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tsukimefuku · 21 hours ago

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CHAPTER THREE PT. I: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni!

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.7K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. reader is lowkey obsessed. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. exams suck. higuruma has an old car. law firm shenanigans ensue.

❀ notes etc.

Thank you so much @ratiopoetry. If it wasn’t for you, this chapter wouldn’t exist, so a big, fat, huge thanks. You reminded me of the reason I started writing this (and why I write at all) in the first place. 💛

also, some love for the betas: @redlikerozez and @sandsorghum thank you both!

You sat there staring blankly during Higuruma’s class. He was definitely teaching… something. You had no idea what, though.

More importantly, you were laser focused on one thing, and one thing only — his crooked tie.

Burgundy, satin. Slightly bent to the left. Crumpled underneath the knot, bulging inwards. It kept pushing up anytime he moved his arms to write on or gesture towards the white board behind him.

Just enough to make you want to stretch out your hands and touch it. Straighten it.

Probably a regular black tie or even a navy blue one would’ve suited him better.

Worked up and yapping continuously about something that was clearly important, Higuruma would pace back and forth, and all that you wondered was how the hell this man with dozens of academic accolades didn’t know how to properly tie a tie.

That single piece of attire seemed to mock you. The off-putting dip underneath the knot looked like a cocky smile.

It was all made worse when Higuruma mindlessly tugged his fingers around it. The tie bent even further from the center.

For fucks sake.

After a while, you gave up on trying to pay any mind to his class, and let the time slide off the clock’s hand until the bells went off and you were finally free to go.

Before you could bolt your way out of there and leave this weird obsession behind, though, he spoke.

“Hey, Sanrio.”

Is he calling me Sanrio for real now?

Your cheeks flushed a dusty pink, and you were glad that nearly all of the students had already left the classroom. You gulped and turned calmly from your half done backpack to face him.

“Yes, Professor?”

“I need to speak with you, if you may,” he replied, signaling for you to approach him.

Your throat tightened, and you wondered if this could be related to the debacle from a few nights before. After all, this was the first time you saw each other after you unceremoniously gave him a pure vodka shower.

Then patted him dry with your scarf.

And spent a few moments holding hands.

Damn.

He sat over his desk while crossing his arms, and your eyes were instantly drawn to his forearms, the way they softly bulged in that position, every corded muscle visible with his sleeves rolled up, his veins perfectly protruded down his forearm, all over the back of his hand, and his tie-

“Did you listen to anything I just said?”

Only then you registered that he was actually saying something, and you didn’t catch a word.

“Oh, no. I mean, I wasn’t… I got distracted.”

“I can see that. Actually, I wanted to ask if everything is okay, you seem off today,” he inquired, softly tilting his head to the side. His eyes landed first on your face, and slowly made their way down your body. For a second, you wondered if he was checking you out, or if it was just your imagination.

The thought had you blushing even deeper, because of course not, this is not happening, what the hell is wrong with me-

“Sanrio, you’re doing it again.”

“What?”

“Zoning out while I’m speaking to you.”

Fuck.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I must’ve been distracted.”

“With what?”

And he did ask it in earnest.

Distracted with you checking me out, and your forearms, and the way you tug that goddamn burgundy satin around your perfect neck, and-

“Your tie.”

One of his eyebrows slowly peaked up in disbelief.

“My… tie?”

For a second, you wished for a hole to be magically conjured right underneath your feet just so you could bury your head in it like an ostrich. Not the smartest defense mechanism devised by nature, but definitely one that would save you some embarrassment at that moment.

He cleared his throat, and you could just about die not knowing what he — or anyone, for that matter — could reply to whatever that was.

“Do you want to… straighten it?”

“… What?”

“You heard me.”

Completely dumbfounded, you wondered if that was just mockery. Or a poorly executed joke, since he seemed to be a professional at cracking those.

“If it’s so distracting, come on over here and straighten it,” he repeated, almost like a dare, holding your gaze. Sure enough, there was not an ounce of jest in that man’s face.

Disconcerted, you slowly walked in his direction, and as you lifted your hands towards his neck, Higuruma tilted his jaw up, projecting his neck muscles and making all of his tendons much more apparent.

At the same time, your teeth clenched, your mouth watered and your hands stuttered.

“Is there any problem?” The Professor asked while raising a curious eyebrow.

His voice sounded sultrier than usual. Suspiciously raspy and velvety. Is he doing it on purpose?

You simply nodded while your brain short circuited, and the more you tried to steer away the thoughts of how much you had the hots for the Professor, the more you wanted to tug on that tie and-

“There, straightened,” you whispered in a rush, eyes glued to the floor, ready to bolt away and leave all your belongings behind, even if you were still clutching his tie in between your fingers as if holding onto a lifeline.

An unnecessarily sexy lifeline.

Before you could leave, though, he held your shoulder with one hand while tilting your face up by pushing his index finger under your chin, catching you completely off guard.

“Are you in a rush? Do you have some place else to be?”

Absolutely not hallucinating. He was, indeed, making a move on you, and his gaze slid down slowly towards your lips. “We still haven’t talked about that night. And how you left some lipstick on the cigarette you lit up for me.”

Nothing but a pathetic whimper left your lips. He smiled.

“Is this the same one?” Higuruma asked, flickering his eyes between your gaze and your lips.

“S-same… what?”

“Lispstick.”

It felt like you were in a plane cabin and it had just depressurized.

I have to leave, I can’t do this, this is highly inappropriate behav-

You nodded. His smile widened.

“Perfect. Now I can taste it from the right place.”

Your stomach dropped further and your heart thumped in your chest, skipping more than just a few beats as it drummed enough to have the space around you both grow even quieter to your ears.

Rational thought had abandoned you as your grip tightened around his tie, your eyes dropping to his mouth. Higuruma seemed pleased, and slid one of his hands to the nape of your neck while carding his fingers through your hair, bringing his other hand down behind you to cup your lower back. You softly jumped in surprise, and he wasted no time into pulling your body against his, having you instantly feeling his warmth all over you.

As you both inched closer to each other, you could smell some of his aftershave on his skin, and his minty breath, and his cologne impregnated all over his clothes, and…

This smells like my laundry detergent…?

The bells went off again.

This time, however, it was your morning alarm yanking you out of sleep as your face sunk into your pillow like a rock in a lake.

Peeling your eyes open to the unforgiving light that flooded into your dorm room, you slowly propped yourself up from the mattress. Your laptop was open by the edge of the bed, and on the screen, you found your shame displayed in between three different types of ads containing huge twerking asses in 4K.

You had most likely passed out on top of your vibrator the night before and wondered if the kinky Professor x Student role play porn on your anon tab was the reason you dreamt… that. Especially considering that today you had a criminal procedure lecture with the star of the M-rated movie your horny mind cooked just for you.

Is there anything worse than meeting someone you shouldn’t be interested in right after having those types of dreams with them?

Fun. So fun.

At least this time life spared you the little mercy of having no company after Nobara decided to sleep over at Maki’s again.

Carrying yourself with the few shreds of dignity you still had, you rolled out of bed, and while getting ready for that day’s class, a realization suddenly dawned on you.

Where is my red scarf?

***

Higuruma’s car.

The beat up 2015 Toyota Passo had a lot of personality as an old piece of junk that failed on the road more often than not, but even so, it had been his reliable companion for nearly a decade. Its glossy navy blue paint was covered in dirt, and Higuruma wondered to himself as he entered the vehicle that morning if he should perhaps take it out for a wash, which, in all fairness, he never did. The rain will wash it clean was his motto, one that rarely proved itself to be true.

His car was always crawling with old food wraps, random papers, spare change and some clothes. While Higuruma looked frantically for something to wrap around his neck in the cold — a beaten up old yellow shawl all weaved in sunflower patterns he received as a gift from his grandmother —, his phone rang.

Using a makeshift bluetooth haphazardly rigged up to the radio, Higuruma answered the call while twisting his arm beside the passenger seat.

“Hello, who is this?”

“It’s Kento, good morning.”

“Morning. May I ask why such an early call?” Higuruma asked with a strained voice while he dove down his seat, a hand reaching between the passenger seat and the handbrake.

“It’s not early. Actually, I thought I’d find you at the campus, but since you weren’t in the teacher’s lounge, I’m calling.”

“Oh, I’m just… late,” Higuruma muttered under a tense breath, still bending himself over while prying his scarf out of its death trap underneath the seat beside him.

“I figured that much. Are you on your way?”

“Kind of.”

Nanami found that reply to be suspicious, especially considering his friend’s usual antics.

“… Did your car break down again?” Nanami asked with a hint of judgement to his inquiry. If the Toyota Passo had a hater club, Nanami would be its president, especially considering all the times he found himself stranded with Higuruma by roadsides while on past trips. This was the main reason Nanami would never be caught dead taking a ride with his best friend nowadays if he could help it.

“Shh, don’t say that. It can hear you,” Higuruma chastised while half joking, being more acquainted with Murphy’s Law than he’d like to admit. It had turned him into a somewhat superstitions man, at least when it came to the Passo.

“Hiromi, that’s not how cars work.”

“You can’t know that for sure,” he quipped. Hearing Nanami sigh on the other side of the line was an amusement that served him some semblance of comfort as he battled his way through his current predicament. “Now, what did you want to speak to me about anyway?”

Hitting just the right slant, Higuruma felt the already familiar wool-weaved pattern on the tips of his fingers.

“Well, it’s about what I told you last Friday,” Nanami ensued.

“Go on.”

As Higuruma contorted his limbs and spine on the driver’s seat in some sort of malevolent pilates while searching for a better position to pull his shawl up, he slowly elevated his arm with a firm grip on the thing, doing his best to not have it tangle on its way out.

“We’ve allocated some revenue to open more departments in the Firm, and to make some changes to others. I’d like your input, if at all possible.”

Higuruma’s tie contracted uncomfortably around his neck with every wiggle his body made, prompting him to pull around it in a feeble attempt to not have his windpipe crushed. It worked, but barely, messing up his already disarrayed outfit even further.

“My input?” he asked, taken aback while adjusting himself in his seat. “I mean, I’d like to help, but I don’t know if my input is what you’re looking for. I didn’t have that many years of experience as a private lawyer.”

“But you do have a lot of experience dealing with a team of people working with you, and impossible criminal cases absolutely no one would accept.”

“One intern and one assistant,” Higuruma noted, “and those cases weren’t impossible. No case is, even in our Justice System.”

Nanami smiled softly before replying. “Okay, ‘remarkably challenging lawsuits’, then. In any case, we’re creating a criminal law defense department, and considering your experience, you input would be much appreciated.”

Higuruma managed to haul nearly the entire shawl out of its hideout, but before he could consider himself victorious, it got stuck.

He sighed.

“My input or my participation, Kento?” Higuruma asked, even if it wasn’t an actual question. “I know you. You’re not that smooth when attempting to get me on board for something. I remember all the times you casually mentioned a group project in college — which all coincidentally had themes I was studying in depth at the time — while trying to act all nonchalant about it.”

Nothing gets past him, Nanami thought to himself at being caught red handed.

“Yes, I’d like your participation.”

Higuruma stopped in his tracks, and placed the pulled-up end of the shawl over the passenger’s seat, propping himself up to sit. In silence, he brushed his fingers over his temples, and remained like this for a few seconds, not realizing how his whole body had stiffened up like dried bamboo.

“Kento, I don’t think that’s a good idea, I just…” Higuruma mumbled as he let his forehead lay over the steering wheel.

“Do you trust my judgement?”

Nanami’s question came without missing a beat.

“Of course I do,” Higuruma replied, “I don’t know if I trust myself.”

“Let me worry about that,” Nanami interjected, “I’ve gotten other attorneys on board that can work with us. With you.”

With an uncertain hum, Higuruma cleared his throat.

“I’m… late. I should get going. And sort my damn scarf situation. It’s awfully cold today.”

“That hideous little thing with the sunflowers?” Nanami’s disdain was evident, and Higuruma chuckled.

“Morning, Kento.”

With that, the Professor ended the call, and put his whole mind to solving his current dilemma.

As a final Hail Mary, Higuruma held all he managed to pry out with a firm grip, and slowly descended his other hand, feeling his way over the piece in an attempt to find whatever was hooking it.

Quickly enough, his fingers met something else entirely. It had a softer texture, almost like old frizzly, worn out cotton.

Well, I think I’ve found the culprit.

With a careful tug, he pulled everything out, and a snaky, crimson, polka dot fuzzy worm surprised him. Upon further inspection, Higuruma realized that such horrid sight was actually your ugly red scarf entwined with his sunflower shawl.

This… what? How did her scarf end up here?

Blinking once, then twice, the Professor found himself still completely dumbfounded. For a moment, Higuruma wondered if this was all a figment of his imagination. That is, until he recalled last Friday, and remembered you used your scarf to pat him dry after an accidental alcoholic skin care routine.

Out of all the things I could’ve picked up by accident, this is what I got? This hideous little thing?

