#this is not 2 months overdue thank you

[pyro-madder]

(demon) slaying with @powerup-the-revolution 💅

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Hotter Than Texas | Part I

(unofficially: Brother's Worst Enemy)

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

Alrighty y'all, this is for everyone who has so patiently waited for me to make this a thing XD Not sure if I could squeeze a whole series out of this one but we shall see. Maybe at least a part 2. Enjoy!

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

The mission is simple. Collect Seresin Junior from the train station near the main gate of the base and deliver said cargo to the Seresin homestead in Eastern Texas on his way to Atlanta, Georgia for a long overdue visit with his grandparents. It isn’t rocket science. It sure as hell doesn’t hold a candle to the canyon run he pulled off just the other month. And yet, Bradley’s drumming his fingers anxiously on the hood of his Bronco as he leans into its frame, waiting on the trolley from downtown San Diego.

While Jake and Bradley have recently made peace after their longstanding cold war, Bradley isn’t exactly thrilled to meet another one of his kind. Besides, he isn’t one for small talk, and the prospect of spending the next two days with a complete stranger is downright daunting. He prefers music to conversation and he’s hoping that his road trip companion won’t be offended when he turns up the radio and forgets there’s anybody else in the car.

When Hangman had asked for the favor, he assured Bradley that he was his last choice – which wasn’t exactly a compliment, but Bradley appreciated the gesture, nonetheless. By the end of the term, there was nobody from their squadron left on base except Bradley, and he would be heading east anyway, might as well provide shuttle service while he’s at it.

As the trolley whistles into the station, Bradley pushes off his car and straightens his back, watching the tinted windows as they zip by, a blur at first and then gradually separating as the trolley comes to a stop.

Bradley leaves his car to walk around the fence, not quite sure how he’s going to be greeting a person he’s never before seen, but it’s not like he’s going to fashion a sign for the occasion. He sticks his hands into his pockets, the breeze picking up his unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt like a parachute before it starts whipping around his torso in the wind tunnel on the platform.

He glances around at the commuters stepping off the trolley, trying to pick out the blondes that might resemble his colleague, when he feels a tap on his shoulder. He turns his head, just as you say, “Rooster, right?”

He blinks at you, slightly disoriented. You look nothing like Hangman, thank fuck, because Bradley can’t take his eyes off you and, as inappropriate as this reaction is, it would make it that much worse if you did. He gives you a sideways grin. “What gave me away?” he says.

“My brother told me to find the dorkiest guy at the station,” you respond, grinning at him.

Bradley chuckles. “So, you’re walking to Texas, then,” he says, stepping around you.

You laugh, struggling to redirect the wheels of your suitcase.

Bradley bends down to grab the handle. “I can take that,” he says, tucking away the retractable bar and lifting it off the ground by the strap.

“Thanks,” you say, cringing slightly as Bradley lifts the luggage as though you’re embarrassed by its weight.

But after the countless exercise drills over the years, Bradley hardly notices that it’s heavy. In fact, he could probably carry it over his head. He eyes you inconspicuously as you fall in step with him, wondering if perhaps that might impress you – not that he wants to impress you.

“Actually, he said I couldn’t miss you because you’d be a head taller than everyone else, and probably wearing a very bright shirt.”

Bradley looks over at you with a grin. “Hopefully I didn’t disappoint?”

You eye his shirt flapping in the breeze. “I found you, didn’t I?”

Bradley lifts your suitcase into the trunk of his car and walks around to open your door for you.

You give him a suspicious look. “Thanks,” you say.

Bradley nods at you, offering a hand to help you in. Once you’re seated, he shuts the door behind you and exhales unsteadily the kind of sigh that often accompanies a guilty conscience. There’s no way he could possibly get entangled in a mess of this magnitude. And a colossal mess it would become if he were to develop any sort of soft spot for his recent enemy’s baby sister. Bradley, being a sensible, mature adult, understands this unequivocally. But, when he rounds the car and climbs into the driver’s seat next to you, the notion that he’s not allowed under any circumstances to find you attractive flies right out his rolled down window.

