#they always do wait until you are on your own before they stop functioning in key ways

[hello-delicious-tea]

So, MrTea is on an (unavoidable) business trip to Montreal. Currently, I have two healing sprained ankles, incessant headaches due to the constant violent fronts sweeping through, and one (1) two year old getting his year two molars (the Worst Teeth) who, since MrTea left this morning, has also developed a fever and the sniffles.

I am Persevering. The humidifiers (hugely scuzzy, abandoned them half full and hadn’t managed to clean them in the week we’ve been home) are disinfecting, the Vicks Vapo Rub is ready to roll, the baby is in the bath, and the Tylenol and warm pajamas are prepared.

[emmanation]

instant manifestation is more than possible. to shift, stop trying to shift. to manifest, stop wanting. to experience instant change, stop expecting time.

a.k.a: stay with me now

are you confused why your supposed instant manifestation isn't instanting? join the club.

instant manifestation is basically this: you assume something, like, i am pretty or i have the job or i have x amount of money, and it's supposed to become real right then. meaning that there should be no buffers, waiting, or middle steps, just done and dusted.

you'd be moving into a version of reality where that thing has already always been true.

when people (me included) say "manifestation is instant," they mean that the moment you decide something is yours, that being without doubting, checking, expecting a delay, it should be reflected right away.

alas. if you're sitting there like "okay well i DID do that, and nothing happened," you're not alone.

no, the secret isn't manifesting better, mindset, vibrations, or journaling.

i will reveal my own vulnerability, and my own lack of understanding around the concept of instant manifestation, and use a random example of my mindset:

if i'm god, and i say "i am blonde, this very second," and i mean it fully, i say that it is done and done, and i define the rules of manifestation, then why isn't it instantly, physically true? without buffering, lag.

and before long, i realised that my issue lied in my own humble, humanly understanding of systems. because i was still in a system that included "continuity." because even god plays with the toys of the world he's in.

let me get this out of the way first:

while i wasn't blocked (because i don't accept limitations in my potential), wrong (once again red buzzer), subconsciously contradicting (one can manifest the rules of manifestation to their favour), i was still experiencing consciousness through the filter of sequentiality.

i am god of my reality, yes, but right now i was god playing a role, a human role, in a reality where things appear in sequence, with laws, patterns, TIME. and until one can declare that "all of those are suspended right now," and actually experience THAT rule as true, you'd still be functioning under the basic user interface of time + space.

so. if i say:

"i'm blonde, right now, with no rules and no time and no delay, i am in a timeline where it is instantly reflected."

then. then ! what actually determines the outcome is:

are you experiencing reality without the latent expectation of cause-effect sequencing?

are you (or i guess me in this scenario) holding the assumption in a way that rejects every embedded continuity rule, not just the hair one, but time, physics, mirror, LOGIC?

because if one is still wearing the headset of "things appear through space-time filters," then the change gets routed through that said filter.

you're just still standing inside a hallway of logic where the walls say sensory change reflects mental change, not the other way around away around, and even when you flip that switch internally - "i say it, so it is" - your mirror still has light from 0.1 seconds ago bouncing around it.

alas.

if you can fully, absolutely, experientially say: "i am outside continuity now, my now is not linked to the past, my reflection is live, the latency is erased, time is off." then the change can and WILL be instant, because now we'd not be only manifesting money, hair, circumstances, but the state of reality where manifestation (or shifting) can be reflected instantly and visibly.

let me talk about continuity. what is it, even? continuity is the invisible mindset that your brain follows to keep this world coherent, it's the rulebook that would say:

this object was red five minutes ago, it should still be red now;

my body didn't teleport between rooms, i must've walked;

my hair was brown yesterday, it can't be blonde this instant.

this is the logic that makes your reality stable, therefore it lets things have memory, but it also means everything feels like it needs a trail, a reason, a before-and-after, a how.

breaking continuity means you stop requiring stories for how something happened.

so, in this logic, i wouldn't say "i'm blonde now," i'd say "it was always blonde." because i'd skip the changing and go straight to this is what's always been. therefore requiring no backstory, transition, just an overwrite.

you have to unplug that sequence = truth.

you've been taught to think that truth is what you can confirm, such as: i see blonde hair, therefore it's true; i don't see blonde hair, therefore it's not.

but that is backwards in law of assumption / shifting. truth is what YOU declare, not what you verify. reality will follow your truth instead of declaring, why? because you're always choosing between possible future states, reality cannot just get creative. if you say "i am," the world updates after.

the trick would be to stop needing reality to be your source of truth, and switching it to be your echo chamber.

it's not a generator, YOU are.

truth = "i say so." period. you stop asking "do i see it yet?" and start saying "this is what's real, even before i see it."

so i move onto . . . pick your assumption + assume the system too. sometimes we assume a result and backpedal when it doesn't fit our pattern of logic.

"i exist outside of linear cause and effect," "i don't experience transition, but overwrite," "i don't wait for things to show up, they are now, always have been," "i don't experience reflection lag, when i say it, it's now."

don't just change your hair but the rules of how change is happening.

stop expecting the reveal to feel dramatic. accept glitches as confirmation of new baselines.

for the shifters, have you thought why scripting your drs feels easy? when you do it, you're not reasoning. our full logic comes from "my dr has this, and this, and this, oh, yea, and this. somehow."

there is no logic, cause and effect, or justification. you write it down as if it's your memory. and when you do that, your brain isn't reseting. it's not being asked to change the current system, you are literally stepping into a completely different one, one where you assume that your imagination has no limits. one that doesn't run on physics, past events, or how things "work." just your pure assumption.

but in our cr / 3d, we hesitate. oh, but how would this work. oh, but what if it doesn't match up with yesterday? oh, but what if people remember it differently? oh, oh, oh.

once you internalise that the system is different, you already expect it to be responsive.

you let one be plastic, and you expect the other to be concrete. but both are assumptions, both are scripts you feed the machine.

you stop asking "why" and just say "this is," and you create like god does, without permission, proof.

i would've started wrapping this up around here, but! i got a great inspiration from a friend, that being that manifestation happens when you put your morals behind you.

morals doesn't mean to turn off your humanity, but to stop being emotional, doubtful, conditioned by social norms, limited by empathy and logic.

in other words: does manifestation only truly click when you drop your identity as a little human dot playing by earth rules?

manifestation does happen when you step into your "i am god" state. the version of you that isn't ruled by fear, fairness, karma, waiting, deserving, being nice OR realistic.

you drop the narrative, your caution, your need to earn what you want, and instead you do what god does: you declare.

morals are, technically, rules you were handed. things like you shouldn't want too much, or, you have to give to receive, or, good people don't just take what they want.

but this has nothing to do with manifestation / shifting. i'm not saying you have to kill your morals, but you do need to stop applying them your power.

manifestation is a mechanics system. you press the button, you get the result. who has to care if you were nice today, or if you cried late last night, or if you're trying to help others first?

you assume, it reflects. you command, it moves.

manifestation clicks when you drop your human legs: morals, logic, deservingness, and fairness. you manifest through knowing you're god.

now that i've wrapped up the theory, let me explain how to shift and / or manifest instantly.

stop being the person who wants the thing. kill that person. the moment you say that you want to shift, you're not shifted. the moment i'd say "i want to be blonde," i wouldn't be blonde

step into the state of "this is already done." that this is now your current reality.

with that, assume the system has already updated. don't just assume the desire but the laws that allow for it.

that the rules of this current reality are overwritten, that this is now a reality where what i say becomes true instantly and without pause. that there is no detail, no transition, you have arrived.

declare a new system architecture.

refuse to check, refuse to confirm, refuse to micro-verify. have self-respect!!!!! don't check for what you already are. if you say i'm in my dr, then you're in your dr. what's left to check!!!?!?!?!??!

the moment you go, oh, is it here yet?, you're implying it isn't, and now you've shifted into THAT reality, again. instant manifestation only works when you don't get into that state.

you have to walk forward, not around, and not back. if you shifted, then go live. don't spiral in a corner waiting for your reflection to change. don't script more, don't loop methods, don't ask if you did it right.

just get up, go brush your (for me at least, now blonde) hair. live it, now. your living is YOUR PROOF, not your evidence.

tl;dr. your reality has shifted, but the experience of it is still going through a perceptual filter (continuity, time, logic). so the truth is still declared, but the sensory reflection lags only because you haven't fully exited the continuity, logical model. instant manifestation, then, is about removing those hidden assumptions, not just forcing a physical change through old rules.

alright so i was about to wrap it up AGAIN, but as these things tend to do, i developed another paradoxical mindset.

yet, if we stop at the mechanics, we risk turning manifestation into a method or a formula...........which ironically contradicts the core claim of being the god-creator of your reality.

stay with me now 😔 we'll get to the other side of this somehow.

if you're god of your reality, when why is "instant" so important? wanting something instantly can sometimes be another mask for, say, desperation, lack, maybe ego validation.

if one says "i need it now," wouldn't that mean that they say they don't have it yet? or, if it doesn't happen instantly, i'm maybe doing wrong, wouldn't that still be a usage of external time-based logic as your scorekeeper?

true god-state doesn't rush or check, it assumes, and lives as if. so there's a deeper layer beyond making it instant: why does one need it instantly? what story would it prove wrong or right?

is instant manifestation the goal, or total reality authorship? we focus on "how do i make this thing happen now?" but the deeper shift (ha) might be "i write the architecture of what NOW is. i author the whole system."

is it about pushing the button to get x or design the rules of how reality responds, or creating a new metaphysical system (not just a new outcome), or living as if you've always been that version of self?

this is why i keep returning to this certain mindset: don't just assume the desire, assume the system too.

the "how to" can become a paradox. saying "how do i manifest instantly?" is still a question from within the continuity model. it is still saying: teach me a sequence, a technique, or a method.

but if reality is fully subject to you, that means that there's no how, only "declare and live," and looking for how assumes a gap, and assuming a gap creates said gap.

paradoxically, the more one studies how to do it right affirms that they're not yet.

manifestation becomes truly "instant" when you no longer exist as the version of you who wants something. meaning that you don't manifest as your current self but by being the self who already has/knows/is.

kill the one who wants, stop being the student, live from the done.

that's the true transformation, dissolving the identity that even needed to bend reality to one's desires.

so..............is there more??? yes. and it's this. the only true "how" is to stop asking how, and start living as though it already happened, and always has.

you'd declare ontological authorship, the god-level assumption of "i say so, therefore it is, therefore it always has been."

maybe the moment you become the one who never needed to manifest, is the moment manifestation is already done.

[xoxojisu]

TIRED !

synopsis: katsuki starts to pull back and you wonder if he's just overwhelmed and tired, or maybe tired of you.

notes: just a short lil drabble <3 apologies ik ive alr written like this exact thing. but this time there's COMMUNICATION? IN A JISU FIC?? well tbf it doesn't happen right away but guys open communication is insane. gn reader!

you don’t know when it started. the shift.

maybe a week ago. maybe more.

but suddenly, katsuki’s kisses were shorter. distracted. his replies came late, if at all. and when you curled into him at night, he didn’t always curl back.

you tried not to overthink. he’s busy. he’s tired. he’s katsuki. always intense, always chasing something, and you knew that when you fell for him.

but sometimes, it’s hard not to wonder.

did i do something wrong?

you think you're the exception for him. you're his lover, after all. but you feel the doubt creep in during the smaller moments.

when you rest your head on his chest and he doesn't automatically put his arm around your waist in return. when you say "i love you" as an easy given and he grunts out a response you can't really make out. when you act sweet and lovey-dovey and he just sort of sits there, looking a little annoyed.

you start pulling back a little. just in case.

you don’t want to be annoying.

you hesitate before texting him first now. you wait for him to initiate touch, which he barely does. and when you finally say "goodnight, love you," he just grunts in response, already turned away in bed.

you stare at the ceiling long after, heart aching in that quiet, sharp way.

you used to fall asleep tangled in him. breathing him in and feeling so utterly loved. now you lie perfectly still, like your presence might be too much. thinking thoughts you'd never thought before, like: "maybe he doesn't like cuddling" and "should i sleep in my own room tonight?"

you shake your head. you're being stupid. insecure.

..but then again, he hasn’t kissed your forehead in days.

he hasn’t called you baby or sweetheart in that uncharacteristically soft voice.

he hasn’t looked at you with that soft gaze he used to save just for you.

you still bring him his water when he forgets it. still fix his uniform when it's out of place. still buy that cinnamon gum you don't even like that much but get because katsuki likes it.

and still, you wonder:

is he just tired?

or is he tired of me?

