#or freshly graduated interns

[jazz-apple-jones]

Miraculous AU?? I was inspired by D&P embracing silly melodramatic phandom AUs. More of this to come once I finish the art trade that I swear I’m working on, I’m just swamped with school work rip.

Is anyone else going to the Fort Lauderdale TIT show? Phort Lauderdale phriends where are you :0?

[gghostwriter]

Time Gave No Compass, Were There Clues?

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: The three times fate brings you to cross paths with a certain handsome stranger and the one time he purposely crosses with yours Trope:It’s fluff in a meet cute type of way w.c: 5.6k+ a/n: this is connected to ‘One Single Thread of Gold’! This took forever to make simply because I had this fear that the second part wouldn’t come out as great as the first and I’ve been in a writing funk lately—not quite sure if my writing worsened or got better during this period but at this point, maybe I shouldn’t care that much anymore? That’s a lie so please comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

The first encounter—a knight in a vintage blue vehicle

The drumming noise of the rain against the vinyl awning of the Japanese restaurant became the perfect soundtrack for watching countless strangers scurry to the nearest shelter.

It was the night that you have dubbed your unluckiest as a woman in Washington—up until he came along.

According to the morning weather forecast, there was little to no chance of rain. A radiant reprieve from the downpour of light rainfall the city had been experiencing three days in a row. A believer of facts you were, excitedly slipped on your new pair of heels and joined the outside world, sun shining up above the sky without a single speck of dark cloud lingering in its wake.

The work day was nothing special—jumping on video calls with your boss, answering international emails from the magazine’s sister branches abroad, and reviewing articles set to be published for next month’s print.

Nothing unusual. No sign that the day would roller coaster down and up again, before ending right before a drop, leaving you white knuckled with anticipation.

As you were exiting the diner with your freshly cooked to-go in one hand, the weather decided to beat the statistics presented by the news forecast. Rain poured down hard, effectively stranding you on the covered sidewalk.

“Oh,” you mumbled under your breath, forced to settle down on the empty outdoor seating. The gust of cold wind that caressed your cheeks to turn pink reminded you of comforting childhood memories—warm cocoa, blanket forts, and cuddles with your precious teddy bear. 

It brought a smile on your face, recalling the time when life was still simple.

Working as a writer for an established fashion magazine had its own ups and downs. You felt lucky enough to be given the opportunity to work with living and breathing artists, all the while having the flexibility to live anywhere in the country.

Your boss initially found it odd when you mentioned temporarily moving back to Washington. It wasn’t a state well-established in the industry after all. It was a city filled with starched pressed suits, neutral ties, and newly shined loafers—the epicenter for politics and everything serious. 

The ridiculous misconception about fashion and its frivolousness caused your nose to scrunch. It was the same idea that pushed newly graduate you to move to New York and burn the midnight oil to be where you were now, highly respected in the circle.

She understood your truth—the need for a change of scenery before jumping back in to the game with fresh new eyes. Jokingly, she wagered you’d only last two months away from the Big Apple before coming back. It had been six months since then and you were starting to believe the urge for the city that never sleeps will never cross your mind again.

As you mused about the trajectory of your career, the clouds started to let up, enough that you took the chance to open your compact umbrella and possibly ruin your heels to get to the nearest subway entrance just 10 minutes away.

A mistake that you realized halfway as a sudden blast of strong wind flipped your umbrella inside out, rending you vulnerable to the hasty returning rain.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as water started to stain your light purple satin heels, turning them near black.

Definitely ruined.

The flickering light of the entrance and the still warm spot underneath the restaurant pulled you in two different directions. Should you just brave the weather already starting to look like a drowned animal or should you go back with your tail tucked between your legs?

As you debated your next move, being poorly protected by your broken umbrella and soaked by the tormenting weather no less, a blue vintage car came to a stop beside you and honked it’s horn.

“Um—do you need help? A ride, maybe?” a voice shouted out of the rolled down passenger window, barely heard against the torrential downpour.

A good Samaritan was rare this day and age. So uncommon that it made you immediately wary. You looked around, making sure it was you the stranger was addressing before uttering a reply.

“Depends on who’s asking,” your free hand clutching the ends of your spoiled umbrella. “Are you a serial killer by any chance?” 

He paused, caught off guard with your question, and chuckled. “What? No, no. Not at all, just a concerned citizen.”

You bit your lip, wavering between accepting his offer at the risk of your life, before reaching to open the passenger door. “Fair enough.”

The stranger promptly layered a black windbreaker on the tan leather seats. “Sorry, it’s just—did you know that wet leather can lead to discoloration?”

Your eyebrows raised, shuffling to get comfortable on the seat—mindful of your back not touching, before giving him a nod. “Yes, actually I did but it’s great to see someone else know about it too.”

He pressed his lips together into a tight smile and reached forward on the console, tinkering with the unlabeled knobs, turning up the heat. 

Your eyes tracked his every movement, curious as to any indication to who this mysterious gentleman was.

His nails were light pink in color, clean, and cut short—possibly for a desk office job. His fingers were long and bony, model length you’d surmise—a little calloused on one side of his middle finger possibly from holding a pen too tight. The back of his hand veined and wide in size, big enough to dwarf your dainty slim hands in comparison.

Your cheeks heated up, feeling guilty for gawking at a man’s hands before spilling your address without so much of a thought for your safety.

The stranger blanched, clearly caught off guard with your trusting nature. “Didn’t your mother teach you not to go with strangers willingly? Or provide vital information about yourself for that matter?”

You appraised his profile as his eyes trained on the road. 

Hazel colored hair that curled around his face. Sunken eyes framed by long, dark lashes that any woman could envy. A tall and straight nose bridge. Maroon pillowy lips and a sharp jawline perfectly matched with a five-o’clock shadow.

He was handsome.

Pretty even.

The type you’d see a casting agent and photographer fawn over.

Shoulders seemingly angular and wide, stretching his black knitted cardigan well. It’s arms pushed up to showcase his forearms lithe in form with muscles flexing underneath as he twists the wheel to take a right. His seat pushed the farthest it could go, highlighting how tall he could be.

Your handsome gentleman could rival male models that graced your magazine’s editorial pages.

“Well, you don’t look like a serial killer and I think I’d take my chances with you than out there—” a flash of lightning trailed on the darkened sky followed by a loud clap of thunder. “—yeah, I stand with my choice.”

His laughter mid-pitched, filled the confined space. “And how does a serial killer look like?”

“Sinister and not trustworthy. You look neither, by the way,” you shrugged.

“Actually, there’s a minor percentage of killers that don’t fit in your description. Ted Bundy is an example, he used his good looks to lure in unsuspecting women.”

You hummed in agreement. “You’re right and you could definitely use your looks too but I still doubt you’re one. Let’s call it intuition and if I had to guess, you work at a desk job. Finance or Human Resources, maybe?”

“Are you saying I look—” he cleared his throat, a wrinkle appearing between his well shaped brows. “—handsome?”

“Well, at the risk of sounding like I’m flirting with you—which I’m not, well, maybe. But yes, I think you’re good looking. Handsome.” 

The pink flush that slowly darkened to a cherry red started its descent to his exposed neck, making him look more endearing. His reaction made it quite obvious he was never one to receive such flattery about his appearance which made you question the eyes of the women around him.

He was utterly distinguished and dressed in this comforting nerdy fashion that added to the appeal.

“I take it you’re not used to compliments.”

The long lashes that framed his molten chocolate eyes fluttered, as if highlighting is naivety in dealing with the opposite sex.

It sent butterflies free in your stomach.

“Yeah, but thank you. And I’m really not a serial killer—I wouldn’t be using a memorable vehicle in picking up a victim in a crowded street with city cameras around. Not that, that information helps me state my case. In fact, it’s making it worse—” he rambled out, easing the car into a stop beside your apartment complex. “What I meant was, I-I think you’re good looking too, beautiful.”

You laughed at the absurdity of where your night has ended up.

The air trapped between two bodies crackled with an energy you couldn’t name. It was humming below the surface, making you feel hyper aware of the man who drove you home.

It was igniting.

Possibly the start of something.

In contrast, the outside was quiet and still. The rain had finally come and gone, leaving behind its comforting atmosphere.

The lamp posts reflecting off the puddles of water, tinting the streets a warm, honey gold color. Leaves dancing, like string puppets controlled by the forces of nature. The wind whispering and giggling—to what, you didn’t know but you felt it wasn’t important to dissect. No more important than the stranger who’s scent, aged books and cedar wood, intermingled with yours, vanilla and a hint of amber.

“Thank you for the ride,” quickly exiting the vehicle. Suddenly you felt shy as the last few minutes replayed in your head—how trusting you were to take his offer and how naive it was of you to let your guard down.

The sound of a subsequent car door opening echoed on the empty street. “You’re welcome and you’re wrong, by the way.”

“Wrong about what?” You twisted to look back.

The street lights hitting his face, casting a mysterious shadow on his handsome features.

“About me working in finance or human resources.”

Huh. 

Your steps faltered to a stop.

That was a first—people around you always did say you read people best.

He was an exception it seemed.

An anomaly.

A mystery you wouldn’t mind taking a second try in solving.

“Better luck next time then. I hope to see you around,” you waved as you opened the heavy metal gate behind you.

His hand mimicked your goodbye before promptly reaching down to open his car door, effectively disappearing from your gaze as you pushed the main door open to the lobby.

As you watched the remaining water droplets slide down your coat, waiting for the rickety elevator to descend, an all important question popped in your mind that you never uttered into the world.

His name.

You forgot to ask for his name.

Hurriedly running back to the entrance, your stained heels clacking on the stoned pathway, you opened the gate just to spy the gentleman’s memorable light blue vehicle rev forward to blend into the chilly city night. 

Damn.

**

The second—a shared cup of Joe between two no longer strangers

The sun peeking underneath the cotton candy white clouds did little to fight off the inevitable Autumn air. Weeks of sunny days from the past storm is nearing its end causing the city occupants to flood the streets and parks for their last soak of Summer. 

Weeks have gone since your enthralling encounter with the handsome stranger and his vintage blue car. You’ve spent days replaying the memory in hopes of finding any more clues on who he was or even how to run into him again. Nights lamenting over the missed opportunity and the bitter what-if that came with it. The thought, now hazy from time passed, seemed to be colored in this golden hue you couldn’t quite describe.

A sigh escaped from between your pale pink lips. 

The moment was captivating.

He was beguiling.

But until you run into him again, his very being in your mind lived rent free.

Hand adjusting the pale pink scarf wrapped around your neck, you stepped into the warm quaint bakery down by the office. The aroma of freshly baked bread and roasting coffee beans enveloped the otherwise packed store. It was still early on the day and otherwise sleep deprived workers were queuing up for their daily fix.

This had been your spot since renting a small office space to commute to. Given your need to separate home from work, you’ve opted to find a studio you could call your temporary ‘work room’. It added extra expense, you’d agree but the comfort of being in a sea of strangers going to and from added a sense of productivity you’d never quite get if you created a makeshift office in your one bedroom apartment downtown.

You squeezed your way towards the front to view the pastry selection when you spotted him.

The gentleman in question at the counter, clearly holding up the line. 

He flashed Sarah, your usual fixer as you joked, a tight smile filled with apologies and embarrassment. 

Destiny seemed to have heard your calls and to that you were grateful.

Not wanting to let this second chance encounter go to waste, you excused yourself to the register and deftly slid your card on the white granite counter.

“Hey Sarah, do you mind adding my order with his? And a one of your buttery croissants would be much appreciated.”

Her eyebrows raised, clearly wondering the reason behind your surprising actions. Eyes flickered to the stranger beside you muttering his light disagreeing reaction before nodding towards you, as if agreeing with what she saw. “One long black and a flat white coming right up.”

“Hey stranger, fancy seeing you here,” you cocked your head to the side, loose tendrils escaping the confines of your loose bun.

The same blush that haunted you graced his face. “Hey—hi, it’s you! It’s nice to see you again,” his fingers proceeded to fiddle with his leather worn wallet. “You didn’t have to do that, you know. Pay for my coffee, I mean.”

“It’s no problem at all, just think of it as my payment for the ride the other day and also a thank you for, you know, not turning out to be a killer, like you kept bringing up.”

He chuckled, eyes crinkling close. “Well, I just wanted to instill some extra caution in you. It’s good to think well of people in general but it doesn’t hurt to be wary of them either. Especially the statistics of you—a young woman being targeted is quite high no matter how safe Washington seems to be.”

“I did get an earful from my friend about the reckless act I did. So, safe to say I’ve learned my lesson—” you paused, flashing Sarah a smile as your hands wrapped around the steaming cup of coffee and the bag containing the pastry. “But between you and me, I think she was more miffed about something I didn’t do.”

He mimicked your movements and proceeded to guide you to the nearest available standing table, his free hand hovering near the small of your back. 

“And what was it?”

“Not getting your name.”

His free hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel, pulling it towards the front of his body as if it was a shield that could hide away the blush that slowly crept down his neck.

“I, yeah—Spencer. Spencer Reid.” 

You introduced yourself with the same enthusiasm, finally at ease for knowing who he was.

“Well then, Spencer Reid, was I really wrong or was that just a lie to throw my deductive skills off course?” your hands pushing the packets of sugar towards his steaming open cup.

He thank you silently, counting at least 8 packets of sugar before returning the remaining ones in the jar. “What do you mean?”

“You not working in finance.”

“Well statistically speaking, more than 43% of the offices located here don’t belong in the finance section,” he grinned. 

With his eyes twinkling, he further continued. “21% of those are actually the government sector while the remaining are a mixture of publishing, business, and IT.”

“You sprouting off statistics doesn’t really sway me from my guess, you do know that?” You hummed, watching him dump and stir all the sugar into his dark cup of Joe. The idea of how sweet it would be sent a slight shiver down your spine. “If not finance then hmm—what about teaching?”

Appraising his get up for the day—a purple button down layered with a seemingly fraying cardigan and a black overcoat. He reminded of you of those quirky university professors that students would have no problem having a crush on. 

“You look like a young college professor with a couple degrees under your belt. Maybe literature? Or math?”

An airy laughter emitted between his lips. “Why is it always returning back to math?”

“I truly don’t know—” you shrugged. “You look smart and academic so that’s my best guess.”

“There’s actually a statistic on how many academically gifted people end up in the field of science rather than in math but I don’t know if you’d like to hear it.”

You leaned forward. “I actually do but that would cement my idea of you in maths.”

A ring from his pocket interrupted his reply. Spencer clambered to answer the call even before its’ third ring. 

“Yeah. Okay, got it. 5 minutes.” 

Any humor or lightheartedness the conversation brought had been erased from his face. It must have been work and the gravity of his responsibility must be heavy—definitely not finance and maybe not a professor then.

“I have to go—” Spencer tightly smiled, hands pulling the satchel and drink closer to his body. “It was really nice seeing you again.” 

You nodded, wordlessly walking out of the shop with him. As he started to step away from your presence, he turned back one last time to further throw you off course.

“You were right about one thing.”

Brows furrowing together, you shout back. “Which one?”

Spencer just smiled and shrugged his shoulders before turning forward, picking up his pace and leaving you further baffled about his mystery.

**

The third—a run- in during an otherwise idle day

The white noise the train against its tracks threatened to lull you into a daze. Its compartment surprisingly sparse with occupants during this otherwise tranquil Saturday. Everyone seemed to be at nearby parks, watching the leaves slowly turn this red-orange hue.

Your companion in hand—a book with its spine cracked and front cover folded backwards, sat idly on your denim lap. It was a tattered and worn copy of Emily Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. When you were in your teens, it had been the gateway to your love of classic literature and it had been your favorite ever since.

The bench you were seated on shifted and with it, medium brown brogues registered in your periphery.

Inwardly, you scoffed at the stranger invading your space when there were a multitude of empty seats available in your section. Briefly you wondered if this was going to be another day of being picked up by men who didn’t know the meaning of the word ‘no’ which inevitably would ruin your day. 

As you were debating on nicely excusing yourself away, the man cleared his throat.

“Hey—hi,” he sheepishly greeted in this voice that had been replaying in your head since that rainy weekday night. 

You blinked away the surprise—the bafflement that fate had seemed to cross your path with his again and again and again. It always happened when you least expected it. After all, you spent numerous days craning your neck for even a small glimpse of Spencer Reid to no avail. Your eyes would subconsciously sweep the streets for a view of any suede coat matched with a purple pattern scarf. It had been your own version of Where’s Waldo—a past time that your friend joined as you forbade her (and by extension, yourself) from looking him up online. 

You wanted to keep the mystery and it seemed fate was rewarding you today.

“Hi-hey Spencer. This is a surprise,” your cheeks stretching wide from the grin you gave him. 

His fingers brushed a nonexistent stray of hair behind his ears. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it was you. The odds of ever seeing you again—or anyone I’d know on the train is low, with how many people Virginia has.”

“Isn’t it fascinating?” your hands closing the book that no longer held your attention. “How we seemed to just run into each other? Funny how that works.”

“I mean, you could say that—not that I believe in destiny or fate with how abstract and little scientific studies it has. Maybe we just run in the same small schedule or circle.”

Your eyebrow raised, appraising his look. 

His hair looked unruly—with one side more flattened the the other, possibly slept on. His clothes, although free from any stains that would indicate it as yesterday’s, had crease marks that were reminiscent of its folding. They were clean but also not pressed—came from the satchel then. The very same bag laying on his lap, no doubt filled with dirty laundry and other necessities.

“I don’t think so,” you pondered on. “Are you just on your way back home from work, by any chance?”

“How’d you know that?” His voice cracking at the end.

You shrugged. “I pick up on things, small details and all that.”

“That’s really good. Must come in handy with your work as a journalist.”

Now it was your turn to be surprised. “How’d you know that? How’d—what gave it away?”

“It was an educated guess which—” he flashed you a grin. “—you just confirmed now.”

“Touche. Although that does seem unfair,” you pouted. “You know my occupation but I can’t even get yours right.”

He tilted his head to the right, eyes twinkling with life that keeps you pulled in. “You’re welcome to guess. In fact, I could give you a clue if you wanted—” he paused waiting for your agreement which you readily gave. “—alright you were right about one thing the last time: the one about me having multiple degrees.”

“You look young so I’m guessing a genius?”

“Well, my co-workers do like to tease me as one and it is true so yeah. I am a genius.”

The way his eyes shifted showed how bashful he was in admitting out loud he was one. You briefly wondered if there was ever a time where he felt embarrassed about it—probably in high school, you’d surmise. Teenagers, after all, had the tendency to ostracize anyone who doesn’t fit the rigid status quo they’ve collectively agreed upon.

“That’s amazing!” You gushed. “And it does narrow it quite down, actually. Do you happen to work for the government? I mean, I’m sure they try to collect the best minds our country has to offer, right?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do work for the government. And you’re right, they do tend to employ gifted adults as a way to also surveillance them—to make sure they don’t turn into anti-statists or anarchists.”

You pondered over every detail he presented. Freshly manicured nails tapping on your leg before finally guessing. “Okay so, I was first going to say NASA because—” you shrugged. “—it’s space but then that would be too stereotypical of me to assume. Plus, you’ve thrown off just about any deductions I’ve made during our first two meetings—”

Spencer nodded. He seemed proud to listen to you ramble your way through. 

“—I was also going to guess administrative work but it’s a weekend and you’re just on your way home so that’s a no—”

A small spread on his face.

A good sign that you were in the right direction.

“—it can’t be the judiciary too, right? I always imagined them to be wearing neutral suits and have this stoic air around them—”

He chuckled.

“—so I’m guessing law enforcement? Can’t be a regular cop, they have uniforms. So, for the FBI? Or am I just reaching?”

Spencer vigorously nodded his head, the wavy tendrils tucked behind his ears escaping their confines. 

“That’s right! Wow—you’re really good at this. Maybe you should have also been scouted!” He teased.

You giggled, the happiness from getting it right and the idea of you working with a gun seemed ludicrous. “Sadly, I may be too clumsy for that kind of work. With my type of luck, I’d probably trip over my feet and mess up a crime scene.”

The automated voice announcing the next station broke through the lighthearted conversation. Spencer’s eyes widened ever so slightly, indicating that this was his stop.

“I guess this is it, huh? See you soon then, Spencer?”

He sandwiched his lower lip between his pearly teeth. “Would you be interested in purposefully seeing each other next time? I would love to get to know you more—over dinner? Coffee? Any would be great—you don’t have to say yes of course but yeah.”

“Can I say yes to all of the above?” You teased. “I would love to.”

Spencer started to get up, hands pulling on his satchel to secure it. The train was coming to a stop and you could begin to see the stop come into view.

Your hand quickly reached out to tug on his rolled sleeve. “Wait—how do we contact each other?”

“It’s tucked in your book. My number, I mean,” he laughed. The sound coaxing you to release your own. “See you!”

Your eyes tracked him getting off the train and his would meet yours one last time, before disappearing towards the station’s nearest exit. Your hands hastily opened the front page to where a new object was slotted in between without you knowing.

His calling card.

Federal Bureau of Investigation - Behavioral Analysis Unit SSA Dr. Spencer Reid 1-761-xxx-xxxx

Giggling, you fished your phone from the confines of your wallet and quickly sent out a text.

Hey. Are you a magician too, by any chance? 

**

The fourth or better yet, the planned first—two strings interwoven by fate

Spencer hadn’t been able to explain the circumstances that led him here tonight—walking through a nearby park in the sparkly but cold weekend night with a beautiful woman right by his side. 

The dinner date had gone surprisingly well. So great in fact that he didn’t want it to end. Suggesting to walk you back home rather than use his blue well beaten vehicle left parked near the restaurant was his idea to prolong the night. 

He was well aware that you both could be exposing yourselves to a seasonal bout of cold but for the first time, it didn’t matter to his overactive and over-analytical brain. Nor did it seem to matter to you—given with how vigorously she accepted his suggestion to walk. 

Your dainty right hand was wrapped around the bouquet of flowers he personally selected. An array of daisies, daffodils, and sedums.