He snorted at the red polka dot scarf while holding it with the tips of his fingers, wondering if you’d really care to have this back.

Smiling to himself, Higuruma remembered the exchange, your laughter, and his eyes slid towards the cigarette butt from that day. It was currently shoved into the ashtray he kept right in front of his handbrake.

He noticed there was still a faint red stain around it. Against his better judgement, his mind wandered for a moment as he reminisced on the occasion, and how smoking that cigarette left a soft tinted smudge on his lips too, one that he noticed upon arriving home that night and looking at himself in his elevator’s mirror.

I… really shouldn’t.

Shaking the thought away, Higuruma mindlessly spoke to himself as he turned the engine on.

“I have to give this back to her.”

If only his memory didn’t betray him just like his car — more often than not.

After an uneventful drive, Higuruma stood in front of the white board ready to resume his criminal procedure class as all of the students made their way into the classroom, including you.

Picking a seat not too close to the main stage, you noticed that Professor Higuruma had his back turned to the rest of the class as he wrote something on the white board. That day, from what you could tell, he was wearing just a plain white buttoned shirt and linen black slacks, not accounting for a coat and whatever else he had haphazardly tossed over his desk like a ball of garments.

There seemed to be a small red something tangled right under his coat.

Your dream prickled you in the back of your mind, and you cleared your throat trying to feign off the thoughts.

This is real life, at a real class, and not my Orpheus domain. This is real life… You kept repeating mentally to yourself, like a mantra. Even if his shirt draped perfectly over his shoulders and highlighted his slender build.

I’ll just focus on today’s class and that will get my mind out of the gutter.

Higuruma stepped back from the white board and the word “truth” was written on it. Before you could think anything about today’s main topic, though, he turned around to face the students, and your day just became that much more awkward.

For a second, you couldn't truly believe your eyes.

His tie — which at least wasn’t burgundy, nor satin — was crooked. Actually, truly crooked in the real life of real events during a very much real class.

My life is a bad joke and I’m the punchline.

You straightened your posture in your chair with the sudden piercing, delusional self-awareness that anyone who looked at your face would know telepathically what you were thinking, because your cheeks felt suspiciously warm. You tried brushing your bangs down your face to no avail, and a small lock of hair poked out of it like a sore thumb.

In an attempt to distract yourself from that nonsense, you tried as best as you could to check how Higuruma was looking like today — apart from the crooked tie, that was — and noticed his hair was more disheveled than usual. It seemed like he hadn't shaved for at least two days.

Finally, Higuruma ensued his grand introductory lecture on the value of truth for criminal proceedings, and you were actually listening to it.

Good. Deja vu is not Deja-vuing enough. I’m fine. This is fine.

“Truth. Who can tell me the three main concepts of truth in western philosophy?” Higuruma asked while pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

You saw a familiar hand raising in the very front row, and Higuruma nodded for the person to proceed.

“The three main concepts of truth are the correspondence, coherence and consensus ones,” Megumi answered.

“Exactly. The relevance of truth in legal proceedings has been an ongoing debate for centuries, and some lines of thought even consider it to be completely irrelevant. We won’t be tackling that. For those who think truth is important, the most well established position is that truth as correspondence is the one we should strive for, even if our true knowledge of facts that occurred in the past through evidence can be, at best, approximate.”

A few people nodded, and Higuruma continued his exposition.

“Truth as correspondence… In simple terms, a statement can be considered to be true if it corresponds to a fact that has happened in the real world. For example, by this, if I say ‘today I was at class at the inhumane time of 07:05AM’, and here we are at that very same time, it means my statement is true. In criminal proceedings, the truth finding task revolves around verifying if a crime has occurred or not, and in order to do such verification, we need evidence,” he paused for a moment and pulled a bottle of water from his briefcase, carefully putting it over his desk, “and one of the main types of evidence in criminal proceedings are witnesses’ testimonies.”

You were able to follow his exposition so far, and not get distracted by the crooked black ti-

Exposition. Truth. Witnesses. Focus, woman.

You could still feel the lingering sensation of his dreamt tie in between your fingers, and it wasn’t doing you any favors.

“What is a testimony? A testimony is basically someone’s account of an event they have witnessed, and formed a memory of through their senses — sight, hearing, etc. In that regard, it’s safe to say testimonies are a type of evidence that depends on memory, and human memory is fallible. What we can apprehend through our senses and actually remember is deeply affected by what we can or choose to focus on,” Higuruma concluded.

Your eyes involuntarily dropped to his tie once again.

Goddammit.

The class was considerably peaceful so far, and you wondered if he would require a victim for his usual slaughter sessions. It would certainly serve the purpose of getting your mind out of your fantasies. Fantasies about running your fingers down the fabric of his clothes, clutching them, crumpling everything in the messiest-

“You.”

His voice fished you out of your daydreams and into the very much real and concrete reality presenting itself. Subconsciously — involuntarily, perhaps — his finger pointed in your direction, and you knew you’d be the prey for that class’ expository capers.

“Please, step forward,” Higuruma asked as he stood beside his desk.

You did like you were told, as a robot would, and walked in his direction, ready for whatever insanity he had to throw your way this time. Perhaps a marker for the white board. Or the water bottle.

“So,” Higuruma proceeded, “we need police to retrieve information from people that may have witnessed a crime in order to investigate it. That’s usually how investigations begin.” He quickly paused to check if everyone was following, and resumed his explanation, “after the investigation is completed and someone is actually charged or indicted, these same people, the witnesses, will be asked to repeat what they told to police right in front of the judge or a jury. The main question is… how reliable is that initial information relayed to the police at the beginning of it all? How reliable are these testimonies that give the very foundation for a criminal proceeding to exist in the first place?”

You didn’t know the answer to that question. You knew nothing, really, staring dumbly at your feet while trying to not make a fool out of yourself.

Before you knew, Higuruma grabbed the water bottle that was on top of his desk and approached you. When he was about a foot away from you, his cologne seeped into every neuron dedicated to smelling you had inside your nostril. Musky, fresh, and-

I can’t deal with this.

You tried fixating your eyes on the bottle of water he seemed to be giving you — anything but his face, his eyes, his nose.

His tie.

When you touched the bottle, he retreated it, and you felt somewhat confused. Then, he leaned it towards you again, you tried grabbing it again, and he retreated it once more.

Is he teasing? What… what is he doing?

“Do you guys see where I’m getting at?” Higuruma asked, pointing towards the water bottle.

He was met with silence.

Higuruma then pointed at you, and your focused gaze on the bottle that was damn near boring a hole through it. “This is what we call the ‘focus on the gun effect’. You can all see that so far, her eyes pay more attention to what I’m holding than on any of my features. If this were a gun in a stressful scenario, it would probably only heighten such effect even more.”

Sir, this is a stressful scenario.

Your eyes flickered to his tie right before landing on the bottle again, and he did notice your gaze wondering elsewhere, but didn’t think much of it.

“So at the moment she’d be testifying and was asked to describe my features, how well do you all think she’d be able to do it, if she hasn’t paid any attention to my face, focusing only on object I was holding? How trustworthy would such a testimony actually be?”

Tired hangdog eyes, aquiline nose, thick black frame glasses, white dress shirt crumpled at the hem, loosened black tie crooked to the right, criminally good-looking forearms, black linen pants-

“You can go back to your seat,” he remarked, and you did your best not to stumble on your way back.

The rest of the class went on painlessly, and by the end, Higuruma sat at his desk, lumbering back on his chair. He pushed aside the bundle of coat-and-other-stuff-in-a-ball, took his briefcase and opened it up to grab a pile of paper sheets from it. Upon further inspection, you gulped, knowing full well what those were.

“Before you all go, for those who are also my criminal law students, please come by my desk and take your corrected exams with you. Give some special attention to the questions you got wrong, I made a list of the most common mistakes in these and will start off our next criminal law lesson by correcting them with the class.”

Shortly after, a line formed in front of Higuruma’s desk, and one by one, each student took their exams in their hands, either grunting displeased or sighing relieved with their result, leaving the classroom subsequently. You occupied yourself with slowly putting your things into your backpack, knowing full well that the walk towards that exam — and how poorly you did in it — would feel like a walk of shame. Only after the line was nearly done that you actually made your way to it, dragging your feet each step closer to what felt like doom.

“Good morning, Professor,” you mumbled as you reached for your exam and picked it up.

“Good morning,” he offered, bowing his head.

For the lack of a better term, your exam sheet looked like a crime scene, completely scribbled with red pen ink all over it. The discontent in your expression must’ve been incredibly evident, because Higuruma spoke immediately.

“You know, these tests don’t truly assess your actual knowledge of a subject. Not entirely. It’s also about knowing how to take the test, and how the questions are phrased.”

You nodded half-heartedly.

“Mm-mhm, I know. I just… I felt like nearly every question here could have-”

“Two answers?” He promptly interjected.

“Yes!”

He acquiesced.

“In criminal law, most things are determined by which line of thought one chooses to interpret a topic. You were not the only student to struggle with this, don’t worry. It’s easier to learn how to take a test than to learn the actual subject,” Higuruma offered, and as you looked at him, he welcomed your gaze with a soft smile.

“Is it?” you inquired, shoving the sheet of paper into your backpack. You looked back at him, and your eyes involuntarily dipped towards his tie. You averted your gaze while silently coughing.

My future is on the line and here I am obsessing over a stupid tie. God.

He lifted a brow, intrigued, and continued.

“Absolutely,” Higuruma said, “you see, these types of standardized tests are terrible. Take a look on question number 15, the one about excess in self-defense.”

“Oh, I remember that one! The question in which guy 1 killed guy 2 through choking because guy 2 tried to kill him first with a sharp object but dropped it accidentally, right?”

“That one.”

“I was unsure, because even though he ended up killing guy 2, to be a target of an attempted murder must be horribly stressful. I mean, with all the adrenaline and everything, sometimes the body just reacts by itself, and the person is not even thinking.”

“Exactly!” Higuruma responded, clearly getting excited by this little exercise, “but the ‘right’ answer was that it was an excess in self-defense, because given the method — choking —, he could’ve ’stopped at any time’. Could he, though? Shouldn’t that be up for debate instead of…” The Professor took the list of answers and shook it in his hand, “this?”

He looks so adorable when talking passionately like th- stop.

You shook your head before continuing.

“Yes, I agree. However, there’s not much we can do other than learn how to take these exams in order to get to where we want to, right?”

Your voice sounded more disheartened than you thought it would, and your self-disappointment dripped from it in a saddened cadence. You looked like a cornered animal who had just accepted its fate. Higuruma noticed it, and looked the other way to take a moment before speaking again, mindlessly tugging around his already loosened tie. It seemed like it could fall from his neck anytime soon.

Jesus Christ Almighty, can you stop fidgeting with the thing already? You brushed your face in quiet discomfort, and he barely noticed it, too immersed into whatever he had simmering in his mind.

“The main thing is… I just hope you and the other students don’t think less of yourselves because of this short assessment test,” he stated, “college shouldn’t kill the hearts of people who have dreams just because the way it works is not suited for everybody from the get go.”

What he said touched some deeper part of you, one you weren’t usually much in contact with. You stood there silently letting his words sink in, and curiously, they did have some tranquilizing effect of sorts. It must’ve been a while, because Higuruma looked at you with confused eyes when you finally snapped out of it.

“Is everything okay, San-…” he coughed, “I mean… are you alright?”

Pulling yourself together, you drew in a breath before you replied. Once more, you slotted your hands through your hair and his eyes involuntarily peeped over your pseudo ahoge in your bangs before landing on your face again.

“Yes. It’s just what you said about dreams,” you began, “I was worried that this test would nuke my future dream of becoming a criminal defense lawyer, but… I doesn’t quite feel like it now, somehow? It feels like not all is lost, it’s just an exam.”

Higuruma listened to you attentively before sparing you a modest smile.

“I suppose so. We are allowed to falter and make mistakes, especially here, in a classroom. You’re here to learn, after all.”

You nodded.

“Thank you, Professor. Truly. Your words have really helped me,” you stated, not realizing the smile all over your face in a beam while you bowed towards him, “and for whatever it’s worth, your classes inspire me even more to chase my dreams. You are an amazing teacher.”

Higuruma seemed surprised and retributed the gesture, bowing his head towards you, his own cheeks pooling a soft pink.

“It’s my honor and privilege to teach you all, and I hope you get to realize your dreams in the future.”

You sighed content, and you both remained silent for a short while. Considering the conversation was already done, you bid him a “bye” and turned on your heels to leave the classroom, but his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Hm, may I ask something?” Higuruma inquired.

“Of course, Professor. What is it?”

“You kept looking at something on me, is my shirt dirty or something like that?” he asked, trying to look down and assess his state.

Your ears went deaf for a second with the blood rush from your thumping heart at the realization he had, indeed, noticed your stupid obsession. And for a split second, you wondered if you should explain it. The dream flashed through your mind, and better not obviously was the answer you arrived at.