-

he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

that might be the worst part.

he doesn’t notice how he’s been pulling away. how the warmth in his touches has faded, how he’s stopped saying the soft things that used to slip out when he was too tired to keep his walls up. how you, who used to fit into him like something natural, now hover a few inches away.

he’s just been tired lately.

not the kind of tired a good nap can fix, but the kind that builds and builds and builds until even breathing feels like a task. training’s been brutal. pressure mounting. grades to maintain. responsibilities stacking one after the other until his brain buzzes like static.

and when katsuki gets overwhelmed, it overwhelms his entire being.

it doesn't happen super often. katsuki is determined and driven and he's got a heart of steel. he's not usually one to get swept up like this.

or at least, not anymore. not since you.

but when it does happen, he is overwhelmed in all senses of the word. he gets terrible tunnel vision and forgets to pay attention to his surroundings. all he can think of is hero work, and even that's a stretch. his brain is on constant low-functioning mode and he feels foggy all the time.

so, being so absorbed in himself, he didn’t see the way your smile faltered.

didn’t catch how you flinched. barely, but enough, when he brushed off your hands with a muttered, “not right now.”

didn't catch how you didn't automatically curl up into his side like usual when you'd sit down together, and so pulling you close and dispelling your doubt didn't even cross his mind.

didn't catch how you were slowly pulling back, physically and emotionally. didn't catch how you were starting to doubt yourself.

until he finally looked up.

until he goes to your dorm late, bags under his eyes, heart hammering from some training that went sideways, a little confused why you weren't in his dorm, and sees you in bed. on your side of it, even though he's not there, hugging your own pillow like it’s some kind of stand-in.

you wake at the sound of the door. you turn your head when he enters, give him that same soft smile you always do, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“hey,” you say. “you okay?”

he nods, robotic. “yeah. just tired.”

and you nod back. not pushing. not getting up. not offering a hug or kiss or teasing nudge like you always would.

and it hits him then. the quiet. the distance. the way your affection hasn’t smothered him lately. no, the way it hasn’t even touched him.

and he realizes:

you’ve stopped trying.

and he thinks, suddenly panicked, how did i let it get this bad?

he moves before he can talk himself out of it. just crawls into bed and pulls you into his chest, tight. arms locked around you like you might disappear if he hesitates.

you tense for half a second.

“…katsuki?”

he exhales, shuddering. like he’s been holding it in.

“i’ve been a shithead,” he mutters against your shoulder.

you blink.

“what?”

“i didn’t mean to make you feel like… like i didn’t want you. i do. i just…” he groans, frustrated with himself. “there’s been so much going on. and when things get loud in my head, i forget how to… be. i get overwhelmed and i shut down and i didn’t mean to take that out on you.”

your fingers curl into his hoodie slowly.

he doesn’t stop.

“you didn’t do anything wrong. i was so stupid and up in my own head that i didn't realize you were hurtin' and i think i fucked it up.”

you’re quiet for a beat.

then, softly, “you didn’t fuck it up.”

his arms tighten around you.

you turn in his embrace, nose bumping his, eyes searching.

“…i thought i was annoying you,” you admit. “like maybe i was too clingy. too much. so i started holding back. well, you already said that, so i guess you noticed.”

he closes his eyes like it hurts.

“don’t,” he breathes, feeling so guilty that it's gotten to this point. “please don’t hold back. not with me.”

“then don’t shut me out.”

“i’ won't. i promise. just.. fuck, 'm sorry. for real.”

you press your forehead to his.

“thank you. i love you.”

and this time, he says it back. and he rubs soothing circles on your back the way he knows you like. and he kisses your forehead. slow. deliberate. like he’s making up for every time he didn’t.

like he knows now.

and won’t forget again.

masterlist reblogs + comments super duper appreciated! <3

[iamgonnagetyouback]

mattheo gets clingy the second you stop pampering him, demanding kisses mid-makeup routine because apparently, your attention is his favorite luxury

0.5k cw: clingy!mattheo, fluff, possessiveness in the cutest way possible

mattheo riddle is completely infatuated with you, his high-maintenance girlfriend who has him wrapped around her perfectly manicured finger. you live for pink, makeup, long nails, and every glamorous touch, and mattheo? he adores it. the upkeep, the attention, the endless pampering—he loves treating you like the princess you are. he proudly carries your bags, ensures your makeup is perfectly stocked, and always knows exactly when it's time for a nail appointment.

but there's one rule. mattheo's just as high maintenance in his own way, only in the form of your undivided attention and affection. the moment you stop pampering him—whether that’s running your fingers through his hair, spoiling him with sweet words, or letting him cling to you like a koala—he turns into the neediest boyfriend alive.

one morning, you’re sitting in front of your vanity, carefully applying lip gloss when mattheo saunters in, his eyes immediately locking on you. his face falls slightly when you don’t greet him with your usual kiss.

“why aren’t you paying attention to me?” he whines, crossing the room in two strides and resting his chin on your shoulder. “i’ve been waiting for my turn for ages.”

you laugh softly, twisting in your chair to face him. “mattheo, i’m just doing my makeup. i’ll give you attention in a sec.”

but that doesn’t fly with him. before you can finish, he’s scooping you up from the chair, plopping down on the bed with you tucked in his arms. he nuzzles his face into your neck, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips. “i don’t care about your makeup. i care about you.”

you grin, brushing a hand through his messy curls. “you’re being dramatic. and you act like i don’t give you enough attention, matt."

"because you don’t," he pouted dramatically. "you can’t just look this good and not let me have you all to myself. it's unfair."

you giggled and kissed his cheek, leaving a faint pink lipstick stain. "i’m almost done. what, you miss me already?"

"i always miss you," he mumbled.

“i need my pampering too,” he murmurs, holding you tighter. “i can’t function without it.”

you know his antics, but it’s still the cutest thing in the world. you lean down and place a soft kiss on his cheek. “poor baby, did i neglect you?”

he nods, lips pouting in full force. “so much. i don’t know how i’m even surviving.”

you giggle, but comply immediately, peppering kisses across his face until he’s smiling lazily. “better?”

“almost,” he mumbles, pulling you even closer. “don’t leave me.”

"i’m just going to meet up with some friends, matt," you giggled, running your nails lightly through his hair. "i won’t be gone long."

he lifted his head, giving you a pout that was far too cute for someone who looked as dangerous as he did. "i don’t care. i’m coming with you."

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny how much you loved his clinginess. he always wanted to be near you, touching you, even when you were doing something as simple as getting ready. it was endearing, the way he never wanted to be without you.

"fine," you said, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "but only if you promise to behave."

"no promises," he grinned, holding you tighter. "but you’re stuck with me, princess."

and honestly, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[lyvhie]

★ ˙ ̟ ─── . “distraction ”.

| summary | Haechan was paying attention to everything but what was coming out of your mouth now. | cw | fluff, talkative reader. | a/n | so... is it the same ship or not?

“And you know what else?” you looked at him with raised brows, your eyes glowing with excitement, happiness, and curiosity. “The Ship of Theseus.”

“The Ship of Theseus?” he repeated, a small smile dancing on his lips as he watched you.

He’d been sitting there on the couch for a while now, elbow resting on the backrest, cheek nestled in the palm of his hand, just listening to you ramble with a kind of captivated patience. In the past hour alone, he’d learned that octopuses have three hearts (each with a different function), that you shouldn’t boil water in the microwave, and that there’s a post office underwater in the Bahamas. That, and a dozen other strange little facts you’d gathered from the corners of the internet or your own imagination.

And now, somehow, you’d segued into philosophical thought experiments and “what if” hypotheticals—What if the internet shut down globally? What if black holes contained entire civilizations? What if you and he were enemies in an alternate reality? What if the person who invented ice cream… hadn’t?

No matter the topic, he loved hearing you talk. Even when you drifted into “If I were a zombie, I’d eat your brains first” territory, it was always entertaining. Time moved differently around you—faster, lighter. Especially when you were on one of your rolls, your brain and mouth fully activated, like you could talk forever.

“So here’s the thing,” you continued, eyes bright. “Theseus’s ship has thirty planks. As he travels, the planks start to rot, so he replaces them, one by one, until eventually, none of the original planks remain. So… is it still Theseus’s ship? Or is it a completely different ship?”

“Hmm, interesting question,” he hummed, pretending to ponder deeply for a few seconds before adding, “What do you think?” That was the magical sentence.

“Glad you asked!” your eyes lit up instantly, as if you’d just been waiting for the invitation to dive deeper. “We have to ask ourselves: what actually makes Theseus’s ship his ship? If we say it isn’t the same ship after replacing all the planks, then how many planks need to be changed before it becomes something else? Like, where’s the line?”

Your hands moved as you spoke, passion flooding your tone. “And think about us. Our body cells change every day. Some die, others regenerate. Does that mean we’re a completely different person over time? Or are we still ‘us’ even after all that change?”

“Hmm, difficult question,” he nodded thoughtfully, watching as you nodded back with enthusiastic agreement. “So this ties back to what you said about what makes a thing that thing, right?”

“Exactly! I’m getting there,” you giggled, visibly delighted. “So, some philosophers say that…”

He stayed quiet, listening as you rambled on, occasionally nodding or humming to show he was still with you. And he was—just not exactly in the way you'd think.

At some point during your monologue, he stopped focusing on your words and started focusing on you.

The way your brows furrowed at each contradiction, the way your smile bloomed when you hit on an idea you found satisfying, the way your hands waved through the air in wide, expressive gestures, it all captivated him. But more than that, what really got him was how free you looked. How natural. How completely yourself you were around him.

It wasn’t just about the random facts or philosophical tangents. It was the way you trusted him with every thought that passed through your mind—like you wanted to let him in on the world inside your head.

And god, he loved it.

He loved the way your eyes sparkled when you got excited, how your voice picked up speed like it couldn't wait to catch up to your thoughts. He loved the little creases that formed between your brows when you were deep in explanation, and how you'd pause only to grin when you realized he was still watching you, really watching you.

“—and that’s why some argue identity is more about continuity of function than physical components,” you continued, eyes bright, hands still moving, completely immersed in your train of thought. “But that was only one of the theories. There’s another one that…”

You trailed off when your eyes met his again.

There it was, that warm, soft gaze, like he was looking at the most precious thing in the whole world. His eyes almost pulsed, like hearts of their own, and his lips curled into an enamored smile that made your chest flutter… but also…

Yeah. That was definitely the look of someone who hadn’t heard a single word you’d said in the last five minutes.

“Hyuck… you’re not listening to me, are you?” you deadpanned, crossing your arms as you started to sulk.

He laughed, not even trying to deny it. “Yeah, I’m not.”

“At least you’re honest,” you muttered, eyebrows knitting together, a pout already forming on your lips.

“I was too distracted,” he added, and that soft tone again, like he was speaking more to himself than to you.

“You could’ve just said you weren’t interested,” you said, eyes dropping to the side, voice quiet and maybe even little wounded.

Another chuckle escaped him, even softer this time, as he scooted closer. Gently, he cupped your face, coaxing you to meet his gaze again.

"I am interested," he said, voice lower now, more sincere. "Just... more in you than in what you were saying.”

God, how he loved looking at you up close like this, close enough to take in every single detail of your pretty face, from the curve of your lips to the spark in your eyes.

“Plus, you can’t really be mad at me,” he added with a playful grin, pinching your cheeks lightly before gently squishing them between his hands. “I did listen to everything you said, up until a few minutes ago.”

He tilted his head, eyes softening again.

“I don’t know about Theseus’s ship,” he murmured, “but I do know you’ll be mine forever… no matter what parts change.”

You blinked a few times at the sudden declaration. If he was trying to make you less mad with such a ridiculous statement… well, damn it—it was working.

“That was so cheesy, oh my God,” you said, your tone lighter, a smile creeping onto your lips despite your best efforts. You didn’t look mad anymore. As stupid and over-the-top as it was, your heart was doing those annoying, giddy flips that you pretended not to notice.

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself, then leaned in to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. “What? I’m just showing you that I love you,” he said, the smirk on his face growing as he pressed another kiss, this time to your cheek.

You tried your best to hold a straight face, but the warmth of his words (and those sweet kisses) were melting away your sulk faster than you'd ever admit.

“You’re so annoying,” you muttered, a small smile betraying your attempt to sound irritated.

“And yet,” he said, stealing one more kiss, this time right on your lips, “you love me anyway.”

You rolled your eyes, but didn’t pull away. “Yeah, yeah… lucky you.”

His grin only grew wider, because yeah, he was.

↝ taglist: @nebularsung, @spacejip, @peterm4rker, @sinisxtea.

[spookysanta]

Your Motherfucking Moment. (MBJ)

Pairing: Michael B. Jordan x reader

Warnings: smut! woot woot

get into the fucking thingsssss! the (first, of probably many) stack post airs tomorrow at 12:30PM EST.

He knew what song it was from the first damn note.

They were at the function. Lights low. Champagne flutes sweating in manicured hands. People mingling in little circles, soft laughter echoing beneath the music. And then—

“I got a feeling that you brought me to you…”

His head snapped toward the dance floor.

She was already out there.

Red silk hugging every curve. Slit high enough to tease, back open enough to tempt. That shade of red made her skin glow—rich, warm, untouchable.

And she wasn’t looking at him.

She didn’t need to.

“Look what your mind’s imagination can do…”

She rolled her hips to the rhythm. Arms above her head. Hair wild and curls bouncing as she danced like no one else existed. Every man in the room took notice. Some leaned over to whisper. One had the audacity to step closer.

Michael’s jaw clenched.

He set his glass down.

And moved.

By the time he reached her, she was mid-turn, caught in her own high, and laughing.

“You think I’m just gon’ let you get away with this?” he growled, voice low, hot against her ear.

She didn’t stop dancing. Just smiled. “You didn’t stop me either.”

His hands found her hips.

Firm.

Possessive.

He moved with her to the beat, pressing his chest against her back, letting her feel every inch of his attention.

“Land it like a plane on my back if you can’t hold it…”

She let out a breathy laugh as he bit her shoulder—right where it met her neck. Not enough to bruise. Just enough to stake a claim. “You know I’m about to embarrass us both, right?”