Joy from having to meet you, to new beginnings, and affection.

Spencer wanted to convey what he had been feeling since that run-in the coffee shop. Regardless if you knew what they meant.

This was all uncharted territory and the incidents that brought them into each other’s worlds was baffling to say the least. 

Was this the really the works of fate?

Does this prove that destiny is true and the notion of having free choice is a lie we tell ourselves?

He concluded it probably didn’t matter.

All that mattered was where he was now—with you.

“So you really took all those degrees all together?” you clarified, eyes widening from disbelief. “The amount of studying and writing you’ve done must have been massive.”

“Well, it did help that I could read fast—20,000 words per minute, but I could still remember my hands cramping from the amount I had to type down.”

“Of course you can still remember, with your eidetic memory and all. That must be nice—never forgetting any novel you’ve read.”

He shrugged. “It does have it’s perks but between you and me, there is a downside to it.”

You halted in her step, staring inquisitively up at him. 

Spencer found it cute—how even with yout heeled boots on, you could only reach up to his chest. It gave him this sense of protectiveness over you being. 

“Oh yeah, like what?”

He pondered. “Well, we did have this one vampire case and one of the victim’s laptop password was ‘Cullen’ and I didn’t get the reference—thought it was ‘colon’ actually. So I decided to read the first book and didn’t like it.”

“You actually read ‘Twilight’?” You giggled. It sounded like wind chimes echoing through the trees.

“I was curious!” His voice went up an octave. “Is that what teens are reading, really? What ever happened to reading ‘Lord of the Flies’ or Franz Kafka during high school, for that matter?” 

“The one where a group of boys are stranded on an island or the one where the protagonist turns into a cockroach? Doesn’t really read romance for teen girls, Spencer.”

He chuckled. “And a 104 year old vampire does?”

“It’s about the idea,” you continued on walking, free hand swinging in between you—all he had to do was reach out and intertwine it with his but could he do that? Should he? Would she want that? “How Bella is your average, teen next door and someone like Edward, mysterious and handsome, could fall for her. It’s about the premise—I mean which teenage girl didn’t dream of something like that?”

“Does that include you too?”

You laughed. “I mean—Edward isn’t really my type but sure, I guess.”

Spencer decided to do it. He tentatively reached out his pinky to yours, looping them together.

There, a small touch you could say no to.

He waited for the reaction. From himself, there was a lack of worry for germs (this surprised him) and from you, the possibility of rejecting his small advances. With a breath lodged in his throat, Spencer watched a shy smile grace your face and cheeks turn further pink. 

Empowered by the reaction, he reached out to intertwine the rest of his freezing hand with yours and proceeded to tuck both into his coat pocket. Spencer felt his cheeks emit warmth, wondering where his courage came from. If Morgan just saw him now, no doubt he’d get a pat at the back and a whispered ‘you’ve got serious game, kid.’

“It’s a good thing he isn’t my type at all, don’t you think so?” You whispered. “I mean, you don’t sparkle in the sun, do you?”

His laughter echoed through the otherwise empty streets. 

“Oh god—that was so so bad. Ignore my cheesy flirting, please.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, feeling lightheaded from your presence. “I don’t think I do, actually. We could check—” clearing his throat “—once the weather gives way to the sun.”

It seemed like you got what he was subtly stating. “That long, huh? I’ll hold you to that promise.”

“Please do.”

Both your steps slowed to a stop in front of your apartment complex.

Spencer sighed under his breath, he really didn’t want the night to end. There was still so much to talk about—anything and nothing at the same time. Is this what they meant when they said time flies when you’re having fun? 

“Well,” you squeezed his hand twice. “This is it. I had fun tonight, Spencer.”

He squeezed back in return. “I did too. Can I—call you again?”

You nodded, a single tendril of hair escaping from its' loose bun.

Mesmerized, Spencer reached forward and secured it behind your reddening ear. “Get home safe.”

“I doubt anything would happen between my way up from the elevator to my door but I will. Drive safe and let me know you got in safely, got it?”

He reluctantly let go of your hand, slowly backing away without turning his back on you. Each second seeing you bundled up in a coat with flowers still on hand was an image he never wanted to forget, never wanted to miss.

As he was a few steps away, the wind carried your sweet voice to his ears.

“Hey, Spencer. There’s one thing I think you forgot to take with you.” 

He patted his coat, unsure as to what you were pertaining to. Eyes scanning his being when the distinct sound of your heels against the pavement, getting closer and closer, made him look up.

A pair of soft warm lips met his cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

His jaw dropped. The act short circuited his otherwise intelligent brain. It felt like every thought had dropped away, turning insignificant, compared to the tensed silence between two individuals once considered strangers but now intertwined in a way he could not explain in any language he knew. 

Little white specks floated down from the sky, coloring the moment in the lightest color ever possible—a hue that symbolized new beginnings.

Before his mind could catch up, Spencer felt himself moving.

Towards you.

Closing in. 

Cupping your cheeks.

And meeting his own lips with the ones that short circuited his brain.

In that moment, all he could comprehend was the smell of you—like freshly cleaned laundry dried under the sun. The taste of you—cherries with a hint of the red wine you drank over dinner. And the feel of you—warm, hands grasping his coat tight, flowers dropped on the ground, momentarily forgotten.

These were details he willed to engrave in his eidetic memory. Observations he doesn’t want to forget.

And you, the single woman he hopes to never lose.

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[logoleptic-since-06]

JJK Men in Romance Books ✧˖°

(A Concept)

Part 3: Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader

A/N: I have started a series of sorting the JJK men into the different concepts of popular romance books. I will not be writing these as fics, but rather showing what the aesthetics and plots might have been. If someone wants to take inspo from here to write any of these, please credit and tag me.

「 ✦ TROPES ✦ 」

✭ Office Romance ✭ Grumpy x Sunshine ✭ Forced Proximity ✭ Dislike to Love

「 ✦ PLOT ✦ 」

If there is one thing Kento Nanami values in his life, it is discipline. Being the head of the marketing team of one of the most flourishing companies in the city is not easy, but Kento is the most promising employee the industry has to offer. His stoic nature and proper upbringing helps him plenty. But when the company tells him to look over the new intern, a freshly graduate who will digitally market the company via social media, Kento ends up almost wanting to quit his job. Y/N, a freshly graduate with a bachelor degree in digital marketing, is quite popular on social media for her warmth and sunshine nature. She strives on her spontaneity and carefree personality. When she finally lands her dream job as the social media manager of one of the biggest companies in the city, she makes a promise to make sure she consistently delivers results that exceed expectations. But when she meets her supervisor, a man she doubts has ever smiled a day in his life and happens to not believe in the power and importance of social media, she realises her job will be ten times harder than she presumed.

Masterlist of this Series

[scromchz]

v for vendetta | elw (m.)

— your boss has seemingly had it out for you since day one.

contents. mean boss!ellie williams/intern!reader | smut, fluff | 3.1k

warnings. kinda loser!ellie, jelly ellie, cursing, mdni - smut, fingering, mild spit kink.

note. a reupload from prev blog with same name, with some edits. its a wee bit cringe to me so be prepared. but people seemed to like it so enjoy and happy pride month <3

© scromchz 2023 — all rights reserved.

Getting your foot into the corporate world was never going to be easy. You knew this before you even applied for the summer internship at the DarkHorse Tech conglomerate, well aware that you'd have to claw your way up from rock bottom without so much as chipping a manicured nail. But you were optimistic; freshly graduated from college, and ready to take the challenge head-on.

That was before you met Ellie Williams.

Boss to the company, and your personal tormenter. She made hell seem like a cozy vacation spot.

What you did to get under her skin was a mystery. Hell, you didn't even report to her directly. There were at least three meat shields between you and her within the hierarchy. But somewhere, somehow, you blipped onto her radar, and you have stayed there like a bad stain ever since.

She made your work life an agonizing affair, and nothing you ever did seem to please her. If anything it had the opposite effect. Paperwork you'd spent hours agonizing over was always a 'complete mess', and she'd keep you after hours in her office to belittle you without ever correcting any so-called mistakes.

She shoulder-checked you in the hallway and picked apart your appearance when nobody was around. It didn't matter if you were wearing a grandma sweater and a floor-length, shapeless skirt. She threatened to write you up for a dress code violation like you showed up in your birthday suit for casual Fridays.

You were sent on wild goose chases disguised as coffee runs to places that didn't even exist, then berated for arriving late and empty-handed. Or god forbid, with Starbucks. You were supposed to be doing data entry, for fucks sake. And if you were to so much as smile at one of your coworkers she would pop out of nowhere to tell you off for slacking, like a damn high-school hall monitor.

Anytime you tried to voice your grievances to your manager, they'd give you a sympathetic smile. What she says goes, they'd awkwardly relay, she's the boss. 

There was nothing you could do. She wielded all the power and flaunted it outright. During the mandatory bullying and harassment presentation she even singled you out, asking by name if you had any questions or if there was anything you 'didn't understand'. Message received. 

Today was no different.

She'd sent a pristine pile of cardstock flying out of your hands and onto the floor, tsking at you for being clumsy when she'd purposefully swiped at them. You had to get on your knees and meticulously pick up each one, all the while she loomed over you, a smug smile on her annoyingly perfect face.

Of course, you had to sacrifice your break to grab Ellie her own lunch from across town. While your coworkers got to enjoy their downtime in the breakroom you'd seen the inside of twice. You were exhausted, dropping her food off at her desk while she pretended you weren't there, but you couldn't even be bothered to care. That's not to say you didn't feel her eyes burning into your backside when you left.

What you didn't see was the furrow in her brows, concern lacing her heated gaze when she saw you were empty-handed. She knew for a fact she told you to get something for yourself when she handed over her card. Strike number one of the day. Not taking care of yourself was unacceptable. 

She kept a close eye on you through her one-way office window, which was easy considering she had your desk moved directly into her line of sight. You were hunched over your desk, periodically wiping at your tired eyes to keep focused.

Then your shit-stick fellow interns had the gall to shirk their duties onto you. Like rolling around in daddy's money made them incapable of using a fax machine. And you, sweet, sweet you, had the nerve to weakly smile and say no problem. Ellie's eyes narrowed, aggressively chewing on her straw like an angry gremlin. Oh, there's a fucking problem all right. Strike number two.

As the clock neared five-thirty, you were nearly home free. If only office fuckboy extraordinaire hadn't waltzed over to you. What happened next made Ellie see red.

He made you blush. Oh, hell no.

Faster than you could kindly reject Brad's offer to take you out, the door to Ellie's office swung open. The force smacked it harshly into the adjoining wall.

She dismissed everyone for the day, and in the same breath barked out your name. "In my office," her tone left no room for disagreements. "Now."

Brad sucked in his teeth, offering a 'good luck' before high tailing it out of there along with the rest of the office. You could already hear whispers of your name, musings of what you did this time to warrant such an explosive reaction. Nobody envied you.

With shaky limbs, you stood, cowering under the weight of her glare. She held open the door, forcing you to brush against her suit-clad chest. The click of the lock sent a shiver down your spine.

"Sit," she commanded. But clicked her tongue when you slid into your usual seat in front of her desk. "No, not there."

You looked around in confusion, thinking you'd misheard her over your thunderous heartbeat. She looked expectant. Not to mention pissed.

But a cursory scan of the room confirms your thoughts. There were no chairs besides Ellie's, and the one you occupied.

You were used to her outlandish demands, but this was a whole new level. She was being difficult just to be difficult. Did she expect you to sit criss-cross apple sauce at her feet?

You pause, reigning in your irritation. "I don't understand. Ms. Williams, is—“

Angling your neck in her direction, your speech falters. She's much closer than you anticipated. Leaning down, her face was mere inches from your own. Your cheeks heat, and you're momentarily struck by her looks from up close.

It pains you to admit it, after everything she's put you through. The very person who makes you dread waking up in the morning can make your tummy flutter at the same beat. She was good-looking, objectively speaking. With the whole freckle-faced, green-eyed thing going on. 

Plus she smelled good. Ugh.

Ellie's jaw clenches. "No. I don't think you do."

Before you can respond, probably with an unprofessional what the fuck, she's yanking you up out of your seat. You sputter, skin burning from the contact of her hand wrapped around your elbow. She uses it to maneuver you like a rag doll.

She purposefully steps forward as you stumble off-balanced and careen into her. Just when you think things couldn't get any stranger, Ellie abandons her hold on your arm, hooking around your waist instead, pressing your entire front into hers.

Her arms cage into you on either side of the desk, and it digs into your backside. "Your behavior today has been unacceptable. I should write you up—" 

Something in you snaps.

"Then do it!" You cut in. You'd heard this exact spiel a hundred times over. And despite her numerous threats, your record remained spotless. "I am so sick of this. What'd I even do to make you hate me so much?!"

Momentarily, you seem to stun her. Weakly she mutters, "I don't hate you."

"Yeah right," you scoff, throwing propriety out the window.

Both of you were crossing lines, and you had to accept that you'd likely be out of a job come morning. She was the boss, after all. Blinking away an onslaught of tears, you focus over her shoulder at the beige walls.

She doesn't let you avoid her gaze for long. To your dismay, both her hands grip your face, forcing you to meet her frantic eyes.

"I- fuck, I don't. Seriously. I just," her voice actually cracked. Panic gripped her clear as day, a stark contrast to her typical nonchalant persona. It kept you from stomping on her foot and high tailing it out of there, if only just to see this through and get some long-awaited answers. "I never meant to— oh, fuck it."

Her chapped lips crashed into yours and time stopped. She was actually kissing you.  

Frozen and wide-eyed, you see firsthand the way she melts. Her eyes flutter shut, pressing into you as close as possible so that you're forced backward — a few pens clattering off the desk

Never in your wildest dreams did you foresee this outcome. But for some inexplicable reason, you kiss her back.

Despite your shock, or the questions on the tip of your tongue. Your eyes shut, and your lips finally move against hers. A deep moan is pulled from the depths of her chest and into the slick heat of your mouth.

Grabbing at the lapels on Ellie's suit, you're pleased by how she bends to your whims, arching into you. Her hands wander, a timid quality you would've never attributed to her. She gives your lips chase when you pull away with a wet pwap.

"Why does this feel so, fuck-" you dazedly pant into her spit-slicked mouth. "So good."

"I can make you feel even better," she rushes out, thumbs massaging mindless circles into your hips. She looks drunk, glassy-eyed and flushed pink. "If you let me. Please."

Please. What a trip. You had half a mind to search the room for hidden prank-show cameras.

This new power you seem to hold over her thrums in your veins. It overshadows any lingering doubts, muting the little voice in your head that says this is a bad idea. Instead, you give into the giddy feeling, letting it rush to your head like fizzy soda bubbles. 

Tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, you nod. "Then touch me."

Her eyes light up like a kid on christmas, and her lips stretch into a toothy smile. It's crooked—but hell, is it cute.

Ellie hitches your legs around her hips and pulls your weight into her arms, all the while lavishing your neck with deep sucks. Mindlessly she says things like sweet girl, and even a succession of garbled thank you's. It throws you for a loop; but you can’t deny the way it makes you ache.

Kicking the rolling chair out of the way, she takes you both down to the carpeted floor, laying you gently beneath her. After getting the green light, her hesitation melts away.

Slipping under your shirt, she hungrily palms your tits beneath your bra. The tips of her fingers are calloused, but that fact only seems to heighten your pleasure when they pinch your nipple. With the hand other cradling your skull, she licks into your mouth.

Distracted by her sweet taste, you're caught off guard when Ellie jams a knee between your thighs, forcing out a squeaky, embarrassing moan.

"Fuck," she detaches with a pop, sounding awestruck. Resting her forehead against yours, she peers down. If only she could burn the image of you grinding against her, she would; driven further mad by the feeling of your hot cunt, searing even through the layers separating you.

Suddenly she sits up, shedding her suit jacket and rolling her sleeves to the elbow. She's the picture of sin. Somehow you never realized she was so toned— and, is that a tattoo?

You follow her lead, wriggling out of your blouse and tossing it aside. She helps you with the rest of your clothes, eagerly dragging down your skirt and leaving you in just a pair of cotton panties and a bra. You shy under her unwavering stare, not used to feeling so seen.

"You're unreal," she breathes, resting her hand on your tummy. Her stare lingers on your clothed pussy, the wetness seeping through making it mold to your puffy lips. A proud smirk appears on her face. "You're soaking, fuck. Do ya' always get this wet?"

You squirm, grabbing hold of her wrist. Not to stop her, just with the intention to anchor yourself. "Ms. Will-"

"Ellie," she corrects. She splays her long fingers and slides downwards, stopping to fully cup your heat. "Can I?"

"Yes," you whine, feverish with need. Ellie glides your underwear down your legs, knocking your knees together and pushing them toward your chest for easier access. Once off, she stuffs them into her pocket with zero shame.

Hunkering down, she grips your inner thighs, thumbs maddeningly close to where you're throbbing for her. Splaying them wide for her viewing pleasure, she sucks in a breath and the first sight of your glistening cunt.

"Knew your pussy would be cute," her husky voice drawls. She spreads your sticky folds with her index and middle finger, a string of slick keeping them connected. Exposing your flushed clit and twitching hole, she puckers her lips and with a puh, spits directly inside. Fucking hell— your hips buck, brain short-circuiting.

She doesn't let you get far. Ellie just chuckles, pinning your lower belly with her forearm. Now that she had you like this, there was no running away. Not when you'd only gotten a taste of the pleasure she intended to bestow.

She massages your opening with her thumb, just dipping the tip inside to ease you into it, feeling like sweet torture. Your core gets all cramped up from clenching around nothing, winding yourself up up up. Finally, she slips two of those long fingers inside, knuckle deep.

Scrambling for purchase, your grip finds her wrist like a bracelet. It seems to be your go-to, and you carve out a permanent place there with your nails. So slowly it aches, she bottoms out before tentatively thrusting.

"Oh m'god," you babble, eyes rolling. "oh m'god, you're inside me. I can feel you inside—!"

Ellie shudders, both at your words and the feel of your hot, wet cunt wrapped around her. Taking a deep breath is a mistake; she just gets a lungful of your heady scent. Combined with the feeling of you soaking her hand, her eyes full on roll to the back of her head

"Jesus." Her palm slips up your stomach, taking in every tense of muscle as an orgasm winds up in your core.

Tucking her fingers up in search of your special little spot, Ellie prods a bit before bingo — you clench up tight. You can't think, let alone speak. You can't recall a time you'd ever come so fast, but every curl of her fingers has you climbing up higher and higher to that peak.

Needing to be closer, Ellie plants her free forearm next to your head, upping the pace with her other hand. It grants her a front-row seat to every micro-expression you make, and she tailors her movements to what has you reacting best.

"Look at me," she murmurs, nose grazing your cheek. It takes a moment to comply, her voice sounding far away like you're underwater. "Good girl."

"El," you gasp, legs beginning to shake. Your eyes locked, begging for something.

"I know," she hushes, pecking your lips. She watches with bated breath the way your face crumples when her palm fits against your aching clit. It's just what you need, and your thighs keep her trapped there, grinding back and forth.

In a matter of seconds that feel like a lifetime, you reach your breaking point, cumming around her fingers. Every spasm pushes out a wave of stringy-slick, dribbling down her curled wrist and onto the floor. You don't envy the poor soul who will have to clean it up.

Ellie gently eases you back down to earth, shushing you softly. You can't recall when she slipped out, but from the corner of your eye, you see her stuff them into her mouth.

"Shit," you mutter. As the haze of lust starts to clear up, regret takes its place. You just let your boss, who gets their rocks off making you miserable, finger you on the floor of her office. God dammit--

"Hey," she says gently. It's the opposite reaction you're expecting. Instead of kicking you out, she sits you up, slipping her big jacket around you. When you're decent, she grabs and cradles your hand in two of hers. "I meant what I said. I don't hate you. The opposite, actually."

"Wha-" at first you tilt your head in confusion. Then you really take her in. The shifty eyes, the way she’s pulling at her fingers, those red capped ears of hers. Everything clicks. Oh. "Oh."

It never escaped you how she never paid anyone else the same level of attention. That even at its worst, she never truly hurt you. Just menaced you enough to become a fixture in your life.

"Yeah," she trails off.

"If you're serious, I need you to promise me something."

Ellie's gaze snaps to yours, completely moon-eyed. Reinvigorated, she laces your fingers together, planting a kiss on your knuckles. "Anything."

"One, no more bullshit."

She winces but readily agrees. "Of course."

"And two," you continue before she can jump the gun. "You take me out on a real date."

This gets you a real kiss. "I'll fly you to fucking Paris, whatever you want. Money is no obstacle."

You laugh against her lips. Jesus, this girl. "How about dinner and a movie to start."

"Fuck yeah. Sounds perfect."

For a few minutes, you bask in the moment, exchanging kisses before beginning to redress. Balancing with a hand on the desk to get your shoes on, you pause, suddenly remembering something.

“Can we circle back to the seat thing?” You ask, referencing her ridiculous demand from earlier. “Where were you even going with that?”

It takes a few seconds for your question to register, her mind and body still fuzzy. Then she flushes red, from her neck to the tips of her ears. Was she blushing? Now you were beyond intrigued.

“The desk,” she stutters. Your big scary boss actually stutters. “I was gonna, you know,” she clears her throat as if to dislodge the words. 

Your grin is cheshire. “No, I don’t.”

“Like in the movies n’ stuff,” it’s as if it pains her to admit this. You eat it up. “I was gonna clear off the desk and make you sit there. It was supposed to be... sexy.”

You can’t help it. You laugh. “By 'clear' do you mean toss onto the floor?" You ask, eyeing the very breakable cutter on her desk. The image makes you laugh even harder, bellyaching. "You know that would’ve scared the shit out of me, right?”

Her pout deepens. Ellie buries her face into your neck, muffling her voice. “Shut up.”