“Ah, uh… your tie, it’s crooked, and- yeah, it’s just crooked. That’s it. I tend to notice these things,” you blurted out, letting each syllable tumble over the other carelessly. You did your best to pretend you were scratching your nose, just so you could hide the small flush you felt over your face.

Whatta’ lousy liar am I.

“Oh.” Higuruma gently glided his fingers over his tie, and tightened it slightly around his neck, “thank you for letting me know, but I figure that’s okay. My crooked tie has not prevented me from teaching today, or my students from learning, I presume,” he jested, and you acquiesced trying to hold down a chuckle unrelated to his lukewarm joke.

“Well, thank you for the talk, Professor. Have a good day!” you said, finally making your way out the classroom.

The door closed behind you, and instead of getting up immediately, Higuruma found himself still caught up in the conversation you both just had, being brought back to his old memories, his own old dreams and how he had once lived them in the past before everything went wrong. It felt like eons ago.

The Professor pulled his phone from his pocket and opened up his chat Nanami, thinking back on their earlier conversation.

“Dreams, huh?” a lonely Higuruma mused before typing, failing to realize he had been softly smiling to himself for the past minute.

HH: Kento, if you’re really going forward with this idea, you should put up a notice for an intern opening

NK: Already did, for two positions actually.

NK: Did you think about what we discussed earlier?

Sighing to himself, Higuruma finally got up, stretching his legs and arms as if he had been sunk in it for millennia. He picked his briefcase up in one hand, and pulled his coat with the other. As he did so, your red scarf fell on his desk beside his shawl, and Higuruma realized how human memory, more often than not, was indeed pretty fallible.

“Argh, dammit.”

PT. II WILL GET POSTED ON DEC 26TH

I had completely forgotten to feature this amazing fanart of chapter 1 (that I’ve already screeched about like a banshee on more than one occasion) when I posted chapter 2. Traffi, as always, this is STUNNING, I JUS- Thank you 🥹

all credits for this amazing art go to @traffi -

Tag list (updated):

@arusearu @yammy-yammy-yama @markleeisdabestdrug @redlikerozez @killerplink

@alwaysfreakingout @murderofravens @cmdrfupa @higurumapet @cindyneko-strider

@ohhheymessa @bigbaddulce @actuallysaiyan @s-witch-bitch @yeonjunarchives

@soft--cherry @bsaeshell @quinnyundertow @traffi @shibataimu

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emmebearpaw · 1 day ago

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But like. Some of these are like, big gaps? I mean I can understand how you can skip words or maybe a sentence or so. My dialogue writing process is basically just dialogue no tags for that exact reason, its way easier to skip the dialogue tags and come back later but like. How do you skip a whole section and then keep writing? Like some of these examples are like, whole scenes? I don't tend to super in depth outline what I will write but I tend to bullet point list the things I'm going to do. Sometimes those bullet points are disconnected enough I can just jump to the next one when I get stuck but, like, am I the weird one for writing in order. I start writing at the start of the work and then usually go pretty much in reading order the whole way down until its either done or I burned up 3 hours and all my writing motivation. Example: spent my writing motivation for the next few weeks probably writing a fic that was like, 6 mini fics stapled together. Got through the 1st one just fine and went to the 2nd one but it wasn't clicking, so I picked a different one that sounded fun but within each of those mini fics I don't think you can really jump around? Not just because they were not that long but also skipping more than like, a sentence means you are not properly linking your writing? Or something? This is probably just a me problem i have to slam my head into the brick wall and fix but I guess its good to know there's a brick wall there

me: yeah I'm pretty close to finishing this fic

the fic:

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kbstanny · 22 hours ago

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Treatment (Zayne/Reader)

✿ Fandom: Love and Deepspace

✿ Pairing: M/F

✿ Tag: NSFW

✿ Mentions: smut, mild injury mentions

✿ Word count: 5,051

✿ Summary: She had no choice but to see Dr. Zayne for treatment after a Wanderer left her injured, but his cure for her anguish wasn't quite what she had in mind.

✿ A/N: Hey! This my first fic on this website, and it's on a game I only started playing a week ago 😭

Because I'm a new player, I don't really know the world or the story very well, so if there are inaccuracies then you know why. However, I've also avoided specific plot details for this very reason.

I hope you enjoy!

Damned Knave.

She tightly gripped the gash on her thigh, limping her way down the dark deserted path. She'd received reports of disturbances down at the old munitions factory and had gone to investigate. Wanderers had been sighted after hours, so she'd gone late into the evening, and solo, as her ever-elusive partner had been unavailable. She'd handled herself fine, but a rather tricky Knave had managed to cut right through the top of her thigh.

Once she eventually hobbled her way to a street lamp, she could investigate her injuries properly. Shakily, she removed her blood-stained hands from the wound, then hummed — It didn't look too severe. The gash was long, but not so deep, stretching from her inner thigh up toward her hip. The blood made things a lot nastier than they needed to be, and the pain was bearable, at least for now. She'd hail a taxi and treat the damage at home, and if it didn't feel much better by morning, she'd consult her physician. But Dr. Zayne was a last resort.

Once morning came, she did not feel better.

The pain woke her up before her alarm did. It stung intensely, and the surrounding skin was hot and numb. Clearly rubbing alcohol, a cocktail of painkillers and gauze wasn't going to cut it. Carefully, she unwrapped the bandage to take a look at her injury — it still didn't seem too bad. Inflamed, a little gnarly, but far from incapacitating. Just painful. But she'd faced foes much fiercer than some stupid Herte Knave, and obtained injuries far more gruesome. For now, she'd suck it up. She had a job to do.

—

"Oh my god!" Tara gasped. "When did that happen?" Her friend asked her, leaning in to the picture on her phone. She'd snapped the pic before getting ready for work this morning, thinking it would be a funny story to tell to Tara at the office. But her friend's reaction was a little more alarmed than she'd anticipated.

"Last night, at the factory. There were some serious beasts down there, but you wanna know caused that? A Knave of all things." She chuckled, shaking her head. Tara didn't look so amused.

"Aren't you hurt? Have you been to the doctor?"

"It's just a scratch, Tara, I'll be fine."

"That is not just a scratch! That needs stitches!—"

"What needs stitches?"

Captain Jenna approached the two, her arms folded tightly across her chest. She had a scrutinising look in her eye, one that said 'Why are you chatting and not working?' It reminded her of her old teachers.

The hunters were silent, looking between each other. She shot Tara a warning look, but Tara ignored it, turning the phone to face Jenna. "This does."

Jenna leaned in, her eyebrows raising, breaking her steely expression. "Why yes, it does... Is this you?" She looked to her, and she sighed softly, a little embarrassed.

"Yes, but I feel fine. I promise. If I didn't, I'd take the day off."

"Have you had it treated?" Jenna cut to the chase.

"...No." She admitted, and Jenna sighed.

"Well go. At once. That could easily get infected." The captain straightened up, her tone commanding. There was no room for negotiation. "Honestly, I thought you'd have more sense than to leave an injury like that unattended." With that, Jenna walked away. She waited until her captain was out of sight before standing and addressing Tara.

"Did you really have to snitch on me?" Though she already knew she would — anything to impress Jenna. Tara gave a sheepish look.

"Well I had to do something! I'm only looking out for you." But she pat Tara's shoulder, shaking her head and smiling.

"I know, I know, you're right... as usual. I really shouldn't ignore it. Thanks Tara." Tara gave a knowing smile.

"I am usually right! Now go and see Zayne. He might be a little scary but he knows what he's doing." They both chuckled at that.

Tara knew what her friend was hesitant to admit: It wasn't that she was ignorant of the risks of open wounds, nor was she a particularly nervous patient. She just didn't want to see Zayne.

Not because the doctor was in any way cruel or unpleasant, he wasn't even scary as such. But the doctor was so cold, and the icy chill of his eyes permeated her core with a mere glance her way. Zayne had been an old forgotten friend, a dear one, but now he was a figurehead for her ailments. All that time they'd spent together as children seemed meaningless now. They couldn't have drifted further apart. Zayne was a bad omen, and a sign her past had been well and truly shattered.

But that was only half of the reason. The other reason, the more embarrassing one, was that she found Zayne stupidly attractive. Not only because he had the face of an angel and a body carved from marble, but for his work ethic, his dedication, his intelligence. And of course, she couldn't help but feel sentimental toward him over the time they'd spent together as kids. She yearned to reconnect with him. He had a potent effect on her. When she was near him, his mere presence was enough to suck the words out of her mouth, to reduce her to a shrinking violet with no resolve. Like a silly teenager with a crush. And that wasn't like her at all. She hated not having control.

She wasn't certain whether the feeling was mutual. There was something about the way that he looked at her, on occasion, that made her heart flare up. Sometimes she thought he had a tenderness to his tone that he just couldn't have used with everyone, but maybe that was wishful thinking? His concern for her health and wellbeing seemed obsessive, too. Never had her previous physicians been so zealous, but Zayne was a renowned surgeon. Perhaps it was just a sign he was good at his job, and nothing more? She didn't know, and she didn't like thinking about it.

With a deep breath, she rapped on the door to his office. With any luck, he'd be busy, and she'd be forced to return to HQ and schedule an appointment the long way.

"Come in." He answered — Damn.

She walked inside, standing by the door with her hands behind her back. Zayne was busy typing away at his computer, and he hadn't even spared her a glance. She hadn't realised she'd been quiet until Zayne spoke up again.

"Can I help you?"

She snapped out of her daze. "Yes, if you're not too busy. I injured myself while dealing with a Wanderer. I was hoping you could take a look."

It was upon hearing her voice that Zayne decided his patient was more interesting than his computer, and he turned to face her, scrutinising her slightly crooked form, and the way she carried her weight. He thought for a moment or two.

"Your left thigh." How did he know that? She looked down, but her injury was completely concealed, and no blood had seeped through her clothes.

"Yes, how did you—"

"What happened exactly? Take a seat." She nodded, heading to sit down on the chair opposite the doctor, but he shook his head.

"Not there. On the examination table."

"Right."

As she sat down, Zayne quickly punched one final sentence into the keyboard, before turning to face her, waiting for her answer.

"It happened yesterday. A Wanderer, as I said." She clarified, and Zayne hummed.

"So the Wanderer attacked you directly? You didn't sustain this injury through any other means during the battle?" She shook her head. Zayne made a note of this on his computer.

"And do you have any other injuries?" She told him no again.

"Alright. I need to examine you, if that's okay."

She nodded, looking down to where her legs were outstretched on the table, before coming to an awkward realisation: She was wearing pants. She couldn't just pull her skirt up, she'd have to strip the item off entirely.

"Yes, of course." She began to fiddle with the button to her pants, before Zayne stiffened, taking the curtain that surrounded the table.

"Tell me when you're ready." With that, he shut the curtain around her. She released a sigh of relief, grateful for the privacy, though she felt a little stupid for not closing it herself. She wasn't sure how she'd compose herself having to undress in front of him.

Once her pants were off, she came to a second mortifying realisation: Her underwear. The item was black and lacy, made from sheer mesh, hardly concealing her delicate areas. The type you'd wear for a lover, and not at all the sort of thing you'd wear to work. But she'd washed all of her more practical undies yesterday, and thanks to one pesky Knave, hadn't found the time to dry them before morning. If she'd known she'd be stripping down in Zayne's office for an examination, she would have stopped off at the shops on her way to work to buy something cheap and appropriate. Hell, she probably would have bought boxer shorts.

"Shit." She hissed under her breath.

What would Zayne think of her? Surely he'd think it was deliberate. She'd approached him for treatment, and she just so happened to be wearing semi-transparent lingerie? There was no way he'd find that coincidental. He'd think she was some sort of pervert. Was it too late to get out of here?

"Are you alright? Or are you struggling to get changed?" Zayne asked from the other side of the curtain. Her chest felt tight — how long had she been sat there worrying?

"No, I'm fine. I'm ready now." She panicked, blurting out the words despite herself, cursing internally as Zayne pulled back the curtain. The doctor said nothing as his eyes drank in the sight of her, nor did his expression give anything away — Not that she'd know, she avoided his gaze like the plague, staring intently at the floor. But despite his composure, Zayne certainly noticed her indelicate attire. And despite his healing instincts, and the rather prominent gash on her thigh, her panties were the very first thing that held his attention.

Zayne sat beside the bed, on the side of her injured leg, leaning in close to the cut. He took a long look at it, reticent as ever, before finally meeting her gaze.

"What time did this happen yesterday?"

"In the evening."

"And you didn't think to call me when it did?" Zayne pressed. Her words were trapped in her throat for a moment, before she finally pushed them out.

"Well... no. It was late, and it didn't seem so bad at the time."

"It's never too late to check yourself in to a hospital." Zayne stated the obvious. "Whether I was available or not, you should have had this seen to immediately." His tone was stern, his stare unwavering. She said nothing. "When something like this happens, you need to call me, no matter how late it is. I'm your primary care physician, it's what I'm here for. And if I can't see to you personally, I can find someone who can."

"I understand. I will do, next time."