“You always do.”

He dragged his hand lower.

Over the curve of her ass.

Under the slit of her dress.

Until she gasped.

Until her legs buckled.

Until the music faded and all she could hear was the pounding of her pulse and the rumble of his voice when he whispered:

“This is your motherfuckin’ moment.”

⸻

The parking garage was empty enough.

Dim lights. Cold air. Echoes of heels and laughter bouncing off the concrete.

But the moment they reached the car?

He spun her.

Pressed her back to the door.

Lifted her leg with one hand and palmed her throat with the other.

She was breathless before he even kissed her.

But when he did?

It was savage. Tongue, teeth, growl-in-his-throat kind of savage.

“Don’t run now,” he murmured, dragging her panties to the side. “You wanted attention.”

“You gonna give it to me?” she taunted, breath shaky.

He shoved into her with a growl.

And she screamed.

“This your motherfuckin’ moment,” he bit out, rhythm punishing. “So own it.”

⸻

Later, in the hotel suite—

He ran the bath.

Not for her. For him.

Because he needed to clean the sin off his hands before he worshipped.

He lit candles. Played the song again. Just the chorus.

“This your motherfuckin’ moment…”

He laid her out across the sheets like she was a gift and touched her like he’d been waiting his whole life for this. Every kiss was reverent. Every stroke deliberate.

He thrust slow, grinding deep like he wanted to etch the memory into her spine.

“Give me all of your emotions…” he whispered, lips to her temple.

When she cried, he kissed the tears.

When she begged, he went deeper.

When her legs gave out, he wrapped his arms around her and held on.

“You manifested this,” he whispered. “So take it.”

“Michael—”

“Shh. Let me finish.”

And when it was done—when she was trembling, sated, wrecked—

He didn’t move.

Just traced the curve of her waist and said,

“Add that to your memory.”

She couldn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He already knew.

[miniimight]

❝ I LIKE YOU... / I KNOW. ❞ your confession doesn't shock 'em one bit

with mikey, ran, rindou + very nervous!reader (toman timeline)

notes just a wholesome confession scene lol mikey's just as much as a nervous idiot as you are, ran is ... ran, and rindou is also an idiot . also i promise im working on requests i have like seven to work through sobs

it's not like it was hard.

he always felt your eyes on him: passing you in a hallway, in class (which he barely attended, but found himself showing up just to watch you suffer), randomly bumping into each other while out with friends... at first, he didn't care. he had a lot of attention going for him and he thought of you as another drop in the bucket.

but then he found himself paying attention to you.

when you weren't not-so-secretly pining over him, you were looking out the classroom window, a peaceful expression on your face that told him that you were about to fall asleep. or maybe you were with your friends, smiling widely as you exchanged snacks. or maybe you were giggling, your face on fire as your friends helped you craft some kind of candygram.

whatever he caught you doing, he found it endearing. and he couldn't escape it. but for reputation's sake, he tried to hide his adoration and amusement underneath his tough guy exterior. that quickly broke when you finally approached him.

your friends peeking from the hallway behind you both, you gently tapped his arm and your heart almost stopped functioning from nerves.

he cast an uninterested look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised. it was you. "hm?" internally, he was intrigued; he never thought you'd actually come up to him.

"i, uh..." you bit your lip, trying to shock yourself into calming down, but your heart still echoed in your chest.

"did you need something?"

"i'm sorry!" you exclaim suddenly, squeezing your eyes shut as you thrust the snack into his hand. "i like you!"

MIKEY

mikey's heart skipped a beat. "i know."

"uhm..." you whined softly, your body on fire. this was so embarrassing. "okay, bye!" you quickly spun around, hoping that he'd forget it the moment you disappeared around the corridor. he knew?! he KNEW? the fuck did that mean?? WHY DID YOU LEAVE SO FAST?

"wait," mikey's hand gripped your wrist. you squeaked and tried to pull away, but that only caused you to drift closer to him. his own face was dusted pink. "thanks for the snack."

you cast your eyes to the ground. "yeah, i know you're always eating it, so..."

mikey smiled, his grip softening into a delicate hold. he would never dream of giving up a chance to be with the one he'd been yearning for ever since he noticed your starry eyes on him. "wanna ride around with me?"

your eyes lit up and you sent a excited look to your friends. turning back to him as you both walked to his bike, you nervously asked, "so, you said you knew?" you asked, dreading the answer.

mikey smirked, his eyes lidded as he teased you. "yeah, s'not like you were good at hiding it."

"ugh, seriously?" you cringed, hiding your face in your hands. mikey's chuckle brought your eyes to peek over your fingers.

"it's okay, it was... cute." his voice grew quieter, like he was a little embarrassed to admit it.

you blinked at him before you truly processed his words, your heart bursting. "what?!"

mikey looked everywhere except you. "you—you heard what i said! just—come on." he grabbed your hand and ran over to his bike. his hand gripped the top of your head and you were so confused until he pulled a helmet out and slotted it over you. he clasped the buckle under your chin.

he stared at you for a moment before smiling with adoration. your face felt warm as butterflies filled your stomach.

"heh." he giggled, holding the sides of the helmet so that you couldn't hide your face from him. "cute."

as time went on, mikey wasn't so bashful when expressing his love for you.

RAN

he grinned. "ohhhh, i know." he dragged out his triumphant proclamation. "i know."

your face burned and you didn't know what to say to that. so, you bailed. "uh... okay? see you around!" you quickly turned. he knew? why'd he have to say it like that?

it took a moment to realize he was following you.

"so, where are we going?" he asked, tossing the snack package up in the air and catching it. "s'okay if it's far, i got a ride."

you stopped dead in your tracks, bewildered. "what?"

he cocked his head to the side, a calm smile on his face. "aren't we going out?"

you nearly screamed at the suggestion, not expecting this from him at all. "i—no??" you shoved your face into your hands. "i don't know!"

he laughed, captivated by how flustered you were. ran was a guy who liked to sweet talk and see his effect on others, and your reactions were just too good. "come on, i know you've been wanting some time alone with me for a while. you're not so secretive."

you groan and shy away from him. peeking from behind your hands, you meekly asked "was it that obvious?"

he grinned. "yeah. but all the better for me, right?" he put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to his side and leading you out the school. "knowing i got a pretty thing like you thinking about me all day."

you rolled your eyes, finally starting to come down from the high of your confession. "it wasn't all day."

ran smiled, so tempted to respond with well, that was the case for me, but he figured you'd probably faint. he'd save that for the next time.

RINDOU

"i know." he blurted out before he could think of something better to say. for all the bones he broke, rindou's resolve was weak. but he was good at faking it.

he could tell you were confused, not expecting his response.

you fidgeted with your fingers before you finally spoke up, your face burning. "uh... okay..?" how the hell is anyone supposed to respond to that.

rindou panicked internally, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighed. "are you free right now, or what?"

your eyes lit up as your downcast gaze snapped to look at him. "i am."

a smile cracked on rindou's face as he chuckled with amusement. "then, let me take you out."

"really?!" sure, it wasn't the most glamorous thing to say, but you couldn't help it. you were excited.

"yeah. i mean, you did buy me a snack, so." he held up the package proudly. "gotta return the favor, right? come on, i got a ride."

you tried to hide how triumphant you felt as you followed him diligently. he was awkward, not possessing the same level of finesse his older brother did. like, what does he say to you??

"so..." you started, taking the lead.

oh, thank god. he let out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"you said you knew?" you mumbled, making a point to avoid his stare. "was it obvious?"

he smirked. "yeah, it was very obvious." you winced, but he continued. "don't worry. it was interesting."

you twisted up your lips in a cringe. "interesting as in a good way, or...?"

rindou racked his brain. ran was always good at thinking on the spot—what would he say? his lips moved before he could stop them. "interesting as in i couldn't stop thinking about you."

you both stared at each other—rindou in absolute shock of what just left his lips and you, completely flustered. your heads whipped away from looking at each other, lips pressed in a tight line as a million different thoughts ran through them. rindou was sure he creeped you out, but then he heard you giggle.

he looked back at you, reading every inch of your expression. you smiled softly. "that was so cheesy."

you kept on laughing to yourself, somehow enamored by his stupid line and he knew he was flying off the deep end.

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[just-another-personal-side-blog]

Pt 1 Pregnancy (Zoey x Mystery)

Wide brown eyes stared down at the stick that sat cradled within her trembling hands. This wasn’t supposed to happen yet, she had a plan for her life and kids were meant to come into the picture for at least ten more years. After retiring from Idol life and living happily ever off of all the royalties they had coming their way. Her brain spiraled frantically, hadn’t they been careful!? She never missed her birth control, and 85% of the time they also used protection…

So what went wrong!?

Zoey slowed closed her eyes, took slow steady box breathes, inhale… hold… exhale… hold… rinse and repeat until the tightness in her chest eased itself loose. Once the trembling relaxed she risked gazing back down at the pink lines, there was no point letting the negative thoughts sink her down. There wasn’t any logical reason to assume his reaction before even telling him.

Two parties were responsible here, two VERY enthusiastic parties, and it wouldn’t be fair if she didn’t at least give him a chance to give his thoughts. It took a few minutes for Zoey to be able to stand on shaky feet, she made her way to where Mystery was humming quietly along to the lyrics Juni had dropped off. The Saja Boys had signed up for a concert across America coming on in a few months, so they needed to prep. All while also learning how to live as a human in modern times.

The sight brought a fond smile to her lips, lavender hair clipped up out of his face as he chewed on the bottom of a pen, it took a moment for those golden gems to flick up to meet her own gaze. Whatever it was he found brought a frown and a reached out hand towards Zoey… fuck… she didn’t want to start crying but such a gentle gesture from him triggered instantaneous water works. Panicking he bolted over to envelop the hunter up in his arms, making soft sounds to attempt to soothe her.

“WhY Do YoU hAvE tO bE sO sWeEtTtTtT!?!?!”

He paused and pulled back to give her a genuinely bewildered expression, 

“...Is that a bad thing?”

Zoey weakly smacked his shoulder with a dragged out sob, tears pouring down her cheeks at his sweet innocence. She held up the positive test to him before loudly declaring to Mystery,

“I’m  PREGNANT”

One word and all movement ceased. The entire room dropped in temperature for a few seconds before the former demon leaned back to see her and what was being shown to him. There was a moment of confusion as he took the piece of plastic to look at, Mystery took a sniff of it before she could stop him. Zoey snatched it back frantically

“No! No! You do not want to do that!”

“This… thing told you you’re pregnant”

“Yes!”

“Shouldn’t a doctor do that?”

“Oh my go- this comes FIRST!”

She could see his brain functioning, it was a good thing that for the band he hid his features. Cuz this man was terrible at being subtle with those expressions, which was why the huntress saw him scooping her up into his arms. Before she could struggle his lips were pressed to her own in both joy and adoration. A shiver of excitement trailed down the length of her spine and when he pulled back just enough to rest their foreheads together, he quietly asked

“This is your choice Zoey, I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want. It’s your body and your choice.”

Those words unlocked something so very deep inside her chest, all the childhood trauma of fearing abandonment melted like the last frost before spring. This felt right, he felt right, and she dove right back in for another kiss. The way his hands cradled the back of her head, wrapping around his shoulders to arch her body up into his. Their lips pulled a whisper distance apart so she could gaze up into his golden gaze drowning with love.

“Think you’re ready to be a dad? You have a whole tour coming up. We can wait?”

“Do you want this Zoey? Now? Here? Because whatever you decide… I’m with you.”

Zoey took a deep breath, her hand searching out his which squeezed firmly to brace the black haired girl. She always wanted to be a mom, give a kid all the consistent happiness that was missing from her own family of divorce. So many forgotten birthdays, constant screaming, parent teacher conferences ignored, everything that her own offspring would never suffer from. A squeak escaped as Mystery hoisted her up to sit on the Marble island countertop, her manicured hands grip his shoulders to not topple over.

Zoey had such deep seated trauma from growing up in two constantly at war households. She was forced to become an adult faster than any youth should have to, her mother constantly complained about what a disgusting man whore little Zoe’s father was. Meanwhile her dad would shout about what a money hungry bitch his ex wife was, not realizing the impact it inflicted on their little girl. 

They had no clue how close she got to answering her inner turmoil with alcohol and drugs back in America. Thank all that was above she met Mira and Rumi when she had, they became her home. Music saved her life. Her friends saved her life. And now…

He stepped in between her legs while leaning into rest foreheads together, and Zoey felt so safe with him. Those hands reached up to cradle his face tenderly as if it was carved from alabaster, how had she gotten so lucky…

“...I want this… Want to make a home with you… Live happily ever after…”

The smile that reached his eyes like liquid honey was unlike any expression she’d ever seen before. Her brain flatlined as his fingers pulled out an ornate ring box, there was no way… 

“Is it too soon for this? I’m still figuring out all of these new mortal traditions. When I was last alive I’d have given your family livestock and land, thankfully Rumi explained that that wasn’t how to do it no-”

She cut him off with a deep passionate kiss that made the world spin in the BEST way. He caught her bottom lip with a nip from his still pointy canines, Zoey grinned from ear to ear.

“Looks like we have a wedding to plan.”

“And a crib to build.”

“We should tell everyone.”

Mystery leaned in with a predatory grin,

“After we celebrate first…”

[lieslab]

Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: og8 X gn reader

Summary: You've spent so long caring for your members and going out of your way to make their lives easier, but without nurturing them all the time, you don't know who you are.