This is because you’re already tuning the radio like you own the place and because you smell like a goddess. Bradley has no clue whether it’s your hair or your perfume or your goddamn essence that’s permeated his upholstery in under ten seconds, but whatever it is, he certainly wouldn’t mind smelling it on his sheets in the morning.

Fuck. He’s fucking fucked.

“This alright?” you ask casually, as if you didn’t just hijack a stranger’s radio.

He cringes at the stereo; he’ll have to work on your taste in music. “Got your seatbelt on?” he asks as he pulls out.

You turn around in your seat and pull on the seatbelt.

Bradley promptly hits the breaks and you lurch forward slightly, the seatbelt in your hand getting stuck on its way out. He looks over at you with an air of seriousness despite the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “The seatbelt should be the first thing you do when you enter a vehicle.” Not fiddle with the radio, he adds silently.

You raise your eyebrows at him in amusement. “Okay, dad.”

Bradley nearly shudders at your response. He’s probably a good ten years older than you, so, really, while dad might be stretching it, you’re not too far off. “Keep up that attitude and you’ll be listening to Metallica the whole way home.”

You smirk at him. “I like Metallica, so joke’s on you, bud.”

Bradley starts driving again. “If you like Metallica, then why are we listening to this trash?”

Your jaw drops and you reach for the volume dial to turn up the song. “How dare you?”

Bradley rolls his eyes. Something tells him he’s in for a wild ride.

…

About two hours later, Bradley pulls into a small gas station just past the border into Arizona.

“Want something to eat?” he asks, leaning across the console to pop his glove compartment and pull out his wallet. “Or drink?”

You purse your lips. “I could go for a coffee.”

“How do you like it?” he asks.

“With a pinch of salt.”

Bradley gapes at you. “I can’t tell if you’re joking.”

You snort. “I’m not joking. You should try it! Cuts the bitterness in half, my friend.”

Bradley cringes. “The bitterness is why I drink it.”

You shake your head and declare wisely, “You’ll see.”

“That you’re a nutcase?” Bradley mutters under his breath as he exits the car. He jogs over to the convenience store, determinedly blocking out the seductive quality of your persuasive tone. You could probably convince him to drink a pint of his own urine if you set your mind to it.

Bradley drums impatiently on the counter, waiting for the clerk to finish restocking one of the shelves with chips. While he’s waiting, he glances out to check on you as if you’re a child under his charge. You’ve stepped out of the Bronco to stretch your legs and Bradley doesn’t like the way the two guys in the convertible in behind are eyeing you.

Bradley cranes his neck to check on the clerk’s progress and lets out a stifled sigh. When he looks back outside, he sees that one of the men has approached you and, well, Bradley isn’t about to wait to see what happens next. He drops a bill on the counter and calls out, “Keep the change,” to the clerk before practically slamming his way through the doors with the coffees in his hands.

Why it bothers him that some random dude might want your number is not of consequence. What matters is that Bradley gets rid of this asswipe before you start enjoying his company.

He strides confidently past the man chatting you up and stops right in between you and him, handing you a coffee.

“Careful, it’s hot,” he cautions moodily, not entirely sure how to go about handling a situation in which, objectively speaking, he has no real authority.

You meet his gaze with a small smile. “You don’t say,” you respond with all the sultriness of a blazing, desert sun.

Bradley’s gaze remains unwaveringly on you as he unhooks a pair of Ray-Bans from the neck of his muscle shirt and slides them over his eyes. “Ready to go?” he asks in a level tone, hoping he can avoid what is bound to be an unpleasant interaction with the man still standing behind him.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the man speaks up. “Didn’t realize you were with someone, honey.”