"You really ought to take your health more seriously. You have a duty, as a hunter, to protect people. Lives depend on you. And you can't protect anybody if you can't take adequate care of yourself. Being anything less than thorough with your wellbeing is selfish, and neglectful of your duties." His words made her brows furrow, a mixture of annoyance and shame, but she still didn't respond.

"Injuries sustained through Wanderer attacks are more susceptible to infections. Some are serious, and fast-acting, as you should well know. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting wounds like these seen to as soon as possible—"

"I know, Doctor." She interrupted, a little snappy. "I told you already. I will next time, and I'm here now, aren't I?" But did she have any right to be annoyed with his tone? Deep down she knew she didn't, that she was only being stubborn, but she couldn't help herself.

"Please don't be so reckless next time." Zayne asked her, his tone softer, his eyes so tender she couldn't stand to look at them anymore. She couldn't take it when he scolded her.

The doctor sighed softly through his nose.

"This will need sutures, but I'll need to clean the wound and check for signs of infection first, which requires a physical examination. Is that alright?" His words nearly made her melt.

"That's fine." She composed herself well enough for an answer.

Zayne brought a gloved hand to her thigh, and although the gesture was purely clinical, she couldn't help the heat that rushed to the spot between her legs. His hands were cool, and his touch gentle, so gentle that if she closed her eyes and pictured a different context, it could've been a loving caress. Zayne pressed his fingers firmly against her thigh.

"Does that hurt?"

"No." She answered honestly. Zayne repeated the motion to the space surrounding her injury, his fingers travelling in a small circle, starting from the bottom of the cut, until they creeped inwards. Zayne gently pulled at her thigh, widening her legs as he continued his examination. She was trying her best not to react.

She cast her gaze downwards, to the fingers between her legs, and her heart dropped. From this angle, under the stark white lights, she was clearly exposed. Nothing was left to the imagination. She was so embarrassed she nearly screamed, looking to Zayne to try and gauge his reaction — but she couldn't. He was too focused on the task at hand.

Her breath became shaky as she observed the way he prodded at her, how his fingers crept ever-closer to her arousal. Just one budge in the opposite direction and those tough, broad hands would be swept over her cunt. Imagining how his fingertips would tickle the mesh of her panties was enough to make her wet.

She heard her name in the recesses of her mind, and then again. Only the second time did she realise it was coming from Zayne's lips.

She snapped back to reality, looking back at him with eyes wider than intended. He stared back at her with a cutting gaze.

"I asked you whether it hurt, where I was touching you." He repeated. She opened her mouth to speak, but it was a few moments before she could cough the words out.

"No— no, sorry. I was a million miles away." She chuckled sheepishly.

Zayne looked back at her, giving nothing away. How exciting, he thought, that he could tell exactly what was going through her mind, yet she didn't have a clue what he was thinking? Zayne was extraordinarily good at hiding his emotions, but his patient? Not so much.

She was embarrassed, that much was clear. Whether the lingerie was a wardrobe malfunction or a bold decision she quickly came to regret, he wasn't sure.

What was also clear was that she liked it — what he declined to express was that he did too.

How could he not? If it were anybody else, he wouldn't give such scandalous attire a second thought. As a doctor, he was indiscriminate; a body was just a body. He'd seen the hidden corners of countless beautiful women and it never swayed his commitment to his work or hindered his professionalism — not once. But she was different. Surely, despite how reserved he was, she could tell that she was different? That this tension between them was all but ordinary?

"I don't believe you have an infection, but I'd like to see you in a week for observation. If anything changes, let me know immediately." He told her, his tone as stoic as ever. Yet his hand lingered at her inner thigh, so close to her cunt she was sure he could feel the heat through his gloves. Eventually, he did move his hand. Despite his feelings, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

Zayne then proceeded with the usual cleaning and dressing procedures, and she suppressed a hiss as he swabbed the wound with antiseptic. During this entire exchange, she'd been uncharacteristically quiet, whereas Zayne was as quiet as usual. The silence was unbearable, she wasn't sure she could ever recall a time where she'd felt so awkward that it hurt. Her body was so tense, and her lust swelled so needily that she couldn't suppress the words that left her mouth next.

"I'm sorry about the underwear." She blurted, her apology cutting through the tension like a hot knife through butter. But it didn't take long for the searing metal to scorch her skin — she regretted the words almost the moment she'd said them.

Zayne paused, placing down the suture needle he was prepping before staring straight back at her. There was a hint of mirth behind his eyes, that came into fruition through a small, teasing smile.

"Don't apologise." His tone was gentle and neutral.

Did he say that so things wouldn't be uncomfortable, or because he liked the look of them?

"I didn't wear these because I knew you'd see them, all my other pairs hadn't dried. And I wasn't even going to see you in the first place, I only did because Jenna told me to!" She couldn't help but explain herself, a grimace on her face, but Zayne remained quiet as he brought the needle to the cut.

The anaesthetic numbed the pain. She felt uncomfortable again, with Zayne's sudden silence. She wondered whether he'd respond at all, whether she'd made things too awkward, but Zayne was simply mulling over the best thing to say.

"You don't usually wear lingerie to work, then?" He enquired, meeting her gaze once he'd pulled the stitch through. She chuckled bashfully, dipping her head.

"No. Never. They've been irritating me all day." Zayne hummed at this, continuing with his sutures. "Why, would you prefer it if I did?"

She wasn't sure where such boldness had come from. Likely it was that her lips below were talking for the ones above, despite how twisted up she felt inside. Yet again, she quickly regretted her pitiful attempt at flirting, until Zayne seemed to bite.

He met her eyes again, his smile wider now. He loved seeing her so playful. "I'm not sure I can come up with an answer that's both professional and true."

Her desire burned at his words, so brightly that she swore she could feel a hole forming in her chest. She clenched, unwittingly, never had she been so eager to feel him. A Cheshire-cat smile stretched across her face, the type of smile that she was sure made her look silly, yet Zayne found it endearing.

She began to laugh, though at first it was deep in the pit of her stomach, and Zayne continued with his work. But she couldn't help her laughter, the swell of emotions overtaking her. Embarrassed, yet immensely satisfied. How unexpected that things were beginning to work out for her?

Zayne finished the sutures, gathering fresh gauze as he began to dress the wound, amused by her reaction. "Do you truly find me that funny?" He asked in a level tone, and her laughter died down so that she could respond.

"Zayne, you are the furthest thing from funny." Though she didn't elaborate, as there was no need. Her belly full of butterflies was clear without words. The doctor hummed and finished dressing the wound.

She watched him as quiet settled over them again, but this time it wasn't an awkward silence. Instead, it was charged with sexual tension. Zayne stopped looking at her thigh in favour of the warmth between her legs. He stared, unabashedly, and the look on his face struck a bolt of fresh arousal through her heart.

He took his gloves off, then slowly, he reached over, tracing his fingertip over the lacy edge of her underwear. "Why do you have underwear like this anyway? Do you have a partner?" He asked her. She thought he sounded almost a little possessive, but it was clear another man in the picture wouldn't stop him anyways. His eyes flitted up to hers.

Her face felt hot at the question. Goosebumps prickled up across her skin in an instant, her cunt twitching from the subtle contact. "No."

"No?" He tested, taking his finger directly over her heat, stroking it up and down over the thin mesh of her panties. He could feel her wetness soaking through, and the way she twitched under his touch. "Then I'm right to assume that these are only for me?" There was a mischievous glint in his eye, one that she mirrored.

"That's right."

Her answer pleased him. She spread her legs a little wider, resisting the urge to moan despite the fact he'd hardly touched her. Zayne slipped his fingers beneath her underwear, finally feeling her properly. The sensation made her gasp.

He merely trailed his touch along the length of her cunt, between her folds, sticky with her slick. He was teasing her, taking his precious time as he lapped up the look on her face.

"You're already so wet."

His voice was collected. He was completely in control, while the woman at the end of his fingers was quickly unravelling by the second. She said nothing, releasing a shaky breath. Zayne stood, sitting opposite her on the table.

He took his fingers from the lips below to the ones above, tracing them gently, before taking hold of her jaw. He pulled her forward, and their lips collided in a greedy kiss. She poured her desire into him, clasping him tightly, pulling him closer, her eyes clenched shut as he expelled the tension from her form.

Yet Zayne, as always, appeared composed. He parried her hungry affections effortlessly, his grip on her jaw becoming firm. Zayne led the charge, as he guided her lips against his, eventually setting their pace. She slowed down to appreciate him, but before long the kiss was broken. Zayne pulled away with a soft smile, his lips a little puffy as he pressed them chastely to her cheek.

He brought his fingers to her lips again. "Suck them for me." His command was gentle without losing its timbre, and she obeyed, sucking on the digits without question, briefly, until he pulled them out of her mouth. Zayne brought his wetted fingers back to her cunt, pulling her underwear to one side and sticking his fingers firmly against her.

She huffed at the sensation. His fingers were still a little cold, warmer now thanks to her mouth. She clenched, feeling empty, needing him inside of her.

Zayne rolled his fingers over her clit, and not too slowly, which took her by surprise. She moaned already, widening her legs for him. He wore a focused expression, lust sparking beneath his pointed gaze.

He sat more comfortably between her legs, taking her thigh, before inserting a finger into her cunt. She whined, though she was wet enough to offer no resistance. He pushed it deep inside of her in one, smooth motion.

She clenched tightly with her core, as if to hold on to him, wanting to keep him inside of her, sighing as he pulled his finger out, only for him to add a second.

This was a tighter fit. She moaned, trying to keep her voice down, angling her hips up to feel him better. Zayne slowly began to pump both his fingers, up deep inside of her then down to the tips. The friction of her walls against him was marvellous.

"You feel wonderful." He told her, his eyes locked on hers, fixed on every micromovement. Everything about her, from the sound of her voice, the small parting in her lips, the sight of her so uninhibited before him — it was poetry in motion. This woman, as capable and stubborn as she was, was helpless at his touch.

I do feel wonderful, she thought, scoffing at Zayne's compliment. She felt blissful, like a ball of a thousand knots had at once been untied, releasing a deep strain she'd been harbouring in her stomach. Ever since she'd reunited with Dr. Zayne, those ties had knotted. Every time she'd seen him, the palpable tension between them had grown and grown. Until now.

Zayne sat up straight, then hoisted her up, taking his fingers out briefly to pull her panties off entirely, carelessly discarding the item on the floor. It was only a momentary distraction — soon Zayne's fingers slipped past her walls yet again, though this time he was positioned beside her, his other arm hooked around her waist, holding her close.

He pumped his fingers faster, his motions mechanical, his rhythm never wavering, and she struggled to contain the sound of her mewls.

"Shh. You need to be quieter." He hushed her, gently. "As much as I love hearing you, the walls here aren't so thick." He managed a chuckle, dipping his head to her neck, pressing a short trail of kisses down its length. This made her shiver

"That's— that's the wrong way to get me to be quiet." She scolded, playfully, matching his smile. Her words were breathy and choppy from her efforts to conceal her pleasure.

"Noted." Zayne turned her head toward his, then caught her lips in another kiss, one more frenzied than the first. Zayne used his lips to muffle the noises coming out of hers, eating every moan and whine she poured into him. He pushed his fingers as deep as they could reach inside of her, stroking her walls with a beckoning motion. Meanwhile, he played with her clit with his thumb, breaking their kiss to observe her reactions.

She looked divine. Her lips were wet and inflamed, dripping with saliva, her hair tousled, her expression languid. And he could see how she tried so hard to keep quiet for him, how her whimpers bubbled in her mouth, how hard she breathed through her nose. She felt she must have looked silly, but Zayne didn't think so at all.

"So you can do what you're told?" He teased, sounding more playful than she'd ever heard him. She huffed at this, far too wound up to retort.

He suddenly began to pump his fingers again, faster than before, which took her time to adjust to. She gasped, but caught most of the sound in her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut.

She could feel her climax swelling. It couldn't be far away. Her body felt tight and hot, her face clenched with the torment of having to keep quiet. She held his hand, leaning into him, her movements becoming fidgety as she tried to channel her stimulation. Again, she clenched at Zayne's fingers, bucking her hips to take more of them. Seeing her so desperate for him was so exciting.

"You're doing so well." He didn't tease her anymore, cooing into her ear. His husky tone was enough to make her moan again, that one slipping right past her defences, ringing loud and clear. Oops.

She bit her lips, flashing Zayne an apologetic look, though he didn't seem to mind, nor did he slow down. Another pang of pleasure rippled through her, and at that she knew it was time.

"Zayne— I'm close—" She just about choked the words out, her hand coming to clamp her mouth shut. Somehow, in the heat of things, she'd forgotten she had that option.

He sped up a final time, his fingers flashing in and out of her with a series of thick squelches. Zayne fingered her like a machine, one clever in its design — to be so quick and accurate without being brutal. She felt her whole body tense, a flush of great heat washing over her, choking out her gasps as she buried her head in Zayne's shoulder. Then, at once, she reached her release.