[highhhfiveee]

safety net, part two

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

pairing: pornstar!mike schmidt x blackfem!reader summary: mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. wc: 3.5k tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear! i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔 i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

[heartandfangs]

THEN EARN IT.

GENRE Married Couple AU, Romance, Smut

PAIRING CEO!Husband!Jay x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS 18+ ONLY MDNI, Cursing, Mention of anxiety, Lingerie, Mention of food/working out/body image/sex toy use, Teasing, Masturbation, Making out, Multiple orgasms, Oral Sex (f!receiving), Hand job, Oversensitivity, Shower/Wall Sex, Nipple play, Alcohol, Unprotected sex, Fingering, Dom!Jay, Sub!Reader, Dom!Reader, Sub!Jay, Switch!Reader, Switch!Jay

SUMMARY After several weeks of being apart, your husband has a bit of making up to do for Valentine's Day after missing your call and showing up late to the penthouse.

WORD COUNT 4.8k

AUTHOR’S NOTE I'm so sorry I clowned everyone who was waiting for this drop the week of Valentine's (I got sooo busy i'm the biggest clown of them all) but I made it 5x longer than I first intended to and it's hot but also v intimate 🥵🌶

I’ve always considered Jay to be husband material, and here's a fic to show for it. If you wanna edge your brain out to husband CEO Jay in a penthouse, this is for you ♥️ Follow, like & share if you enjoyed! ⚰️ Masterlist © 2021-2023, Heart and Fangs. All rights reserved. Do not translate or post anywhere.

It was certainly something being young and married to Park Jongseong. Well, you wondered if you could be considered young anymore; perhaps to your older coworkers who were empty nesters, you could. To them, you had your whole life set ahead of you, but maybe you were viewed differently by your freshly graduated interns striving to get by the rigorous training standards you set for the Park's company.

Regardless, you felt young.

In a way, Jay made you feel like you had never aged a day since meeting him, and at the same time, it felt like you'd lived someone else's lifetime. Funny how a mere man could affect you so…

And how the prolonged separation between you two never got any easier over the years.

You were the partner who took it all in stride best. Not to say that Jay wasn't a persevering individual; he was your role model in that sense.

But he was undoubtedly the more clingy one; you had just been raised differently. 

After years of getting to know Jay and growing close enough to call him by nickname, it seemed like he was rarely given a chance to work past his anxieties as a child. You've witnessed him grow immensely, and you both had done what you had to do when duty called— whether that meant taking care of business during a month spent apart in different states or even countries. 

The possibility of infidelity has crossed your mind during these times; such thoughts were only normal, yet you chose to trust him fully and knew he trusted you too. 

After all, they say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and the unwavering admiration Jay regards you with gives you the strength to approach each day with an assuredness that everything will be okay at the end of it.

In fact, your husband's signature brand of adoration only grew until it was too much to contain every damn time you finally reunited. 

Not that you ever complained with how exquisite of a lover he grew to be thanks to your guidance and vice-versa. Nor could you ever tire from the spoils of a blessed life, and Jay knew this fact incredibly well.  

However, since your flight into this new city touched down first, you took it upon yourself to prepare the penthouse you two booked with personal touches to celebrate a belated Valentine's. An overrated 'holiday,' at least by your standards, but your husband managed to change your perspective and always made it an occasion to look forward to since the year he met you. 

Of course, business only got busier throughout your marriage. Although you two agreed for the first time to celebrate Valentine's together a few days late this year, the compromise was a bit disheartening. 

The two of you only exchanged a short phone call that night and a few words of longing but nothing more, which was uncharacteristic of Jay. 

He must’ve been exhausted. 

And now, he was running late— much later than the ETA he originally shared with you. 

A plethora of reasons for his hold-up came to mind, and you were beginning to grow worried. Perhaps he was just touching down? Or his phone died? Maybe caught in traffic? It was storming outside, after all…

Even after you'd showered, slathered on your favorite whipped body butter, and thrown on a satin robe, ensuring your complexion was dewy with skincare, you still felt uneasy inside. 

While waiting for Jay's call on the leather sofa, you indulged in a favorite remedy; a full glass of red wine had been calling your name hours ago.

After swallowing the last drop of wine, you attempted to relax into the cushions with a heavy sigh and shut your eyes, a dull pain throbbing between your furrowed brows. You were left with no choice but to wait in the dark.

A knock from the entryway drew you from sleep. You slowly reached for your phone to see several unread messages from Jay, the most recent one reading 'I'm here'. 

You couldn't have reached the door quicker.

Jay stood in the doorway, a damp umbrella snapped in half in one hand and a dozen red roses with drenched petals in the other. He looked handsome as ever; no amount of rain could hamper his looks, droplets soaking into his thick lashes and brows. 

Your brows rose at his state and that he was alive and well. "Jay."

"This cheap ass umbrella inverted the moment I stepped out of the Uber," Jay stated with a straight face, a huff leaving his chest as he stepped inside and dropped the umbrella. 

He automatically raised his arms to embrace you but thought better of it as he took in your rather dry attire with a soft smile, the kind that was only ever reserved for you behind closed doors. He slowly admired you from head to toe, releasing a quiet exhale. You couldn't have felt warmer under your thin excuse of a robe. 

"You look beautiful. I'm sorry I'm late," Jay lightly caressed your lower back with a certain sweetness in his touch, knowing precisely what it did to you between your thighs. 

You reached out first to draw him against your chest tightly. As if you cared about a little bit of rainwater.

"It's about time," you murmured against his neck, pulling back to meet those eyes you missed peering into over meals and late-night conversations, "Do you know how worried I was? Have you eaten yet—"

Within a mere blink, you felt Jay's fingers slide through the locks of your hair, and his lips move against yours with an urgency that reminded you of your college days spent entwined together, fogging up the windows of his vintage car parked on a hill. 

In fact, it was a starved, apologetic kiss worth three long weeks of pent-up frustration from tirelessly rubbing shoulders with investors and back-to-back business meetings without your calm, grounding presence by his side at the end of the day. 

Letting his thoughts run wild about you past midnight and well into his dreams did nothing to quell his heart and body's immense ache for you.

It wasn't nearly enough to fist himself underneath the steaming shower head, feeling like he was about to faint from both burnout and a heady sense of self-fulfilling lust that never quite satisfied. He needed to feel you in his arms, against his beating chest, spilling over his parched lips.

To delight in every pitch of your airy voice, depending on the sweet spots he chose to assault with his tongue and deft fingers.

That's why, while he'd usually continue with charming conversation and offer the smuggest of smiles, all he could do right now was press closer to you like some sort of pitiful creature starved of affection stealing away your warmth, the plush-like softness of your breasts against his firm chest reminding him of all that lay ahead for you two on this well-earned night to be spent reacquainting himself with your body and soul— not that he'd ever forgotten in the slightest. 

It didn't matter that his flight had gotten delayed, that it'd taken him one too many hours than it should have to meet you in the middle because you stood before him now like some sort of mirage, beautiful and as lovely as ever. 

"Jay," You tried to scold despite your cheeks heating up.

"Haven't eaten yet," Your husband confessed, dragging his lips over the curve of your throat with such a tenderness that threatened to buckle your knees. He dropped his palms to knead greedily over the satin fabric draped over your ass in contrast, making you moan softly, "M' starving though. Indulge me a bit with something sweet before dinner, please?"

You sighed, amused, "Dessert before dinner? Think you deserve it?"

With swift fingers, you were already loosening the knot of his tie, which he offered you a grateful look for while running his hands up your spine and shamelessly pressing his hardness between your thighs. Your proximity alone was riling him up, and by handing over the reins, he knew exactly what you would do in response to his overwhelming neediness.

"Oh, I'll earn it," Jay hotly whispered against your lips, practically melding himself to you in any way he could. 

"So willing," The soft corners of your tinted lips tugged upwards as you brushed a strand of dark hair from his half-lidded eyes, feeling Jay shiver beneath his suit. 

"Anything and everything for you," He nodded, a knowing smile forming on his lips. 

It seemed like your baby was counting on you to kill him slowly.

You took the bouquet from his grasp and enjoyed its rosy fragrance before setting it aside on the glass dining table. "Come on. You deserve a hot bath after such a long day, love."

So you tugged him along by his necktie into the spacious master bedroom that reminded you of a lot of the homes you built together. Upon entering, one first noticed the long panel of windows that reached the ceiling lining the left wall, overlooking the city's vast nightlife below. 

Of course, the only view Jay could possibly focus on with parted lips was the sway of your hips and the subtle outline of lingerie he managed to make out under your robe, for you knew he adored lace on your skin just as much as leather. 

As enticing as the massive bed in the center appeared, he followed you into the softly lit master bathroom with a rainfall shower above the enormous tub. With a push of a silver button on the wall panel, the tub began to fill with bubbling, hot water; it could fit a good ten individuals if desired.

You let him look over the space while bending over to light up the several candles you arranged along the wide marble edges of the jacuzzi with a pack of matches.

"Leave it to you to find a place like this," Jay complimented you for your impeccable taste, watching your face through the extensive wall-length mirror just above the tub. 

The space immediately began to smell of elegant rum and white musk. The master bathroom was alight with candles thanks to your quick work, a haze of vapor wafting over the tub's edge. 

"It's all ours for tomorrow and the day after."

"We'll have to make every second count then…" You could feel his gaze licking up your legs just by the hunger tinging his voice like curls of smoke. 

"Like we always do," You flicked your wrist to extinguish the match and toss it into a silver bin before making your way back to Jay, slowly smoothing your palms across his clothed chest and broad shoulders, simply taking him in for the first time in what felt like an eternity. 

Due to time differences and your schedules being packed more than usual this past month, personal calls were seldom made between you, aside from virtual business meetings involving other potential clients and shareholders.

Jay's eyes were alight with excitement as he stared down at you despite the shadows beneath them; you couldn't keep yourself from drawing his face close and placing a kiss on his lips while his hands moved restlessly across your waist, his hips nudging against yours. 

"Mm, please…" 

"Patience, baby," You reminded and gave him an expectant look that he heeded.

Although he couldn't wait, he knew better than to speed up the process you so enjoyed dragging out. Piece by piece, you started to strip him bare, unhurried and teasingly in the most intimate manner.

First, you slipped his tie from his nape, reminded of all the times you've used it as a blindfold or to bind his wrists, then you shoved off his blazer. His wet shirt stuck to his skin like a transparent fabric, and you undid button after button to reveal his toned chest just above a sharply etched set of abs, rainwater, and spiced cologne clinging to his skin.

"Honestly, I haven't had much time to work out these days…" Jay's tongue clicked in dissatisfaction, although you noticed his eyelashes lowering at you. His palm rested against the pulse of your neck, fingers softly curling into your hair.

You cut him off right there, your heated touch under his clothes pulling a restrained moan from his throat. "Missing a few workouts won't hurt you, just don't skip your meals. Quit being so hard on yourself," You reassured him, tugging the ends of his shirt out of his cut waistline and traveling even lower, "You're definitely overthinking it."

Jay cracked a relieved smile, stroking your face, "I have to when my beloved is this beautiful… Ah—"

Your fingertips rubbed lightly over the outline of his throbbing bulge, causing his hips to chase your touch until you finally dropped his trousers to the floor in a haphazard pile, leaving Jay in his tight briefs.

"Fucking driving me crazy…" He caressed your cheek and over your arm in the most pleading manner, his chest rising and falling heavily. You sorely missed the sound of his belabored breaths tickling your ears.

With a lick of your lips, you finally dragged the band of Jay's black briefs down his thighs to witness his hard cock springing forth and dribbling with precum. 

After scraping your nails down his hips and brushing past his trail of hair, your caress just ghosted along his length; all he had to do was press forward, and then he'd finally feel you—

"Go and hop in. I'll be right back with drinks," You stroked Jay's chin as you disappeared into the bedroom to retrieve a bottle of champagne and chilled flutes from the mini-fridge. 

"Fuck," You heard him drawl under his breath, causing you to smirk.

His feet were already bringing him to climb over the marble ledge into the tub, but his inner cheek was caught between his teeth, a knot bobbing in his throat due to desperation. He wobbled a bit before descending into the bath, terribly dizzy, no thanks to you.

Upon re-entering, you found it adorable that Jay sank into the heated water and looked up at you with anticipation. The warmth should've begun to release the tension throughout his body, but it persisted, thanks to your enticing visage.

While you perched on the ledge and busied yourself with pouring champagne, Jay momentarily pulled up near your legs and pressed a chaste kiss against your knee, stroking his hands under the edge of your satin robe. 

Experiencing the desire of his touch after so long took your breath away; he squeezed your thigh as you handed him a bubbly glass full of almond-scented champagne.

Jay caught your wrist, bringing it to his lips to place soft yet insatiable kisses up your palm and inner wrist, gazing into your eyes all the while. 

"I missed you," He reiterated sincerely, making your cheeks warm despite that hours had passed since you last had anything to drink. "I'm sorry I didn't call you back on Thursday. My schedule really got the best of me this week…" 

You could hear the guilt lingering in his voice.

In a typical fashion, you clinked the rim of his glass before knocking the flute back completely, and Jay followed suit. 

You swiped your tongue over your lips, setting the glass aside. "Hm, I suppose you have a bit to make up for, don't you?"

"A lot," Jay reached out to tip your chin towards him and captured your moistened lips, a gesture you returned easily.

"And you will. But first, you can start by sitting back and letting me take care of you, love."

You dipped your legs into the water while seated on the ledge, ushering Jay to sit back between them as you pumped an intoxicating sweet musk-scented gel into your palm. His immediate obedience pleased you; he leaned into your touches as you slowly lathered his body to your satisfaction. 

Brushing over his nipples alone drew rumbly sounds from Jay's throat, but it wasn't until you leaned further over his shoulder and slid your hand down his abdomen to rub against the base of his cock that he failed to choke back a groan. 

"Fuck, you're killing me," Jay echoed your thoughts as his chest heaved, enduring your teasing. 

You hummed knowingly, continuing to pump him from base to tip while nibbling at his reddened ear and flicking his nipple with the other hand. He began thrusting into your grip, chasing a high only you could grant him as you brought him closer and closer to his end…

And then you straightened up, pulling away.

"No, no…" Jay turned on you with a whine and placed his hands on either side of your clothed hips, hauling himself slightly out of the water to press near. You weren't making this easy on him at all.

You felt the water from his body soak through your robe but kept your hands off him. "Thought you were gonna be good for me?"

"I am, but you're teasing me too much," He insisted, rubbing circles into your hips, making you throb between your thighs.

"Don't you think it's about time for you to start making up for things?"

His eyelashes lowered before he dipped his head down to your lace-covered chest. You felt the surface of his hot tongue dip against your cleavage and swirl up your decollete before he started sucking hungry kisses into your skin.

No time was spared in disrobing you to reveal your tight set of strappy, sensual lingerie, a deep crimson against your gorgeous skin. The red mesh lined across your breasts and mound did little to cover the perkiness of your nipples and the sheen of arousal in the place Jay wanted to taste you the most.

He squeezed your breasts, continuing his trail of kisses down your smooth, soft torso with a dimming look in his eyes. Your soft chuckle turned into a gasp when Jay suddenly parted your knees with a firm hold and pressed his tongue against your mesh-covered slit, tasting the sweet excitement you'd been hiding from him since he stepped into the penthouse. 

"Oh—"

The steam rolling off the water paired with the champagne on an empty stomach already made you lightheaded, let alone how Jay started working his tongue over your swollen pussy. 

"That's perfect, baby," You praised him, lifting your hips off the ledge so he could remove your panties, although they were lovely on you for the moment.

He determined long ago that your body laid bare was something to be worshiped altogether. 

"You're perfect," He emphasized with a gentle kiss against your clit, followed by a messy lap of his tongue down to your slit and back up to capture your clit once more. 

Your breath shuddered, eyes shutting with your head tipped back to focus on the incredible sensations of Jay's lips and tongue— his skills never disappointed you. He did his share of messing with you as well; the circles over your nub would grow lazy, and the thrusting of his tongue, shallow, until you slid your hands through his hair, bucking your hips for more.

A glint in Jay's eyes appeared; he relished how you tugged on his strands for a bit longer, and then he indulged you.

His thumb firmly but gently rolled over your clit with swift expertise while he buried his tongue deep into your plush insides, ready to savor the taste of your release. You counted the few seconds you could hold out until your insides clenched and pleasure pulsed outwards towards the tips of your fingers and toes.

"Fuck— M-Mmn, Jay!"

The orgasm Jay gave you was blinding and debilitating as if syrup was released into your veins, making you feel completely euphoric.

With each jerk against his face, you spilled more onto his tongue— could feel him wiggle his wet muscle even deeper as he sought after every drop. He knew that for as lavish a lifestyle you loved to live with him, you still never liked to waste.

Even as you were trembling through the aftershocks of your high, he slid two of his thick fingers into you and proudly dragged his heavy tongue around your puffy clit, his mischievous intent made clear. 

He wanted to see you wrecked.

"Haah— Jay—"At the whiny sound of his name, he stroked your insides, building up the tension in your tummy once more and way faster than you could comprehend. 

"Mm," Jay groaned against your clit with each kiss and suckle like he was enjoying every bit of you. The pads of his fingers rubbed at your sweet spot with vigor and quickly made you lose control of your limbs.

Jay heard your breath stutter as your thighs clamped firmly around his head. You haphazardly slid onto your back, head dangling off the marble ledge as he ruthlessly drew your next orgasm from your body.

"Oh god," You moaned helplessly, warm pussy pulsating around Jay's fingers as he fucked you hard with them, "A-Ah— Ahh!"

Your hole gushed more this time, squirting across his hand and coating his chin as he readily swallowed all of you. You tugged at your nipples and writhed in delight with each soft peck he placed on your sensitive skin. 

Jay just adored seeing you so content after pleasing you to the fullest, or so you thought.

Not a moment later, he stood tall above you, and you let him pull you into his arms, hopping up so you could wrap your legs around his waist. He held you against him firmly, letting you slide against his hard length trapped against your abdomen. The rain shower lightly misted down over your intertwined bodies.

"Guess you haven't lost your touch," You murmured, tracing your nails down his neck.

In two short steps, he slammed you back against the fogged mirror with enough force to send jolts of excitement through your body, but he cushioned the back of your head with his hand. Your heart thrummed against your chest, entrance already dripping with fresh arousal.

"Never," Jay kissed you hard, making you believe he meant it. 

The wetness between your legs was evident as it mingled with his, "Feel free to divorce me the day I do."

"Jay, don't say that. I was just joking—"

"If there comes a day I can't make you cum all over me, I don't deserve you. That's a fact."

"Fine then, same goes for me."

He huffed, kissing your collarbone, "You don't ever have to worry about that."

You laughed and rolled your hips eagerly against his, "It doesn't make sense for you to hold only yourself to that standard."

He raised his head to look you in the eye seriously, "I know, I just… I'm not always there for you, although I want to be. Everything in our life is amazing, but… if we lose it all to something out of our control— I just want you to always be happy. With or without me."

Your brows rose in slight surprise at the combination of insecurity and vulnerability in his confession.

"I'm always with you, Jay. It's gotten tough before, and it'll get tough again, but that's what we signed up for the day we got married, and it's not ever going to deter me from wanting to be with you for life."

Jay seemed to be absorbing your reassuring words, the knot between his brows relaxing, a relieved smile forming on his flushed lips.

"Besides, you can't fail. You have me by your side," You reminded Jay confidently of your business track record, stealing a kiss from him.

He laughed, "I'm sorry for ever doubting you, my love."

"Again. If you're so sorry, prove it…"

You saw that he trusted your previous words like you trusted him with you in his arms, so he swiftly lifted you by the hips, his grip on your ass positively possessive, and sunk you down onto the blushing tip of his aching cock.

"Mmh, that I can do."

He kept you there, and frustratedly, you tugged down the straps of your bralette and unlatched the band, throwing it far over Jay's shoulder onto the floor. Jay's tongue found your hard nipples, flicking over them as you bounced on the tip of his cock, the moist sounds echoing off the damp walls.

"Jay, I swear to god if you don't—!"

Right then, he sheathed you fully on his cock, letting you feel the way he throbbed while you squeezed him tight. The moans you both let out sounded equally desperate; it was maddening. 

"God— look at you, swallowing up my cock so easily even though it's been a few weeks. Been playing with yourself, haven't you? Making use of the dildo that I sent you the day I left?"

You blushed, thinking back to the nights you filled yourself to the brim with Jay's ridiculous yet genius idea of a customized dildo, and admitted the truth, "Maybe, but it doesn't compare to you."

"What do you mean? It's my cock," Jay smirked, hell-bent on teasing you even though it was his idea to give it to you. 

Although they managed to capture each pulsing vein and even the curve of his cock…

"Can't feel it throb or get harder," You insisted, "It doesn't feel hot or—"

Jay thrusted sharply, causing you to cry out in pleasure. "Or what?"

"Or reach deep enough—"

He drew closer, "And?" 

"It doesn't fill me up with cum like you do." Your demure eyes, heavy with dew, pinned him in place as he noticed the longing in them.

"That what you want, my love? Want me to pump your sweet pussy full of my cum?"

"Fuck yeah," You gnawed on your lower lip with a breathy giggle.

With that, he pistoned his hips up into you even harder right as you tightened around his cock. Jay watched your eyes roll into the back of your head, getting lost in the heat of the moment, a sight he never tired of seeing. His balls ached with the urgent need to fill you up, so he pressed you against the wall, tightening his hold around you while his other hand found your sensitive little clit.

"Gimme one more then, sweetheart, c'mon," He encouraged, rolling his hips up into your heat while working his fingers 'round and 'round your sticky clit. 

The entirety of your body shook immensely once more, your nails unintentionally clawing stripes of red across his shoulder blades at the overwhelming sensations bombarding you.

"I love you, ___," You heard Jay pant against your ear before letting go of the unbearable tension seizing your core.

Your cries of pleasure drove him to release, cock twitching as he filled you up with cum that spilled from your entrance with each thrust, punctuated by a deep growl.