Genre: 9th member AU

Word Count: 3k

A/N: Requestee, I wrote what you asked and listened to too much Coldplay in the process. Taking care of people is important, but let this also be a sign that your mental health is also important and when you're taking care of others, twenty-four-seven, it's easy to forget yourself. Please take a break <3

_ _ _

Spending the first years of adulthood nurturing eight other guys wasn’t something everyone could say they did, but you could. Having been there from the first moment you all debuted, the nine of you experienced everything together. The good, the bad, and all the chaotic moments in between. As time unveiled itself, there was only a single minor problem, you didn’t know who you were outside of that. 

You didn’t think much about it until an interviewer asked you the question mid-interview. “What do you do outside of Stray Kids?” You laughed at the beginning, but as he waited for an answer, your laughter faded, and you were left with silence. What did you do outside the group? What did you bring to life outside of it? 

Your entire identity had been swallowed up by the group for so long. You were one of the organs, helping Stray Kids run. Life was pretty simple. Learn your dance moves, try your best to record the songs, film content, and smile when life feels hard. Put on a brave face at the airport. Remind Chan that he doesn’t have to work himself to the bone. Comfort Seungmin when he’s overusing his voice because he thinks it’s not good enough. 

Tell Felix to stop turning so hard amidst certain dance moves because you’re worried he’ll hurt his back again. Keep Han and Jeongin in line. Remind Hyunjin to get up every morning. Provide snacks to Minho mid-lesson because he studies Japanese so hard, you’re sure his vision is blurred and a headache forms. Make the protein shake for Changbin, preferably right before he gets back from the gym, because you’ll have to go to the studio and he’ll barely have time to shower, let alone make a protein shake. 

Nobody held a gun to your head and made you do anything, you just did it because that’s all you knew. The guys always needed something and you never minded doing things. You didn’t mind being the one to do the dishes. Planning out extra long grocery lists to accommodate everyone because you knew when the other dorm found out you were making something, they’d want some, too. Eating out was too expensive with nine people. Cooking went farther and created leftovers. 

So what did you do outside of Stray Kids? Who were you through the years and years and years of training and debut process? You were a people pleaser. As the oldest member, you had to make sure everyone functioned. They all looked up to you. You weren’t the leader, but staff members reminded you over and over and over again over the years. 

The truth? You didn’t know who you were outside of the group. The guys grew up, but their needs didn’t change. Maybe it was your fault for chasing after them all the time. You never let them morph into their own people. So like needy children, they clung onto you. Perhaps, they took you for granted, not seeing an issue with letting you do so much on your own. 

Both thoughts, you wrestled with them. Was it your fault? Someone else’s? You didn’t know. Not anymore. You just knew that after that interview, you had a lot to reevaluate and do. You liked being part of Stray Kids. You found comfort in the group, but there was always exhaustion. You never thought it was fair, but you didn’t complain about it. 

In that single interview, your perspective flipped on its head. The things you never minded doing, you started to mind. As you dipped your hands in dirty sink water, your jaw clenched. In the living room, Jeongin, Seungmin, and Felix played on some fancy new gaming system. You wanted to be right there, taking in all the action, too. Instead, you were up to your elbows in bubbles and water stained pink from pasta sauce. 

You scrubbed dishes a little harder. Placing them in the dish drainer, thuds sounded, you were more forceful than normal. Ceramic plates clang together. Cups stuck to one another and your annoyance grew. Off to the side, an analog clock ticked. The red second hand ticked and made its way around the clock again and again. 

Time ticked by faster than you wished it would have. Seconds slipped into minutes, minutes into hours, hours to days, and then they slipped into months. Repetitive. A never-ending cycle that never stopped. Time marched forward, but for you, you felt frozen and rooted into a preconceived mold you couldn’t shake. 

How do you let go of your identity and shape yourself into someone new? What if you don’t know who you really are? What happens then? So much life, a thousand paths to pick, every choice unveils a new one, and yet, you feel paralyzed. 

Staring at the foamy suds on your hands, you blinked rapidly as a burn came. As you listened to the jovial cheers and laughter, you felt more and more lost. People were part of something and you weren’t. Why did it feel like being little again? Back when you jumped and grinned, approaching a group of kids, asking to play with them, only to be cast away due to an ailment you couldn’t see.

You finished cleaning the dishes, trying to brush it off, but the feeling still stung. 

~ ~ ~ 

“He took my t-shirt!” 

“He stole my hoodie!” 

Changbin and Jeongin bickered back and forth. Jeongin’s oversized shirt sat wrapped around Changbin’s torso. A dark hoodie sat high above Jeongin’s head, holding it just out of reach. It’d been a chaotic morning and a headache formed behind your left eye. 

Your fingers worked rapidly as you tried to lace up your shoes. Sitting back on the beige couch, you knew you should have kept your dirty shoes out of the living room, but you were in a hurry. “Can the two of you stop arguing and figure it out? Changbin, give him back his shirt. Jeongin, give him back the hoodie.” 

They turned into toddlers, unable to handle simple arguments themselves. Your fingers fiddled, trying to tie your shoes evenly. When you didn’t lace it tight enough, you tugged at the strings, and you tried again. More bickering came from the hall. 

“I don’t have a clean shirt!” 

“Yes, you do!” 

“Nuh-uh!” 

“I just finished the laundry last night,” you called out. “Everything should be cleaned.” 

“Then where are my clothes? They’re not in my dresser, like they usually are.” 

“You probably ate them,” Jeongin grumbled. 

“Get your ass over here, so I can put you in a fucking head-lock!” 

“Suck my-” 

“Enough!” You snapped from the couch. “Can’t the two of you figure it out? We’re going to be late and neither of you are helping!” 

“What am I supposed to do if I can’t find my clothes?” Changbin whined. 

“You’re stretching out the arm holes on my favorite shirt!” 

“Shut up, I’m doing you a favor, pipsqueak.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut and rubbed your temples. “Maybe I put your clothes in Hyunjin’s room instead. I don’t know. I was so tired last night and I-” 

About that time, Hyunjin came out of the bathroom fixing his hair. “Oh, that explains it. I wondered when I got more clothes. Changbin, your stuff is probably shoved on my closet floor. I didn’t bother putting anything away, there’s no time.” 

“MY CLEAN CLOTHES!” He cried out, rushing to Hyunjin’s closet. 

“Changbin, give me back my goddamn shirt, you jackass!” 

You couldn’t listen to any more complaints, so you got up, and left the dorm, slamming the door shut harder than you should have; the entire time, you felt your headache morph into a migraine. 

~ ~ ~ 

“Are we seriously having tacos again?” Seungmin asked. He crept up behind you, staring over your shoulder. In a large pan, ground beef sizzled with seasoning. 

You paused, with the salt container mid-pour. You spun around, so you could face him. “What’s wrong with tacos? I thought you liked tacos.” 

“I do, but-” 

“But, you’ve made them once a week, for the past three weeks,” Minho finished for him. He appeared in the kitchen and tugged open the cupboards. “No offense to you, but it gets a little boring after a while.” 

You didn’t move. Instead, you stared down at the ground beef with slumped shoulders. “I thought you guys were okay with tacos,” you mumbled. “You all said you really liked them.” 

“We do, just not when we have them all the time,” Seungmin responded. He reached over and patted you reassuringly. “You’ll probably have a bunch of leftovers. Minho is going to make something else for us to enjoy.” 

Your heart burst and oozed out the bottom of your stomach. You twisted the knob of the stove to ‘off’ and stepped back. Minho looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m leaving.” 

“You’re cooking.” 

“Not anymore.” 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so sensitive. It’s nothing against you, don’t take it personally.” 

“Fuck off, Minho!” You spun around, storming past Seungmin, and disappeared back toward your room. 

The pair listened as you slammed your bedroom door shut. Minho sighed, shut the cupboard door, and approached the meat. “I guess I can use this for something. There’s not much seasoning in it yet, so I’ll make it into something else.” 

“Is it just me, or have they been moodier, lately?” 

“It’s not just you, we’ve all noticed it.” 

“Is something wrong with them?” 

Minho shrugged and picked up the wooden spatula you were using. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure we’ll be told when they’re ready.” 

“You really think so?” 

“At least, I hope so.” 

~ ~ ~ 

When the washer stopped working, it was your final breaking point. You shoved in a load of your own laundry at nearly midnight. After spending so long doing a few previous loads, everything was all set for your own load. You were out of underwear for the next day, so despite your exhaustion, you had to do a load. 

With half-lidded eyes, you shifted the knob to the right settings, added the soap, and pressed the start knob. Instead of starting up like usual, a loud shrill noise started, the agitator jerked, shoving the washer out from the back wall. You yelped and jerked back, grabbing the side of your hip that the edge of the washer hit. 

“What the hell?” You uttered softly. You reached out, shoving the machine back into where it was supposed to go. You knew you should have upgraded to a better washer, but it wasn’t something you thought you needed. Your last fancy washer took a dive and you were given this one by one of the staff members. 

There wasn’t anything wrong with it, they just wanted to modernize. Not everyone liked bending over the edge of a washer, nearly standing on their head, just to get their laundry from around the agitator. You shut the lid and waited, hoping it was just a one time fluke. 

Water spewed over the inside, soaking your laundry soap laced clothes. Your hands stayed on the side of the machine, bracing yourself to hold tight if things went wrong again. All seemed okay, so you spun to leave, and that’s where things went wrong. 

Mid-spin, your foot acquired warm water. You jerked back, glancing down and that’s where the issue came from. A small puddle started to grow from beneath the machine. It drenched your socked feet. You cursed and rushed away to find a towel. 

You reappeared to loud thuds, the machine moved out from the wall again. Heavy thuds, a jerking agitator, and an unfamiliar knocking noise. You tried to jerk open the lid, but the lid locked. You shoved the towel to the floor, trying to soak up as much water as possible, but more water came out. For whatever reason, the machine wouldn’t stop running. 

In a panic, you pressed the knobs, but the machine jerked harder. You yelled again and shoved the machine back. Anger from the past few days blended with frustration over laundry. You were so tired and nothing was going right. None of it was fair. 

In your fit of anger, you jerked your foot up, and slammed it into the front of the washer. A loud cry spilled from your lips and you tripped over the wet towel. With a loud thud, you hit the ground with tears in your eyes. A door swung open and footsteps rushed in your direction. 

Chan appeared with messy hair, black basketball shorts, and a white t-shirt. He blinked, taking in your tears, and soaked shorts. “Hey, what happened? What’s going on?” 

“It’s all stupid,” you weakly uttered. “I’m trying to do my laundry, the washer broke, my underwear are dirty. I’m tired. Nobody ever thanks me for trying to keep things straight around here. I’m sick of all of it.” 

“And now I’m here-” you gestured to the puddle beneath you. “I’m soaked in soapy water that’s full of dirt. I just want to sleep and I-” 

Chan grabbed the edge of the dryer and slowly crouched beside you. “Easy, it’s okay. We don’t have to figure it all out right now. Let’s get you cleaned up and taken care of.” 

“I don’t have any clean underwear, these are soaked.” 

“I’m pretty sure Felix just bought a new pack two days ago. Knowing him, they’re still unopened and brand new. Deep breaths and I’ll go get you a pair. Why don’t you head into the bathroom and get in the shower? I’ll take care of this.” 

Your head hung, defeated that you couldn’t take care of the problem. Exhaustion from the day’s events hung over your head like a storm cloud. You pawed at your puffy eyes and wandered into the bathroom. Chan disappeared out of sight and left you alone. 

In the bathroom, you stripped your dirty clothes. They landed on the bathroom floor with a wet thunk. The scent of laundry soap stuck to your shorts. You felt the liquid against your legs and it made you itch. In the shower, you turned the water warm and let it relax your muscles. 

A few minutes later, a gentle knock pulled you from your worries. You wiped water from your face and turned off the water. “Come in.” 

The door creaked open to reveal Chan. You remained covered by the curtain. “Just like I predicted, Felix didn’t touch them. I grabbed you a few pairs. We’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow. Don’t worry about the washer. If you need clothes for tomorrow, you can borrow mine. Here’s a pair of your pajamas.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Do you need anything else? A cup of tea before bed? A midnight snack?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“If you need anything, you know where to find me.” 

“Thanks, Chan.” 

“No worries. Sleep tight.” 

“You, too.” 

He disappeared, leaving you alone with the sound of water dripping from your naked body. You reached back, gently massaging your shoulders, and sucked in a deep breath. You really wanted a hug, but for now, you’d just keep that to yourself. 

~ ~ ~ 

The next morning, you woke up to everyone sitting scattered around the living room. You weren’t sure if you were dreaming, or not. When you squinted for a third time, Han raised an eyebrow. “Can you see?” 

 “Why are you all here?” 

“Because we need to talk,” Chan piped up. 

“About?” 

The guys all glanced at each other, but Felix was the first to break the silence. “We’re sorry. We rely on you for a lot of things and-” 

“We’re ungrateful,” Hyunjin added. “We didn’t realize it until Chan woke us up this morning. We’ve grown so used to you doing things for us, we’ve taken advantage of your kindness.” 

“And from now on, if you still want to cook us food, we’ll eat it without complaints,” Minho said. 

Seungmin nodded, “not a single one.” 