Her body quickly went lax, the heat and strain fizzing out of her, skin tingling. It took her a few good gasps to regain her composure, eyes slowly opening. When she looked down, the light sheet on the table had been soaked through with her release, her legs glistening with sweat. Slowly, Zayne pulled his fingers out of her, earning a whine from the weary woman. He brought those fingers to his lips, sucking away her juices.

He sent her a smile, pulling her against his chest. "Did you like that?" Surely the answer was obvious, and she sent him a look that spoke a thousand words. His smile deepened. "I'm glad."

"I hope I wasn't too loud..." She mused, looking to Zayne, who leaned in to press a soft kiss to her temple. A delicate gesture that made her heart stir.

"You were. But don't worry about it." She scoffed at that, too tired to do anything but listen to him. Before she could return the favour and get Zayne off, she needed a few minutes to gather herself.

But Zayne didn't seem the least bit concerned about his own satisfaction — seeing her hit ecstasy was all he needed. He rubbed at her inner thigh, the one that wasn't injured, giving her a slightly regretful look.

"I have an appointment in twenty minutes, so unfortunately you're going to have to leave soon." The words weighed heavy on her chest, even though she knew that was stupid, nodding at Zayne with a cheeky smile.

"That's not a problem, I can make it quick." She reached over to the tent in Zayne's crotch, but he took her hand, moving it away.

"I can sort myself out." He assured her. She couldn't help but feel a little rejected. Sensing this, he stroked her cheek.

"You can make it up to me another time." They both smiled at that, staring at each other for what felt like hours.

"I'll never avoid making an appointment again."

They probably would have kept staring if it weren't for the startling knock at the door, and the concerned voice of one of the nurses that followed.

"Doctor Zayne? Is everything alright in there? I heard a lot of noise!"

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #lads #lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #oneshot #lnds zayne #lnds #lnds zayne x reader #lnds x reader #lads x reader

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man-i-love-fanfiction · 2 days ago

Text

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem!Florist!Reader

Chapter Three: Chrysanthemums - Joy

Summary: You and Andrew meet outside of your workplace for the first time for a completely platonic coffee on him.

Word count: 2385

Author's note: i am so sorry that this took so long 😭 last week of school combined with finals combined with life i guess hindered me from writing. but i'm back on track!!! hopefully you all enjoy and if i don't update again soon happy holidays <3

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3 (if you want to be added just let me know!)

fic below the cut <3

This is not a date.

That was your affirmation all of Friday morning, repeating it to yourself.

You muttered it under your breath as you fixed your hair. It was mumbled as you laid out your outfit, specifically chosen to be fashionable but casual: your favorite sweater and a nice pair of jeans. You whispered it before spraying your perfume, a scent you had to dig through your closet for five minutes to find. Ironically, the scent was nothing close to floral. You said it to each of your houseplants as you watered them. They remained unconvinced.

Slipped on your shoes. Locked up your flat. Walked down the stairs. You repeated your mantra every time, because maybe if you said it enough times, it would become true.

By the time you made it to your car, you had said it so many times it felt like breathing. Your hands gripped the wheel. You locked eyes with your reflection in the rearview mirror and whispered your phrase of the morning one more time for good luck.

This. Is. Not. A. Date.

Stepping down on the gas pedal, you began to drive.

On the drive there, you prepared yourself for all possible scenarios. This kind of thinking came naturally — it always did, especially in situations like these. You ran through what your reaction would be if he showed up, what it would be if he didn't. What you would do if he had an insanely complex coffee order, or if he ordered a drink with six shots of espresso. What if he tried to order for you, or if he made some backhanded comment about another woman at the cafe? You doubted he would do any of these things, but you believed it's better to be safe than sorry. This thinking only paused when you parked in front the coffee shop and caught a glimpse of Andrew waiting inside. All of your previous repetition and fretting had made you ten minutes late, a fact you weren't fond of and hoped Andrew wouldn't chastise you for.

The moment you stepped into the coffee shop, all of your previous affirmations were thrown out the window. It wasn't a date. But after seeing Andrew you wished that it was.

It wasn't any particular factor. It wasn't the black denim jacket he was wearing, or the way he'd tied half his hair up, leaving the other half down. It wasn't even the smile on his face, reserved like he wasn't sure how to react properly when he saw you. It was a combination of everything; his presence alone was enough to make you flustered. So flustered that you were very close to forgetting to say anything when you walked up to him. Thankfully, at the last moment, you actually spoke.

“Hey! Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long,” you greeted him with a small smile.

“Oh, no. I just got here, too. You're alright.”

You walked inside together, and you looked around at your new surroundings. It was a small business, quaint and cozy, with framed photos of artworks by local artists; it was exactly what you would imagine a coffee shop that Andrew picked to be.

Because all of your overthinking (or what you preferred to call planning) on the way there, you ordered your coffee with ease. Andrew recited his order, a black americano, a surprise to you. You watched as he paid and gave his name for the order, the barista already recognizing him. He turned his head towards you and offered an explanation:“I’m a regular. I always come here whenever I need a pick-me-up.”

“I’ll have to come here more often, then,” you replied.

You found a small table in the corner and sat down to claim it for the both of you while Andrew stood by the counter, waiting for your coffee. What a gentleman.

You had yet to notice any flaws in him, only making your self-imposed rule of this not being romantic harder to follow. There had to be something about him that was off. There was no way he was so caring and endearing and funny all at the same time; he had to have an imperfection eventually. You didn't find it in the few minutes you watched him stand around, occasionally fiddling with his hands or putting them in his pockets. Your efforts grew even more futile as he walked over with the coffees in hand, setting them down on the table.

He shedded his jacket and carefully placed it on the back of the chair before sitting down in the chair opposite you. This simple action caused the fact that you barely knew Andrew to pop up in your head. Despite how connected to him you felt already, you had only met him twice before. On both occasions he wore long sleeves, so seeing him without a jacket for the first time gave you a much appreciated surprise.

His right arm had an entire sleeve of tattoos.

He had turned his arm into a mural for myths and legends. A portrait of a falling Icarus, wings disintegrating beneath a red sun. A tortured Atlas carrying the weight of the world on his back. Dante and Virgil arm in arm wandering through a circle of hell. Writing in script filled the empty space, seemingly verses from poems. It was all centered around two words placed across his bicep: Noli Timere. You’d be lying if you said it didn't make you even more attracted to him than you already were.

You could've spent hours just looking, analyzing every line of ink. It felt as though you did, though it's much more likely it was only for a few seconds. You were brought back to Earth by the sound of his voice.

“It's rude to stare, y’know?”

There was no real annoyance in his voice, but it caused you to attention like you had been caught. An explanation mumbled its way out of your mouth.

“I’m so sorry, I just- I like your arm. Tattoos. Your arm tattoos. They're…”

Beautiful? Enticing? Very attractive?

“…cool.”

You took a sip of your coffee, finding it the perfect time to cover up your embarrassment, as well as the flushed face that came along with it. Luckily, Andrew didn't notice (or if he did, he didn't mind) and continued the conversation, accepting your compliment with a crooked smile.

“Thanks. I try to put a lot of thought into them, give them some meaning, so they're all based on these stories that are important to me.”

“Makes sense. I’d hate to get a tattoo just to regret it a few years later. Even worse, a few months later.”

“Too many of my clients have had that exact issue. Come in a year after and ask for a coverup. Makes me question my work sometimes.”

“Clients?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

“Oh, right. I never mentioned it.” He paused to take a drink from his cup before continuing. “I’m a tattoo artist. The parlor I work at’s only a few blocks away from your shop, believe it or not.”

“Wow. Small world, I suppose. Maybe I could stop by someday and say hi.”

The boldness of your statement didn't fully process in your brain, and you quickly backtracked.

“If you’d be okay with that, of course.”

“Yes. Absolutely. You can come by whenever I don't have a client.”

“Call me over if anyone gets a tattoo of a flower and I’ll be there to explain everything it means. There is always the very dangerous possibility of someone getting a flower that means jealousy or a rejection.”

He didn’t reply, just flashed a smile, and the silence between you seemed… awkward. Combined with the way he was fidgeting with his hands, it almost made you think he was nervous.

“I’m actually thinking about buying a bouquet to put on the front desk,” he admitted.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people, they get nervous before their appointment, whether it's their first tattoo or their tenth. Having flowers right when you walk in might ease some of the tension.”

“That's a great idea. I know I’m biased, but flowers do tend to brighten my day."

“Do you have any ideas?”

You bit at your bottom lip as you thought, finally speaking again once you racked your brain for what could work.

“Chrysanthemums are a favorite with customers. Those mean joy and optimism. I could start with those and build from there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“That's all I’ve got right now, but I’ll see what else I can come up with later. After coffee, I’m much more… insightful.”

As if to prove your point, you took another sip of your coffee, a longer one that left only a quarter of the cup left.

“So… this is official? You're placing an order?”

He nodded.

“If that's how this works, then yes. I’d like to place an order of one chrysanthemum bouquet for the purpose of making my customers happy. Please,” he replied genuinely.

“Your order will be marked down as soon as I get to the shop.”

“Feel free to take your time, by the way. I don't mean to pressure you. It's not like I have a deadline, and I know you probably have a million other things you have to do.”

You considered reaching for him, your fingertips flexing in his direction, but you restrained yourself, choosing words instead.

“You're not pressuring me at all. You made your order. Now you're asking me to do my job. My job that I love, by the way. If anything, I’m thrilled that you're so interested.”

The real question is whether you're more interested in my job or me.

You weren't bold enough to say what you were thinking, but you never had been. You had gotten so used to biting your tongue it was a miracle it was still in your mouth. You spoke again, but selected a much safer option of what to say.

“It's gonna take a few days since there's some orders before yours, but I have your number on file so I’ll call you when I finish it up.”

“I’ll be there. With my wallet, this time around.”

You thought about your proposition before realizing there would be a much more effective, though maybe you just wanted to visit Andrew’s job for a change.

“I mean, you said your place is only a few minutes away, right? I could always deliver it. Gives me an opportunity to get some fresh air during my day. Besides, you're probably much busier than I am, so it might be harder to find the time. Meanwhile, I can deliver it as soon as it's done, and everything works out.”

“You don't have to do that.”

“I know. I want to, though.”

He sighed and shook his head, a reaction you originally feared was out of annoyance, but you felt a small amount of relief when you noticed the smile that accompanied it.

“You need to stop doing nice things for me. Otherwise I’ll go bankrupt from buying you so much coffee to compensate.”

“I also accept gratitude payment in compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks.”

“What about credit cards?”

“Ooo, sorry. Compliments, thank-you-cards, and checks are your options.”

He chuckled, a deeper and richer laugh than before.

“Fine. You want a compliment? You're incredibly kind for doing all of this for me, and I sincerely appreciate it. Thank you.”

Another sip from your cup to hide the flush of your cheeks, though no amount of caffeine could calm the butterflies in your stomach.

“That covers your gratitude payment for now. I still need real money, of course,” you muttered. “And you're not getting your way out of it this time.”

“I would never. You can't pull the same con on the same person twice.”

“Oh, so it was a con? Did those flowers even go to your mother?”

“Nope. Underground flower smuggling ring.”

“Ah, I should've guessed. Tell your flower-loving crime boss that I’m thankful for all that you've done for me, but I unfortunately need to get going, because it's 9:30 and the shop opens at 10.”

Andrew complied. You two wrapped it up, and he put his jacket back on, covering up his tattoos much to your dismay. Your coffee cup, now empty, was discarded by the door.

“Thank you so much. For the coffee, for the company. Everything. Especially for the coffee, though, considering you barely even drank yours,” you commented, pointing at the half-full cup still in his hand.

“You’re welcome. And trust me, I was going to drink it, but I found myself much more engrossed in the conversation.”

Andrew grabbed the door and held it open for you, and you walked past him and thanked him. Both of you stood on the sidewalk in front of the coffee shop, unsure of how (or if you even wanted) to say goodbye.

“This is where we must part ways,” he said with a sigh.

“You say that like we're never going to see each other again.”

“A lot can happen in a few days, Y/N. You have no idea what the universe has up her sleeve.”

“Do you have some kind of knowledge about an apocalypse that I don't? Because when it comes to that kind of stuff, sharing is caring.”

“Just… prepping for the future, I suppose. If there is no apocalypse, I’ll see you when my bouquet’s finished.”

“I’ll see you then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

You walked to your car, only a few footsteps away, the smile slowly fading from your face as he walked in the opposite direction. You sneaked a glance over your shoulder at him before opening the car door.

Sitting down in the driver's seat, you took a deep breath to bring yourself back to reality. Your mantra had been proven right: that was not a date. It just felt like one. A very successful one at that. He was a gentleman, listened to what you had to say, gave you a compliment, and you even set up an incentive to meet again. This not-a-date went better than most of your actual dates, and it was with a guy who, to your knowledge, had no romantic interest in you.