Bradley keeps his eyes on yours for several moments longer, trying his best not to show the irritation he feels at the way this rando just called you ‘honey’. Reluctantly, he turns to face him, wondering what in the world he could say that wouldn’t make him sound jealous as fuck.

But before Bradley could speak, you slide casually into his side, leaning on him like it’s the most natural thing. “That’s just fine,” you say to the man. “No harm, no foul.”

Bradley looks down at your head as it nestles into his shoulder and then lifts his arm to let you move in closer. Trying to play it cool, he skims the tips of his fingers across your lower back, which is warm and feels like the perfect place to rest his hand.

Convertible guy promptly departs, and Bradley is left standing in an embrace with the one person on the entire planet for whom he should never catch feelings, at a derelict gas station on the outskirts of arid Yuma, Arizona, and the heat is really starting to get to him. Slowly, you start to peel yourself away and Bradley, sensing your withdrawal, drops his hand and recoils from you like you’ve burnt him.

Did it feel nice pretending you were his girl? Sure did. Is he going to erase it from his memory and never let himself so much as shake your hand again? Absolutely.

Read Part 2

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments probably tomorrow!

@joaquinwhorres

@katiemcrae

@sehnsuchts-trunken

@toomuchfluffs

@wintercap89

@lonelywitchv2

@callsign-jupiter

@rosiahills22

@olliepig

@coffeeaddictedmay

@boringusername3

@ratedtvpg

@mak-32

@annedub

@jules-1999

@black--lightning

@j-velvet

@xoxabs88xox

@cyanide-cryptid

@callsignvenus

@artemissunn

@gcldtom

@atarmychick007

@callsign-sunshine

@shanimallina87

@birdy-bat-writes

@wkndwlff

@chaosmxlcolm

@iminlovewithenchilidadas

@daniibzz

@avis15

@valhallavalkyrie9

@ijustwantedplums

@hal3ynicol3

@avengersfan25

@hallecarey1

@nik2blog

@kpopgirlbtssvt

@lilianashomaresparza

@lovingperfectionsblog

@bblpbb

@Elenavampire21

@SometimesAnAlice

@risingtripletaurus

@adaydreamaway08

@mattyskies

@desert-fern

@catsandbooksandstuff

@Topguncultleader

@avengers-fixation

[girlokwhatever]

✵✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩⊹ ⋆｡˚⋆ she loves me, she loves me not,,

part one ; beginning of the end

next part

paige bueckers x fem!reader (fake dating trope)

you didn’t care when you found out your ex got a new girlfriend. you were completely over her and her antics, realizing in the last few months of your relationship how utterly exhausting it was. it wasn’t until you found out that her new girlfriend was the girl she cheated on you with that you cared.

it was stupid really, the whole situation. your ex girlfriend, bianca, cheated on you whilst out at a party, you hadn’t gone, opting to instead watch one of paige’s home games with her team. you met paige your freshman year, instantly growing an inseparable bond with her. she was absolutely your closest friend, much to bianca’s disliking. you chopped it up to the fact that bianca wasn’t a fan of any of your friends and left it at that.

when bianca tried justifying her cheating on you because of your close relationship with paige, it took you off guard.

2 MONTHS AGO

you were waiting for your girlfriend to show up. your heart was racing and your breath uneven but honestly, it was long overdue. it had been months since you actually shared a happy moment with bianca, easily able to find more enjoyment in your friends.

you’d found out from a close friend that she had cheated on you at least once, maybe more. your friend spotted her at a party with a girl, kissing and grinding on each other. it was all making sense to you now. the way she was almost too close, too clingy. as if she was overcompensating for a mistake. a huge mistake.

“babe? what’s up?”

“why’d you fuck another girl at a party two weeks ago?”

she went silent, eyes wide with shock. her face spoke for her, affirming that what you thought to be true actually was. even though your relationship had been rocky, especially towards the end, it still broke your heart. she was your high school sweetheart. she even committed to uconn just for you.

it meant fuck all now.