"There," Jay pressed a sweet kiss to your lips and ground into you one last time, watching your eyes flutter, "My baby's stuffed to the brim with my cum..."

You hummed happily against his cheek, could feel him leaking out of you.

Jay slid your body back down into the comforting warm water as you caught your breath in his arms.

"Geez… I think I'm gonna be sore tomorrow morning," You admitted.

"I'd be more than willing to give you a little massage then."

"That sounds really lovely," Your lips curled into a smile as you stretched your arms overhead and wrapped them around Jay's neck, "Not so sure about relaxing, though." 

"Why not both an invigorating massage and then a relaxing massage? One after the other, no extra charge?" That roguish smirk of Jay's was back again.

"Two for the price of one?" You feigned a curious peek at him. Your husband's smile had gone soft.

"Only for you, my love."

You gave him a pointed look, "And the price is?"

"You stay for my three-course breakfast afterward." He watched your eyes grow big in excitement, seeing that he hadn't had the chance to cook a homemade meal for you in months.

"So long as it's breakfast in bed," You couldn't help but beam up at him.

"You read my mind," Jay licked at your lips for permission, and you slid your tongue against his in kind.

Jay locked his lips with yours for a deep yet present kiss, one that expressed much more than mere words ever could— and when he slowly pulled back, he could see his future reflected in your eyes just as he did on the day he married you; him by your side, for as long as you'd have him.

A forever earned.

[misshoneyimhome]

you’re interning with the maple leafs athletic training department after graduating university in the health field. you’re new to the city & don’t know anyone. ur quiet and only engage with players when spoken too. it’s obvious ur intelligent and very career driven. you have an independent vibe. it’s clear ur not impressed or starstruck by players, but not in a rude way its just u aren’t interested in hockey as a sport only the health aspect as it relates to ur career, so ur vibe gives off very much *professional only here to get paid*😂….anyway willy thought you were stunning initially,but he was caught off guard since ur not his usual type and don’t have the same physical or aesthetic look as any other gf/vibe in the league. ur appearance is very feminine but u dress streetwear tomboy. ur slim but with an hourglass build athletic legs /big butt. u have big long curly hair that u let flow wild and don’t wear makeup but ur skin glows and thick dark eyelashes /rosey lips are striking. its clear willy is not the only one that finds u intriguing bc he’s noticed few players act “different” when u come around -and he can tell they’re crushing on you. they’re harmlessly flirtatious with u but ur oblivious. he knows someone will ask u out soon. how do you think willy reacts? does he make a move? does he feel jealous? he hasn’t even had a chance to introduce himself, yet he’s seen other players find an excuse to interact with u. he knew he was interested but didn’t expect to have to act so soon. does chill willy feel like he has competition or nah? can you write something to add or finish the plot or just take this concept and create ur own magic 😅 i have the vision but definitely not the skill or outlet lmao

Absolutely, babe! So, this was more than just something and I definitely enjoyed it 🤍 You provided me with so much inspiration, and I hope I've managed to convey your vision at least to some extent 😉

Perhaps there's room for a sequel, but I also believe it stands strong on its own - either way, my wish is for you to enjoy it 🤗

Warnings; none, it's pure fluff 🌺 maybe some language, but nothing out of the ordinary;

Word count; 5K

Song inspiration; "Lovestoned/ I Think She Knows" by Justin Timberlake

Taglist; @couldawouldashoulda50 @findapenny @justwanderingbutneverlost

➼｡ﾟ

She’s got me Lovestoned I William Nylander

“She looks like a model Except she's got a little more ass Don't even bother Unless you've got that thing she likes I hope she's going home with me tonight”

Your heart raced with excitement as you followed your manager through the busy corridors of the Maple Leafs' training facility. The sound of skates scraping against the ice and the reverberation of pucks hitting the boards filled the atmosphere, adding to the tangible buzz of the surroundings.

Freshly graduated from university with a degree in the healthcare field, you had long imagined this moment. Securing an internship with the athletic training department of one of the most esteemed sports teams in the league was a dream come true – an opportunity to apply your expertise and knowledge in a practical environment.

As you strolled, you couldn't help but admire the cutting-edge facilities surrounding you. From the fully equipped gym to the medical treatment rooms, every aspect was crafted to ensure the players received optimal care and resources.

And your manager, sensing your admiration, offered you a warm smile. "Welcome to the team miss y/l/n," they said, their tone brimming with pride. "We're delighted to have you join us."

You reciprocated the smile, thankful for the chance and eager to demonstrate your abilities. This was your moment to establish yourself in the realm of sports medicine, to glean knowledge from the experts and contribute to the team's triumphs.

And as you continued to explore the facility, a surge of excitement pulsed through you. This marked merely the beginning of your journey with the Maple Leafs, and you were resolute in seizing every opportunity that lay ahead.

_

As you settled into your role as an intern within both the Medical and Performance teams, your reserved and composed demeanour became apparent to those around you. You'd always been one to let your actions do the talking, and this remained unchanged in your new environment.

Focused and resolute, you approached each task with unwavering commitment; whether it involved aiding in rehabilitation exercises or conducting pre-season screenings, you handled each duty with precision and diligence.

While some might have mistaken your quiet nature for aloofness, those who took the time to understand you soon discovered there was more beneath the surface. You were intelligent, determined, and fiercely independent – a formidable presence in your own right.

Unlike many others in your position, you weren't swayed by the glamour of professional hockey. While you respected the sport and admired the players' athleticism, your focus lay solely on the health and well-being aspect, aligning with your career aspirations.

To you, the players were not celebrities to be idolised but individuals to be cared for – athletes whose welfare relied on your expertise. And you simply approached your responsibilities with professionalism and purpose, recognising the significance of your role in the team's success.

Yet, although you kept to yourself, speaking only, when necessary, your influence permeated the facility. Your dedication to excellence and the players' wellbeing garnered the respect and admiration of your colleagues. And as you delved deeper into your work, you found a profound sense of satisfaction, knowing you were making a meaningful impact on the athletes' lives and careers.

_

As the first two weeks of your internship with the team flew by faster than you’d expected, you quickly became fully engrossed in the dynamic world of professional hockey. The days were a whirlwind of absorbing new information, making acquaintances with staff and players, and engaging in hands-on tasks that put your skills and knowledge to the test.

With the start of the regular hockey season on the horizon, the gravity of the job began to dawn on you. However, far from feeling daunted, you embraced the challenge with enthusiasm and resolve. This was the culmination of your training, the result of your hard work, and you were prepared to demonstrate your worth.

With each passing day, your confidence in your abilities grew, and you found your rhythm within the team. Yet, while your focus remained on your duties, you gradually began to forge connections with those around you, as the staff and players greeted you with open arms, fostering a sense of camaraderie that made it easy to acclimate to your new surroundings. Your initial intention to maintain a professional distance slowly faded, and you somehow found yourself drawn into the team's social dynamics.

As time went on, laughter and friendly banter became commonplace during the long hours spent with your colleagues, and before you knew it, you were joining in with the playful teasing.

"Come on, Lou," you chuckled. "Who's the trickiest player?" you quipped.

"I can’t say..." Louis Rojas, the Head Strength and Conditioning Coach, chuckled in response. "But there are certainly a few who need a gentle nudge when it comes to the rehabilitation aspect of training..." he winked. "And I won't name names, but it seems like the longer they've been on the team, the more inflated their ego becomes."

It was all good-natured banter, naturally. From your perspective, each player had their own unique traits, but you understood why – this was the results of their lifelong dream, pursued with sacrifices of social life and late nights for early morning training sessions and weekend games.

And despite the jests, you felt like you were part of a close-knit family among your peers.

Whether it was the late nights after a defeat or the shared jubilation following a hard-fought victory, every experience drew you nearer to your team. And when a player sustained an injury, regardless of how minor, you felt the weight of responsibility, knowing you played a vital role in the team's support structure.

Even the players, initially unfamiliar with your reserved nature, began to open up to you as they became more acquainted. Despite any unintentional distance, they valued your commitment and professionalism, gradually extending their trust and respect.

And as you navigated through the highs and lows of the hockey beginning of the season alongside your newfound comrades, you couldn't help but sense a feeling of belonging – a realisation that, despite any initial hesitations, you were precisely where you were meant to be.

_

“She shuts the room down The way she walks and causes a fuss The baddest in town She's flawless like some uncut ice I hope she's going home with me tonight”

As the months went by, more players gradually began to get to know your personality a bit better, noticing the subtle sparks you unintentionally ignited. And one player, in particular, found himself increasingly drawn to you.

William Nylander hadn't anticipated this turn of events, being entirely focused on his career and having his best season yet. However, as the young Swedish forward observed you carrying out your duties with quiet resolve, he couldn't ignore the growing sense of curiosity that stirred within him. Unlike the typical women he encountered in the hockey world, you possessed a unique charm and allure that captured his attention from the outset.

Your appearance defied convention, blending elements of femininity with a distinctive streetwear tomboy aesthetic. Your slender yet athletic figure, accentuated by your hourglass figure, toned legs, and shapely posterior, intrigued him in a way he hadn't expected.

Your long, untamed curls flowed down your back, framing your face in a halo of natural beauty. And though you opted for minimal makeup, your natural radiance shone through, with thick, dark eyelashes framing your captivating eyes and rosy lips that seemed to beckon him. Yet, it wasn't solely your physical attributes that intrigued him – it was your confident and graceful demeanour, your unapologetic embrace of your individuality.

To William, you represented a refreshing departure from the predictable stereotypes usually found in the hockey world. He found himself drawn to your authenticity, your refusal to conform to societal norms. And as he observed you navigate the challenges of your role with quiet determination, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to you than met the eye.

Yet, amidst his desirable interest, he couldn't help but think of how you might respond to his actions and thoughts. Would you reciprocate his attention, or would you maintain your professional composure, unaware of the impact you had on those around you?

Only time held the answer, but one thing was clear—William was determined to find out. And one day, he resolved to take action and initiate a conversation.

"Hey there, I'm Willy," he introduced himself, flashing his trademark smirk as he encountered you in the physio room shortly after a session where the performance team had discussed nutritious foods and home recipe ideas.

And as you tidied up the materials from the presentation, a soft chuckle escaped you. "Yes, I'm aware," you replied with a gentle smile.

"You are?" he inquired, a small hint of surprise in his tone.

"Well, of course," you chuckled once more, a mischievous glimmer in your eye as you neatly arranged the papers. "It's part of my job - I'm familiar with all of you, including your current physical condition and medical histories."

William couldn't contain his amusement at your response, his smirk broadening as he let out a soft chuckle. It wasn't often that someone managed to catch him off guard, but there was something about your effortless confidence that intrigued him.

"Ah, so you've been doing your homework on me, eh?" he teased, leaning casually against the nearby equipment rack with a playful glint in his eye.

"You could say that," you retorted with a grin, a touch of mischief flickering in your gaze. "But don't worry, your secrets are safe with me."

William smiled, a sense of warmth enveloping him at your relaxed banter. "Well, in that case, I hope it's all just good stuff," he quipped, flashing you a charming smile, his eyes gleaming with genuine interest.

"Oh, absolutely," you replied, feigning innocence. "Only the finest gossip about your impeccable physique and stellar health habits."

William laughed, shaking his head in mock disbelief. "Well, I'm relieved to hear I've made such an impression," he joked, his smirk widening as he leaned in a little closer, a newfound sense of connection sparking between you.

And as the conversation flowed, the playful banter between you and William felt effortless, each exchange infused with light-hearted humour and genuine warmth. Despite starting off as acquaintances, it was evident that this spontaneous encounter held the promise of something more, leaving a sense of anticipation lingering in the air like a whisper of exciting possibilities.

_

As the first few months progressed, William couldn't help but notice the subtle shifts in dynamics whenever you were present. He observed how other players' demeanours changed, becoming more animated and flirtatious when you entered the room. And despite your apparent obliviousness to their advances, William couldn't shake the twinge of jealousy gnawing at him.

As it was, your responsibilities extended beyond mere observation and monitoring of the players' physical and mental well-being; at times, you were also required to engage with them physically. Whether it involved carrying out a soft massage to their legs or backs, aiding with stretches, or similar activities with the purpose of facilitating their recovery, ensuring the were swiftly back on their feet was part of your role.

And truth be told, when a young, attractive woman like yourself interacted closely with young men, some of whom were not in committed relationships, their minds often wandered. And consequently, comments occasionally slipped out, their mouths moving faster than their rational thoughts.

"You know, you can press harder, I can handle it."

"We could continue this session later, when it's more private."

"Your touch is amazing – it's really doing wonders... anything else you're good at?"

To you, these remarks seemed harmless, playful, and merely part of the camaraderie. You were accustomed to the tone, unaffected by it, and accepted it as part of the team dynamic, which was likely why the management allowed you to work in such close proximity to the players.

However, for William, these comments carried a weightier significance.

For some time now, William had been trying to forge a closer connection with you, seizing any opportunity to get to know you better amidst the limited time available. Yet, despite his efforts, you simply remained a staff member while he was a hockey player under your care. And he wasn't the only one deserving of your attention. Your professional interest extended to all the players, regardless of their role on the team, and it appeared that some others were making rather direct attempts at flirting.

A part of him had hoped for more time to cultivate a deeper bond with you before making a move. However, with each passing day, he felt the pressure mounting as he observed other players finding excuses to engage with you.

Despite his typically relaxed demeanour, the young Swede found himself torn between maintaining his composure and the urge to stake his claim before someone else did. It was an unfamiliar sensation; one he hadn't felt before. Usually, it would be the women vying for his attention. But you were different. You exuded nothing but a sense of calm, confidence, and independence that simply captivated him.

And as he deliberated his options, William realised that he needed to take action, to seize the moment before it slipped away.

_

"And now I walk around without a care She's got me hooked It just ain't fair, but I... I'm love stoned and I could swear That she knows"

Fortunately for William, an opportunity presented itself one evening, and he was determined not to let it slip by. It was a typical Wednesday training session, with a match scheduled for the following day, and during the ice time, he inadvertently made a small movement, aggravating his existing back injury.

While not severe, the coaching staff still insisted on him being checked before the upcoming game. And luckily, you were still at the facilities, having just finished up a report when he entered the medical treatment room.

"Hey y/n," he greeted softly, walking with a slight crook in his step, the pain from his lower back evident.

"Hey William, what's up?" you asked, noticing his discomfort. "Is everything okay?" you inquired, concern evident in your voice.

"Just call me Willy," he smiled. "But um... yeah, I sort of did something... I mean... Kniesy tackled me, and now I can feel it in my back..." he explained with a light chuckle.

"Well, how about you undress a bit, and then we can take a closer look at it?" you suggested with a sweet smile, to which he simply nodded.

"Usually, I take the girls out before they ask me to strip," he cheekily remarked as he began to undress before you.

Raising a brow, you flashed him a grin and a questioning look. "Do you really?"

This was the type of banter that most of the players appreciated about you. You weren't afraid to push boundaries and test their comfort zones.

"Maybe not," William admitted with a chuckle as he stood in front of you, only the physio table separating you, in nothing but his short shorts before you directed him to lie face down.

"Well, at least you admit it," you replied softly, surprising yourself by engaging in a more personal conversation than usual. "Most guys just act like they couldn't care less."

William was slightly taken aback by your candidness. While you'd shared conversations where you got to know each other better, you hadn't delved into deeper opinions before.

"Why wouldn't I care?" William smiled as he shifted his head to the side, meeting your gaze as you stood beside the table. "I mean, she's still a person, right?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying what most guys do," you replied.

"Well, maybe I'm not like most guys," William retorted, his wink adding to his cheekiness.

His comment took you by surprise, causing you to pause for a moment. Though you hadn't exactly considered any of the players as close friends or thought about them in a romantic way, there was something about this Swede that suddenly had you reconsidering.

Was he flirting with you?

No, you dismissed the thought. You were definitely not his type, or any of the players for that matter. After all, you were just there to help maintain their health so they could perform at their best.

Yet, as you thought about it, you couldn't deny that most of the players were indeed attractive. And given that you'd seen most of them in various stages of undress, you knew what they looked like from head to toe.

And you probably couldn't deny the allure of the players. Each had their own charm – some were sweet and kind, while others were more playful and cheekier. Yet, none of them displayed any meanness or cruelty. Even Reaves, who often projected a rough and tough exterior, revealed a tender side when speaking about his family. In fact, most of the players with families exhibited a similar dichotomy. Despite their tough demeanour on the ice, they were remarkably different behind the scenes.

Then there were the younger players, some single, some in relationships, all equally playful and lacking a certain level of maturity. However, you found their antics amusing and entertaining. Perhaps only Woll, the sweetheart of the team, was less inclined towards playful banter, but lively, nonetheless.

And despite your bit of familiarity with these players on a personal level by now, they remained nothing more than the team you were tasked with caring for and supporting as needed.

So, pushing aside any lingering thoughts, you focused your attention on the player's bare back, beginning to apply pressure to his tender muscles to locate the sore spot.

"How's this?" you inquired in your professional tone.

"It's good, but maybe you need to go a bit lower... that's where the pain is worst," William responded, the cheekiness in his voice fading as he sensed your seriousness.

And as you continued to massage his back, applying pressure to different muscle groups before focusing on his lower back, a few minutes passed.

"Here?" you asked, indicating the area.

William nodded lightly, then hesitated, feeling a twinge of awkwardness as he tried to pinpoint the exact location of his discomfort.

"Uh, yes, but..." he cleared his throat. "Maybe even lower..."

You sensed his slight nervousness, understanding what he was hinting at. Yet, you remained professional, knowing exactly how to address his injury and provide appropriate care.

"Willy, are you referring to your sciatic area?" you asked.

"What's that?" he chuckled.

"Well, it's one of the largest nerves in the body, extending from your lower back down each leg," you explained, smiling even though he couldn't see it.

"Oh, so, uh..." he trailed off, unsure how to ask, and you couldn't help but chuckle lightly, maintaining your professional demeanour.

“It means I'll have to massage your glute - as in your bum. It's one of the largest muscles where the nerve runs behind, but it seems like yours is cramping a little, pressing onto the nerve, which causes the pain."

William understood your explanation, and a smirk crossed his face as he imagined your perspective on his ass at that moment.

"Well, I suppose there's nothing else to do but for you to go ahead," he chuckled lightly.

Sensing his slightly cheeky demeanour once again, you aimed to bring the situation back to a professional tone.

"Willy, it's nothing sensual. And believe me, it's probably a lot more painful than pleasant," you reassured him.

"I think I can handle it," he replied with a cocky smile.

"We'll see about that."

And with his understanding, you went ahead and placed your elbow onto his cheek and started to circle it in order to loosen up the cramp muscle.

“Shit!” William exclaimed as he suddenly felt the pain course through his body.

One thing in particular that you’d become known for amongst the players, was that you were rather strong compared to your size. And you didn’t hold back when you knew that their injuries required force. 

“Told you it wasn’t pleasant.” You grinned softly, as you continued to massage his cheek. 

And as more minutes went by, William’s deep grunts only grew more incoherent and out of breath. He was nothing but sore, yet as you released your arm from his body, he felt a newfound release washing over him. As if your massage had healing powers, the pain slowly faded into nothing, and he didn’t feel the twinge in his lower back any longer. 

“Fuck…” he let out a deep sigh as he caught his breath.

“Need a minute, Nylander?” you mocked playfully and flashed him a grin as your eyes met with his.

“Maybe…” he softly admitted, still a little numb from the intense feeling you had caused him. 

“That’s good, that means it’s working.” 

You turned around to remove your latex gloves, and as your turned back, William slowly rose and turned to his side to face you, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. Despite the discomfort of the massage, he recognised its necessity and appreciated your expertise.

"Thanks, y/n," he said sincerely, meeting your gaze as you turned back to face him.

"You're welcome, Willy," you replied with a warm smile, appreciating his gratitude.

A moment of silence followed as you both remained still, and the tension of the massage easing away. Then, suddenly, William's expression softened, and he cleared his throat, as if preparing to speak.

"Listen, y/n, I... uh... I just wanted to ask..." he trailed off, his cheeks colouring slightly.

You raised an eyebrow, curious about what he was trying to express. "Yes?" you prompted gently.

But before William could continue, the door to the physio room swung open, and one of the team trainers entered, interrupting the moment.

"Hey, William, everything okay? I heard you were having some trouble with your back," Dean inquired, concern evident in his voice.

"Yeah, I'm fine now, thanks to y/n," William replied, shooting you a grateful look.

Dean nodded, then turned to you with a smile. "Thanks for taking care of him, y/n. We appreciate it." 

You nodded in acknowledgment, though you couldn't hide the slight disappointment you felt at the interruption, before he swiftly left the room again. However, William's reassuring smile lifted your spirits, sparking a sense of excitement within you. Perhaps there was more to his earlier words than you had initially thought.

And as William watched you, a surge of determination coursed through him. This was his moment, his opportunity to finally express what had been on his mind for so long. So, with a deep breath, he pushed himself up to sit, his gaze unwavering as he met yours. The lingering soreness in his back served as a reminder of your expertise and the connection they shared.

"So, this is it?" he asked, his voice soft yet filled with anticipation, a hint of vulnerability peeking through his confident facade.

"Well, for now," you replied with a smile. "But we'll need to keep an eye on you to ensure it doesn't happen again like that. Cramps like these often come back." You found yourself unintentionally delving into the details of the injury, your passion for health and well-being shining through. "And, um... it's good to have someone who understands the injury to provide follow-up care," you concluded, realising you had been speaking more than intended. "Sorry, I'm rambling," you added with a sincere smile.

But William simply chuckled softly, finding your passion endearing as you spoke about the injury. He couldn't tear his gaze away from you, captivated by both your expertise and your beauty. 

"Anyway, we should probably get back," you suggested softly, your friendly smile causing a flutter in William's heart. 

But he didn't want this moment to end, not yet. Summoning his usual confidence, William spoke before he could second-guess himself. "Y/n, do you want to go out with me?" he asked, the words tumbling out faster than he could skate.