You were totally and utterly screwed.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #hozier x reader #hozier fanfic #fanfic #hozier fanfiction #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #divider #to share the space with simple living things

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achilles-rage · 3 days ago

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achilles-rage’s twelve days of christmas

day eleven: wrapped in red (ft. eddie diaz)

summary: with the chaotic weeks leading up to christmas meaning that you and eddie have barely had a moment alone, you decide to surprise him with an early christmas gift.

word count: 2.7k

series masterlist

a/n: sorry this is late, i’ve been having trouble writing smut lately. i hope this is okay!! and also i can’t believe this is the second last day of twelve days!! i don’t want it to end!! at least i still have one more day, and possibly a part two to my rocker secret santa fic (depending on how i feel). anyway, enjoy<33

warnings: smut, hint at predator/prey kink(??), no use of y/n, fem!reader, plus size!reader, race inclusive!reader

With the holidays coming up, life with Eddie has been extremely chaotic. If you’re not anxiously looking for gifts that Christopher has asked for – that every other kid in LA wants too, apparently – then you’re shopping for gifts for your friends and family, or planning Christmas parties, or attending Christmas parties. Honestly, you’re barely even sure that you or Eddie has had a moment to yourself since December 1st.

This also means that you’ve barely gotten a moment with Eddie for weeks, and you’re starting to get a little bit restless. Other than the occasional touches when you’re both just waking up; barely conscious enough to open your eyes and hands wandering aimlessly and with no real intentions, you can’t remember the last time Eddie has properly fucked you.

So, you came up with an idea: wrap yourself up and surprise him with some festive lingerie. It’s, admittedly, a little silly, but you’re sure that Eddie will appreciate it. At the very least, he’ll get a good laugh out of it.

You already have the perfect wrapping paper; a bright red, sparkly design with small white snowflakes, so all you have to do is cut it and tape it together. You decide to only make a little skirt out of it, instead picking out a beautiful green lingerie set with a small red bow on the bra, and one on the panties. You even add a gift tag reading “To: Eddie, From: Santa”

Before Eddie gets home, you get ready; putting on your set and your skirt, and then you decide at the last minute to put two big red Christmas bows on your bra, right where the straps meet the cups on the front.

You’re extremely proud of your skirt; you’d found a tutorial online for a pleated wrapping paper skirt, and it turned out perfectly. Now, all you have to do is wait for Eddie to get home.

Christopher is at Buck’s for the night, probably baking cookies and building gingerbread houses if you know them at all, so you have your boyfriend all to yourself.

When you hear the front door open and shut, you smile to yourself, then step out of the hallway and into Eddie’s sight. He’s in the middle of greeting you when his eyes land on you, and the words die on his lips as he takes you in.

“Why are you wearing wrapping paper?” he asks after a moment, brow raised as he focuses on the skirt. He tries extremely hard to not focus on your tits, otherwise, he might rip your skirt to shreds in a desperate attempt to see you naked underneath him, and he’s not sure what the skirt is for.

“Because I’m your present tonight. Do you- do you not like it?” you ask sheepishly, feeling your cheeks heat up as you look down at your outfit. You thought it was silly, sure, but you didn’t think he’d hate it. Instead of being met with a smile, he just looks confused, and it’s making your stomach churn and your hands fidget at your sides.

“No, no. I fucking love it, just wasn’t sure what it was for.” he reassures you, quickly closing the distance between you two and grabbing one of your hands. He gives you a smile, and you smile back, nodding slowly.

He raises your hand over your head and urges you to do a spin, and as you turn, he tries to look at every inch of exposed skin. He takes in your soft belly, and your chest sitting perfectly in your lace bra, and your bare legs, and his mouth waters.

When you’re turned to face him again, he pulls you toward him, moving the hand he’s holding to drape over his shoulder and then placing both of his hands on your waist. It’s now that you can see the lust in his eyes, and your smile widens as you feel your whole body get hot. Having his undivided attention after so long feels so fucking good.

“I missed having you like this, mi amor. I’m gonna make sure you don’t leave the bedroom until tomorrow morning. If you can even walk tomorrow morning.” he purrs, and you giggle softly, rolling your eyes.

“You like it that much?” you ask, eyes darting across his face so close to you as his eyes travel down your body again. He lets out a growl at the sight of your tits sitting so perfectly for him, and his next words come out low and raspy, which has your squeezing your legs together.

“I fucking love it. I feel like a little kid right now; all I want to do is rip the wrapping off my present.” You bring your hand up to run through the hair on the back of his head, which makes him finally look back up into your eyes.

“So do it.” you tell him, raising a challenging brow. He smirks, and lets his hands run over the paper and down to your hips.

He lets out a quiet chuckle when he reads the gift tag you’ve attached to the waist of your skirt, and then in one quick motion, he rips the paper off of you.

You’re left in just your matching bra and panties, and he groans when he sees the tiny red bow sitting on the waistband of your panties. Like a present. All for him.

His hands are gripping your hips hard as he looks down at your body, a grip threatening to leave bruises as he drinks in all your dips and curves. He can’t believe you did this all for him. If you were to ask him what he wanted for Christmas, he’d say that this is it. Just you.

“Bedroom. Now.” he growls, and without another word, you turn on your heel, practically vibrating in excitement. He smacks your ass as soon as you turn, and you squeal at the impact, looking over your shoulder at him as you keep walking.

He has a predatory look in his eyes as he watches you, and when he begins to stalk after you, eyes narrowed and chest puffed out, you let out something between a giggle and a squeal. You begin to run to the bedroom, your heart racing in your chest as you begin to feel like you’re being hunted.

He runs after you, footsteps heavy as they hit the hardwood, and when you both get to his room, he grabs your hips and pulls you back against his chest.

“Uh uh, why are you trying to get away? You’re my gft, remember? I get to play with you however I want.” he rasps in your ear, causing shivers to shoot down your spine. You can feel his hard length pressing against your back, and you let out a soft whimper, slowly moving your ass back against him.

He lets out a hiss as his grip gets tighter against your hips, then turns you around and pushes you onto the bed in one quick movement.

You bounce gently as you hit the mattress, and when you look up at him again, you back up on the bed, watching him step closer and drink in your plush figure. He pulls his shirt off quickly, and then his pants and boxers, and when he’s completely naked, he crawls onto the bed and towards you.

He meets your lips hungrily, his hips grinding against you and letting you feel the hardness of his cock. Your hands go to his sides as you kiss him with equal fervour, letting your tongues meet each other as you feel your brain go fuzzy. He’s barely started and you already feel so overwhelmed with his touch, and his attention.

He moves his kisses down to your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes, and when he reaches the top of your bra, he leans back and looks down at your dazed expression.

“Don’t know if I want to keep this on or rip it off of you.” he tells you in a low tone, letting his eyes move back down to your lace covered chest as he licks his lips.

“Well, what are you supposed to do with the wrapping on a gift?” you tease softly, quirking a brow with a small smirk.

He chuckles, then shrugs his shoulders as he looks back up into your eyes.

“Good point. Just wanna see you in it for a little while longer.” he mumbles. He presses one more hot kiss to your lips, then leans back on his knees and moves his hands up your legs until he gets to the edge of your panties.

He pulls them to the side quickly, then grabs the base of his cock and brings the tip down to slide between your folds. You both let out soft moans, and you spread your legs wider, letting him move freely as he slides the head of his cock along your clit.

You’re both desperate to feel all of each other, to get the sweet release you’ve been waiting weeks for, but Eddie is more patient than you, it seems. He wants to see you cum before he actually fucks you.

You sit up on your elbows as you watch him in a daze, biting your lip as he taps his cock against your dripping pussy.

It’s hard to resist the urge to bury himself to the hilt, but he holds back for now, enjoying your soft mewls and whimpers as he drags his cock through your folds in achingly slow movements.

“Eds, please.” you whine softly after a while, your eyes pleading as you look up at him. He chuckles softly, then pushes himself into you, just barely. He lets himself rock against you gently, hand firmly gripping the base of his cock as he lets his tip enter your desperate cunt.

He switches between this, and tapping the head of his cock against your clit, and pretty soon, you’re both close to the edge.

Your moans have gotten breathier, and your hands are gripping the sheets beside you as you feel that ball forming in your lower belly. And Eddie is slowly losing the ability to hold back; his cock moving deeper and deeper each time his tip slips between your glistening folds.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? You’re so pretty when you cum.” he rasps, and you nod quickly, letting out a soft whimper.

He chuckles lowly and pulls his cock away completely, instead using his hand to fist his cock as his other hand comes down to circle two fingers around your clit. You throw your head back as you near the edge, but when you hear him tut softly, you bring your head back up so he can meet your eyes.

“Look at me, baby. Watch me when you cum.” he tells you sternly, and in a few more seconds, you’re both falling over the edge with loud moans. He covers your cunt in his release, groaning at the sight of his seed painting your slick folds and dripping down onto the sheets below you.

He barely gives you enough time to come down from your high before he’s flipping you over on the bed. His hands move to your ass, massaging at the flesh before he brings a hand back and spanks you hard. You whimper, letting your body lurch forward in response to the surprise, and then he spanks you again, just to hear the harsh sound of skin meeting skin.

“Gorgeous, mi amor. And all mine.” he murmurs, then rips your panties off you and tosses them to the side.

You gasp at the sound of fabric ripping, and try to look over your shoulder at him with narrowed eyes.

“Eddie, I just bought those!” you argue, although you’re not really mad. They were expensive, but you can’t deny that the action has desire pooling in your belly.

“I’ll replace them.” is all he says before he reaches down to your hips and brings you up onto your knees, face now pushed into the mattress as he spreads your ass cheeks and takes in the sight of your pulsing cunt.

You shiver when you feel the head of his cock teasing your folds again, but it doesn’t last long; he’s desperate to feel you wrapped around him completely. When he pushes into you, he buries himself to the hilt, letting his hips meet yours as he grips at your flesh hard.

You moan into the sheets, body moving forward at the force behind his actions, and when he pulls out almost completely just to bully into you again, you moan louder.

His hips pick up their pace, and as they snaps against yours, flesh slapping against flesh, his hands roam your body, squeezing and massaging at your ass and your thighs.

“Taking me so well, mi amor. Fuck-” he groans, tip kissing your cervix as he relishes in the way you squeeze his cock so perfectly.

He watches the way your ass and thighs jiggle with each thrust, and he has to tilt his head back and close his eyes for a moment, focusing on not cumming too soon.

You moan loudly under him, eyes clouded with pure bliss as he fucks into you roughly, hands eager to touch every inch of skin. When you reach your hand back in a desperate attempt to feel him, he grabs your hand and brings it behind your back, then moves your other one to the same spot and holds your wrists there with one large hand.

“You like that, baby, huh?” he asks, and all you can do is nod, whimpering as his hips meet yours harshly.

When you begin to push your ass back towards him, he growls, then releases your wrists and brings both hands around to your front and squeezes your soft tummy between his fingers. His thrusts momentarily stop as his front presses against your back, but when he pulls you up with him, back still pressed against him, his hips continue their unrelenting pace.

One hand goes back to your hip, helping you move back to meet his thrusts while the other cups one of your tits and squeezes it. He rolls your nipple between his fingers as he feels it bounce with each thrust of his cock, and he can feel himself beginning to twitch inside of you as he gets close to the edge.

“You wanna cum with me, baby? Cum on my cock?” he murmurs in your ear.

“Yes, please. Please, Eds.” you whine, and he smirks, moving his hips harder, if at all possible.

“Cum with me, baby. Let me feel you.” he tells you sternly, and in no time you’re clenching around him as you cum.

When he feels the way your pussy squeezes his cock as you let go with a loud whimper, he lets go, filling you to the brim as he keeps himself buried deep inside you.

You feel him paint your walls with his cum, and you lean your head back against his shoulder in pure bliss, letting your eyes flutter shut as you ride out your high.

He slowly pulls out with a groan, and lets his hands travel up and down your sides as you lean back against him.

“God, I’ve missed this.” he tells you quietly, feeling himself come down from his high, your skin under his fingertips helping to ground him and forget all about the stress of the holidays.

“I love you.” you whisper, trying to catch your breath as you feel your pulsing cunt clenching around nothing. You can feel the mess between your thighs, but you hardly care.

If you know Eddie at all, he’s not done with you yet, anyway.

“I love you, mi amor.” he whispers back, then kisses the side of your neck before helping you lay back down on the bed.

“That was the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” he teases softly as he crawls over you.

You giggle as he begins to press kisses across your face, not leaving an inch of skin unkissed.

“I’m glad.”

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random2908 · 1 day ago

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I mean... OP is from Australia, I think? As are some of the other commenters? This isn't entirely about the US.