“don’t act like you’re so innocent, princess.”

she doesn’t even try to deny it, immediately spitting back at you. you’re not even sure what she’s referring to, but it looks like she believes it.

“what are you talking about?”

“really?!” she scoffs, “don’t act like you don’t know what i’m talking about. i know about you and paige, how you’ve been sneaking around behind my back.”

“are you fucking dumb?! paige and i are just friends bianca! oh my god- even when you know you’ve done something wrong you can’t admit it.”

you were walking around the corner of the counter when she grabbed you hard. her aggressive behavior was nothing new, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. part of you was wishing it would work out, but a greater part of you was glad she’d finally pushed you over the edge.

“let go of me and get the hell out.”

“excuse me?!”

“i said, get the fuck out, and don’t fucking come back.”

PRESENT DAY

you, paige, and some of your mutual friends were out at your favorite bar. it was a friday night and none of you had anything better to do.

you’d done some rotations: drinking, dancing, singing, sitting down, dancing again, but now you were back to sitting. you took a seat next to paige and she was thankful for that, but you hardly acknowledged her.

after bianca’s excuse for cheating on you being your close relationship with paige, you had distanced yourself considerably. you stopped showing up randomly to her dorm and practices, stopped calling, and stopped asking to hang out too. paige knew you and bianca broke up and kept telling herself you were just trying to get over that. occasionally she’d reach out to ask you if you were doing okay, sometimes it’d take you more than a day to answer.

it hurt paige more than it should’ve and she knew that. for years, ever since she’d met you, she’s had feelings for you. even when she tried to avoid them, you were all she could think about. it was difficult considering you had a psycho girlfriend that you refused to let go of until recently. even now that you were single it was no use, not if you were going to treat her like she didn’t exist.

you hadn’t noticed bianca and her new girlfriend walk in, too enamored by the bubbles in your drink. paige noticed though, watching the way your ex’s eyes scanned the room. paige looked away before she got caught staring, settling her elbows back on the bar.

“have you been having a good night?” paige asked just to get some conversation flowing with you. she missed being so close to you, even if she knew she always wanted more. she’d rather settle for a friendship with you than have nothing at all.

“s’been good. might go home soon though,”

“want me to take you home princess?” it was a teasing nickname that she called you, an old inside joke. when bianca heard it she decided to start calling you that too unironically, completely unaware of the joke.

“i think-”

“princess.”

bianca’s voice cut through the atmosphere like a sharpened knife, offering a completely different tone than the way paige said it. her new girlfriend must’ve run off somewhere, seeing as it was only her that had approached you. she took the barstool next to you, sliding her chair to face you. she looks unimpressed and expectant, not surprised to see paige lingering by your side.

“i need to talk to you.”

“talk to your new girlfriend. y’know, the one you cheated on me with.”

“she’s not my girlfriend” —another toxic lie “i just want to talk to you.”

“no.”

“princess-”

“fuck you.” you seethe out a her, hoping it’s enough to keep her quiet. unfortunately though, it isn’t.

“don’t talk to me like that.”

you try avoiding bianca, turning to paige and muttering a quick ‘can we go.’ it’s difficult to hear you but she does, standing up and pushing her chair in. bianca loathes paige, always has. as soon as you met paige all you wanted to do was talk about her, hang out with her, study with her, and bianca couldn’t stand it.

“and you tried calling me dumb when i found out you two were hooking up behind my back,” she scoffs as if it’s obvious.

paige’s eyebrows knit in confusion, you never mentioned that part. paige doesn’t know what made bianca think that, but she secretly wishes there was some truth to it, as bad as it may be. even when doing something she knows is wrong, paige has never regretted a second spent with you.

you knew you were probably too drunk to make a decision this big. as soon as the thought popped into your head you favored it, wanting to get back at bianca for all she put you through. you didn’t even give it a second thought, your mouth running faster than any of your cognitive abilities at the moment.