You didn't quite catch his words over the echoing noise of the hallways. "Pardon?" you asked, turning to face him, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

Taking a deep breath, William tried again. "I mean, since you've already massaged my ass... I was just thinking... maybe you want to go out with me... sometime?"

His question caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily stunned. Frozen in your position, you struggled to process the unexpected turn of events.

“Willy…” you started, unsure of how to respond. Could you go out with him, a player for the team you worked for? Had you overlooked any contractual restrictions regarding such situations?

Truth be told, you hadn't paid much attention to those details before, as they didn't seem relevant at the time. Yet here you were, faced with an unexpected situation.

As you hesitated, William sensed your uncertainty, a twinge of fear for rejection creeping into his mind. Had he overstepped the boundaries? Perhaps he had misread the signals or been too presumptuous. Chiding himself internally, he realised that charming you and engaging in physical contact were not enough to win your affections. You were different, and he needed to find a way to impress you.

"I mean," he interjected, attempting to ease the tension he had created. "I just know that, uhm, some of the other guys were, you know, thinking about asking you the same... so," he sighed, "Just thought I'd try and beat them to it," he added with a nervous chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

Your confusion deepened at his explanation, feeling overwhelmed by the revelation. "Oh... wait, what?" you exclaimed, your mind racing at the thought of other players potentially having similar intentions.

You were baffled. Did the players talk about you when you weren’t there?

"You didn't know?" William looked at you, equally surprised, as his teammates hadn’t exactly been subtle in their flirting.

"Well, do I look like someone who knew?" you quipped, attempting to flash a crooked smile, causing William to simply let out a small laugh.

“Come on, they’ve all been flirting with you!” he chuckled.

“They have?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Well, now you know.”

You needed a moment to process it all. As you contemplated how to navigate this unexpected revelation, feeling unable to simply ignore it and return to your usual routine, you gazed at the Swede before you.

“But... why?”

Again, William laughed. “What do you mean why? Come on, y/n – you’re good-looking, funny, smart, and most of all, you don’t seem desperate or starstruck whenever you're around us,” he explained.

“Why would I be that?” you simply asked.

“Well, a lot of girls are, I mean, we’re hockey players,” William grinned confidently.

“Oh wow, please work on that self-confidence of yours,” you rolled your eyes as you crossed your arms. “Seriously, I don’t get why women would just throw themselves at your feet… you’re just… humans.”

“Well, they do,” William laughed again, his confident smirk still in place. “But I guess that’s just what we all like about you... that you don’t...”

“Hmm, I suppose I don’t,” you attempted a smile, still uncertain how to react to it all.

There was another moment of silence as the two of you simply stood before each other, your thoughts still swirling. However, as William hadn’t received a clear response, he let out a soft chuckle and decided to press on.

“So, do you?”

“Huh?” you blinked a few times, slowly returning to reality.

“Do you want to go out with me?” he chuckled once more. “Just for a coffee or something?”

He seemed genuinely serious about this, didn’t he? You thought. As you gazed into his deep ocean blue eyes, you couldn’t ignore the unexpected attraction you suddenly felt towards him. It might have been there for a while, but amidst your own musings, you hadn’t paid it much attention.

“Well, wouldn’t it be inappropriate?” you asked softly, still maintaining your professional demeanour despite the stirrings of emotion within you. But William simply shrugged in response.

“I don’t know… I mean, I guess in a way…” he let out a small sigh. “I just didn’t want to miss the chance, you know, in case you did want to…”

Once again, there was a lingering moment in the air. You couldn’t deny the temptation, given that you were, in fact, single, and had been missing a man’s touch ever since you’d focused so much on your internship. But a part of you felt like it would be wrong.

In a way, you worked for William. You couldn’t go out with him. What if it didn’t go well, and he’d hurt you or vice versa? Then it would just be awkward seeing each other every day. Or what if it went too well, but the management wouldn’t approve of it, and both of you would end up being hurt?

Your thoughts raced at a high speed, causing you to lightly gasp for air. Yet, your train of thoughts was interrupted by the door swinging open again and this time Lou entered.

“Oh hey,” he smiled. “You guys all done in here?”

“Yeah sorry, we just chatted,” William explained casually, as you remained frozen in position. “I better go.”

And as he left the room and Lou started to talk to you, you suddenly felt a wave of disappointment wash over you. Watching William leave with your indirect rejection of his proposal suddenly caused you to feel a sense of unease, perhaps making you realise that there was something more to it all.

Then as you realised you hadn’t heard a single word of what Lou had said, you excused yourself and hurriedly followed the Swedish player.

“Hey, Willy,” you called after him, causing him to halt and turn around. Trying to maintain your composure, you met him halfway and flashed him a sweet smile. “I suppose coffee wouldn’t be too bad,” you spoke softly, earning a smile from the taller player.

“Well then, I guess I’ll buy you a cup whenever there’s time,” he chuckled lightly, feeling a sense of relief.

“I’ll look forward to it,” you said with a soft smile, then turned around and forced yourself to refocus on work.

And as you walked away, William couldn’t help but bite his lip as he thought proudly about being the first to ask you out and your positive response. Finally, he could acknowledge all the emotions he’d been feeling for a while, and perhaps, just perhaps, you felt the same for him.

[dear-ao3]

dear high school and college students who are interning or are freshly graduated with jobs please for the love of god buy yourself a backpack or a bag that isnt the one that you got for free from your schools athletic department with your last name and jersey number on it or have a sports team logo on it or something of that nature. it is absolutely killing your vibe.

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee [Chapter 2]

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

After a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

So you pack your bags and move to Japan, only to find the students at U.A. High School traumatized by the Hero War. Aizawa is struggling to help them, and Nezu is overwhelmed trying to find therapists while managing international scrutiny over the students' involvement in the war. Aizawa panics when Nezu informs him of your arrival, as your hero profile is so blank he can't find decent information about you, despite your international headlines.

Your start is rocky, worsened by your initial deception of pretending to be his new student. The students are unsure what to make of you, but they’re drawn to their new pretty art teacher and soon so is their handsome grump of a teacher.

With the media down his neck, Nezu offers you a deal: Get the kids to seek therapy, you to graduate with your psychology doctorate. Aizawa’s catch: If you fail or harm them, you walk away from being a therapist and hero altogether.

All while facing your own trauma, and the affections of those strange cats...

Chapter summary: Your big brain ass pretends to be a student in order to see what you'd gotten yourself into. Rumi and Tashiro try to help as best they can, but Aizawa always did have watchful eyes.

Song: Good day's by Sza

------------------------Chapter 2: First days------------------------------

"Come on, Sunshine! You're gonna be late!" A voice echoed through the bustling morning streets.

"I'm coming!" you shouted back, weaving through the throng of people and struggling to tug your blazer into place as you dashed through the crowd. The tie around your neck was being a bag of bitches as it refused to cooperate, slipping out of your grasp every time you tried to tighten it. Just as frustration began to bubble, larger hands encased yours, guiding them with practiced ease.

You looked up to see Taishiro, sticking his tongue out at you. You did the same back to him, and both of you giggled. 

The morning streets of Japan buzzed with life as the city awoke to another day. The sky above was a soft blue, tinged with the pinks and oranges of dawn, while the hum of conversation, the chatter of street vendors, and the occasional honk of a car horn filled the air. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling street food wafted through the narrow streets, mingling with the crisp scent of morning dew.

"Come on, you two!" another voice called out, her tone impatient yet playful.

"Okay, MOM!" you replied, jogging up to her. Rumi was wearing a baseball cap pulled low and stylish workout clothes that hid her true identity. Despite the camouflage, there was no mistaking the determined glint in her eye. 

Taishiro walked on your other side, dressed in his usual casual attire, which somehow managed to make him blend in and stand out all at once. He was munching on a breakfast burrito, the sight of which made your stomach grumble in envy. But you learned a long time ago that breakfast and bullet trains do NOT mix well with you. 

Even now, with the weight of recent events hanging over all of you, his cheerful demeanor was as resilient as ever. His pockets were filled with candy, and he offered a helping hand to anyone who crossed his path, his signature sweet smile never far from his lips.

Rumi flexed her arms, still testing out her new prosthetics, looked focused yet determined. It was taking a while to find a doctor or healer that could help her regrow her limbs. There was no guarantee it would ever work, but that didn’t dampen her spirit. Taishiro, on the other hand, had to eat for ten people now just to put on weight and keep his fluffy appearance.

"This is our stop!" Rumi announced, her voice cutting through the morning air as she bounded through the block, reaching the school gates with her usual exuberance. The sunlight glinted off her prosthetics, casting small, reflective beams onto the pavement.

"Did you remember to bring your bookbag?" she teased, her eyes glinting mischievously as she turned to you.

"Yes, Mom – ouch !" you yelped, rubbing the spot where she flicked you with a smirk. Rumi’s grin widened, clearly pleased with herself. You took your bag off your shoulder with a, “What’s good cottontail!” She pretended to be scared before putting her fists up and squatting. 

Before things could escalate, Taishiro stepped between the two of you, his broad frame creating a buffer. "Enough you two, let's not create a scene like in the train station," he said, his tone gentle but firm, a reminder of his steady presence.

You couldn't help but snicker at the mention. The train station incident had been chaotic but hilarious. Rumi, in her excitement, had accidentally knocked over a whole display of snacks with her butt, and Taishiro had to smooth things over with the staff while you tried to hide your laughter.

As you approached the school gates, the energy around you shifted. The air buzzed with the excitement of students returning from summer vacation. Groups of kids chatted animatedly, showing off new gadgets, comparing outfits, or simply catching up. The sight stirred a pang of nostalgia within you, a reminder of your own school days, simpler times when the biggest worry was passing a test.

And maybe a little nostalgic for an old roommate you desperately missed. 

"Ready for your first day?" Taishiro asked, giving you a reassuring pat on the back that was more comforting than words could convey.

"Ready as I'll ever be," you replied, taking a deep breath to steady your nerves. A mix of excitement and anxiety churned within you. Teaching at U.A. wasn’t something you had planned, but after Nemuri called you from her coma, you knew you had to answer. You promised her. 

There was no turning back now. 

Taishiro gave you a concerned look, his brow furrowing slightly. "Are you sure you want to pretend to be a student?" He was trying to look inconspicuous but that was hard when the man was wearing a yellow hoodie and waving to some first years that recognized him. 

"Yes," you said with a nod, fiddling with the buttons of your blazer as you spoke. "How else am I going to really learn about her students?" It was a risk, but one you felt was necessary to truly understand the lives of those you were here to help.

Rumi's grin widened, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I can't wait to whip these kids into shape." She tapped her good foot against the ground with a bit too much force, the sound echoing off the walls. It was sweet really, how she was still so full of life. Helped you relax some nights. 

You couldn’t help but laugh. "I really hope those kids are still alive by the end of the day."

As the three of you sneaked into the school, you began to explore the different areas. The hallways were alive with activity, students rushing to their classes, chatting, and laughing. The hum of youthful energy filled the air, a stark contrast to the grim reality outside these walls. You felt a surge of nerves mixed with responsibility. 

These kids were the future heroes of society, and you were here not just to guide them, but maybe to make their lives a little less heavy, a little less burdened by the weight of the world they were about to inherit.

Or at least try to make them feel less shitty. 

"Ya know, Sunshine," Taishi started, his tone light and comforting as the three of you made your way through the bustling hallways. Students streamed past, their footsteps echoing against the tiled floors, conversations blending into a lively hum around you. 

"You really should wait for the official teacher orientation before diving in headfirst."

Rumi rolled her eyes, her white ears twitching with amusement as a group of first-year students scurried by, trying not to bump into the thiccck amazon. "Yeah, let her get bored to death by half-assed intros."

You chuckled softly, the playful banter between them easing the tight knot of nerves in your stomach. The chatter of students filled the air, and lockers clanged open and shut as kids rushed to grab their things before the next bell. "I appreciate the advice, but I'm sticking with this plan."

Taishi smiled warmly, his presence as reassuring as ever amidst the organized chaos. A couple of students lit up when they saw him, and he returned the gesture with a cheerful grin before throwing them some candy. "We get it, but remember, pace yourself. We're in this for the long haul."

‘Yeah, the long haul.’

Mirko playfully nudged your shoulder, her eyes gleaming with mischief as a group of students peeked curiously at her from around a corner. "And don't worry, Mommy and Daddy will make sure you fit right in. Just follow our lead."

You stuck your tongue out at her, a reflexive gesture that felt almost childlike, and she responded by biting the air, her expression turning mock-threatening. Best not to tease Rumi when she’s worked up like this. Especially not when she was surrounded by excitable first-years who couldn’t stop whispering about her.

The school bells rang, sharp and clear, signaling the start of classes. Freshman students rushed to their classrooms, their laughter and chatter creating a vibrant, almost electric atmosphere in the corridors. Some stumbled as they tried to hurry, books nearly toppling from their arms, while others darted past, eager to begin their first official day.

As the hallway began to clear, Taishiro and Mirko led you through the corridors, pointing out various landmarks while dodging the last few stragglers. "Over there's the cafeteria," Taishiro pointed out with a grin, gesturing toward a large set of double doors from which delicious scents wafted out. 

The faint clatter of dishes and the murmur of voices could be heard from within. "Best place to grab a bite between classes. And trust me, the food's fantastic."

Mirko chimed in, her pace quick and lively, "And if you ever need a break, Baby Bunny, there's a great spot on the rooftop for some fresh air and quiet." She shot you a knowing smile, her expression softening as she spoke. You could almost see the twinkle in her eye, imagining how she knew you’d use that spot to clear your head.

You nodded, absorbing the information while appreciating their efforts to make you feel informed and welcomed. The school’s layout was starting to become familiar, with students darting in and out of classrooms, their voices bouncing off the walls. 

Some paused to glance at the three of you, whispering excitedly behind their hands. They knew who Mirko was, of course, and even Taishiro, though less flashy, drew attention with his kind demeanor.

Also the motherfucker wouldn’t stop passing out candy like he was the next Willy Wonka. 

Finally, you reached the staff room, tucked away in a quieter section of the school. Taishiro pushed the door open, and you were greeted by a cozy space, a sharp contrast to the bustling hallways outside. The room was furnished with plush chairs and worn sofas, soft lighting casting a warm glow over the area. 

A coffee machine with some cat stickers in the corner gurgled, filling the room with the rich scent of brewing coffee. Teachers lounged about, some engaged in quiet conversation while others busied themselves with grading papers or preparing for their next class.

Some of them looked up as you entered, offering nods and friendly smiles. The energy in the room was calm, almost serene, a brief respite from the lively chaos outside.

"Here we are," he said. "Home base for all of us when we're not in the classroom."

Inside, a few teachers looked up and offered friendly nods. You smiled back, feeling a sense of belonging slowly take root. The three of you waved a quick goodbye before backing out of the room. You grabbed Rumi’s hand and when you arched a perfect white eyebrow at you and you huffed playfully, already feeling a bit more at ease as you turned to head down the hallways.

“We better eat lunch at the same time. I am NOT going to die of boredom while the two of you get to have all the fun.” You huffed before turning to head down some hallways. 

"Don't worry, Sunshine. We'll make sure to meet up," Taishiro reassured you with a warm smile that reached his eyes, the kind of smile that made you feel like everything was going to be okay, even on a day as nerve-wracking as this one.

Rumi smirked, giving you a playful squeeze with her Mike Tyson ass hands. "And we'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble."

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. 

"Sure, sure."

As the three of you navigated through the school's labyrinth of hallways, you couldn't help but marvel at the sight around you. It was fun exploring the lockers, each decorated with stickers, keychains, and various personal touches that gave you a glimpse into the lives of the students. 

The inside of a Japanese high school was both familiar and foreign, a mix of the universal and the distinctly cultural. The clean, polished floors reflected the light overhead, and the walls were lined with posters announcing upcoming events, club meetings, and motivational quotes.

"Come on, Sunshine! You're gonna be late!" Taishiro glanced at the time on his phone, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with a hint of urgency as he rushed you toward your homeroom.

Rumi's expression shifted as she realized her first class would be starting soon. Her eyes gleamed with anticipation, the excitement practically radiating off her. "I can't wait to start teaching."

Your eyes cut towards Taishi with a face that screamed ‘SAVE THOSE KIDS!’ and Rumi narrowed her garnet eyes at you. Taishiro chuckled, his large hand resting gently on your shoulder. "I'll make sure she doesn't overdo it." He kept walking before he stopped short. 

The three of you made it to the second year's floor, the hallway bustled with students preparing for their next class. The energy was contagious, and you felt your own nerves mix with a growing sense of excitement. It was a different kind of thrill, one that came from the unknown, from the possibility of what this new chapter might bring.

“Wait, how are you gonna get into the homeroom again?” 

"Alright, babe," Rumi  whispered, leaning in close enough that her breath tickled your ear, "I'll grab the chair list from Aizawa's office. You stay here with Taishiro."

Taishi nodded, giving you a reassuring pat on the back that grounded you in the moment. "We'll make sure you fit right in. Just follow our lead." His voice was soft but firm, the steady presence you needed amidst the chaotic first-day jitters.

Rumi disappeared around the corner, moving with the agility and stealth of a seasoned pro. You waited with Taishiro, the minutes stretching out as you listened to the distant hum of the school. The sounds of lockers slamming, the soft chatter of students, and the occasional squeak of shoes against the polished floors filled the space around you. You really couldn’t help people watching. 

It was just a habit you always possessed. Picking up the slightest bit of information from anyone. It often revealed more than words could. You could tell which students were freshmen, their faces filled with a mix of excitement and nervous energy, and which ones were seniors, dragging their feet as they counted down the days until graduation.

‘Hang in there baby!’

Students hurried past, some casting curious glances your way, others too absorbed in their own conversations to notice. The distant sound of a bell rang out, signaling the start of the day, and you took a deep breath, ready to step into whatever awaited you.

But there were others too, the ones who moved with a heaviness that made your heart clench. You could feel their emotions in the pit of your own stomach. Their eyes seemed distant, their smiles forced, if they smiled at all. Some looked down right zombied out. 

It wasn’t rocket science to tell who was just hanging on, trying to survive each day. The sight made you visibly frown, the weight of their struggles pressing against your chest. 

‘How were you gonna help them?’

Noticing your change in aura, Taishiro nudged your foot with his to grab your attention. "She's got this," Taishi said softly, his voice pulling you back to the present. "And once she does, you'll be on the list, no problem."

You nodded, staring at your doodled-on converse and trying to steady your nerves. Just then, a burst of energy rounded the corner in the form of Hizashi Yamada—better known as Present Mic. His bright personality was as infectious as ever, his green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. Up close, with his wild blond hair and spiky demeanor, he really did look like a green eyed cockatoo.

" Hey, hey, hey! " he called out, his voice a bit too loud for the situation. " What's going on here, Taishiro? And who’s this young one? "

Taishi winked at you before turning to Hizashi. "Just showing a new recruit around, Hizashi. You know, the usual."

Hizashi grinned, completely oblivious to the real situation. " Awesome! Hey, Aizawa's around here somewhere, isn't he? "

Taishi nodded, catching your eye. "Yeah, he is. How about you go find him, Hizashi? I’ve got a few questions for him myself."

Hizashi gave a thumbs-up. " Will do! Catch you later!" He strutted down the hallway, his presence as loud and colorful as ever, in search of Aizawa. You couldn't help but smile at the perfect distraction he provided.

As he wandered off in search of whoever was ‘Aizawa’, you smiled at the vibes he provided and in sympathy for his students for having to hear that voice first thing on Monday morning. 

Moments later, Rumi reappeared, her white ears twitching with excitement and a triumphant look on her face. "Got it," she whispered, holding up the old list. "You're officially a student now."

You breathed a sigh of relief, the tension in your shoulders easing as a wave of gratitude washed over you. "Thank you, both of you. I couldn't have done this without you." You gave Mirko a quick squeeze before turning to Taishiro and offering him one as well.

Taishiro turned a slight pink before grinning widely. "Anytime, Sunshine. Now, let's get you to class."

"Yeah, before we have to write you up!" Rumi added with a smirk, her playful tone cutting through the remaining tension.

“Oh, bite me,” you teased back, rolling your eyes at her mock sternness. She sized you up and you pretended like you were going to take off your earrings and bracelets. Tashi could only pray that no one else was going to think it was weird a ‘student’ and teacher were about to box in the hallway like a bad world star video.

“What did you just say, young lady?” a stern voice suddenly interrupted, cutting through your banter like a knife.

‘Ah shit.’

You turned around, ready to tell the owner of that voice to buzz off, before you saw a tall, scary-looking figure resembling a banana. If a banana had long scraggly hair, a stubbled chin, and eyes that could kill. 

" Oooo ," Rumi whispered behind you, and you had to restrain yourself from flicking her.

"Hey, Aizawa!" Taishiro stepped up from behind you, trying to shield you with his broad frame. "How's it going? I was just asking Hizashi how you've been!"

So this was the infamous Shota Aizawa, also known as Eraser Head, staring at you with those piercing eyes, arms crossed over his chest. "Toyomitsu. Usagiyama." He gave a curt nod to each of them before his gaze landed back on you.

"Who's this?"

“I’m-”

“She’s your newest student, actually!” Rumi stepped up, cool as ice, waving a student planner in front of Aizawa's face. 

“Poor thing was lost in the halls before asking for our help.” She smiled at him before turning to you and smirking. “Weren’t you, dear?”

You fought back the urge to give her the nastiest glare you could muster before turning to the man before you. “Yes, that’s right,” you said, shoving your hands behind your back so only she could see your middle fingers.

“And she needed both of you to escort her?”

Somebody rolled a natural 20 on skepticism this morning. 

Taishi chuckled, trying to cover for you. “I just happened to run into Usagi-san before getting here and thought it would be nice to see how the kids are doing before we started our classes.”

Okay, not a complete lie, but you could tell this guy was smelling bull.

“If she was a student here before, then she wouldn’t need help to find her classroom.”