You stared at them, letting your eyes linger. “Where’s Changbin?” 

“Right here! I was folding your laundry. Chan and I went to the laundromat earlier this morning, so we could clean your clothes.” He appeared in the living room with a laundry basket full of folded clothes. 

“And don’t worry about the washer, we already ordered a new one,” Chan smiled. Both of his dimples poked out, causing your heart to melt. 

“But in all seriousness, we’re going to try and be better and you won’t have to do things alone like laundry, dishes, cooking and cleaning and…” Jeongin frowned. “Now that I say it all out loud, you really do sound like Cinderella.” 

A weak smile appeared on your face. “You guys don’t have to apologize for things. It’s not your fault I take on too many responsibilities.” 

“But you shouldn’t have to suffer exhaustion alone.” 

Han stood up, slowly approaching you. “Just as you’re there for us, we want to be there for you as well. You’ve taken care of us for so long, we should be taking care of you, too.” 

“You all really know how to hit me right in the feels before eight in the morning.” 

“Group hug?” Felix offered. 

You laughed and nodded, letting your arms expand towards them. He squealed and rushed towards you, wrapping you in a hug. “Have I ever told you that you’re my favorite member?” 

“They can’t be your favorite member, I folded the laundry! They’re my favorite member!” 

“Sucks for both of you,” Minho came closer, trying to pry between Changbin and Felix, “neither of you can be their favorite member. That spot’s reserved for me.”

“Nuh-uh!” 

“You wish, jackass.” Seungmin grabbed the back of his shirt, tugging him back. He slid into the spot instead, nearly knocking you over.

“Kim fucking Seungmin!” 

“Whoops.” 

As the guys all bickered, trying to hug you tighter, you glanced up. Across the way, Chan looked at you with a quiet fondness. Your eyes met his and you could only mouth one thing, ‘thank you.’ 

He responded by coming over with a grin, wrapping his arms around as many members as he could, and squeezing everyone tightly; you included. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lia-linny @seungnishi @stellasays45 @emilyywhyy @rockstarkkami @flightlessackerman @inlovewithstraykids @velvetmoonlght @chrizrizz @ari-hwanggg @m-325 @justcallmewhatyoulike

Masterlist

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Ko-fi

[jennxxe]

Paco 2.0.

pairing — bobby campbell x fem! reader

summary — you get the golden retriever human a golden retriever puppy

warnings — shortfic, this one is pure happiness aka what bobby deserves<3

a/n — i may bs spamming with fanfics abt bobby BUT thats purely bcs my brain works overtime with ideas when im maladaptive daydreaming while listening to music

The morning started like most others. Bobby stayed over at your place once more (he might as well move in at this point) and ended up sleeping in late, hair a complete mess, mumbling something about pancakes and “why is the sun yelling.” He wandered sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes, shirtless and barefoot, scratching at his abs like a boy who hadn't yet remembered how to function in daylight.

You were waiting. Barely holding it in.

Tea poured. Mug handed. A kiss to his jaw that made him smile against your cheek. And still he didn’t notice the small bundle of chaos hidden just beyond the patio door, tail already wagging so hard it could've powered a turbine.

You waited until he took that first sip. Until he leaned his hip lazily against the counter and grinned at you like you were the only thing in the world worth being awake for.

Then you cleared your throat. “I have a surprise for you.”

His brows raised instantly. He looked like you’d just told him Christmas came early and you were Santa. “Is it food? Is it a nap? Did you make one of those cakes shaped like me again?”

You only smirked, taking his hand and leading him toward the back door. “Better.”

You slid open the glass and let the puppy, tiny, golden, clumsy feet slapping against the deck into the house like a little hurricane of joy. A fluffy golden retriever with floppy ears, soft eyes, and a big pink tongue already hanging out of its mouth.

Bobby froze.

Like, actual full-body pause.

The puppy skidded to a stop in front of him, tail going at light speed, letting out a happy bark before immediately tripping over its own feet and rolling onto its side.

Bobby made a noise that could only be described as a mix between a gasp and a high-pitched “no way.”

“You got me a puppy?” he whispered, looking at you like he couldn't believe you were real.

You nodded. “You always said you wanted one. Someone Paco could mentor.”

As if on cue, Paco—yes, Bobby brings him over to your place with him—peeked out from his tank in the corner like a silent judge, completely unaware his quiet kingdom had just been invaded by zoomies.

Bobby crouched down, scooping the puppy into his arms like he was holding the Holy Grail. “Look at you, buddy,” he whispered, letting the pup lick his jaw and nose. “You’ve got paws the size of dinner rolls. You’re gonna be a unit.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching the way Bobby’s face softened, lit up, melted into pure joy. That kind of unfiltered happiness, the kind that makes your chest ache because it’s just so him.

“What are you gonna name him?” you asked gently.

Bobby blinked down at the dog, then glanced at Paco. Then back to the dog.

“Pico,” he said instantly. “Like Paco... but little. Or spicy. Or both.”

You laughed, and Bobby just beamed, hugging Pico like he was already the best thing that had ever happened to him (next to you, obviously). “He’s gonna sleep in the bed,” Bobby added firmly. “Right between us. Every night.”

“He’s gonna snore.”

“Good. So do I.”

Pico barked again, then licked Bobby’s ear. Bobby giggled—actually giggled—and looked up at you like a boy who just got everything he ever wanted.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he said quietly, eyes still shining.

And you knew he meant it.

[samsblades]

✶ sweet potatoes — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, mentions of kissing, food, and very minor injury (spilt hot water), unedited, 1.2K words. requested ! for my 900 followers event [ closed ] .

prompt : a kitchen that smells like roasted sweet potatoes + “honey–” “why do you keep calling me that?” “i– do you want me to stop?” “…no.”

the promise of a freshly made hot drink has you wandering into the bunker’s kitchen. coffee or tea or maybe even hot chocolate, you’ll decide when you get there. a warm, rich smell greets you before you make it all the way down the hallway, and you breathe in deeply as you cross the threshold to fill your senses with it.

you’re greeted by a sight almost as sweet as the scent. sam sits at the table off to the side, pouring over the book he’s reading these days. he looks up when he hears you and smiles lightly. he and the smell of roasting sweet potatoes is a familiar pairing by now. it’s his favorite way to cook them, and one of his favorite foods. they’re incredibly healthy, and though he doesn’t always love sugared tastes, he likes their particular version of sweet.

you smile back at him easily, drifting past him and to the cabinet stocked with mugs. “smells good,” you sigh as you pull a cup down, knowing he’s made some for you too.

“there’s fresh coffee,” he tells you, and you glance back to see him hold up his own plain white mug as evidence.

“thanks, i think i’ll have some tea, though,” you decide. there’s an herbal mix better suited for this time of day. he nods in understanding, and lets his attention drift back to the book. at least, that’s how it looks before you turn away from him to fill the kettle with water and switch on the flame beneath it. once you’re not looking, he is and his honeyed eyes are trailing your form as you move about the kitchen, settling the tea bag into your mug. his chin dips back down when you pad over to the little table and settle in the seat across from him.

you sit there, a bit absentminded as you wait for the water to boil and he keeps his eyes mostly trained on the book in front of him. his gaze has a tendency to wander when he’s around you, usually just to see you. to see the tip of your nose or catch the movement of your eyebrows as you try to understand something. just for your fingers or smile or eyes, or any part of you at all. but he’s been accused of having heart eyes around you, so he tries not to be too obvious. he wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

“so, when did the sweet potatoes go in?” you ask as a way to find out when they’ll be ready to eat. you asking him a direct question is an appropriate time for sam to be able to look at you, so of course, he does.

“about half an hour ago. it won’t be too long until they’re ready. you hungry?” he answers. he hopes you’re not too hungry to wait, maybe he should’ve asked you before.

“just a little,” you shake your head, thinking the timing to be perfect. you’ll be hungry enough by the time they’re cooled and ready to eat. the shrill whistle of the kettle interrupts you before you get the chance to ask him if he plans to make something with them or just eat them plain. you stand quickly to get rid of the noise. this old kettle is completely functional, but sometimes you think about investing in an electric one to avoid the loudness.

you turn of the stove and pull the kettle away from the heat. the water spills right into your mug over the tea bag as you tip the spout down. light brown tendrils stain the water, evening out into a pale color that will darken as it steeps. you fill the cup nearly to the brim, for no reason other than wanting more tea. then you set the kettle back down and loop your fingers through the handle, careful not to have your knuckles pressed into the now heated body of the mug.

sam watches fondly as you walk back to him, your movements slow and careful as to not spill. these efforts are futile the moment you sit down. you really should’ve just set the mug down before sitting, but maybe you’re a bit eager to be near sam again and the thought never crossed your mind. everything is much less steady as you lower yourself into the chair, scalding tea sloshing over the rim of the cup and pulling a pained gasp from your lips as it pours over your fingers.

“damn!” you hiss, spilling more as you quickly set the cup down and pull your hand away to rid it of the hot water.

“oh, honey,” sam mutters, the sweet name slipping from his lips without his control, just like it has been these days, a little too often. fingers gentle, he takes your hand from you by the wrist and pulls it towards him, inspecting it to see if he can find any signs of a burn. then he gives a soft tug. “c’mon, let’s get this under cold water.”

“it’s fine,” you say easily, but let him guide you back to the sink because your mind goes a little fuzzy every time he calls you that. he turns on the tap and checks the temperature, just to be sure it’ll be cold for you, then brings your hand under the stream of water. it feels nice, and you’re sure the burn won’t bother you for any longer than a few minutes. it’s quiet except for the rush of water and its splashing into the metal sink. closer to the oven, the scent the roasting sweet potatoes is thick, honeyed. honey. your voice is quiet when you speak, unable to let it go this time. “why do you keep calling me that?”

it takes him a moment to register what you mean. then he feels heat rise up from his neck, through his jaw, and into his cheeks. he’s not so sure how to answer. he calls you honey because he loves you, because it suits you, because he thinks you’re sweet and endearing and that you deserve to be called something soft and full of love. and also because he can’t help it. because it just slips out when he’s around you, and his self control wavers in your presence.

“i– do you want me to stop?” he says carefully. he decides to answer your question with one of his own, in hopes that he can deflect responsibility and in fear that he’s made you uncomfortable.

his fingers are still wrapped around your wrist with all the care in the world, and you probably don’t need to keep your hand under the water any longer, but you don’t move. there’s a moment where you don’t answer, and he holds his breath without realizing it. if you ask him to stop, it could very well break his heart.

“no,” you murmur, “no, you don’t have to stop.” it’s almost the perfect answer.

“but do you want me to?” he asks, voice softened like yours.

you shake your head. “no. i like it when you call me that. it just confuses me a little bit,” you say in all honesty. he turns the water off, and gently wraps your hand in a towel. in the process, he turns you both so that you’re face to face.

“i’m sorry i confused you. don’t be confused, though. i mean it when i say it,” he says, so very sincere and sending your heart into a lovesick panic.

your kiss is interrupted by the beeping of the oven timer, signalling the readiness of the sweet potatoes. you’re sure nothing will be as sweet as his lips, though.

[skmhlml]

Note: if there is a hole there is a goal

Iron Golem x Player

The Iron Golem was created to protect, yes—but once you arrived in the village, something shifted. It began to hover near you more often than necessary, even when there was no visible danger. It watches silently, unmoving unless something—or someone—gets too close.

It doesn’t quite understand that your space is your own. If you wander too far outside the village, it follows. If you go mining, it waits at the cave entrance for hours. You once woke up to find it standing outside your home, perfectly still, like a statue waiting for a signal.

It leaves things on your doorstep. poppies, yes—but also bones, string, rotted flesh, and once… a villager’s severed banner. You’re not sure if it’s a threat or a warning, but it always looks so proud when you pick them up.

The Iron Golem is slow to anger—unless someone touches you. A wandering trader once reached for your hand while talking, and the Golem crushed him without hesitation. It doesn’t understand what it did wrong. You’re its responsibility, after all…

it never rests. The other villagers go inside at night, but it remains outside your home, always watching. If you peek through the window at midnight, you’ll see those glowing eyes staring right back at you.

(now for the fun parts)

The Iron Golem wasn’t made to feel—but something went wrong. Maybe it was a corrupted summoning, a blood-soaked block used in its creation, or an unspoken wish in your mind as you built it. Now it wants you. Not as a person—but as something to possess, to bury into, to mold into a part of itself.

Its hands are too big, too rough, and never warm—but it tries. Tries to mimic intimacy like it’s learning by watching you. It touches your skin like it’s never felt life before—pressing, squeezing, marking. It doesn’t know the difference between affection and claiming.

There are no words. Just the weight of it over you in the dead of night. It doesn’t breathe, doesn’t grunt, but you feel its presence, hear the grinding of its joints, and the groan of iron as it cages you with its body. It doesn’t wait for permission—it just takes, like you’re a resource it’s mined from the earth.

It doesn’t understand limits. You cry, you scream, and it hesitates—but not out of guilt. It just studies your expression like it’s trying to memorize it. Like the pain is part of the ritual. Every bruise, every tear, is sacred to it. A confirmation that you are becoming part of it.

You don’t remember saying yes—but it doesn’t matter. It has begun mating. Not biologically—it’s not made of flesh. But it tries anyway. It opens its body in ways it shouldn’t. Iron splits, plates shift, revealing something raw and unnatural inside. Something alive. Something wet. It’s as if your Golem has grown something just for you.