“guess you were right, but hey— she treats me better than you ever did.”

both bianca and paige are shocked, completely taken aback by your statement. what were you getting at?

“so what- you’re dating now?”

“yep. thanks for helping me realize i could do so much better.”

before you have time to show your fleeting confidence and the fact that you just lied straight through your teeth, you grab paige’s hand and walk off. you’re honestly not sure how she’ll react or how you’ll move from here.

either of you say a word until you’re in the silent safety of her car. she turns to face you, a blank expression written across her face. it makes it difficult to figure out what’s going on in her mind. you wish you could tell, it’d probably make things easier. you can tell that she’s a bit flustered, but maybe that’s just because of how hot it was inside.

“paige?”

“yeah?”

“i know this is probably going to be a really weird question and maybe the question itself is too late because i’ve already dug us into this hole but i swear you don’t have to go through with it..”

“okay..”

“will you, um.. will you be my fake girlfriend?”

she’s conflicted, torn between her better judgement and overall feelings for you. her body surges with anger at the way bianca talked to you tonight. but her body also swells with pride and attraction after hearing you say those things about dating her, even if she knows it’s not real. she wants it to be real so desperately and she’s knows she’s already made up her mind without needing to think it through.

one hand is on the steering wheel and the other drags itself down her face, questioning internally if she’s really going to go through with this. her silence settles on you, panic rising as you realize maybe you’ve just ruined your friendship. or what was left of it.

“you can say no obviously-”

“i’ll do it.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆﹥*:ꔫ:*+ﾟׂׂૢ

UMMM i’ll spell check this tmr

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

i kinda don’t.

THIS IS A SERIES YALL

[abimee]

hi i can no longer act coy or hope that a job will come in time so im coming to everyone really embarassingly with my issues

in June I attempted to get fired from/left my job after having a really embarassing public meltdown due to having Rapid-Cycling Mixed Bipolar and the unending stress of that job of 3+ years. I've been struggling to get a job afterwards due to being in CA without a vehicle, and i'm currently working on an overdue commission so could not open up any more.

Soon after, my mother's car imploded, and a series of incidents related to a used engine and taking out a loan with a friend has left her both needing to pay back the loan and still needing to get a new car, putting her thousands in the hole.

my mother has allowed me to not worry about paying rent while unemployed, but now the person living with us is moving out, so it will be on me and my mother to pay rent, upping mine from $300 to $500 a month. I am currently job hunting with good prospects, but I am still in need of some assistance.

I DO NOT WANT TO ASK FOR DONATIONS WITHOUT GIVING SOMETHING IN RETURN, I have a very bad time taking help from people without doing something in return because I do not want people to feel like they Have to give me money or help me, I want to Offer something in return for that money, even in a situation like this, because I want everyone to come out on the other end feeling fulfilled, so I'm offering some (slow) cheaper commissions I can work on in between the bigger comm I owe.

My kofi is always open for donation sketches ---- you can donate the minimum amount (or whatever you prefer) and get a drawing like this of anything as long as you put it into the donation message!

i cant currently take on big commissions as I have one i owe and the commissioner is a very generous person who has been waiting a good few months for me to finish one during this hectic time, but if you're interested in getting something a little higher quality for a donation, a $30-50 USD donation can get you a ''simple commission'' styled drawing --- that is, you give me a prompt and character refferences (ocs or fanart, up to 2-3 characters depending on complexity), and I draw them like below (color complexity depends on price, the higher the amount the more the color).