“Oh, she just transferred!” Rumi cut in again, trying to take the heat off you. “Originally from out of the country.” It wasn’t odd for U.A. to receive international students. But they typically got paired up with a class officer that could speak their language and were shown around an hour before school started. 

Aizawa loomed over you as those eyes bore into your figure. You adjusted the straps on your bookbag and tried to look as non-threatening as possible. Even if you did want to stomp his foot.

His gaze didn’t waver. “Out of the country, huh? You know, we have a rigorous selection process for transferring students, especially given the current situation.” 

Yeah, after that Shigaraki and Ayoma incident, transfer students could thank them for the most life sucking exam of their lives. Background checks, mental tests, interviews with professionals that could read minds, so many documents. It was a miracle more of them hadn’t quit. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” you replied, mustering as much calm as you could. “I went through all the necessary procedures.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t press further. Instead, he turned to Taishi and Rumi. “And you two are here to…?”

Rumi grinned, “Just giving a helping hand, Sandman. Making sure she gets settled in.” She rested her hands on your shoulders before placing her chin over your head and smiling. 

Oh, she was in for it when you got home!

Aizawa sighed, clearly not convinced but willing to let it slide for now. “Fine. Just make sure she gets to her homeroom. And you,” he turned his attention back to you, “stay out of trouble.”

You nodded quickly. “Yes, sir.”

As Aizawa walked away, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Rumi nudged you playfully. “See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“Not bad?” you whispered back incredulously. “He’s so grumpy!”

Rumi smirked, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Grumpy or not, you survived. Plus, you got Taishi and me to keep things interesting.”

Taishiro chuckled, giving you a gentle pat on the back. “And trust me, once you get to know him, he’s not so bad.”

You rolled your eyes. “If you say so.” You shifted your purse over your shoulder and mentally ironed out having been scolded as if you were 16 again and fixing your lipgloss at your locker. 

Rumi chuckled, “You’ll get used to him. Now, go to class before we run into any more trouble.” They gave you a hug before parting. 

"Remember," Taishiro said softly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear, "You're one of them now. Sunshine, you're going to be just fine."

You smiled, feeling a surge of confidence. "Thanks, you guys. And thanks for the help."

He chuckled, giving you a thumbs-up before turning to head back outside with Mirko. You continued down the hallway, finding your assigned classroom. 

"Here goes nothing," you whispered to yourself, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead at U.A.

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” is what you mumbled to yourself, stepping your two feet into class 2-A. 

Peaking into Class 2-A felt like stepping into a whirlwind of youthful energy and chaos. The room was a cacophony of voices, laughter, and various activities. 

A poised girl with dark hair tied back in a ponytail, and a young man wearing glasses and a serious expression, was engrossed in a discussion with a purple-haired girl with earphone jacks and a girl with pink hair and horns. Next to them was a boy with wild golden hair and a dude that had tape dispensers for elbows. Their animated gestures suggested an intense conversation about something intriguing.

Nearby, two boys were huddled together over a notebook. One, with a mop of unruly green hair and a determined look, occasionally glanced up with bright green eyes that seemed to sparkle with curiosity. The other, with dual-colored hair—half white, half red—and a large red scar, had a composed demeanor, his gaze serious yet thoughtful as they exchanged comments and nodded in agreement.

In a quieter corner of the room, a boy with an animal-like appearance and a calm demeanor—sat with three others. One was a tall, multi-armed boy with a mask that hid his expression, another a sturdy-built guy with a muscular frame picking at some donuts, and the last a reserved boy with violet hair and a serious countenance. They seemed content to observe the lively scene around them with mild interest, occasionally exchanging quiet remarks.

On the opposite side of the room, a boy with spiky red hair and an energetic vibe was animatedly describing something to an ash blond boy, who seemed only partially engaged in the conversation, deeply engrossed in his phone. His occasional scoff or muttered remark indicated his irritation or amusement at whatever the first one was saying.

Closer to you, two girls were deep in conversation, their expressions animated as they swapped manga and discussed plot twists. One had short brown hair and a round face, while the other was almost hunched over with a calm expression and large, frog-like eyes.

Meanwhile, a boy with shoulder length blond hair looked disheveled, slumped over his desk with his head resting on his arms, clearly trying to catch up on sleep he missed the night before. 

Nearby, two figures were sharing earbuds, their heads close together as they bopped to music. One had an invisible appearance, her movements barely perceptible, while the other was a young man that looked mostly normal and had a sturdy build with a kangaroo (???) tail.

In another corner of the room, a boy with dark feathers sticking out of his face was wrestling with a shadowy figure that stubbornly remained hidden under a desk. Their struggle drew amused glances from nearby classmates.

And in the midst of it all, a small boy with a distinctive purple hairdo looked somewhat lost amidst the activity, unsure of where to direct his attention or how to engage with his classmates.

You could basically see all of the negative energy in the air. Some of them were having a pretty good morning. Others, not so much. The smell of the Adrenocorticotropic hormone and prolactin still clung to some of their faces. You knew damn well some of them hadn’t eaten or drank water yet either!

You shifted in your spot, paying with your cute acrylic nails that were totally out of the dress code. Then again, you never followed the dress code. ‘Fuck, no wonder she was scared about them.’ Nemuri was an excellent judge of character and she loved to gush about these kids over the phone whenever you asked how her teacher gig was fairing. 

It made you feel sad though, seeing them so far apart from how she described them. 

But then, as if on cue, the first blond kid shouted something that allowed hell to break loose. Suddenly, papers were flying through the air, one student was screaming about order, others were play-fighting, and some were just chuckling and fueling the flames.

‘Damn these kids are nutty.’ you thought, your eyes widening as you took in the chaotic scene.

"Are you just going to stand there and be tardy or are you going to get inside?" 

The rough voice cut behind you, tinged with impatience and authority. Startled, you look up to find Banana man (as you mentally dubbed him) glaring down at you with an unamused face. His scraggly hair hung loosely around his stern expression, adding to his intimidatingly sleepy  presence up close.

Squaring your shoulders hastily, you felt a flush of annoyance under his piercing gaze. "Uh, yeah. I'm coming in," you stammered, hastily maneuvering past him into the classroom. 

The other students, caught in various activities, briefly glanced up at your entrance — some curious, others indifferent — before returning to their tasks.

You settled into an empty seat, the classroom buzzing with the energy of students lost in their own worlds. Suddenly, a commanding voice rang out.

"Alright, everyone! Take your seats!" The tall, bespectacled boy at the front of the room, who seemed to take his role very seriously, was directing the chaos into order. The students complied, and as they did, he glanced over at you with a furrowed brow. "You must be lost. This isn't your classroom," he said, a mixture of concern and confusion in his tone.

You opened your mouth to respond, but before you could get a word out, the boy's voice grew even more insistent. "There are no other classes scheduled to be in this room at this time. You must have made a mistake. Please allow me to direct you to your proper classroom."

You tried to smile politely, "Actually, I—"

But he cut you off again, his voice rising. "I insist, it is important to maintain order and ensure that all students are where they need to be!"

"Hey, Iida, maybe let her speak?" A boy with red hair and sharp teeth suggested, grinning in amusement.

You took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. "Iida, right? I understand your concern, but I—"

"No, no, I must insist!" He was practically vibrating with the need to maintain order. "It is my duty as class representative to ensure—"

"Would you just listen for a second!" you finally snapped, your patience exhausted. The room fell silent, all eyes on the two of you. "I am where I need to be."

Iida blinked, clearly taken aback. "But... how?"

A girl with short, spiky pink hair giggled, "Hey, Iida, maybe you might want to check your schedule again!" She snickered behind her hand with the Soy sauce haired boy. 

Another student, the boy with electric golden hair, chimed in, "Yeah, Iida, chill out! Maybe she's got a reason to be here."

Before the situation could escalate further, Aizawa's authoritative voice cut through the tension. "Actually, we do have a new student," he said, his tone indicating he had more pressing matters to attend to. "And I don't care to give introductions because we have more important things to do."

Murmurs rippled through the class as Aizawa continued, "Starting today, Mirko and Fat Gum will be your new P.E. teachers." The students' reactions ranged from excitement to curiosity.

The pink girl raised her hand and, without waiting for permission, blurted out, "Have you heard anything about Midnight?"

You tightened your grip on your bag, feeling a pang of sadness and worry at the mention of your friend. You tried to place the pinkette, but her features were unfamiliar to you.

Aizawa's face hardened slightly. "I haven't received any word about her condition as of late," he replied, his voice carrying a note of frustration.

The boy with electric hair leaned forward, "What about the sub who's supposed to take over her class? And the new classes? Any more information about them?"

Your interest piqued at the mention of the deal you made with Nezu, but Aizawa shut it down. "No, and we're not discussing it further. Back to business."

The class settled into a more serious tone, but you couldn't shake the feeling of being under a microscope, every student’s curious glance.

Aizawa stood at the front of the room, his usual stern expression in place. "Today, we'll be conducting mandatory state testing for your quirks," he announced. The room buzzed with a mix of groans and murmurs of curiosity. As you scanned the room, your eyes met those of a green-haired boy from yesterday. You had chosen the open desk right next to him.

'Fuck.' He was staring intently at you, and when he noticed you caught him, he quickly looked away.

Aizawa continued, "Get into your P.E. uniforms and get ready. I expect everyone to be outside in ten minutes."

You stood up, falling into line as the boy with glasses, who you now knew as Iida, began directing everyone with precision. Beside him, a diplomatic girl with a raven-haired ponytail helped manage the flow of students.

"Hey," a soft whisper caught your attention. You turned to see a slightly shorter girl with brown hair and rosy cheeks behind you. "I'm Ochako Uraraka. Are you new here?"

You nodded, offering her a small smile. "Yes, I am."

"That's so cool! What school did you transfer from?" she asked as the group shuffled down the hall towards the locker rooms.

"Oh, I'm from out of state," you whispered back, keeping up the charade. Uraraka seemed like a really sweet girl, and she began filling you in about the school and your new classmates . "You'll fit right in here, don't worry."

"Oh yeah, I forgot to ask, what's your name?" she inquired.

You were about to respond when a voice interrupted, "Hey!" Both you and Uraraka turned to see the pink-haired girl from earlier. "Sorry about Iida earlier, he gets a little bent about the rules. I'm Mina Ashido!" She waved energetically and pulled you into the locker room.

"You can't hog the new girl, Uraraka!" Mina pouted playfully. Ochako giggled, "Alright, alright. I guess I can share." Mina's grin widened as she dragged you further into the locker room. "Come on, you'll love the girls. We're a fun bunch!"

Inside, a few girls were already changing into their P.E. uniforms. A girl with spiky pink hair, Mina, gestured towards you. "Everyone, meet our new classmate!"

A girl with dark purple hair and earphone jacks hanging from her earlobes waved, "Hi, I'm Kyoka Jiro."

"Welcome!" added the raven haired girl with a warm smile. "I'm Momo Yaoyorozu."

"Hiya! I'm Toru Hagakure," chirped an invisible voice, and you noticed a pair of gloves waving at you.

The girls began peppering you with questions as you all changed. "So, what's your quirk?" Mina asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.

As you stood there, contemplating how to answer Mina's question about your quirk, you felt a wave of dry throat wash over you. Running through half the morning with Rumi was not wise. The girls around you waited expectantly, their curiosity evident. But coughing uncontrollably in front of people was lame so you were gonna try to clear your throat before responding. 

Seeing your hesitation, Toru spoke up, her voice gentle and understanding. "She doesn't have to tell us yet," she said, offering you a reassuring smile. "It's okay to take your time."

Ochako, noticing the gloves on Toru's hands, asked, "Hey, why are you wearing gloves?"

Toru squeaked in realization, "Oh no! I put on the wrong uniform!" She quickly pulled off the gloves, looking embarrassed.

Momo mumbled, "I understand," her expression becoming somber. The mood in the room shifted, a sense of shared experience weighing heavily on the girls.

You couldn't help but ask, "What's wrong?"

The girls exchanged glances before Momo, with a more serious tone, explained, "We helped fight in the hero war during our first year. Our hero costumes... those were what we went into battle wearing."

Your eyes widened, thinking about how impractical and dangerous it must have been for them. "Ah, I see now," you said softly, understanding the gravity of their experiences.

Mina and Ochako, determined to lift the mood, started chatting animatedly, trying to bring back the energy. Momo joined in, her smile returning.

Jiro piped up, "Wait, did you get your uniform yet?"

You were about to respond when a sudden realization hit you. "Oh shoot!"

Before you could explain, the sound of loud footsteps echoed down the hall, followed by the sharp blast of a whistle. The girls snapped to attention, and you quickly followed suit, feeling the tension in the air as you prepared for whatever was coming next.

“I swear if it’s that little creep again!”

Just as you were about to respond, the door to the locker room swung open, and in strode Rumi, her confident presence filling the space. "Sike, it's me!" she announced, her energetic voice breaking through the tension. The girls relaxed, recognizing their new P.E. teacher. 

“Miriko!”

"Sorry for scaring you, ladies," Rumi said, her tone now more soothing. "I just wanted to pop in and say hello before your testing today. I'm excited to get to know all of you and train together."

She then gestured to a corner of the room where she had set up a small cabinet. "By the way, I've got some essentials here for you. Spare period products, aspirin, socks, lip balm, brushes, lotion, hair ties, band-aids, a locker for holding jewelry, and deodorant. If you need anything, feel free to take what you need."

The girls all chirped their thank-yous, visibly relieved and appreciative of Mirko's thoughtful gesture. "Kill it out there today during the testing," she encouraged, her voice filled with genuine support.

As everyone started to leave, Mirko caught your arm gently. "Hold on a second," she said with a wink. "Let's get you issued a P.E. uniform."

You followed her to the back of the office, where she rummaged through some boxes. After a moment, she pulled out a random unopened uniform. "Here you go," she said, handing it to you.

You took the uniform with a grateful smile, then leaned in and whispered, "I think the kids are traumatized."

Mirko's laughter rang out, loud and contagious. "Oh, you have no idea," she replied with a grin in case the girls could still hear. She then leaned in and quietly whispered, “I’ll try to get Taishiro to see what he can gather from the boys. Then we can talk it over during lunch.”

You slipped on your running shoes from earlier, left your gray tank top under the uniform shirt, and stashed your bag in her office under the desk. Rumi filled up the water cooler as she asked, "How was homeroom, newbie?"

You sighed and rubbed your eyes, “Banana man is loca, the kids are worried about Nemuri, and while they buy I’m a new student, I think one of the guys recognized me from yesterday.”

Rumi turned around with her eyes wide, ponytail flipping behind her. "From the mall?" The two of you talked about it as you described the boy to her, and she snapped her fingers, muttering a name, "Izuku Midoriya. I've heard Endeavor and All Might talk about him before, and he's been in the media with those two friends of his a lot."

You clicked the images and headlines together before nodding, "Has to be him, no question. But why didn't he rat me out?"

Rumi leaned against the cooler, thoughtful. "Maybe he's curious, or maybe he just wants to see what you're up to. Kids like him are observant, always looking for answers."

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Great, just what I needed, a mini detective in the class."

Rumi smirked, giving you a reassuring pat on the back. "Don't worry, you'll get used to them. Now go on, show ‘em what you're made of!"

Just as you were about to respond, you heard Aizawa’s voice calling everyone to assemble. Quickly, you zipped up the uniform, feeling the adrenaline of the moment. Rumi gave you an encouraging nod as you stepped out to join the rest of the class, startled to see the girls had waited for you in the hallway.

Noticing you, Mina linked arms with you. "Let's stick together today! We can show you around and help you get used to things."  'She's just as sweet as Mimi said.'

"Thanks, I appreciate it," you said, feeling a warm sense of acceptance from your new classmates.

As you all walked out of the locker room, the girls continued to chat and ask questions, making you feel more at ease. Though you were here under unusual circumstances, their genuine friendliness made the transition feel a bit smoother.

Too bad you were about to find out that modern P.E. classes were hell. Especially with banana man. 

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

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Here is the first chapter! So far there are 3 posted on my ao3 account.

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Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

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[mw4n]

Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 2

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.2k

<< ch. 1 || ch. 3 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

It’s times like these where your brain disobediently begins to wander to relatively unimportant matters, like the chances of someone in the office accessing the printer history and seeing that you’ve freshly printed a document conspicuously labelled ‘CV - final.docx’ under your printing account.

Then, your brain starts to think about the chances of them bringing that up with your boss, and how embarrassing it’ll be if this falls through. 

If it was any other office, you’d say that those chances would be slim - if not flat out impossible. But your mind drifts further towards Usui, whose cubicle is parked right next to the printing room and has been known to snoop in the printer history when he’s bored.

That was how he found out one of your colleagues had been using the printer to print advertisements for their brother’s business: more than 90 flyers. 

Honestly, what kind of hobby is that? Browsing the printer history?

You purse your lips with annoyance at the thought, unaware that the slight movement has caught Fushiguro’s attention.

He pauses from his perusal of your CV - even the manner in how he scans your paper, one handed and casual, seems hot (insert dreamy sigh) - watching you silently over the top of the page. 

Finally, he speaks up.

“Something the issue?” The voice settles around you. The background noise dulls amidst the washing in your ears. 

Any concerns about Usui dematerialise and you snap to attention, not unlike a soldier before their superior.

“Not at all, Mr. Fushiguro. Take your time.” 

He hums, lowering back to your CV. It’s taking him longer than expected, but despite your shitty job, your CV is relatively impressive. It seems he also notices.

“So, Y/N, this is all well and good,” he sets it down, spinning it on the table to face you. He’s conjured a pen from somewhere and is using the back of it to tap at a particular set of words, “but what I want to know is why someone who graduated near top of her class from Kyoto University, excellent marks and sponsored by an international law firm, is doing at your current company and not… there.” 

The pen nib clicks onto paper and circles around the name of the firm. 

Is he even allowed to ask this? 

You stare down at it. It’s just a couple words - it doesn’t even take up that much space on the paper, but it had felt huge for the few months it occupied in your life. 

You’re not surprised he’s asking. If you were on the other side, interviewing a candidate, you would ask too.

The events of last year run through your mind, scenes rapidly unfurling. The sights, smell, sounds flood into you briefly. You resist the urge to withdraw and squeeze your eyes shut, settling for digging your nails into your palms under the table instead.

A scale sits inside your mind, weighing the choices. Either lay low, make up some reason, or be honest and risk… his disdain. 

The thought that he, like the others, would just dismiss you and think of you as another liar, presses against your chest suffocatingly. You can’t put your finger on why it would upset you so much.

So what if he doesn’t believe you? Worst comes to worst, you just go back to your cubicle and continue working. Nothing changes. The world goes on. 

You’re aware that the silence has stretched on a tad longer than it should’ve, yet Fushiguro doesn’t speak.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. (He’s wearing a loose cream sweater this time, of which you suspect is designer. It’s got these irregular and obtrusive stitches at the cuffs and hem, but the rest of the make is constructed so well that those have to be deliberate design.) 

“I… did go to that firm, actually. I received the offer shortly after my undergrad and it was only with their help that I was able to pay for most of law school,” your voice dries up at the next part. You hem, taking a sip of water. “But it was during one of my training days there, right before I was set to graduate, where I ran into some trouble in the firm and… was terminated. Due to the sensitivity of what happened, they settled for just revoking my place and the last tuition payment.”

You weren’t blacklisted, per se, but it didn’t exactly help that the people involved in the ‘trouble’ were pretty well connected. 

He’s not stupid. Judging by how cautiously you’re speaking about it, he knows it would be fruitless to prod any further. 

“Are you not allowed to speak of it?” 

Your face remains stiff, betraying no emotion. “I wouldn’t really want to.”

If he decides to take back his offer because of this, you wouldn’t really blame him per se. You’re not exactly forthcoming with the details, and that could be a risk in itself depending on the job. 

“Hm…” Fushiguro scans the name of the firm on your CV, imprinting it in his memory. Though he’s not the most well-versed in the legal field, being involved in a completely different industry of work, the name feels familiar.

You watch him, almost cautiously. His face is unreadable. 

Your heart sinks. 

-

“Do you have any questions?”

You blink - the only indication of surprise you’ll allow yourself. Have you passed some kind of stage? Successfully, at that? 

Regaining your mental composure, you sit up straighter, hands folding neatly in your lap and knees pressing against one another. 

“For… you?”

There’s an amused lilt along his lip. The lip, which you notice, has a pale scar in the end. You wonder if that feels different than the rest of his skin. Probably.

“Yes, for me.” Though he’s not smiling, you can feel some smirk-like energy emanating off him. 

“Ah, I was mainly wondering what kind of work you’re involved in. What would I mainly be required to do?” 

You can’t lie, you’re curious on why he’s decided to extend an offer, an extremely generous one at that, to you in the first place, given your relatively limited interaction with him. 

“That…” this time, he’s the one who looks a little troubled. “It’s mainly just small things. Representing me when some clients try to sue my business, or if something happens with Megumi again, I can rest assured knowing that he’ll have someone to contact that knows what they’re doing. Just in case the brat runs into some… problems.”

Your brows furrow. “Typically, Mr. Fushiguro, paying someone to be your exclusive lawyer is quite a big deal-”

He flaps a hand, “if it’s the money you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll compensate you satisfactorily.”

“I am worried about the money, but not my salary. With all due respect, Mr. Fushiguro, what kind of business do you run that allows you to pay so generously and require a lawyer?” You hesitate before saying this next part, but this interview has been relatively informal from the start and - again, if anything goes wrong, you’ll just go back to your tedious office job again. “And… what made you consider me as a candidate?”

“My business details will be confidential. But I call it that just for tax reasons, it’s essentially just me being a freelancer. As for why you…” Mr. Fushiguro leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “... instinct?”

…

That answer was barely a step up from him saying ‘your looks’, and was hardly reassuring. You don’t get the sense that he’s as generous with details as he is with your future salary though. 

He must see the hesitant expression and deigns to elaborate. Though not much.