In America, the degree to which this is unadorned truth versus exaggeration depends what you're buying. I expect a sweatshirt to last at least five years of daily wear; however, I don't wash them unless they are visibly dirty or it's been, like, several months. I expect a t-shirt to last about 5 years in rotation where I might wear it once every 2 weeks and wash it regularly. My winter jacket was purchased 16 or 17 years ago (from a random store at the mall) and my fall jacket was purchased 8 years ago (from Kohl's, a mid-range department store), and although my winter jacket doesn't fit all that well anymore, neither jacket is nearing the end of its lifetime. I generally keep 2-4 pairs of jeans in rotation, washing them about monthly, and expect them to last about 3 years. My dad bought me two bed sets from Target (cheap department store) 20 years ago, and for a long time I just alternated between them; the fitted sheet on one of them tore after about 7 years and the other lasted 19 years. (Admittedly, I'm apparently really gentle with all of my possessions, because my electronics, furniture, etc also seem to last relatively long.)

So yeah, some stuff lasts. However.

My jeans that wear through in 3 years, first of all, would wear through in a couple months if I treated them like a child would--I know this with some certainty because I do occasionally tear them at work. Whereas when I was a child in the 80s/90s, my jeans lasted 1-2 years of running around and falling down. And some people have jeans from the 1970s that are still wearable. So yeah, my jeans don't wear out in a season, but they do last at most 1/2 as long, probably a lot less than that, compared to jeans of decades ago. And you can feel that the fabric is much thinner.

I remember in 1998, on a road trip, my mom bought me a t-shirt from a t-shirt stand, for $5, and the material felt completely different. Much softer, much thinner, than any of my other t-shirts. (I was 15, so I'd had a lot of time to learn what a t-shirt should feel like.) But it still said 100% cotton--it wasn't a different material, just a worse construction. These days, it's the other way around: I have exactly one t-shirt with the texture of the ones of my childhood, and all the rest feel like that one cheap shirt. And all but that one t-shirt has ripped on my belt buckle no matter how well I file down any sharp edges, because the shirts are so thin and flimsy. Sure, I usually wear these shirts for about 5-6 years until the holes are bad enough that they aren't presentable. The design has usually all the way worn off by then. But I was still wearing t-shirts from middle school when I was in grad school, and some of them had almost no degradation of the design (luckily when I was in middle school oversize t-shirts were in, so they fit properly when I was a young adult). Also, the t-shirts from my childhood, when they finally wore out when I was an adult, it was because the seams ripped. The t-shirts from my adulthood, when they wear out, it's because holes tear in the fabric itself.

So far I've been mostly talking about all-cotton clothing, except for the sweatshirts, and sometimes the jeans, which are a mix. The synthetic stuff falls apart a lot quicker. I have a dress that I've worn twice, that I washed once (careful of the instructions on the tag) and it's already pilling. Pilling means significant fabric loss, which means its days are number until it's ready to tear.

So yeah, a lot of generic clothing does last longer than people are saying--but some doesn't. And even so, the failure still happens a lot faster than it used to, and the failure points are in different places than they used to be.

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

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i-keepmyideals · 21 hours ago

Text

Writing Habits That Need To Die in 2025

(this is primarily towards my fellow native English speakers, not people who speak English as a second, third, etc. language. English is hard and you're doing the best you can, and I'm proud of you.)

I have seen so many annoying grammar mistakes in the writing community, and it is insane - absolutely unhinged writing trends or habits that make no sense whatsoever - and it drives me insane - it makes me want to just pull my hair out, throw my phone and hide under a rock; it makes me never want to read anything again.

•The first habit is what I just did. These stupid, long, run on sentences that should be a paragraph, but people make just one sentence using commas, dashes and semicolons. It's not cute or cool. It makes reading your work impossible because my brain knows for a fact that one sentence should be six. Like, my brain soft resets whenever I read something like that amd i have to try rereading it four times. Use freakin periods, and use commas, dashes, and semicolons correctly.

• The next issue are the grammar issues. "Infact" is not a compound word, but I've seen that written a lot. "Alot" is not a freakin word; it's a lot. If you're a native English speaker that has been in school for any amount of time, that's something you learn literally in first grade. "Apart" and "a part" are opposites and cannot be used interchangeably. I've seen "You're apart of me," written so many times and it genuinely makes me angry. "Apart" means separate. Holy shit, open a dictionary. USE THE PROPER YOUR/YOU'RE, THEIR/THEY'RE/THERE, AND WAIST/WASTE, OH MY GOD. "He wrapped his arms around your waste." Oh, you mean my trash? Why is he hugging my garbage can? Keep your spellcheck on, please and thank you. We're not heathens out here.

•The next one is the ellipses issue? I've seen it happen a lot recently. Like...why are people fucking this up? And ellipses is thre periods, not two. One period is a sentence ender. Three periods is an ellipses... Two periods is a mistake.. It just looks wrong. If you have an iPhone/iPad, an ellipses is considered one character and if you hit backspace after writing an ellipses, it will erase the entire thing.

•A big issue is in the x reader side of things. Stop. Fucking. Writing. Rosy. Cheeks. Pink lips. Flushed cheeks. Fair skin. Fucking stop it. It is an x reader, which means the reader can insert themselves or their OC's into the fic. Did you know not everyone that reads this is white? Or have a skintone where a blush would show on their cheeks/ears/neck? Not everyone has bright pink lips. Nothing takes me out of a fic faster than seeing some descriptors like that. 98% of my OC's do not have fair skin. And it's not a, "Oh, if you don't like it, don't read it," situation either. Dipshit. It's tagged x reader which means it's for whoever finds it and wants to read it. X reader means the MC of the story is a relatively blank slate, appearance wise at least, unless specifically stated otherwise like Hispanic!reader or Black!reader, etc., because that's usually for good reason, like most fanfics nit being written with us minorities in mind. I want to read your work, I just also wish that you want me to read it.

•TAG YOUR SHIT PROPERLY. I don't wanna see fucking incest, lactation kink, CNC, r*pe and so on, so I blacklisted them. AND YET I STILL SEE THEM???? FUCK OFF. TAG IT PROPERLY. GET SOME HELP. Like, literally. Writing about that is absolutely not a healthy way to cope if you were in that situation. I'm genuinely sorry if it did happen to you, but writing it out in fanfics and constntly putting yourself in a similar mental space as when it happened is not good; it is not helping you heal. It is keeping you trapped in that moment. Please do seek professional help.

#x reader #writing #Like...please do better and stop this #Especially the fucking grammar issues #Act like you've taken at least one English class akcbdkglska

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lonestardust · 3 days ago

Note

re your tags on the names of Marjan's family. So Marjan's name is not a Lebanese name?

Also I'm curious to your takes on her getting engaged/introducing Joe to her parents 👀

nope. and neither is Marwani actually. Marjan is persian Iranian and Marwani (and it's actually often Almarwani) is Algerian and Saudi Arabian.

i'm curious actually but there aren't certain positive expectations I'm waiting for here with this storyline. the inaccuracy of the name thing alone was something i immediately rolled my eyes at lol. I mean lucky the pilot was so good in every way I was hooked from the jump because otherwise if i had to think twice about Marjan's disastrous praying I'd have been turned off.

It's clear that Natacha did not get the assistance she needed to give Marjan what she needs. not as simple as guiding her on how to properly pray. But are we surprised that the american TV's portrayal of Arabs falls short in many ways due to lack of cultural competence in writers' rooms/ lack of research and guidance from diaspora Arab Muslim creatives? I mean their first thought about Marjan was like hmm how can we introduce this veiled woman in a storyline that portrays her well without trying to objectify her? oh let's take that veil off and see her hair! I don't hate this storyline but it just doesn't fully sit right with me either. especially as an intro.

so I don't know how they're going to go about this whole thing with Joe but I for one really hated the arranged marriage storyline. Yes it's so normal here for family & friends to try to set up adults. but i just can't stand watching the portrayal of I've-been-engaged-since-I-was-12 and playing it into "love is something you grow into" as a commonplace in muslim Arab culture and not something so questionable and rather a fucked up constraint on people (that has been fought against for decades). not even considering the class, ethnic and national difference that plays into it, given how underage arranged marriage or forced marriage is an actual piled up generational struggle rooted in gender inequality and exacerbated by colonial violence and wars. being cut off from the access to education, the creation of extreme poverty that makes families (especially displaced ones) struggle to provide for their kids and fear for their safety and future and so some come to the conclusion that marriage somehow could protect their kids from harm while providing them with a level of financial stability or facilitating moving in and out of besieged areas/cities and crossing boards etc.

And so it's clear that no one of Marjan's class/background in diaspora or back home would consider this to be the norm. so it's weird to me that this was welcomed normally. The writers just took a bunch of stereotypes about Muslims at large with no regard to national/ethnic or class background differences and turned them on their head.

another inconsistency is the chaperone/Mehrem (family member) thing. because first, actually once you're in public you don't need that during a date. second, someone like Marjan with her lifestyle, background, worldview/character and being a diaspora lebanese muslim in her 20s, would not follow an old Mehrem fatwa (the Islamic laws that change according time, place, people, and other prevailing conditions) unless she actually wants that out of having company.

I just don't think the writers engage with Marjan's background in a consistent realistic or authentic way. I didn't really see anything especially Lebanese about Marjan. beside what the mention of cuisines?

anyway i hate the idea of 'representation' in American media either way. It feels like an oxymoron. and the idea of seeing representation as an ultimate goal is even more dangerous. I find it counterproductive more often than not. this is an industry that perpetuates and financially aid violence and defamation narratives against said people that they pat themselves on the back for including and so it's naive to consider that they'll ever get it right. they tiptoe around certain people and tokenize them more than anything. Literally for every one good bare minimum representation there are dozens of American entertainment-military complex propaganda movies/tv shows/video games doing the exact opposite and taking it to extremes. I just always end up asking myself 'how is this exactly helpful? Yes it's entertaining i love watching it, i love this show but the things that plays into the bigger picture are still parts of the objective reality, what should I do about it?'

#oh excuse the long rant #marjan marwani #lsasks

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 3 days ago

Note

For Trine, what are Anselm and Reader giving Blue for a holiday present? Also, Blue doesn't talk about his past much; does he seem a little *cough* blue for this time of year? Does he have bad memories, or is he worried about what to gift Reader and Anselm?

Oh my gossh jaspoagjpsodg I am so emotional over this!! <3 Thank you so much for sending me these thoughts!

Trine [12]: Nice List

Anselm Vogelweide x Blue Jones x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Trine Masterlist • ko-fi •

Warnings: sexy times mentions, Blue feeling a little blue, typos, not beta read, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 584

Anselm is upstairs wrapping ecstatically. He enjoyed being far too over the top about the matter and wrapping gifts himself for those he cared about deeply, often decorating the presents with things that properly weren’t best suited as gift toppers. But they were fantastic and oh so very Anselm nonetheless.

It was however best to leave him to his own devices when he was wrapped, even if he wasn’t wrapping things you weren’t allowed to see. He’d had the ‘gift wrapping room’ rearranged long before you’d gotten married so that you could both have space without being able to see what the other was working on.

He’d commissioned a beautiful belt for Blue, the metal clasp engraved with mistletoe after Blue had held a bunch over his dick earlier in the month and asked Anselm for a kiss.

You head downstairs, walking through the smaller, ‘private’ rooms that you prefer over the grandeur more traditionally mansion-looking cavernous spaces that are many there to entertain guests and intimate associations.

Blue is staring out of one of the large windows in the living room, his head slightly slumped to the side. The weak, gloomy light catches him at a sweet angle, almost making him look like a statue for a moment. Something a skilled artisan had spent hours pouring over.

He doesn’t notice you, too twisted up in his own thoughts until you place a hand on his arm.

“Blue?”

He blinks and turns, smiling and trying to shift the sombre look on his face. He manages it mostly, but the emotion still pales his eyes.

“Are you okay?” You stroke his cheek and he nuzzles into your palm, placing his hand over yours and kissing your wrist.

He nods.

“It’s a good job you’re pretty.” You wait until he gives you a quizzical look before you continue, “Because you’re a terrible liar.”

He smiles, warmer this time.

“Your emotions are always written all over your face.” You tap his nose playfully and he leans towards you to rub his forehead against yours, kissing down your cheek to your neck and wrapping his arms around you.

“Are you worried about what Anselm said earlier?” You say playfully as you hug him back.

“Hmm?”

“That he’s going to dress up as Krampus and ravage you?”

Blue snorts, “If I recall correctly, you were also going to dress up as Father Christmas? Complete with the white beard?”

You grin, “We are going to fight over your immortal soul,” you mimic Anselm’s accident teasingly as you repeat his words from earlier and Blue giggles. “So have you been Naughty or Nice this year?”

“Hmm… A tough choice.”

“I think no matter what you say Anselm is going to shove something inside you.”

Blue laughs, smiling as you pull back so you can stroke his cheeks.

“He wanted to make a dildo out of coal, but that is not practical.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

“Maybe I can sit on your lap?” He presses his face into your touch, “Or lay on it? You can spank me with your belt for being a bad boy.”

“Hmm,” you pretend to think. “I don’t know, that sounds like a reward, not punishment.”

He pouts a little, trying to cover up his smile. “And how would you punish me?”

“Well, I’d leave you alone for one.”

“Nooo,” his grip on you involuntarily tightens.

“Well,” you lean closer and give him a light kiss. “It’s a good job you’re on the nice list, isn’t it?”