You wont have access to revisions to make this as fast as possible, so i HIGHLY reccomend only getting fanart comms of these and to make sure you really like my style!!

this is one of those situations where I DEEPLY reccomend people do not donate unless they want something in return, if you dont wanna ask for a drawing or anything i reccomend going to people in more dire circumstances and helping them out with your donation!!!

but if you want to help me help my mother get out of a bad financial situation and get a little drawing in return, you can do a small dono and att a message of what you want doodled, or you can email me at cyrdrawings@gmail.com your $30-50 donation reciept and what you would like me to draw, and ill try to get them as soon as I can

thank you so much for checking this post out and keep it real old school!!!!! i promise once this is over and i get a job we'll be back to your regularly scheduled art posting

[EDIT: PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG THIS VERSION. I AM NO LONGER TAKING THE SIMPLE COMMISSION TIER. REBLOG THE ADDITION TO THIS POST GIVING AN UPDATE]

[suhkusa]

EGOIST 13.

PAIRING. Atsumu Miya x f!Reader

CW. plot, feelings, comfort if you squint

A/N. uh oh

-> MASTERLIST.

The ride home is as silent as it was on the way there. You don’t bother trying to fake-sleep to avoid conversation, as conversation never bothered to occur.

Your eyes are locked on the window, watching as the colors of the outside blur together into one. 

It’s hard to reflect on what happened last night, because you don’t even know what came over you. You want to forget it all, but sadly, the one time where you wish you were drunk enough to forget, you weren’t. Which makes it all the more confusing, because you could’ve stopped it. You had enough awareness, control. You just didn’t.

You don’t like Atsumu. Not romantically anyways. Though, after his apology, it felt like you were finally ready to move past everything that occurred. No, you didn’t forgive him, but there was too much on your mind to dwell on things that occurred in high school or months ago. 

Cordial and mutual was all you were willing to offer Atsumu. At least until last night. Boundaries that shouldn’t have been crossed, were definitely crossed. And you’d have to make a mental note to not let that occur again.

The car finally pulls up to the Jackal’s facility. The boys are in the middle of practice when the two of you walk in. You’re greeted by many questions and smiles. You can cry at how happy you are to be back home in familiar territory.

“Y/N,” Coach Foster intervenes with a welcoming smile, “We’ll talk about how the experience was later, but for now I need you to run some errands,”

You smile nervously before grabbing a clipboard from your bag, back to work you go.

———

You’re exhausted when practice ends. Having to come back from a two day trip and get back straight to work definitely took a toll on you. You gather the notes you’ve taken from the videos and leave your office before dropping by Foster’s.

“Here ya go, Coach,” you smile.

“Thanks, I’ll see you tomorrow,” he replies before getting back to clicking on his computer.

You wave goodbye before closing the door and exiting. 

“Y/N!” A voice calls. 

You weren’t so sure if you were really ready to talk to Atsumu, but you had no choice now.

“Hey,” you greet, tugging your bag to readjust it onto your shoulder.

“I’ll walk you out,”

“No, you don’t have to-” 

“I insist,” he smiles. 

You give him a slight nod before going on your way, him right beside you.

“I’m sorry about last night, I know you were drunk but I don’t want shit to be weird between us or anything,” Atsumu says with a genuine tone.

“No yeah, it’s alright. We can put it past us,” you want to put it past you, “don’t worry about it,”

Atsumu nods at that.

The rest of the way is silent but somewhat comforting. When the two of you get to your car, he helps you load your bags in.

“I’m sorry about what happened with Gora,” he catches you off guard with that, “if you ever need to talk to anyone about it, I’m here,”

“Oh, alright. Thanks,” is all you manage to work out, albeit awkward.

He waves you off as you enter your car and drive back home. 

It felt like there was so much your brain had to unpack. But so little you actually wanted to think about. 

You were on autopilot on the way home, you only snapped out of your head when you reached your parking spot. 

Hauling all your bags into your place, you let out an overdue sigh before collapsing onto your couch. Your body nearly melted into the cushion. It was only 2 or 3 days, but you’ve never been more happy to be home.

A ping from your phone interrupts your comfiness, you nearly curse whoever texted you until you realize it was Sakusa.

