from Echo, and she wasn’t sure if now was the time to reveal it. Maybe it would be best to just kiss quickly, for show.

Ahsoka was opening her mouth to suggest that course of action, when Fives stepped in and kissed her. The instant their lips touched, she felt warmth spread through her body. He was already wrapping an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, while his other hand cupped her cheek. She instinctively lifted her arms over his shoulders. She knew the confidence of their movements were absolutely not indicative of a first kiss, but as Fives ran his tongue along her lower lip, she realized that she didn’t care in the slightest.

“Kriff, I missed you,” Fives said, when they broke apart for a heartbeat.

“I missed you too.” Ahsoka was practically cut off as he pressed his lips to hers again.

One of her hands found its way up into his hair, pulling him farther into her. He responded eagerly, using the arm around her hips to press her flush against him. She probably could have kissed him forever, but after several long minutes, their kisses began to taper off. Fives pressed one more soft kiss to her cheek before loosening his hold on her.

Figuring their relationship was sufficiently revealed, they threaded their fingers together as they walked back to their table.

Fives’ brothers were silent as he and Ahsoka sat back down; all of them were staring at the couple, frozen with shock. All except for Echo, who was cackling madly.

--

I was gifted this beautiful Fivesoka art to go with these drabbles. Go take a look! 💙🧡

Mistletoe Drabble requests are currently CLOSED, but stay tuned for more drabbles that have yet to be posted! ✨