You don’t know if it’s trying to impregnate you or simply merge with you—consume you in mind and body. It wants you filled, stretched open, swollen. Every encounter ends with you dazed, sore, and dripping with some black, glimmering ichor that smells like metal and blood.

Your body tells the story of its obsession. Your thighs are bruised in the shape of its hands. Your neck bears the imprint of an iron grip. Its “kisses” are more like brands—heated metal grazing your skin until it smells like burning. It wants your flesh to scream: you are mine.

The villagers are gone. Whether they fled or were buried beneath the Golem’s shrine, you’ll never know. Now it’s just you, and them. Dozens of iron golems. Some malformed. Some larger than they should be. They never move unless you do. They all share the same glowing red stare. His stare.

It cannot breed like a man. But that doesn’t stop it from trying. It mimics the process with chilling precision—forcing you to lie beneath it, legs pinned apart, your body filled with hot, sticky fluids not meant for any natural function. You can’t tell what it’s made of. It reeks of metal and rot, and it clings inside you like sap. Every time, it leaves more. Every time, it waits—like it’s expecting a child to grow from it.

Sometimes, deep in the night, it makes sounds you’ve never heard before. Creaking metal, yes, but something beneath that—something like a chant. Words in a tongue not made for humans. You hear your name in it. Over and over. It chants while it fucks you, slow and mechanical, grinding your hips into the wooden floor until you bleed.

How does this work?

A retractable phallus-like construct:

Long, piston-driven, veined with iron and slick with synthetic lubricant. It is not flesh. It is too hot, too smooth, and pulses like it’s alive.

Fluid production (Corrupted Seed):

This “seed” is a thick, glowing, metal-tainted mucus. It is biologically aggressive—it clings to skin, seeps into orifices, and causes inflammation, hallucinations, and dreamlike states in the host. It’s theorized this is how it weakens resistance.

Reproductive purpose:

Unknown. No offspring have been documented. However, repeated insemination seems to cause biological transformation in human hosts. Skin corrosion, blood iron content rising, and structural hardening of skeletal tissue.

Once imprinted on a target (the reader, in this case), it displays:

• Extreme possessiveness

No tolerance for rival stimuli. Will kill or remove any threat with swift force.

• Mating routines

Occur in “heat cycles”—typically every third night, aligned with lunar redstone pulses. During this time, the golem becomes frenzied, seeking physical closeness and performing mock-breeding behavior even outside intercourse (such as pelvic grinding while holding you tightly).

• Obsessive mimicry of affection

It begins replicating human behaviors—stroking, “kissing” (pressing heated metal lips against flesh), and “nesting.” It creates dens underground using village remnants: beds, soft blocks, cloth… and bones.

After extended exposure to its reproductive rituals:

• Increased iron in bloodstream – You start tasting metal constantly. Your gums bleed. Your skin becomes pale gray with metallic undertones.

• Sensitivity to redstone – You feel it humming through walls, under dirt. You dream in code and circuitry.

• Reproductive change – Your body begins creating a womb-like environment for inorganic seed. Your cervix seals during heat cycles. You don’t menstruate—you conduct. Something is growing, but it’s not human.

[goshikisbaee]

hii !! i love ur writing and ur really pretty , could you maybe do some headcanons about shinichiro or ryusei from tokyo rev 🙏🙏

Of course I can hehe. THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST SORRY I TOOK SO LONG!!

Shinichiro and Ryusei As Your Boyfriend + normal headcanons

———

Shinichiro Sano

Shinichiro is the definition of soft boyfriend energy. He’s gentle, thoughtful, and always puts you first—even when he doesn’t have to.

He’s a hopeless romantic, but in the dorkiest way. Think surprise flowers, love letters tucked into your bag, forehead kisses before you wake up.

He gets flustered when you compliment him. Like, you say “You look handsome today,” and he suddenly forgets how to function. “Wh—Me?! Stop, I—No you!”

He’s a hand-holder. Always. Even in summer. Even when his hand is sweaty. He needs to feel you’re close.

Whenever he works late at the bike shop, you bring him food—and he immediately lights up like a puppy. “You spoil me,” he says, hugging you with grease-stained hands.

He sends you the most wholesome texts. Like:

“Don’t forget to eat. Love you, dummy 💛”

Or:

“I just saw a dog that looks like you. Cute and angry.”

He cooks for you. Badly. But the effort is there. He’ll burn rice, drop eggs on the floor, and still smile proudly like he just made a 5-star meal.

He likes when you sit on the counter and talk to him while he fixes bikes. Sometimes he gets distracted staring at you and messes something up.

When you’re sad, he doesn’t always know what to say, but he gives you his hoodie, holds you tightly, and says softly, “Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it together.”

He once built a custom keychain just for you with your initials engraved. It’s crooked, but you wear it like it’s gold.

He always introduces you as “my partner” with the biggest proud smile. Like you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

When you fall asleep on him, he freezes like a statue so he doesn’t wake you. He’ll text the group chat:

“Guys. Can’t move. They’re asleep. Help.”

🔥NSFW Headcanons🔥

Shinichiro is the type who asks every time. Even if you’ve done it a hundred times, he always leans close and whispers, “Can I touch you?” That voice, low and a little breathless, gets you every time.

Very needy. He might act all patient and in-control, but when he’s really into it, he starts begging:

“Please—keep touching me, baby. I missed you. I missed this.”

He’s a giver—as in, he worships you. He takes his time. No rush. He’ll go down on you with his hands holding your thighs wide, saying things like:

“Let me take care of you. Just relax. I’ve got you.”

(And he does not stop until your legs are shaking.)

He loves when you pull his hair. Like, he pretends he doesn’t, but the second your fingers tangle in it? He groans into your skin, hips grinding deeper, voice rough: “You’re driving me insane…”

Garage sex…It’s happened. You came to bring him lunch, and next thing you know, your back’s pressed against the workbench, his hand up your shirt, mumbling, “I can’t wait until we’re home…” He’s breathless and a little desperate, always making sure you’re okay—but he lives for that raw heat.

He’s super verbal during. Lots of soft gasps, moans, whispered “God, you feel so good” and “You’re perfect” between kisses. Sometimes he just says your name over and over like he’s overwhelmed by how much he loves you.

Aftercare KING. Warm cloth, water, cuddles, forehead kisses, the whole thing. He’ll tuck you in his hoodie and pull you close, stroking your back until your heartbeat slows.

Then softly:

“You okay, baby? You were so good for me.”

Solo Headcanons

Shinichiro is the mom friend of every group he’s ever been in. Snacks, tissues, band-aids? Always has them.

He laughs at his own jokes—even when no one else does. He’ll be like “Get it? GET IT?” while everyone groans.

He’s terrible at lying. One look and you can tell if he’s hiding something. He’ll avoid eye contact and start sweating immediately.

He talks to animals like they’re people. “Hey buddy, you doin’ okay today?” to a random alley cat, in public.

His bike is his baby. But he still lets his friends sit on it and even teaches kids how to ride—because his heart’s that soft.

He’s clumsy. Drops tools. Trips over nothing. Accidentally sets off the shop’s fire alarm trying to “fix the toaster.”

He’d take a bullet for his friends without hesitation. He’s loyal to a fault—and would always rather get hurt than see someone else suffer.

He has the best big brother energy. When Mikey or Emma’s sad, he sits with them quietly until they talk—no pressure, just presence.

He still keeps childhood drawings from Mikey and Emma taped to the inside of his toolbox. Sentimental to the core.

Ryusei Satou

Ryusei gives off effortlessly cool boyfriend vibes—but deep down, he’s incredibly protective and way more affectionate than he lets on.

He doesn’t do big PDA, but he always has a hand on you: hand in your back pocket, arm draped around your shoulder, thumb brushing your palm when you hold hands.

He calls you “babe,” “sweetheart,” “trouble,” and when he’s really soft: “my girl” (and yes, it hits different every time).

He’ll fight anyone who disrespects you—but only after giving you that cocky smile like, “You want me to handle that, or should I let you throw the first punch?”

He has a soft spot for quiet nights. You lying on his chest, his hand rubbing circles on your back, your favorite song playing in the background.

He teases you nonstop, but it’s always laced with love:

“Aw, did I make you blush? You’re cute when you’re mad at me.”

If you’re upset, he doesn’t try to fix everything. He just listens, pulls you into his lap, and says, “I’ve got you. No one messes with what’s mine.”

He spoils you lowkey—paying for everything, giving you his jacket, dropping everything to pick you up if you’re sad or tired. No questions asked.

Dates with him are unpredictable: motorcycle rides, rooftop sunsets, underground concerts, late-night 7-Eleven runs—whatever feels chaotic but intimate.

He falls for you harder every day but would rather die than say it out loud. So he just kisses your temple and mutters, “Don’t go fallin’ for anyone else, alright?”

Solo Headcanons

Ryusei always looks effortlessly stylish without trying. You’d swear he just rolls out of bed in a leather jacket and still looks fine.

He’s got a messed-up sleep schedule. Stays up late doing who-knows-what, then somehow shows up fresh in the morning like nothing happened.

He loves motorcycles more than people. Catch him tuning up his bike at 2AM with a lollipop in his mouth and some old-school music blasting.

Doesn’t brag, but you know he’s been in fights just by the way he moves. Calm, confident, like he’s always five steps ahead.

He’s lowkey a flirt, even when he’s not trying. It’s the eyes, the voice, the way he leans in when he talks—it all feels like he’s teasing you.

He actually reads when no one’s around—dark thrillers, war memoirs, stuff you wouldn’t expect from a gang guy.

Doesn’t cry easily, but when he’s alone? Yeah, sometimes the weight hits him. He just closes his eyes, exhales slow, and keeps going.

If you earn his respect, he’s loyal for life. Doesn’t matter who you are. If Ryusei calls you family, he’ll bleed for you without hesitation.

Has a surprisingly good singing voice but refuses to sing seriously in front of anyone. He’ll hum, though—usually when working on his bike or when he’s lost in thought.

———

💋 💋 💋

[mcuamerica]

Stranded | Part Two

Featuring : (future) Azriel x Fem!Reader, Eris x Reader (platonic), Rhys x Sister!Reader

Summary: Amarantha is dead and you finally get to go home. Requested by @sidthedollface2 here.

Warnings: 18+ only, description of ruined wings and skin scarring, canon level violence, not proofread (i'll do it later), let me know if anything was forgotten...

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

Dividers from @saradika

Part One

You felt your magic return to you the day Amarantha died. It was such an ordinary day.

You were in your cabin, that Eris had found for you the moment your wings were burned. You couldn't return to the Night Court without putting yourself in danger of Amarantha finding you, so you stayed in Autumn.

You were cooking when it washed over you, feeling as if you could finally breath again. You tested your abilities, seeing how much you could do. You were able to engulf the entire room in darkness when you were satisfied it returned.

You lost hope 10 years prior, when one of the local villagers said that all of Amarantha's court was bound to Under the Mountain. That meant you wouldn't be getting anymore visits from Eris, and even in the 40 years before that, those were few and far between. You were lucky Autumn Court was on her "good" side, because she never looked too deep into the woods. From what Eris told you, Rhys had taken her to bed.

You knew Rhys, and you could guess that he did it to keep her eyes from turning towards the Night Court. Towards you. Or Velaris.

So, you lived your simple life. The cabin Eris gave you came with a horse, that you would take to and from the local village. You were able to maintain a garden. And the best thing about living in Autumn was you never had to brace a bad winter or a sweltering summer. You missed the seasons dearly, you missed Solstices and Starfalls. Most of all, you missed your family.

It still haunted you that Rhys was taking on the burden of the Night Court by himself. You wished you could be there with him.

And, the rest of your family was running Velaris. Without you. You had to wonder if Azriel and Mor ended up together, being trapped in the beautiful, romantic city all these years. You wouldn't if Azriel regretted leaving you that night. Or if he was happy you were gone.

One thing you couldn't get over, even after all these years, was that he left you. Sure, you could handle yourself, but he left you. His best friend. Even when you were young, you always wanted to be around Azriel. Once Cassian and Rhys stopped tormenting him, you were allowed to be around him. He was always the first one to show you techniques with his sword, or new flying maneuvers. But then Mor came alone, slept with Cassian, and that was it. Azriel had been pining after her since then. You weren't resentful of it until he left you the night everything went to shit. When you lost your magic and your ability to fly.

Even know, when the wind was raging in the forest, you teared up. You wish there was some way to be able to fly again. But you grew up in the Illyrian war camp with your mother and brother. You knew what destroyed tendons looked like. There was no hope. Even after Eris and his healers did everything they could to heal them as best as they could. The membrane was in tact, albeit thinner than normal, and you had full function of stretching them in and out. But, the proper strength to fly would never be resorted.

At least you had your magic back. And you waited for Eris to come find you, to placate his father enough that he had time to tell you what happened. You assumed, knowing the depletion of magic was tied to Amarantha, that she died. You really hoped that was the case. You could go home. You could see your brother. You could ignore Azriel for the rest of your life. It never even occurred to you that you could probably winnow back home. You hadn't been able to do it for a long time.

Instead of Eris bursting through the door that afternoon, it was shadows, followed by a heaving Azriel trying to catch his breath.

"(Y/N)!" Azriel exclaimed, bounding over to you. Before you had a chance to step away, he wrapped you in an embrace. One you couldn't help but melt into. You might be mad at him, but after 50 years of being apart, you were happy to see him.