Kiyoomi [9:36]: how was the trip?

You [9:36]: it was okay, got to meet lots of ppl tho

Kiyoomi [9:38]: yeah i went last year, it’s not that fun

You [9:39]: no ya but i mean it was technically work for me so

Kiyoomi [9:39]: lol at least you weren’t at practice, it was hell

You [9:40]: really?? sucks ha

Kiyoomi [9:43]: mhm

You think back on the night with Atsumu. You wonder what it would’ve been like if instead of him, it was someone else-

Kiyoomi [9:47]: anyways ill see you tomorrow, goodnight

You were so lost in thought you forgot to respond, nonetheless you type out a quick goodnight text before turning your phone off. 

Gathering every bit of strength in your body, you muster up the energy to pull yourself up and make your way to your bedroom.

As the playoffs grow closer, you can feel anxiety pulling at your heart. There was nothing you could do except sleep it off and hope for the best. 

———

There was approximately one more week before the match that determined whether or not MSBY would make it to championships. During every practice, you could feel everyone on their toes. Tense and nervous.

Even so, it felt like Atsumu was staring at you way more than often. Way more. Even when you weren’t making eye contact, you could feel like there were holes being burnt into your head. Did he need to tell you something? Or was he just keen on making you feel uncomfortable?

After a couple practice rounds, the coach called for a water break. The boys gathered around you to grab their water bottles. 

You watched as they stood around and chattered, using towels to wipe off the sweat beads collecting on their foreheads.

“Y/N,” 

You turned around to find the voice who called you,

“Oh hey,” you greet the blonde.

“Did you get back home safely last night?” he asks before taking another big gulp of water.

“Mhm,” you turn back to your clipboard, remembering to take down some notes from the matches earlier.

“That’s good,” 

Before he’s able to continue with whatever he was going to say, Sakusa walks up to you.

“Were you able to catch anything wrong with the new technique I was using?” 

Turning your attention away from him, you went on to discuss with Kiyoomi what he needs to improve on, leaving Atsumu in the dust.

After that, he’d start to talk to you whatever chance he got. Even if it was a small “hey” or “thanks” in passing. Sometimes he’d get ballsy and start a full-blown conversation. 

If that wasn’t enough, he’d text you everyday, every night, whenever he possibly could. Whenever you’d answer at least.

It felt like whenever you’d try to put walls up between you and Atsumu, there was always something that brought them back down. And while you always told yourself that you’d never let him in, it began to feel like he somehow just broke in and made himself at home.

And while it happened against your will, it doesn’t feel like you want to complain about it.

© all writings belongs to suhkusa 2024. do not repost or change.

[dannitarot]

February *The Good Stuff*

Heyy, I’m Danni. This is my first ever PAC tarot reading so please be easy on me haha. Take a deep breath and choose the pile/photo you are most drawn to. Choose multiple if you feel like it. I’ll be telling the good stuff to expect for February >•<

Group1-> 2-> 3

Group 1

For February, i see a relationship coming in if you are single. For those already in a relationship, I see an overflow of love from your partner(s). I really believe most of those who pick this pile are single. You will have many suitors. You’ll be sought after. It is Valentines month so you could get nice gifts. Even though you have options, you’ll be really enjoying some alone time. You’ll feel confident and emotionally fulfilled. A lot of you singles will even be questioning whether you really want to be in a new relationship or remain single.

Group 2

For February, I see you guys having peace of mind. You might have been feeling stressed but i see you taking things slow. You guys are quieting the noise in your mind. Some of you will be looking to organized religion or just develop certain spiritual practices such as yoga and meditation. You will be connecting more with your spirit team and The Divine. They want to remind you at this time that they are always with you-within you. You will be learning to surrender and let God/the Universe/Divine (whatever you believe in) lead the way. You could change your diet and have less screen time. I see abundance heading your way. Finances will be getting better and some of you will be paying your debts. I also see those of you owed money receiving it back. For some of you, it could be an overdue bonus from work.