“Trust me, and in my line of work, instinct… is the difference between-” he raises a hand, drawing a line high, “-and here.” His hand plummets lower.

Heaven and hell. 

The reminder of your salary makes you swallow the rest of the questions back. No matter what hellish conditions he proposes or how hard he works you or how suspicious this is all beginning to sound… ¥XX,000,000 is a crazy number that lowers any inhibitions. 

An angel on your shoulder pipes up. But… what if he requires you to be on call 24/7? 

The devil on the opposite side smashes the thought with ‘¥XX,000,000’.

What if his personality as a boss ends up to be the absolute worst - worse than your current one! 

¥XX,000,000.

What if his work is… illegal?

You grit your teeth. 

¥XX,000,000!!!!!

That’s one, two, three, four, five, SIX zeroes at the end of that! 

The social media jokes about would you suck your bros dick for 20 dollars runs through your mind. That’s 20 dollars. Imagine this?

"And is the money… legal?” You feel hesitant asking this, worried if that’s an affront to his character.

He raises an eyebrow. “Say, how big of a concern would you say that is for you?”

our shock probably condenses too visibly, judging by the large guffaws that begin belting out of Fushiguro.

As you walk back to the office, your iced coffee barely touched and gripped in your hand (he had been smart to order both your drinks as takeaway, it seems), you feel dazed.

The concrete under your high-heeled pumps feels closer to clouds and a heaviness you hadn’t even known had been weighing on you feels lifted. 

The next steps logically present in front of you. You’ll have to type and present your two weeks notice to your boss, but Fushiguro said you’d be on call starting after this weekend.

That meant for your last week at work, you’d be working for Fushiguro - essentially two jobs at once. He hadn’t been the most forthcoming with details, but you hadn’t either with your past. And it seemed like his requirements weren’t that much.

Besides, it was just him and Megumi. Even though you were just one person, how much work could there be? 

You can’t even help but smugly think to yourself: this might be the easiest ¥XX,000,000 anyone’s ever made. 

(The you in the future can only look back at your naive self and sigh.)

--

The first time Fushiguro employs your services, he only texts you a location pin with four words. (‘My office. One hour.’) The notification catches your attention right as you step into the carriage of a packed train car, along with the rest of the 5PM rush, causing you to pivot directly on the heel and wrestle your way out. Apologising profusely to the others ,you have no choice.

You had just gotten off of work (it was still your last week in your crappy law firm) but Fushiguro had already told you at the informal ‘interview’ of the possibility of being contacted after the weekend. For that salary, you had no complaints of working two jobs for a week.

Judging from this text message and your first texting conversation, you can already feel that Fushiguro has a very identifiable no-nonsense minimalistic style. The lack of detail in his messages makes you want to grit your teeth, but there’s nothing you can do but squeeze into a different train line – enduring the disgruntled puffs and stares from the other sardined-crammed salary dogs eager to get home.

As you persist through the side-eyes from a couple of the older students, you reflect on that location pin. Why does his office location seem familiar?

It’s only when you step off the bus and approach the looming black gate, complete with two robust security cameras, that you realise that his office location is literally just his house.

Or at least, it’s the location that Megumi had you drop him off at a few weeks ago when he had busted his bike AND your car. The car, of which, was still getting serviced.

You had half a mind that the mechanic was an extreme slacker and had already resolved to never go to him again for any issues. Sure, the damage wasn’t small but did it really warrant more than three weeks in the shop?

Maybe you just didn’t know that much about cars.

Keeping your face as impassive as possible, you approach the intercom at the side of the gate and shoot a text to Fushiguro.

I’m here. What floor?

The message blueticks but no notice of him typing shows up. You furrow your brow, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard to follow up, when an abrupt grating noise causes you to jolt a foot in the air.

The black gate slides open a hair – its automatic – and you walk in.

Sidewalk-height embedded floor lamps light up the path to a two-story tall lofty glass lobby and carefully maintained shrubbery and foliage decorate the road in. The road stretches towards an underground carpark, but you just beeline to the lobby.

Everything about this gated community exudes wealth. If you had any doubts of Fushiguro’s ability to follow through with ¥XX,000,000, you don’t now.

Your phone dings again.

45.

You quickly text back asking for what flat, but upon pressing forty-five into the intercom, the lobby door opens automatically as well without having to input the corresponding flat letter.

A thought fills you.

There’s no way…

Indeed, Fushiguro’s apartment occupied the entirety of the forty-fifth floor. At this point, having seen the apartment complex and even how fast the elevator had jetted up all the way, your heart feels dead to the splendour of the rich. Instead you can only wonder what exactly does Fushiguro do?

The apartment door is partially ajar, light spilling into the dim lift-area, but you knock regardless.

A voice–distinctly not Fushiguro–rings out. “Come in.”

It’s Megumi.

You push open the door and the warm light of the setting sun fills your vision: floor to ceiling glass windows, the largest living room you’ve seen in Tokyo yet and a wall-mounted screen of the biggest TV you’ve seen ever depicting a split-screen game of Kirby beating the shit out of Ryu from Streetfighter going ham.

Where the fuck does Fushiguro get his money from?

You had been happy at the sound of ¥XX,000,000 but seeing the wealth is much different than merely hearing about it. The joke he made at the interview – “Say, how big of a concern would you say that (the legality of the money) is for you?” – is beginning to feel less like a joke and more like an omen that your money blinded eyes had missed!

Who jokes like that?

You had even googled Fushiguro online but had found no mention of any rich man with that last name!

Well, that wasn’t true, but the photo that had come up was definitely not the Fushiguro you knew. Some professor who lived randomly in Hokkaido. No one who could plausibly match the scale of the wealth you’re seeing and the name ‘Fushiguro’ had shown up with your research.

You’re apprehensive, but you’ve already walked into the mouth of the tiger. Might as well wander further in. Or however the saying goes.

Was that even a saying?

“Hello,” you slip off your heels, soles crying with relief at the action, and greet Megumi. “Is Fushiguro in?”

Megumi turns around, blinking in acknowledgment of your presence. “Dad…? Ah, he did say you were stopping by. He’s in his office upstairs.”

Up…stairs?

Stairs? In Tokyo?

Comically, you slowly turn to see the wooden spiral staircase that leads to a partial second floor that overlooks the massive downstairs open-space living room and kitchen area you’re in.

“Ack-!” A strangled cry catches your attention as some explosion unfurls on the screen in the corner of your eye.

It’s at this moment that you realise another teenager you know is sitting cross-legged next to Megumi. Tongue sticking out of his mouth in extreme concentration, Itadori’s slamming his thumbs onto the controller.

Your gaze pans to the screen.

“Who’s winning?”

The Kirby is clearly wiping the floor with Ryu.

You were a little surprised that Itadori was better at videogames then Megumi bu-

“Me, of course,” Megumi scoffs, haughtily, stopping your train of thought.

Megumi is Kirby?

You flick back to Megumi’s spiky hair and cold demeanour. Itadori’s sunshine smile. The cute, round and pink Kirby. The macho buff Ryu.

Maybe it does make more sense that Itadori would play a manly-masculine figure like Ryu.

Megumi as Kirby though?

Feeling like your characterisation of him has been momentarily subverted, you can only respond with an empty-headed “ah,” before you pad up the spiral staircase to find the office.

Fushiguro is engrossed on his laptop, an annoyed expression on his face, when you knock.

He skips the pleasantries, not even acknowledging that you’re fifteen minutes early, despite the fact you had literally hauled ass across Tokyo to get here without a car and during the 5PM off-work rush, and gets to it.

“I need you to do something for me,” he sighs, leaning back and pinching his brow. He directs a palm to the chair in front of him, so you naturally take a seat.

You slide a hand into your tote and pull out a small notepad, ready to take notes. “Yes?”

Fushiguro rubs his chin. “I need you to… silence someone for me.”

Your stomach drops.

A beat passes.

You clear your throat. You hadn’t exactly been clear about your employable services, and this… coupled with the wealth and mysteriousness that he’s been engaging… “What, exactly, do you mean by silence?”

Your voice sounds a little pinched. Anyone would in this situation.

He chuckles. That feels like a death knell.

“Literally.” There’s a roaring sound in your head. A million versions of tiny yous scream in panic around your mental scape, upending neurons and dragging their tiny nano-nails down your mycelium-wrapped cells. “There’s this woman that… I’ve had some history with, and she’s been yapping some falsities about me. Shut her up for me.”

You feel like an employed thug.

Shut her up.

Your mental image of yourself shifts from your beautiful, well-put together, but admittedly tired looking body to a broad shouldered, beefy moustached henchman. One wearing a wife-beater and yups ‘yes, boss!’ at every remark.

You look down at your hands. These hands weren’t built for tying the ropes around wailing victims in warehouses! These hands were built for typing on keyboards, gripping iced drinks, and spending hours writing on paper!

The image of the moustached henchman you comes to mind again.

You shudder.

A premonition, perhaps.

“You’ll need to be a little clearer. What do you mean by history with? Who is this woman? What falsities? And what do you mean by shut her up?” The last part comes out sounding near desperate.

Fushiguro looks to the side. At the time, you hadn’t known it, but looking back at it… that was a tell-tale mark that he was embarrassed. Maybe even he hadn’t anticipated that your first job from him was for this.

After a couple more minutes of what could only be described as ‘prodding’, you finally extract the situation from Fushiguro. The most painful prodding of your life. You had never known a client requesting help to be so difficult. Usually, they wanted to provide more details for you to get rid of the problem! None of this looking away, humming, twiddling thumb business.

It’s a hook-up. He’s telling you to get a hook-up to stop pestering him and spreading information about him. The same speechless feeling you had when you had seen the casual display of wealth from his house comes back again.

Does a hook-up really need to be silenced? Is blocking her not enough?

You scratch out that last thought. With your newest data on Fushiguro’s personality (this face-to-face meeting so far) it was unlikely he had her number to begin with.

Whatever.

For the sake of that ¥XX,000,000 you’ll just deal.

“Do.. do you remember her name?”

Trying to get helpful information out of Fushiguro feels like trying to cradle a wiggling cat.

“Nah.” He tosses a grape into his mouth, biting down with a crunch. The bowl of grapes had been produced out of nowhere it seems, suddenly spawning into his hand as he leisurely munches away. With every crunch of the fruit under his pearly-whites, you can hear the number of hours you’ll have to spend searching for this woman ticking up.

Had you really graduated law school for this…

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

He leans back in his office chair at a terrifying angle, thumbing at the scar at his lip absentmindedly. You feel a little ray of hope. He hmms. A sign of him thinking, surely-

“Blonde.”

A couple seconds go by before you realise that’s all the information he’s got (or willing to give you).

You know better than to ask if she had long hair or short. With how hard he had to dig in there – by ‘there’, you mean his head, of course – you were probably lucky to even get blonde from the empty expanse in the end.

You pitied the woman he had so heartlessly forgotten.

Clearly she couldn’t let him go if she was still yapping information, fake or not, about him.

“How long ago was this?”

He pulls up his calendar on his computer, squinting.

“Not sure. Could be a week. Two weeks. Three. A month.”

I can’t believe this man!

You sigh, deciding to put your foot down. This is the first task from him, and you’re fearful that this is going to let a scary precedent build.

“Sir, you do know I’m not a private investigator, right? You might be better off hiring an actual P.I for this.”

Fushiguro narrows his eyes like a cat, the edges of his lips flicking up.

He opens his mouth. A stream of unidentifiable numbers falls out, injecting energy into your brain with every increased digit.

“….!@#(% yen.”

That’s all he says, and that’s all it takes for your bending spine to crack straight. The countless hours calculated to do this job vanish in lieu of a big plastic beam on your face.

“Blonde, you said?” 

Walking past the living room, head full of thoughts, you almost smack straight into another kid. It’s a girl with an adorable bob and flower-clipped into her fringe. She’s wearing the same middle-school uniform as them. Probably another one of Megumi’s playmates.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” you apologise, ceasing from your wailing mental whirlpool of all the hours you’ll have to plug to find this mysterious blonde hook-up.

She stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

You hadn’t bumped into her that hard, had you?

“It’s… okay,” she says, eyes and voice dazed.

“Nobara- where are you?!”

Her docile appearance vanishes as she flares up.

“Shut up, Itadori! You’re the one who can’t even play my Ryu right!”

“You know I main Samus!” Itadori yips back. There’s some hesitancy before he speaks again. “Because she looks good.”  

“You’re so disgusting!” Nobara plants her hands on her hips, calling towards the couch area. From this angle, the tall back of the couch masks the two kids sitting on the carpet. Turning back to you, her ferocious demeanour melts away and now you’re the one dazed at how fast her face changed. She’s too adept. “You’re so pretty. Are you Megumi’s new mom?”

The minor squabbling in the living room fades a little in your ears, along with some colour in your face.

Huh? Megumi’s… mom?

!!!!

Your ears feel like they’re on fire.

How could- wha-

No!!!

“No!!! I just work for Fushiguro!” You rush to clarify, tongue nearly tripping over itself. “I definitely am not Megumi’s new mom! I barely know him!”

She looks unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

As serious as you can, you set your hands on her tiny shoulders and affix her with a solemn expression. “Serious.”

She purses her lips. “Fine.” A pause. A sly expression. “Are you single?”

“…Pardon?”

Her eyes gleam. “Do you like women?”

“E- Eh?”

 “Nobara, knock it off. You’ll scare her, and she just works for my dad.” It’s Megumi who calls out this time from the living room.

The tiny girl deflates. Her hand grips your pinky finger and shakes it coyingly. “If you’re into women, I know an older girl who I think you should meet. You’re so pretty it’d be a waste not to have you in my life somehow, you know.“

You’re amused that this Nobara girl is trying to matchmake you, having literally just met you a second ago.

“She’s graduated and working already! There’s no way you can pair her with Saori! Saori’s only in high school!” Itadori protests, his voice coming through amidst the Supersmash Bro’s game effects from the impressive speakers.

His cruel reminder of your age shoots you through the heart, but he’s right. You have to agree with him. You can’t have Nobara trying to pair you with a high school student. Hell, even a university student would feel a little weird to you.

It’s less about the age and the difference in maturity from life stages.

“That’s very sweet of you,” you smile, eyes curving, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”

Nobara shakes her head fast. “Don’t be afraid! Be brave! Say yes!”

This time you laugh and pat her head. “Bye kid, have fun with Megumi and his friend.”

You’re too petty to let Itadori know that you remember his name.

Hmph. That’s what he gets.

…why are you one-sidedly beefing a middle schooler…

As you close the front door and wait for the lift, you can hear the tail end of the trio gossiping about you.

“…so pretty.” That’s Nobara.

“…assistant…” Megumi. You weren't an assistant though.

“…too old for Saori.” That was for sure Itadori.

The last bit makes your eye twitch, but you let it go. Sexual orientation questions aside, high school is way too young for you.

--

Two nights (sort-of) later, you’re hunched over your desk at home when you find her.

Your bangs are pinned back from your face by a fluffy hairband and you’re sporting a sheet mask that you most likely should’ve peeled off ten minutes ago. The only lights in your room is the computer screen (nightshift mode, of course) and the soft penguin night-lamp on your bedside table.

From the hours you’ve spent searching for her (thank goodness your time at your shitty workplace was over, so you didn’t have to be up early tomorrow), you’d long kicked off your fluffy slippers and hitched a leg onto your chair.

Now finally, unlike the four other false leads you had fruitlessly leapt at and had to let go – wasting precious hours – you’re sure that this is the girl.

Yumi Tsukumo.

Blonde. Hooked-up with Fushiguro at her house (the fact that they had hooked up at hers and not Fushiguro’s place isn’t surprising given what little interaction you’ve had about his careless appearing self).

And she was for sure spreading some crazy falsities.

You weren’t exactly sure how Fushiguro had found out. Maybe she had spoken to someone, and it had slowly spread back to him, but judging off her blog alone…

You whistled low.

Small dick? Scroll scroll scroll.

Unimpressive stamina? Scroll scroll scroll scroll.

Rolled over after? You slam your dinky plastic mouse on your mousepad.

Were these actually falsities?

You peel off your sheet mask and trash it decisively. Vindication!!!

Then a reminder that he’s paying you (with suspicious money) and you probably shouldn’t be rejoicing in this pings in your head, and you deflate. But then the pile of empty energy drinks on your desk attracts your attention and you decide to rejoice anyway.  

For all that work just to find this woman and the 2% of help he provided you, maybe you can be exultant for juuuust a couple minutes.

You scroll a little longer on her blog, admittedly some schadenfreude at work, but her privacy settings on all of her her social media has messages turned off. The only way to contact her is most likely in person.

You scrub her digital footprint for her address, a weird expression of uncomfortability on your face. This is your job now.

Now that you have her full government name, it’s significantly easier to find where she works. Honestly, maybe you should be a private investigator.

Satisfied, you note down the address and name onto your notepad and head to your bathroom to brush your teeth, pointedly ignoring the first rays of sunlight beginning to leak through your thin curtains. That was what your sleeping mask was for.

-

It feels a bit stalker-ish to show up at her apartment door, so you settle for appearing at her workplace. It’s a local coffee shop that you’ve never been to, but it’s the kind of place you’d go on a weekend with your friends – all rustic looking and calm.

You cast a glance, longingly, at the chalkboard sign on the street advertising some kind of strawberry shortcake. After what you’re about to do, there’s no way you can come back here anytime soon.

It’s hard to imagine that someone with Yumi Tsukumo’s online footprint works at a cute place like this, so you’re crossing your fingers and hoping you hadn’t gotten the location wrong.

You check your notepad again. You check the maps app on your phone.

Okay… brace.

Dressed in a pantsuit, looking as professional as you can for this, and holding a briefcase that feels red-hot in your hand, you step into the café.

You recognise Tsukumo instantly from her selfies online. The café’s empty, and she’s leaning back on the counter tapping away on her phone. Her jaw mechanically and robotically jolts up and down as she gnashes on what can only be gum.

She looks up at you and sets her phone down, dragging herself to the cashier with a bored expression affixed to her face. The entire café is empty. It’s an odd hour to come.

“What can I get you?”

“Are you Yumi Tsukumo?” You ask politely, nails digging into the briefcase even more.

She raises an eyebrow, the gnashing jaw halts. “Yea, can I help you?”

You’re silent when you serve her a formal cease and desist letter.

Her mouth parts as she takes a moment to read it. You can tell the exact moment when she stumbles onto Fushiguro’s name because her eyes light up in jubilation.

“Oh my god, Toji sent you specially? He remembers me!” She cries out, all excitedly, eyes still scanning the page. “Flowers, chocol…”

You don’t say anything.

Her eyes drag onto the next part and she freezes. The gleeful emotion morphs into confusion and then anger. She slams the paper onto the counter, hand snatching for a coffee cup slated for delivery that no one had collected yet and throws it all over you – outraged.

You really wish you worn a more waterproof shirt instead of one that absorbed coffee so well.

---

next chapter link (to be added)

(probably how Itadori ended up playing Nobara's Ryu instead of his usual main)Nobara: Itadori, why do you like playing Samus so much anyway? Megumi (already knows): ... Itadori: BECAUSE SHE'S TALL AND HAS A NICE BUTT! Nobara: EW! THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE REASONING!

༄ A/N - Please let me know if you think its funny... too long too short... everything... open to all criticism QQ hehe i didn't even think ab making a tag list but more people than expected asked for one so... here! tq for the unexpected support 🙇🙇

i am more active on ao3 so sub there if u guys want email updates etc ~~

༄ taglist - @ejwrsblog @twinky-wink @corvusmorte @gators-aid @theshortmuffin07

[injuries-in-dust]

My Amazing Digital Circus theory of the people who became the characters:

All of them work at this C&A company (logo seen in episode 1)

Kinger: Programmer. Worked on the digital circus, perhaps he was even head programmer. He entered the game to do some final debugging. Most likely some tweeks to the AI and hopefully fix the issues with collisions we saw in episode 2. Brought his wife along to see the wonderful game he had been working on.

Ragatha: I feel she worked in HR. She likes everyone to get along, tries to de-escalate situations, and tries does her best not to be a bother to others. However she can bring down discipline when he has to (like tying up Jax in episode 3). I think she was put into the game by force. Someone put a headset onto her, to get her out of the way, after she was going to go to the authorities to stop the company, basically, torturing people trapped with the game.

Jax: I buy into the fan-theory that Jax is a rogue NPC within the game.

But if he isn't, then he's an unpaid intern. He either put the head set on willingly, thinking he could get to play this game for free and before its release to the public, or he was ordered to put it on to be a beta-tester. (why pay for a play test, when you can just get the intern to do it.)

He may not even be fully aware of why he's mean to everyone, and I'm sure he thinks he has reasons; "none of it matters, it's not like the NPC's in the games are real." or perhaps, "It's not like we can die or anything."

Honestly I think it comes down to, after who knows how long of being the office gopher and paying for the bosses coffee order with his own money (no reimbursement), he just started out by getting major catharsis against the other company workers.

But he's enjoying doing that way too much, and the fact that there are no lasting physical consequencesto his actions is leading him down a very slippery slope toward becoming a sociopath, maybe a psychopath.

Gangle: Worked on art and design. We've seen Gangle likes to draw and sketch and that may mean they created concept art, or digital designs for some, or all, of the named NPC's within the game , from Gummygoo, to Martha Mildenhall.

I think she also has depression symbolised by how their main body is a big loop of ribbon (empty inside). They've learned to hide it (or mask it) behind fake smiles and insincere laughter.

I also think art is both their hobby and a kind of their therapy, helping them just pour all their feelings out through their creativity.

They do feel joy at times, especially when it's quiet and no one is putting any demands on her, and just let her do her own thing. Episode 3 is evidence of that, where she was happy to be with the group, not necessarily taking part in their activity but enjoying being there and doing her own thing. Namely, sketching.

Zooble: They're non-binary and has issues with dysmophia, or dysphoria.