Thank you so much for reading!

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

@romanarose @strangerhands @saturn-rings-writes @steven-grants-world @eyelessfaces

@angel-of-the-moons @minigirl87 @lunar-ghoulie @silvernight-m @autismsupermusicalassassin

@reallyrallyauthor @basicalyrandom @alwaysmicado @mangoslushcrush @marc-spectorr

@spxctorsslxt @novarosewood @pygmi-cygni @hammerhead96 @emma23

@sub-aro @killerdollz @maplemind @mwltwo @loonymagizoologist

@dameronshandholder @queerly-anxious @homuraak3mi @swiftiegirliepop

@oscarssimp @milkypompon @eternallyvenus @lounilu @avengersinitiative2012

@pigeonmama @marcsb1tch @iolaussharpe-24 @chaithetics @DowBaStan

@faretheeoscar @lonelyisamyw-0love @queerponc @twwcs @Spnwhore2430

@ominoose @ierofrnkk @have-you-seen-my-sanity @to-be-a-sunshine @blushingrn

@missdictatorme @musicalnacho @ingoldthewizard

@krakenkitty @purple-amaranthe @marcsb1tch

@howellatme @mystic-writings @f0url3af @sapphossongbird

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

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im-jesus · 20 hours ago

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my mom is shit with names, but she's learning my friends' names. it's very entertaining.

me: and then Sebastian said- mom: Seb is the one with the crutches? me: among other things mom: proceed

me: no, last night was good, Corbin and i were- mom: rat boy? me: rat boy. mom: *self-satisfied nod*

me: Mars and I are fighting again. they said something negative and pretty based about a character I'm unhealthily attached to. mom: Mars is the young one? me: I mean i think so. I've been calling him a 14 year old boy but I'm waiting for him to pop out and be like "oh no, i turned 18 yesterday" mom: mom: your friends are weird

me: Tova says I'm adorkable, which is my new favorite compliment mom: which one is Tova? me: mom, we talked about this yesterday. Tova is the {age}? we were talking about it when we were talking about Dragon Age? mom: is this the one who said you were hot because you said that the most punk rock thing a person can do is take care of other people? me: yes. mom: cool. and it's right. you are adorkable. me: awww. *internally freaking out because she used its pronouns properly*

ft: @shiftingwithmars as Mars, @sebs-out-of-spoons as Sebastian, @funkydunkycorbin as Corbin, idk if I'm allowed to tag Tova lmao imma ask

#i’m jesus #im jesus #literally jesus #jesus confession

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a-very-sparkly-nerd · 1 day ago

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apple pie

In an au where Astrid arrives at the Silvergrove the following morning, Callum and Rayla spend intimate time together under the stars. I really just wanted to write a fic where Astrid arrived in the morning. Let Rayllum bang under the stars, we all know that's where it was going. Please note, this is rated E, but I didn't tag it as such on here because the snippet is rated T.

“You know what?” Rayla looked at him. Callum looked back, those handsome eyes all sappy-sweet, a dopey smile on his face. “I think I could do this. All of it. Just babysit Moonshadow kids, even the ones who scare me a little bit, and eat forest food, and get to know Ethari and Runaan better.”

Asking her for a life. A life together. The only life she could remember wanting. Her breath hitched, and his hand covered hers, completely enveloping it. “Be with you.”

He leaned over for a kiss, cupping her face, and she couldn’t help grinning. This was the after. This was all she’d ever wanted. This was their happily-ever-after.

He laid down and stretched out an arm she reclined against, curling into him instinctively. “Yep. I could do this. Pretty nice life.”

She looked up with him, to the big bright moon in the sky. Not nearly full, waning in fact, but still… Rayla shivered.

She’d had the thought on more than one occasion, watching him with Bait or Stella, and even Ezran and Ellis forever ago, that he would be an amazing dad. He’d dote on their kids hand and foot, take them to the library and dramatically act out scenes from books he read them, teach them magic with infinite patience even as his fingers started to hurt from drawing the same runes so many times. They’d feel unfathomably safe, and not unloved for a second.

And now he could be a dad. He could be a dad to their kids. He could be her husband.

“I love you,” she whispered, squeezing the hand by her shoulder.

He squeezed back and kissed her cheek. “I love you, too, Rayla.”

“I could do this, too,” she admitted. “Us. Forever.”

“I meant it,” he breathed, looking at her with beautiful heart eyes that were somehow also serious at the same time. “I’ve wanted a life with you for as long as I can remember. A house in the valley or the trees or the desert, I don’t care, as long as you’re there. Little brats”–she snorted and whacked his torso–“Ez babysitting…”

“All ten of them?” she teased.

Callum only grinned back, infectious and sweet. “However many you want.”

She kissed him, one hand sneaking its way under his collar. “Three, max.”

He held her waist as she climbed into his lap, tilting his head up to kiss her properly, lips parting and tongues meeting. He tasted like moonberry surprise, she noted, head spinning not just from fondness at his sweet little faces, and kissed him more greedily.

read on ao3!

#apple pie #lizzy mcalpine #like her song apple pie it's so sweet and some of the vibes i wanted to capture here #almost titled it smth from “juno” by sabrina but i was like “mm how bout no”#rayllum #tdp spoilers #tdp #tdp s7 #tdp s7 spoilers #my fic #my writing

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rayshippouuchiha · 14 hours ago

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Ray, I was inspired to write my first full fic and I keep wanting to make it AiDeku end game. The only problem is according to my outline and planning, they would end up being slow burn. Like majorly slow burn—like end of first book/middle of second or later (ignore the weird jump in time, it’s for plot reasons). I don’t know what to dooooo—the worms are taking over.

Side note: I’m also terrified because as much as I love AiDeku (might be my all time favorite) I am also very aware of how the ship is perceived and I don’t want people to make assumptions about my fic 🫠

I mean, if AiDeku is the way your muse is taking you then do it babe. There's nothing wrong with a slow burn!!

Look, I've been writing AiDeku and KakaNaru for years now and yeah you're probably gonna have at least one person say some shit to you eventually but honestly? Fuck em. As long as you properly tag your work that's all that matters.

It's fiction, no one is being hurt, and as long as you're having a good time writing it then that's what matters!

#RayRambles #AiDeku #EraserDeku #BnHA #MHA

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stellamancer · 9 hours ago

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ari have i ever told i love you? have i? have i?

i'm honestly so happy you feel like i characterized gojo well. it's been a while i feel like, and i do think i could have made him a little more annoying or something LMAO. sometimes writing bten!reader and gojo is like…. playing… what's that ball game where you hit a ball against a wall… like that. where bten!reader is the wall and gojo's playing solo (to compare infinite loop! reader and their gojo is a more traditional back and forth and sots!reader and their gojo… well. lol).

it's so funny to me that you said before you run out of tags and YET.

i know i talked to you a little bit about how he would react and i think i went in a different direction than what we talked about (gojo dramatically lamenting how he hasn't celebrated properly) partially because the conversation didn't end up flowing that way. but yeah, i kind of feel like he actually isn't the type to really hardcore celebrate despite him being the way he is LMAO.

i definitely had an idea what he was thinking at the end there but i do not recall any more LMAOO. tho i think it's very funny that bten!reader tells him he could be more selfish when a lot of characters think that he's pretty selfish… like. it's weird he's selfish but also not super selfish? he's such a a pain to write.

BUT YEAH SAYING THINGS WITHOUT REALIZING. i told someone else, but this happened in bten too iirc. bten!reader wasn't always like that though; it's a product of the loop LMAOOO.

I DO THINK IT IS PRETTY ROMANTIC OF THEM TO OFFER HIM TIME THOUGH. like… initially i was going to have gojo take the offer, and then drag them along to celebrate. but that didn't happen either… this is just me starting a fic and things not going to plan…..

but wahhhh ari…. sniffs u are so kind to me about my writing… i am just a little niku….

BUT YOU KNOW THIS MEME,. WHEN I SAW U HAD LEFT COMMENTS I THOUGHT OF IT LMAOOOOOOOO

notes: time is a construct that bten!reader no longer understands. anyway, yes hellow, late gojo birthday fic that i am pretending that i'm not posting on megumi's birthday LMAO.

takes place in the same universe as beyond the unending night, however reading that fic is not necessary, all you need to know is that reader has a CT that can rewind time. slight and implied reader x gojo if you're squinting. also. reader is very unreliable narrator (there are some things in the narration that gojo responds to because reader is unaware they said it aloud oops.) not proofread.

wc: 944

“Your birthday was a couple days ago?”

Gojo tilts his head toward you, expression passive for a split second before a broad grin spreads across his face. “It was! How did you know! Wait, let me guess, you—”

“The students,” you supply flatly before he can make any outlandish suggestions regarding how you happened across the information. “Yuta-kun mentioned it.”

There’s a slight pucker to Gojo’s lips, but it’s gone almost instantly as he remarks. “Oh Yuta… He’s always been an exemplary student! Even going so far as to remember his dear old teacher’s birthday…”

You stare at Gojo. There’s a trap here. Bait. It’s not well hidden either, if his exaggerated tone is any indication. You consider telling him straight up: it’s not possible to remember something you never knew in the first place. But instead, you decide to indulge him. “Do people usually not remember?”

Now that you say that, you find the words hard to believe. You can barely call yourself a part of jujutsu society, but there’s no denying that Gojo is something of a big deal. There’s no way that these illustrious ‘higher ups’ would forget the birthday of someone as important as Satoru Gojo.

“It’s not that they don’t remember,” Gojo says, “it’s that they just don’t care.”

The nonchalance in his voice stuns you, more so than the fact that you cannot detect even a hint of bitterness in it. They… don’t care? You want to be in denial, to think that that simply cannot be true. And yet…

You cannot deny it.

Not when you know what you do of the top brass.

“Well, not the students,” Gojo adds, fondness seeping into his tone as the tiniest smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “Threw me a party and everything. As expected of students of the Great Teacher Gojo!”

He puffs his chest out a little, clearly pleased, no doubt proud.

“...did you do anything else?” you ask. Knowing someone as whimsical as Gojo, you can imagine him spending the day as he pleased, going from sweet shop to sweet shop spending exorbitant amounts of money on any and every sugary item he could possibly get his hands on.

“Nope.”

You blink at him. “What.”

“I was waaaaaay too busy to do anything else,” Gojo says with a dramatic sigh. “Honestly, I’m lucky that the students love me so much that they took on a couple extra missions just so we could party for a half hour.”

Gojo’s words have you gawking at him, slack jawed and in awe. You’re well aware that he’s a busy guy, but to only have had a half hour of free time on his birthday to celebrate is just…

“Don’t make that face.” His voice is quiet. Gentle. “It’s fine; I’m used to it. Just a part of being an adult, you know?”

He’s not wrong, but…

Somehow, it doesn’t sit well with you.

“....you’re done with everything you have to do today, right?” you ask, reaching into your pocket to check the time; it’s nearly midnight.

“Yeah?” Gojo answers, and while he sounds mostly amused, you think you can hear the smallest hint of confusion. “You thinking of having a late night snack together to make up for missing my birthday? How romantic of you!”

“Not exactly,” you shoot back without missing a beat, but Gojo doesn’t seem to be disappointed by you rebuffing him. You outstretch your palm toward him and he inclines his head down slightly to show that he’s looking down at it.

Gojo hums. He knows what you’re thinking. Of course he does. “You know that’s technically against the rules.”

“And?” you ask as you stare back at him.

“You could get in biiiiiiig trouble, you know.”

Your gaze doesn’t waver.

“Could even be sentenced to death for it!”

Your hand doesn’t move.

Gojo tilts his head to the side before heaving a sigh and shaking his head. He raises his hand, but rather than take yours, he reaches up higher and moves to flick your forehead. That would work just as well, and for a split second you gather your cursed energy, ready to use your technique, but—

You merely wince and Gojo tilts his head to the side, raising an eyebrow as your energy quickly dissipates.

“Change your mind?” he asks.

“Wasn’t sure if you were actually going to do it,” you answer honestly. Did he actually flick you or did he just ‘pretend’ to? There wouldn't have been any point if he pretended.

“What do you think?”

You frown as a playful, yet menacing grin spreads across Gojo's face. He knows full well that you can't tell, especially if you can't even see the point of contact.

“Well wishes aside, the only other thing I can really offer you is time,” you deadpan. It wasn't like you were going to be stupid and give him a week or even a month, but…

Gojo wags his finger at you, tutting. “No, not true! There's something else!”

You give him a pointed look. What else could you possibly give?

“Well, it's really more like an IOU,” he explains airily, before his tone shifts, growing quieter and more serious. “Just get stronger. Strong enough to take on missions just like me and maybe next year we can have a longer party.”

You sigh. His suggestion is more practical, more useful in the long run, and while you can agree with what he's proposed… It's his birthday. He could afford to be a little more selfish.

“Oh?” He raises an eyebrow, his smile ever wide and absolutely ominous. “I'll keep that in mind next time.”

#srb #ari tag #bten rambling

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