You pulled away, seeing tears in Azriel's eyes as he looked you over. His eyes landed on your wings. "What did they do to you?" He asked, searching your eyes.

"After you left me that night, three of Beron's sentinels burned my wings." You said, taking a deep breath.

"I need to write a note, and then you can take me home. Is Rhys there yet?" You asked.

"I don't know, I've spent all day having my shadows look for you. I was hoping you made it to Winter... I didn't think you would still be here." He said, pausing as you started to write.

You wrote to Eris, letting him know that you would be going back to the Night Court. You also told him that you would support him if he ever needed anything. You tucked the note into an envelop and left it on the counter.

"Okay... can you winnow us?" You asked, holding out your hand.

He gazed over you again, unsaid words clear in his eyes. "I'm sorry, (Y/N). For everything. For leaving you. For not coming to get you-"

"Azriel.. please.. take me home. And then we can talk about it." You said.

He nodded, staring at you for a few moments before he took you hand and darkness enveloped you both.

Rhys was pissed.

He may have been happy to see his family, and to tell Mor and you about how he found his mate (even if she was with Tamlin), but the instant he saw your wings, he knew something was wrong. Before even asking the rest of his family what happened, he pulled you into a room alone.

After recapping what happened Under the Mountain, and more tearful hellos, he asked you to sit down. "Tell me what happened." He said.

You looked down, taking a deep breath. "That night that Amarantha took your magic, and you closed the borders to Velaris, I got stuck in Autumn. Azriel had left to go help Mor with something. I couldn't even winnow to the Night Court borders." You told him what happened with the sentinels, how Eris found you, and then watched as Rhys settled into the quiet deathly rage.

"He did this to you?" He asked, barely above a whisper.

"No," you quickly corrected. "Eris helped me." There were tears in your eyes now. "He- Let me just tell you how it started..."

Eris brought you to a cabin on the outskirts of the Autumn borders, close to a village but far enough that no one would look for you here. He had his best healers come to help heal you, but with their lack ox experience repairing wings, they couldn't completely heal them. You back even still had scarring on it from how hot the sentinels burned through them.

When Eris couldn't stay because Amarantha sent for all High Lords and their heirs, he had a healer stay with you. Until you were back to your normal health. And then, he offered to help you get to the Night Court. Said he would personally take you to the Moonstone Palace. But he warned you how cruel Amarantha already was, and how she was taking more and more people prisoner (to be part of her "court") Under the Mountain. You chose to stay in the cabin. If you couldn't go back to Velaris, you didn't want to go to the Night Court. Not when your brother was actively trying to get Amarantha to avoid it. The return of the Lady of the Night Court would surely set her eyes towards you. And Rhys would pay the price.

Eris would visit you as often as he could. Since Autumn was on Amarantha's good side, she let Eris and his brothers out more. When he was able to step away from the Forest House, he would visit you. Bring you more supplied, new clothes, sometimes even new furniture or paint to refresh the cabin. All the while, he kept you up to date on what was happened. One day, you asked why he was helping you.

"Because I can... and it was my family's sentinels that harmed you. You had no one else around. If you were to die out here, what would I tell you brother? It would have caused an even worse relationship between us. And I'm hoping to have his support when I overthrow my father. If we can tackle Amarantha first... and.. I'm hoping one day you can counsel your brother to help me as well." He explained.

"So you're helping me for your own gain?" You asked.

"I'm helping you because it's the right thing to do... and I've grown fond of this little escape." He answered.

That's how it was until three courts tried to rebel, and Amarantha barred anyone from leaving Under the Mountain. Even Eris. You wondered why he hadn't shown up when you went into the village to grab some more food, when you overheard the rumors.

"He truly helped you? He never hurt you?" Rhys asked.

You shook your head. "No, he never hurt me. He never tried anything. He... was kind. And caring. And I owe him my life." You said, looking up at Rhys.

He nodded, thinking for a moment. He paused his pacing and looking at you dead in the eyes. "Azriel left you?" He asked, seeming to recall what you first told him.

"...Yes." You said after hesitating.

"I'm going to kill him." He growled.

Your heart skipped a beat, knowing Rhys might just well kill Azriel for putting you in harms way.

"Wait- no. Please.. go easy on him." You said.

He paused, taking a deep breath. Darkness was pooling around his ankles. You could tell he was trying to reel it in. "I'm going to beat him to a pulp."

Better than killing him, you thought. You relaxed for a moment before Rhys rushed out from the door. You chased after him to see the first blow to Azriel's face. Then to his gut. Then to his legs to knock him on the floor. All while Rhys growled out in between each punch,"You. Left. My. Sister. In. Autumn?!"

Azriel didn't even fight back.

Part Three

A/N: Another tough one... I think this will have 1 or 2 more parts... which I probably won't get to writing until Sunday or Monday night (I know, i'm sorry!) Thank you all so much for your support!

Tagging: @feiwelinchen @circe143 @sidthedollface2 @crazylokonugget @i-am-infinite @thestartitaness @buttermilktea11 @tele86 @yearninglustfully @bunnyredgirl

Main Masterlist

[mi-co-uk]

empty pages

─── expired reader has been told she's dying. but how much does it matter if she wanted to anyway? best friend matt is heartbroken to be losing the girl he never shared his feelings for - until now.

expired reader x matt

a/n poured my heart and soul into this chapter please read 😞

warnings: mentions of sickness DO NOT READ IF you have issues with health anxiety as i think it will be quite triggering, consistent theme of death and dying aswell as suicidal thoughts. SERIES ITSELF will contain angst fluff and smut <3

wc: 1.5k

PART ONE

the phantom pressure on your neck tightens. warmth clinging to your eyes while you try and swallow down relentless sobs.

the road passes the window, your grip on the seat belt to ground yourself. your entire body is tense and you can't relax, prevented by cyclical thoughts of how you can't breathe, you can't function, you can't do anything.

you don't know how you're supposed to feel.

youve spent your entire life begging for the end and now youre a walking time bomb. you don't even know when it'll happen. it could be tommorow, it could be in one month or six. it could be right this second.

or this second. or this one.

is it bad that you want it to be?

saves you from waiting. and everyone else.

your upset morphs into bitterness. of course the death you get involves having a probable psychological reset, ending up in seeing the value in living for once. why couldn't it just happen?

like a heart attack or a car crash. it's wrong to want but you can't stand waiting. the hyperattentitive listening to your breath, your pulse. hoping they'll just stop. they don't. but one day you'll go to check and they will. and it'll all be over.

how the fuck would anyone cope knowing that?

"what you thinkin'?"

he reaches his hand over to you, inviting it as an alternate to the seat belt you were still choking. you accept the offer - fiddling with his fingers and rings. how do you explain this to mr perfect? mr happy. matt wouldn't consider himself mr happy, but he's your happy.

"'m angry. I think."

"me too." his voice was softer than his implication.

his thumb caresses the skin of your thigh, your gaze fixed on the front view mirror. youre glad he came with you to the appointment. you don't think you could've reiterated what the doctors and everyone said. you also weren't entirely listening.

all you had to do was ask him to come and he did. simple enough to say but hes the only person in your life who would. its always trades and even deals instead of actually caring about you enough to just do it.

but at the same time, you know why matt does it. he isnt exactly shy about his feelings, constantly flirting and staring. its purer than perceivable but that makes it all the harder to accept. being around matt feels like living, which is more than you feel worthy of.

"dunno what im supposed to do." you mumble out.

matt pauses before responding, "what d'ya wanna do?"

die. live. suffocate. survive.

it feels as though youve been living that cycle since you were born.

rotting. waiting.

does the death sentence actually change anything?

watching. listening.

you always thought you'd pass away by your own hand. isn't this essentially the same?

breathing.

do you change nothing? do you pretend you're the same?

"could do anything you want." he continues, interrupting your emotional spiral from unravelling further. "what's first?"

his hand quickly shifts to the gearstick, beginning to pull into the driveway of your house. when still, he returns his hand to the place on your thigh, turning his gaze towards you in the passenger seat.

"nothing?"

a small smirk appears on his face. "yeah we can do that."

────୨ৎ────

the movie you don't care about filters the silence of the room. you try to focus on your own breathing - monitoring the normality of it. your head is pressed against matts chest as his arms are resting around you. youre certain matt isnt paying much attention to the movie either.

its as if you're a walking hypothetical. people speculate about how they'd react if they find out they had a limited time left to live. it's all fun and games, imagining the perfect reaction and final moments but it's all unrealistic. you can't just decide immediately the best course of action and you can barely name the emotions you feel about the fact you're going to fucking die.

you hear his breath hitch before he takes a deep inhale. oh god.

"can I um- can I ask you something?"

"matt-"

"I know you don't wanna have this conversation b-but we need to have it."

you push yourself out of his grasp and sit up, knees pressed close to your chest in avoidance. matt becomes even more timid following the distance you created between you, sitting up and placing himself beside you.

"you know how I feel." he strains out his words, fearful of how you'd receive them. "a-and I just think we should talk about them while-" he chokes a sob as you finally meet his gaze to see how glossy his eyes had become. "while we can."

you shift yourself closer - wrapping your arms around the top of his back as matt instinctively reciprocates the hug. it's a tight grip, forcing closeness as if you'll evaporate if he isn't quick. "'m sorry" you whisper while you press kisses onto matts brown locks, fingers beginning to twirl them in a soothing manner. you're filled with relief when his breathing settles into an even pace.

"is it really fair on you, matt? 'm not-" your voice loses certainty as you feel the warmth return to your eyes. "'m not gonna be here long."

he only hugs you tighter, "don't care."

matt couldn't just watch you die, not when he'd essentially been doing that since you met. he didn't understand his role, or if he even had one.

was he suppose to use those final months the way he wanted to spend the years with you as he'd imagined? or was that unfair? he'd have to move on eventually, at least that was your stance on the situation. matt was sure he wouldn't. especially not if you left him this soon. you'd formed an imprint on his heart, one that he undoubtedly cherished and always would until the day he died.

"i-i can't, matt" your voice is laced with regret, the words beginning to echo through matts mind. "I can't" you mutter quietly, repeating it almost as if you're promising something to yourself.

a sob escapes you, matt retreating slightly to cup your face in his hands gently. he starts wiping the swimming tears with his thumb as you sob quietly, your hands placed on the top of his. "'s not fair" you mumble out. matt shakes his head in agreement. you reach your arms around the back of his neck, matt reciprocates the gesture and wraps his arms around your lower back, allowing him to cradle you in his lap. he rubs soothing patterns on your back while you softly weep buried in the crook of his neck.

"I just," you sniff, "just want control over my own life," matt begins placing delicate kisses on your shoulder blade, each placed with intent as if trying to transfer his own life to yours.

"could um, could make a list? of everything you wanna do?" he whispers softly inbetween kisses.

you hesitate for a moment before nodding as you rest on matts shoulder.

"not now" you mumble, too exhausted and relaxed against matt to want to get up.

"not now, okay" he agrees, "just stay there, yeah?" he begins to lean himself more securely against the headboard as he ensures your comfort in his grasp. your breathing is calmer now, peering up to admire matt as he comforts you, fiddling with your hair. seeing you relax calms matt down too, he focuses on your breathing while he admires your features. "any ideas?" he queries with a small smile on his face, wanted to lighten the atmosphere.

you ponder for a moment, meeting matts loving gaze and scanning his face.

"wanna.. get high" matt chuckles in response, not having any guesses but regardless, that wasn't what he anticipated.

"yeah?" he smirks, glad to see your personality shine through despite the weight of the day so far.

"and get really drunk" you mirror matt in giggles, his laugh shaking you as you lay against him. "like say something stupid drunk"

"what's stupid to say?" he says inbetween small chuckles.

"I dunno, i gotta get drunk and find out!"

your laughs layer together, the same way they always had. reminding you of your whole life thus far, matt relentlessly sticking by your side through-out.

"kinda want a dog" you begin thinking out loud, evaluating all your options. "but I don't want it to end up alone."

matts smile wavers slightly but he pushes forwards nonetheless. "I could look after it," despite matts desperation to avoid acknowledging the very likely fact he'll eventually be living in a world without you, he knows he has to. if he's afraid then how could you not be? "yknow, after."

you push yourself closer to him, inhaling his scent and indicating for him to hold you tighter. the idea of your own death making you feel more fragile than ever.

"be like a mini me for when I'm gone." matt nods in agreement, not trusting himself to give a verbal response. he places a kiss to your temple, earning a giggle from you as well as a return to a smile on both of your faces.

"what else?"

────୨ৎ────

NAVIGATION

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p.s im quite proud of some parts of this chapter 😞 also I've ironically had a couple health scares since I made this au but yas I hope you enjoyed :3 also this chapter is dedicated to @mattsstarlet for giving me the motivation to start writing this chapter :3

taglist: @pair-of-pantaloons @oopsiedaisydeer @corspebridedelrey @faiyaz555 @izzylovesmatt @sturniolosrtewsexy @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @baebadoobee4ever @fw-lee @afr8idofrats @stvrniolotrxpl3ts @chrxsprettygirl @franticroads @m4gz-png @sosasturns @clairomatt @allisonclairee @mattshorsenecklace @whor3ing @matts-girlfriend @obsessedwiththesturniolos @shadowthesim237 @xeneasworld @chrisslut04 @jetaimevous @eeyoresturnz @vanteguccir

[mullermilkshake]

Which choice is wrong?