The reason they ended up in the game is the same as Jax, it was cheaper to get them to play test than hire a play tester. But I think Zoople is an actual paid employee, not an unpaid intern.

The vibe I get with Zooble is "freshly graduated from college and this is their first job." They're young enough that they're still figuring themselves out, which doesn't always mean young, but it more often found in people under 30. However they have a certain level of maturity to them. They set up Kaufmo's funeral, and spoke at it, despite how uncomforatable they can feel discussing their feelings.

Pomni: Whoever is in charge at this C&A company, Pomni worked alongside them. Maybe a business partner, I think more of a PA.

Their clothes are telling; a Jester. Jesters would work for a monarch and entertain their guests, just as a PA would work for the company boss and would handle people that the boss didn't want to talk to. The privilage of being the PA to the company boss would give Pomni more leeway to talk freely without risk of being punished. Just as a jester had that privilege within the royal court.

I'm trying to hint that Pomni may have been the one to pass down the orders that put Jax and Zooble in the game. I don't know if I'm saying it well enough.

Two lines in episode 3 stuck out to me, after Pomni is in hell.

"How's your wife, Kinger?"

Did Caine program that into the game? Did he get that specific insult ready in case Kinger accompanied Zooble into the scary path of the game?

Or did the evil-souls pull the knowledge our of Pomni's head? Because Pomni observed these events on the outside.

Caine did say that any torture is accidental on his part.

The second line: "I knew it would turn out like this... he just wants to torture me."

Was she talking about Caine? I don't think so. I think she was talking about her boss.

For resons currently unknown he forced her to put on the headset, but she knew what would happen if she did; she would lose most of her memories and be forced to play the games until she went nuts. Would her boss listen? No. Her conclusion, whatever reason he gave to get her into the game was a lie and it was just to torture her.

[kamotecue]

the start of something new ❉ j. groenen

pairing: jackie groenen x reader

summary: a freshly graduated college student who majored in photography gets a job, that many football fans would want.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ ⋆✦⋆ ⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

you sat in one of the conference’s seats, it was a meeting about the publishing days for the team’s social media page, mainly instagram. you’re the team’s newest photographer, not just that but you freshly graduated from ucla with a minor in economics, a major in photography.

your camera gear was set on the table, different camera lenses were sorted in the bag, the camera itself, an extra storage card, two black camera straps and the other essentials.

you had anxiously tapped on your thigh, as you payed attention to the conversation. it didn’t take long for the meeting to end, and when it did—you gently carried your stuff.

it was international camp, as the uefa nation’s league was coming to a close. you grabbed the tripod already setting it up, as the schedule was coming to a close.

and as expected, the players had arrived. some were in a group of trios, duos or individual. you were behind the camera, as a few players took note of the newest staff.

you had a shy interior as you hid behind the camera while your co-staff had done the talking. occasionally, asking things how is it like at their club, or their weekend has been.

it was literally break when you were at the pitch, a co-worker was helping you set up the cameras as you were humming to yourself, not noticing a player looking at you with adoration.

she noticed your shy interior, how you would avoid conversations or eye contact with people. it was cute to her, she wanted to get to know you better. but she didn’t know how to.

little did she know, that she had caught your eye as well. your little brother is quite a fan of the team, and you would always get mixed up by the players.

but jackie really stood out to you, maybe it was her smile. the out-going vibe that she gave. you grabbed your camera, ready to take pictures after the players started piling out of the building.

quickly snapping a few pictures, you made sure the angle and lightning was okay. the pictures turned out perfectly, you looked through the camera, noticing a certain dutchie looking at you with a soft smile.

you had taken a picture, as you found the smile a bit charming. the whole training, you focused on the playing style, you had played high school football but never continued at college.

“come on, jackie.” daniëlle teased, trying to nudge the midfielder a bit closer to your direction. you were busy humming to yourself.

the day had came to an end and you were busy sorting through the camera gear, putting the things away not noticing the two players behind you.

“she’s busy-“ jackie didn’t finish her sentence as she was pushed by the other midfielder. she was just behind you, admiring the way you were focused.

she cleared her throat, but you didn’t hear it. jackie looked at danielle who shrugged.

“tap her shoulder!” danielle cheered, as jackie scoffed at how happy she was. she took a deep breath before gently tapping your shoulder.

you glanced back at her before placing the camera down, her eyes were looking into yours as you reached into your bag, getting a case.

as you opened it, a pair of hearing airs were revealed. yes—you needed hearing aids. did you use them? you do, but earlier your ears were hurting, hence you had removed them for a while.

you quickly put them on, giving her a timid smile—as her eyes widened in realization.

“yes?” you asked, as she cleared her throat for second time.

“hi, i’m jackie.” she introduced herself, her hand was held out as she had a toothy grin. you chuckled at her behavior, before returning the handshake.

“i’m y/n l/n. i’m sorry if you called me earlier, i had my hearing aids off.” you explained, as she hummed. it was a cute thing, despite this being the first time interacting with you, she loved how you rambled. or how you’d over-explain things.

“it’s fine, i didn’t really know. so, how’s your first day?” she asked, as she stepped beside you. analyzing the gear.

“it’s fine, my brother is a huge football fan.” you commented, as she asked for permission to grab on of your cameras. you gave her a soft nod, as she grabbed your nikon d780.

she turned the camera on before looking through the viewfinder of the camera.

“is he, then? who’s his favorite player?” jackie asked, as she snapped a few photos of the pitch, she turned the camera to danielle and a few of her teammates who dramatically posed.

“he really loves viv.” you chuckled remembering on how he’d ramble about the star striker, feeling a bit disbelief on how she would’ve retired at age 18.

“i’d see why.” she hummed, pointing the camera at you, quickly snapping a few pictures catching you off guard.

“hey!” you said, covering your face with your hand as she chuckled at how cute you looked like. you were shy, but you always preferred to be behind the camera and not in front of it.

little did you know, you had gotten out of your comfort zone in the future. jackie is and will always be your favorite photographer, she’d snap photos of you.

[watori-fics]

Eating Dinner with the Actual Strongest in Mikado City: Super High-pressure Member of the Mikumo Family

Characters / Pairing: Mikumo Kasumi, YumaOsa (Kuga Yuma | Mikumo Osamu) Summary: A short story about Kasumi, Osamu, and Yuma meeting near the supermarket and how Kasumi ropes Yuma into having dinner with them. Note: Enjoy!

Kasumi Mikumo is indeed Osamu’s mom, and despite being younger-looking and stunningly attractive, her defining trait is her deadpan expression and demeanor, which can intimidate even the most confident individuals. She has an unwavering gaze that can pierce through anyone’s resolve, and she’s not one to back down from what she wants. Despite her calm exterior, she’s always been driven, direct, and utterly unapologetic about pursuing her goals.

One such goal was Osamu’s father! According to the backstory, Kasumi was laser-focused on him from the moment they met at university. Noticing his kind nature and quiet charm, she decided right away that he was "the one." While others might take time to weigh their feelings or approach things cautiously, Kasumi wasted no time. After successfully graduating university, she reportedly put intense pressure on him, using her natural tenacity and straightforwardness to secure their marriage.

Their relationship, much like her personality, is both practical and straightforward. She knew what she wanted, and she went after it with full force, much to the amazement (and slight terror) of those around them. Kasumi’s personality can have a strong effect on anyone she meets, including Osamu’s Border friends!

------

It was an ordinary afternoon when Osamu and Yuma finished their classes and headed out, bags slung over their shoulders. Yuma had been talking animatedly about a new technique he was trying out in combat, while Osamu nodded along, eyes scanning the streets out of habit.

As they neared the local supermarket, a familiar figure caught Osamu’s eye. His stomach dropped when he saw none other than his mother, Kasumi Mikumo, standing near the entrance with her signature deadpan expression, staring straight at them.

"Ah… Kuga, we should—" Osamu started, but it was too late.

"Osamu." Kasumi’s calm yet authoritative voice cut through the air like a blade.

Yuma looked up, eyes curious. "That’s your mom, right?"

Osamu nodded reluctantly. "Yeah… she is."

Yuma waved cheerfully, completely unfazed. "Hi, Osamu’s mom!"

Kasumi’s gaze shifted to Yuma, her piercing eyes studying him for a brief moment before she spoke. "Yuma Kuga, isn’t it?" Her tone was as matter-of-fact as ever. She turned to Osamu, "You didn’t tell me you’d be walking home with a friend."

Before Osamu could respond, she had already made her decision. "Since you two don’t have Border shifts today, you’ll both join me for dinner."

Osamu’s eyes widened in horror. "Mom, you don’t have to—"

"Kuga-kun's coming," Kasumi said decisively, her eyes on Yuma, who blinked before grinning.

"Sure! I’d love to."

Osamu silently cursed his mother’s ability to control the situation so effortlessly. He knew once she decided something, there was no changing it.

At the Mikumo household, the smell of freshly cooked cream croquettes filled the air, and Osamu was already internally panicking about what might unfold. He sat at the table, nervously glancing at Yuma, who was already chatting with his mom like they were long-time friends. To Osamu’s surprise, Yuma was actually polite and well-mannered, handling Kasumi’s subtle intensity like it was nothing.

As they sat down to eat, Kasumi took the opportunity to drop the first bomb. "Osamu’s favorite food is cream croquettes, you know. I’ve been making these for him since he was little."

Yuma’s eyes brightened with genuine interest. "Really? I had no idea. Osamu, you should’ve told me. They’re really good!"

Osamu’s face turned pink. "It’s not that important…"

But Kasumi wasn’t done. "He used to cry if we didn’t have them at least once a week."

"Mom!" Osamu sputtered, trying to sink into his chair, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. Yuma, on the other hand, looked like he was having the time of his life.

Kasumi continued as if she didn’t notice her son’s distress. "He’s always been such a serious boy. Even in elementary school, he’d come home, do his homework right away, and then organize his room."

Yuma gave Osamu a teasing grin. "Wow, Osamu, you’ve always been so diligent, huh?"

Osamu mumbled something unintelligible, his face growing redder by the second.

As they ate, Kasumi told more "fun facts" about Osamu—like the time he accidentally fell into the pond at the local park because he was too focused on reading a book, or how he insisted on bringing an extra umbrella to school just in case someone else forgot theirs.

Yuma was having a blast, laughing at each story, while Osamu was dying of embarrassment, trying to deflect the attention back to anything else.

By the time dinner ended, Yuma was full, happy, and thoroughly amused. "Thanks for the meal, Kasumi-san. It was amazing!"

Kasumi nodded. "Come by anytime, Yuma. You’re always welcome. And Osamu, make sure to see him to the station."

"I know." Osamu replies. He's worried about Kuga's sense of direction without Replica, anyway.

As Yuma and Osamu headed out the door, Kasumi gave her son one last look. "Don’t forget, Osamu, for every friend you bring to visit our home, I’ll be making more cream croquettes for you."

Osamu groaned, knowing Yuma wouldn’t let him live any of this down. But as they walked down the street, Yuma smiled. "Your mom’s pretty cool, Osamu."

Osamu sighed. "Yeah… she’s something."

And though he wouldn’t admit it, deep down, he knew Yuma was right.

----------

Note: Yuma and Kasumi, by the end, are already on a first-name basis. Gotta hand it in to Yuma's communication skills and Kasumi's ultra high pressure......

[winterwriterstudios]

Manipulative! Fem! Yandere x Fem! Reader [Blood On Your Hands] (1/??)

(Literally something I’ve been fantasizing abt, just a little story, nothing more! Low key took a dark path, but still love how it came out. I DO NOT CONDONE BEHAVIOR LIKE THIS!! AND SWEARING IS INVOLVED!!)

(Sorta took the more toxic side of a yandere and shit, so it is not going to be a wholesome couple)

Raven was the number one in class, number one in every sport and was the teachers favorite.

And she was a pleasant person to talk to, except she was a bit introverted and kept to herself, reading and observing her classmates.

Including you.

The extrovert of the class, the popular girl who never ceased to make anyone smile when you walked into the room.

Except Raven.

She did not hate you, she just failed to understand your sudden, random and large burst of emotions and she hated not understanding something. It made her feel dumb and powerless.

So, she did what any scientist does when faced with the unknown.

Make a question, Observe, Form a hypothesis, Experiment, Analyze information gained from the experiment, then form your answer.

She had a lot of questions about you. But pride did not let her dare ask you. She takes great pride in never asking her classmates for anything.

So, she decided to do what she was best at; Observation, Speculation, Judging.

Except, Raven paid a close eye to you, watching you during school hours and nothing more. Raven had homework and studying to do, after all. You were merely a self-indulgent anomaly she was eager to know more about.

By the time you graduated from Sophomore year, she knew everything about you, so her curiosity was fulfilled.

Or so she thought.

She still found herself subconsciously watching you, following you around, even more. Even helping you out when you left your homework at school and couldn’t complete it.

Raven soon became disgusted with her actions. Afterall, why would she, of ALL people, ever willingly and selflessly do another person’s assignment?

She was convinced that she was sick in the head. I mean, she always had her suspicions, but this was just the most insane thing she’s ever done (yes, including the stalking).

She mulls over why she cares about you so much, eventually forgetting that today was Valentine’s Day.

So, she was shocked when she entered the hormone-infested halls, filled with horny teens and rare displays of cute, wholesome adoration.

Raven rolls her eyes, internally, but congratulates the newly made couples and ‘sympathizes’ with the freshly broken up ones.

Then she reaches her locker, and a card flies out, landing on the ground.

She picks it up, then realizes that it was a valentine’s card, from ‘her secret admirer’.

It’s obviously you, she can feel your eyes on her.

And for some reason, a smile makes its way to her face, she doesn’t know why, but a sense of adrenaline rushes through her as she opens the letter and reads the contents.

It was exactly what she expected; cheesy lines with random intermissions of corny jokes only chronically online people would understand, topped off with your cringey (but endearing) way of saying ‘be my Valentine’.

Raven laughed.

It was a short one, and if one listened closely, it almost sounded a bit mocking, a bit conceited.

—————

Turning around, with the letter still in her hands, she walked towards you, making eye contact with you.

You eyes widened, shocked, but over joyed that she noticed it was you. You opened your mouth to say something, before she could, but she passed by you.

She actually passed by you.

To hug Reynold and place a kiss on his cheek, showing him the letter, with her perfect smile.

You stood there, feeling heartbroken. But you tried to convince yourself that it was okay, Reynold would probably deny it and Raven would go back to look for her secret admirer and—

“Oh! Yeah! I’ve always had a crush on you, and I just…didn’t know how to get your attention, so I made you a letter!”

“Awww! That’s so sweet! Of course I’ll be your Valentine.”

No, HE FUCKING TOOK CREDIT FOR YOUR LETTER!

You gritted your teeth, clenching your fists, glaring daggers at the selfish boy. You wanting to smash his head on the ground and punch him till he cries, but you knew Reynold could easily (and unapologetically) beat you up if you tried that shit, so you watched as Raven showered Reynold with compliments and affection.

Affection that was supposed to be yours.

Raven was supposed to be yours.

You didn’t know whether to cry or to yell at the universe for being so unfair.

With tears streaming down your face, you made a beeline towards the bathrooms, having enough of this.

—————

Raven finally realized why she still stalked you and helped you.

It was because she had a crush on you.

A massive one.

She knew she could’ve easily gone to you, shower you with affection and start a relationship with you, but she didn’t.

And she didn’t regret a thing.

Not a thing.

She held Reynolds’s arm, faking a content look on her face as they walked down the halls, grabbing almost everyone’s attention. Reynold stared into her eyes, lovingly, like she was his world.

But she didn’t care, not one bit.

Instead, her smile widened as she heard your faint sobs from the bathroom.

Having a crush was going to be so much fun.

For her.

[heronoegg]

Bubble Girl being fish-like (fish qualities)?

i wanted to draw art for this ask cause i really like Bubble girl like a lot - sadly i don't have any new art for her :( but i'll still talk about her

YES she is a fishy girl, like i said before "know shes not the fish lady but i wanted to give her fish qualities like glassy eyes and gills kinda, homegirl seems a little boney in the ribs"

the thing about her and the actual fish lady Tsu interned with or workstudy or whatever is that lady actually isn't a fish lady and those ears are fake gjknjknjkthj remember that octopus villain broke one of them cause it was a communicator? - ALSO i did some looking up about Bubble girl for another reason but i found out two things, there was a controversial about her revealing costume and she was supposed to be 16 but they changed it to 21 in her concept art by the person who drew her (i believe? im not very sure )she was wearing a UA Uniform

i got this from this post it talks about Bubble girl facts

one of them ones i actually think is something interesting is - "Her body is also supposed to be translucent like a bubble as illustrated in the original art, but I guess Horikoshi went for an opaque blue skin instead" from that post, might include that by making her a little shiny next time i draw her

ME PERSONALLY i always thought she was like freshly graduated never gave me the actual functioning grown women vibes, she acts childish, she apologized to a yakuza member when she manhandled him to the floor, that's a child your honor

Have some headcanons i have about her

-She can stay 16, we just cover up her chest - shes not as new as Mirio but she hasn't been here longer then Centipeder

-she's such a seasoned fighter Nighteye thought it just a great idea to have her on the team, she makes him laugh and they are genuinely friends.

-He met her one day and she was all frazzled out about not being able to be accepted by a agency cause she woke up late and missed a train and wah wah wah! - he simply told her "tell me a joke and if you can make me laugh you can work for me" - she made him laugh by being a girl failure and shes been on the team ever since.

-It wasn't necessarily about her making him laugh but the fact she was really trying hard when he asked that of her told him everything about her - she started crying when she thought he was never gonna laugh at her attempts at being funny

-Deku reminds Nighteye of Bubble girl alot and that's a small part of why he agreed to let Deku be here

-She skipped a grade at like middle school or something for one reason or another, that's why shes younger then Mirio but graduated from UA as a 3rd year she was younger then all her peers not sure how that works but it did, my cousin skipped a grade so it can happen - and like i said shes a seasoned fighter shes just out of sorts all the time

-She has a crush on Deku - who doesn't lol - she doesn't make it known at first but Deku kinda knew when he was there and didn't say anything cause he 1) didn't know what to say back and 2) he kinda friend-zoned her cause he didn't feel the same, he just met her lol poor thing

-She asked him out and he slowly avoided the question lol danced around it so he could get out of responding cause he didnt know what to say. She thinks about asking him again but she doesn't wanna be weird or push the issue like shes desperate

-Shes very jealous of Mirio being Nighteye's "golden boy" but she and Mirio have a very good friendship going. She has told him this many times thats shes jealous of him, she complains about it sometimes and she complains about it to Mirio "Can you kinda like, give me a chance to show you up?"

-Bubble girl and Mirio know Nighteye so well they be escaping when he's mad about stuff, Mirio will clock out and leave, Bubble girl will clock out and make the jump from the window to leave the building if hes mad

-Bubble girl and Mirio fight alot kinda, like Mirio is never really mad but they like "no you, it's your turn no you!" when neither want to do a task for Nighteye that's kinda weird/strange.

-Bubble girl gets put in the tickle machine more then anyone in this agency and quite honestly she is the only person who gets put in it Mirio once said "it was built for you"

-Centipeder patronizes Bubble girl when she acts like a child, she doesn't know when shes acting like a child she thinks this is her normal behavior and reactions to certain situations but she is a little childish

-When Nighteye gets injured he doesn't die but he retires cause he has a bad heart now and a hole in his chest and a robotic arm and he isn't stupid, Centipeder is the head of the agency it belongs to Nighteye and if he isn't so sure on what to do he asks him but ultimately he's kinda running the show now. He choose her to be his personal sidekick over Lemillion because shes more responsible then him

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Fuck it Tumblr ate my ask AGAIN so I'm writing down my Idia x Riddle hurt/comfort headcanons here! This is for you anon!

Despite the obvious proud and well known family names and smarts they both have sever low self-esteem and often feel unworthy being by the other who heavily second guess each other over anything date related

Idia second guesses himself worthy so much and still struggles with the idea someone like Riddle wants him

While Riddle second guess himself being worthy purely thanks to his mother (whom me and my friend name Pamela as a twisted honor of Pamela Voorhees from Friday the 13th, you're welcome)

Add these issues with issues and trauma from childhood and PTSD and we got lots of problems they need to work on together

There are times they argue and sometimes they do get ugly and sometimes they need a breather apart, and on those days Idia and Riddle feel worst and think the other hates him now

They both suffer from bad eating habits that will borderline become a disorder if not noticed in time, with Riddle with stress of perfection and with Idia just forgetting to care on his health

Idia's anxiety and depression is also a main of Idia's problems of holding Riddle back in his mind

A few times they get invited to a party at Scarabia and Idia's anxiety will kick in hard so Riddle leaves with him

I sometimes headcanon they're both on the autism spectrum but neither are diagnosed for reasons

With that said, they both have perfect sensory fidgets and stim toys ready to go for the other as well as noise canceling headphones

These songs make me think of them with this prompt

The first song most in Idia's head about how he thinks he's not best for Riddle

Second could be both Riddle or Idia but I mostly see Riddle in the beginning of his crush on Idia and the internal issues he got from it

Should I animate either of these??

Their self-esteem issues do bring issues but they still cling to each other after a fight or crying session

They're both heard each other cry in their sleep from many things from trauma to what happened in STYX

Riddle one time cried over a sleeping Idia thinking back at STYX and how lonely he was

They both have really bad days of emotions and kind of just... lean against each other clinging or holding hands and just crying together

How Riddle comforts Idia is freshly cleaned blankets and pillows, video games or his favorite anime ready, LED lights set on Idia's comfort color, and pizza and soda ordered for a night in and cuddles

How Idia comforts Riddle after a bad day is cozy blankets, hot cocoa or tea, cake or tart from the store those if he feels for it he'll try to make them himself, Riddle's favorite audio book playing or a show he likes, and if really needed... hedgehogs to snuggle and coo at

During Idia's graduation he helped Riddle get a restraining order against his mother and Riddle moved in with Idia in an apartment during that break, far from their hometowns but easy to visit if needed