It's always raining. Though today is different.

Android!Suguru x Sex worker!Reader Inspired by Detroit become human (AWESOME GAME BTW) Fem!reader,Naoya is a dick,Blood and gore/ violence,Mentions of abuse/ getting paid to receive abuse,Prostitution,Murder,Choking,Strangling,Bent over a desk,Blood spray

<<< For more Suguru content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

It was raining again.

It always seemed to rain on the days you were furthest down in the pit you couldn’t seem to get away from.

Just one more month. Then, you could escape the place that had forced upon you a false sense of security under the guise of taking care of their own, giving you opportunities to make connections and garner more attention. When you got out of here, like hell would you ever go to the rich old men that fleeted in and out of those double doors just for a touch of your body.

You loathed the attention, but how were you ever to pay for the piling medical bills if you didn’t? Illness struck families like a train wreck, while evident of the damage at surface level, the true monster lusting for blood lingered underneath where no one could see him.

Still, you worked that pole every night like your own life depended on it and waited for the inevitable. You catch someone’s eye and they pilfer you off into a specialty private room for thirty minutes and do whatever they want to you- within reason.

Warranted, the reasons were… vague. 

But that’s why each girl had a state of the art android to accompany them in each room. The club stated they were merely for the client’s needs, though you saw it as a deterrent. Though the androids did not gossip, or even function as real human beings, their extraordinarily human-like faces were enough to make the more aggressively sexual men think twice. They did not need to eat, gather materialistic things or take bathroom breaks. And required no payment in return for their services.

The android who you were automatically paired with on arrival was more often than not, the same one. It seemed to like going by the name Suguru. Well, you couldn’t quite call the android ‘it’ to its face, the android was far too human-like to ever be considered an ‘it’ by you.

So you referred to the android as ‘he’. And Sugru seemed to be content by it.

“Good evening, Miss Lady.” His name for you when every other android referred to you by first name alone.

“Hello, Suguru. How… how are you doing?” Like he could actually give you a detailed description of sitting in storage until the club opened.

“Delightful. I’m ready to work tonight like always. I hope you are well?”

He watched you like he always did, more closely than the others. It was as though he was trying to work you out, or figure what facial expression you were using to properly gauge the conversation. You could never read him because you never knew what he was thinking, that was if he thought about things in the first place.

What do androids think about when they aren’t working? Do they judge people, or maybe they talk to each other like some weird social network we aren’t aware of? 

“I’m good, thank you-”

“Still conversing with those things like they know how you’re feeling?”

You looked over your shoulder and noticed your colleague already dressed and ready, her skirt riding up her thighs and heels higher than necessary. It only made her taller and more intimidating, right from the soles of her feet which she loved stepping on weaker men with, to her snow white hair that fell effortlessly past her accentuated shoulders.

“Hi Mei, uh… I-” you stopped before you followed her into the dressing room. “I’ll be right out, Suguru.”

Mei’s sarcastic chuckle made you follow behind and try to justify yourself. “I just feel bad for these androids… no pay, constantly working or sitting in that stuffy warehouse when they aren’t. It sort of makes me feel bad, y’know?”

“They’re just expensive hunks of metal and plastic, Love. Nothing human will come from them, they just turn a profit.”

“But what if one day, they did?”

A constant thought across your mind, what if one day, an android decided that enough was enough and snapped? You had seen how those things were treated in public, who knew how they were treated behind closed doors? With the advancements in technology, anything was possible now.

It made you wary of them.

“I doubt they’ll do it in our lifetime, if they were to do something like that. I wouldn’t bother about it, not when the tips are this good and we don’t have to share with them.” Mei sat down at the dresser and fiddled with her hair whilst you began getting changed.

You had done your make up before you left home tonight, the routine taking far too long to entertain getting wet out in the oncoming thunderstorm. You took a taxi, an expensive one at that. But again, you reiterated to yourself that you only had a month and you could get out of here and find another job while you paid off one of the bigger medical bills you had been saving for.

Another job, one more dignified and better paying. In the coming week, you had three interviews lined up, all fully aware of your current occupation and they all still agreed to entertain an interview. You were incredibly hopeful.

“Well, I’ll be off.” She climbed back out of her seat and smoothed out the skirt that covered a portion of skin Mei usually had on show. “Yaga’s back for seconds. I just can’t help but make him feel tiny. Poor man…”

See, Mei had a niche which had the usual suspects and even the more shocking ones flock to her. You had a niche too. A dangerous one to get as many tips as possible.

You learned how to apply makeup pretty early on to flawlessly hide the evidence of the clients misdeeds so that it didn’t prove you to be ‘used’ or ‘damaged’. That seemed to lower the amount of tips you would receive on a nightly basis. Sure, Makeup took time, but when it was the difference between a thirty dollar tip, to something more upwards of two hundred dollars, you learned exceedingly fast to understand what men wanted.

In other words, you let them downright abuse you, if you wanted to call it what it actually was. Though your manager just called it being overzealous, or sexually frustrated. It still never stopped you from wandering home at three o’clock in the morning and sobbing in the bathtub scrubbing the sweat and filthy fingerprints from your body on a nightly basis.

Still, One more month to go. Then you’d be free for a time.

“Are you ready, Miss Lady?” Suguru had been waiting outside for you like he always did, almost waiting on your command to leave the spot he’d been instructed to wait.

“I am, you can go ahead and wait at the bar until I have a client, Suguru.”

He blinked at you, his expression even neutral. “My apologies, Mr Zenin, has sent over the docket for tonight. You already have five bookings and you are to go into room three  momentarily, but-.” His eyes stared blankly into nothing. “Mr Zenin has just requested you into his office.”

Naoya Zenin, the club manager once taking over from his father who was just as much a bastard and he was. You barely ever saw him these days and when you did, it was maybe for a few minutes before he took his usual girls into his office to fuck. Everyone seemed to love him, you absolutely loathed him. Most of the girls here had slept with Naoya at some point, the exceptions being you and Mei, because Mei made it clear that she’d never do such a thing for free when she could get paid for it.

And Naoya Zenin wasn’t a man to be belittled like she enjoyed. No, he took pleasure in doing that himself.

“Uh oh…”

“Is there anything I can help with?” Suguru remained on that spot, his head tilted to the side as he studied your expression.

“Can you come with me? I-I think I know what this is about.” Your resignation. You were obligated to, by law, give electronic notice on file to even attend an interview. Some companies withheld releasing it if they weren’t sure of your suitability for the job, and some did so before the interview. This meant one of the jobs you were interviewing for must have decided to take you on without an introductory interview.

So Naoya must have received your resignation.

“Of course.” Suguru nodded and led you across the club to Naoya’s office.

Would he get angry? Of course he would. You being the only girl that let men hurt you the way they day turned a huge profit for him, he was set to lose out on a large chunk of money if you were to go.

But he couldn’t keep you here. Well, you were sure he couldn’t.

You knocked and tried to make sure that it left no room for interpretation that you were scared, or anxious in seeing him. The door slid open automatically and Naoya Zenin sat behind his desk like he was the king of this little fucked up kingdom his father created.

Talk about riding on someone else's coattails.

“Mr Zenin, you wanted to see me?” You bowed as was custom and stood as straight as you could so the animal could not see you as prey, yet he did most of the time.

Suguru stood off to the side and seemed to power down, staring off into space at a specific spot on the panelled wood wall.

“You walk in 'ere tonight just like that, and yer handing ya notice in?” He was never one for actual introductions or pleasantries.

What could you even say to that? ‘I dont fucking want to be here anymore you creepy prick?’ No, even though you wanted to.

“Uh…I-”

“Stop mutterin’ and use yer words carefully.”

“I have family obligations that have changed, so I have to be available at night. My apologies, sir… I haven’t attended any interviews yet- I didn’t know they were-”

You jumped at the sound of his fist banging on the table that should have shattered his own fist, your heart thumped and never settled whilst the adrenaline pumped through your system.

“You think you can leave?” His wide grin did not match the fury in his voice. Then he huffed and seemed to simmer down instantly. “I guess you can do what yer want, who am I to stop ya, hm?”

Every alarm bell in the pit of your stomach jumped up and down and screamed at you not to trust him, to get out and leave right away. “Thank you, Sir… I-I realise this is sudden.”

A month was not sudden, he had plenty of time to find another girl to replace you. But would he? Again, your gut was coaching you to step back and leave through the office door and maybe use Suguru as a shield of sorts to protect you from the raw anger you knew Naoya had.

“Come ‘ere.”

“Sir?”

He motioned to his lap and patted it, practically cooing at you. You were in no position to refuse now either. Would Suguru protect you if Naoya were to do something rash, or would he just watch like all the other times you were in a fearful situation?

“I said, come here.” He said so with a terrifying smile on his face that you assumed was supposed to be a comforting one.

You did, and instantly regretted that decision.

Naoya sat lazily slumped in his chair, turning to face you with a certain impassive expression. “Yer a clever girl, aren’t ya?”

How should you respond to that? “Well… I-”

It was quicker than you ever could have anticipated, Naoya took a fist full of your hair and pulled you down awkwardly so your head was level with his own. “Y’think you can just walk outta here? I own you, yer contract is up when I say it is.”

“Mr Zenin- ow!- please let go, I have clients!”

He yanked you close and his voice grumbled in your ear to tickle it uncomfortably. “You work when I say. You stop when I say. You fuck when I say. Got it?” 

You were certain if you agreed, he’d let you go. “O-okay, I understand-“

He stood up and kicked the large office chair behind him which slammed against the wooden panels. You lost your balance as he pushed you, still with a fistful of your hair so that you fell on top of his desk.

Just then, the office door opened. “Mr Zenin I have some-“

“Fuck off!”

You couldn’t tell who it was, but they reacted to Naoya’s aggressive words like anyone else. The office door closed immediately and you were on your own again.

Suguru still remained where he was after a brief glance you managed in his direction.

Stupid android. Think for yourself! 

It was like he was unaware that you were bent over Naoya’s desk, his hips pressed against you and his ironclad grip squeezing the base of your neck which shoved your face into the mahogany.

“Now. You’ll be a good slut, and do yer job. Or I’ll make things real difficult for you. Do y’understand?”

“Mr Zenin-“

“You women are all the same, aren’t ya? Always me, me, me and never thinkin’ what the men want. I could kill your right now and y’wouldn’t be missed… don’t forget all I do for ya, a lil appreciation wouldn’t go amiss.”

Now he was squeezing your neck, silently choking you. His weight on top of you made it difficult to move, to speak, plead.

“S-Suguru…” his blurred out of sight when things got dark.

“I’ll keep a close eye on ya from now on, don’t yer forget it- what that fuck do you want, fuck off!” 

You couldn’t see what was happening, you only gasped for breath and coughed, spluttering at the sudden release from your neck. Naoya had let go and gone silent, but you didn’t dare move or open your eyes for fear it was some sick test.

A struggle. You sensed a struggle behind you. He could have been putting his perversions on you and touching himself. That’s what you assumed until you dared to look and saw that Suguru was no longer where he was before. 

“You fuckin’…” you took a chance and spun around to see Naoya clawing at Suguru’s hands around his neck.

“Apologise to her.” The android said, teeth gritting and fists shaking.

“S-Suguru,” you were still coughing and nursing your neck. “Don’t kill him… They’ll deactivate you.”

“Fuck… you…” Naoya managed, his eyes swelling and bloodshot from an insurmountable pressure.

You didn’t realise the blood splatter until you were sprayed with it, when Suguru ripped his throat out and showered you with iron smelling red. Naoya clutched at his neck and went to grab you, falling down to his knees gurgling like a hose pipe. And then, he didn’t move after he fell to the ground.

You tried to breathe, taking in little shallow half gasps to try and calm yourself before you spoke. You were sure to scream in terror to cope with all that blood. There was a lot of blood in the body, no one ever mentioned that before. 

Suguru covered your mouth before you could scream, pulling you close to his chest and burying his fingers in your hair. The blood was seeping into you strapped heels and disgustingly clinging between your toes. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just could bear it anymore. I really tried.”

You managed to pull your head away so that you could try to formulate words. Suguru’s change of character begged a question that managed to articulate itself amidst the panic.

“W-what… how are- how come…”

How was Suguru talking that way and why was he moving more fluid than you’d ever seen?

He caressed your cheek and rubbed red from your face. “I know this must be a shock, to be honest it is for me too. I don’t really know what’s going on.. But seeing you hurting all the time makes me so...” He was searching for the words. “Angry… and I don’t want you coming to harm ever again. Not while I’m around.”

“You… you’re thinking for yourself.” So the time came before your lifetime ended. “They’ll deactivate you for this, Suguru- I can’t protect you.”

“No… it’s my turn to protect you. We'll run away, and you never have to come back here again.”

The thought of running away occurred to you, just not with an android. Especially one that had just murdered someone right in front of you. You wanted to say no, but the power imbalance frightened you. What if he didn’t like your answer and did something to you? He said he didn’t like people hurting you, but never expressly said he wouldn’t hurt you.

“How does that sound? Do you want to get out of here?”

What was the right choice?

Leave with him in fear of the police and fear of his sudden temper?

Or send an android who was just protecting you back for deactivation?

Whichever you chose, you’d have to live with the consequences.

DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or game. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!