Group 3

For February, you guys will be financially abundant. Could be a promotion or a bonus. For those self employed, an overflow of customers. You’ll have lots of money to the point you’re being urged to be responsible with it. I also see love coming in for you.You could be entering a relationship with someone you have a strong spiritual connection with. This could be a new person or a new beginning with an old person. You could also be getting a new vehicle. Some of you will be moving or going on a trip. Expect some sort of travel.

Thank so much for reading🤍🪽

[sandsorghum]

IT'S FINALLY HERE

Thrilled to be putting up this behemoth of a fic I've been working on for two entire months at last! as part of @tsukimefuku's Spookinky event. Yes, I'm aware Halloween was also 2 months ago (sorry Fuku, and thanks so much again for helping beta read it!) Anyway, do check out the other works, they're incredible.

+18, DARK CONTENT AHEAD. You've been warned. See end of story for further author's notes.

abstract. It was a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Or a cautionary one, as most of them turned out to be. wc. 9.4k (strap in with a beverage folks)

tags. Yandere!Nanami Kento x F!Reader | established relationship | smut | dubcon | psychological drama | manipulation |

Jim knew that he was awake and asleep at the same time, dreaming of the war and yet dreamed of by the war…

Your eyelids droop, heavier and heavier with every pass you make at the sentences. You’re fighting against the font even, dripping off the page into the pitch black pit of your mind, those once thick and bold serifs ooze into obfuscation, molten as the afternoon congealing into dusk. Your focus has been wavering for hours in this stifling summer air, the dense miasma of words shimmering into a mirage of meaning. 

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face as you let Empire of the Sun flop into your lap. You should have known; J.G. Bellard didn’t exactly stake his reputation on breezy prose. You have a suspicion the book’s about a week or two overdue, though Nanami hadn’t said anything. Well, it was his library card getting charged. You hadn’t renewed yours in years.

You rifle through your current slog; 300 pages give or take. Perhaps you should have been less ambitious, started with the short stories. Long ago, you’d read The Garden of Time. You had enjoyed it, you think. Your eyes slip shut, trying to remember how that story ended, but the details are fuzzy.

It was a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Or a cautionary one, as most of them turned out to be. 

These days, you were living with your own Count Axel too.

You open your eyes, gaze instinctively flitting towards the clock whirring with its tick-tock mick-mockery, matching the taunting your ears had already gotten accustomed to. The second hand quivers a sliver past the hour, as exacting as an anorexic’s indulgence of a fractional slice of cake; and promising as much sustenance.

Where was Nanami? When would he come back?

Your stomach growls. The shadows have grown, black slats cast by the window grilles lengthening and slithering stark against the bleached gold of the walls. You hate this time of day the most, this inevitable boredom numbing your mind into mulch, too sluggish to tolerate even the most insipid of dating reality show reruns, which was all that was on TV. As for your once carefully curated stash of true crime podcasts, the thought of listening to them now was unbearable. 

Something burbles in your belly, a strange gastric shriek acidifying into a yowl. You shut it out, closing your eyes.

Your present circumstances might make for a pretty good biopic, a thriller perhaps. Or a psychodrama. Grim amusement filters through your mind as you imagine actors you’d cast in the lead roles…who was that Danish fellow, who had played a Bond villain? He’d had a similar sort of malevolent charisma as the titular protagonist in that show about eating people…

A little too fixated on trying to recall the actor’s name, you don’t hear the key turn in the first lock. But the second schlick sends a jolt straight to your spine, muscle memory triggering you to leap to your feet. By the time the third and fourth bolts have slotted out of the way, you’ve sprinted to the front step, your exuberant chirrup eclipsing the hinges’ creak. 

“Welcome home, Kento!” 

He grabs you mid-lunge, as usual, chuckling as you fling your arms around his neck. He’s a little off balance today, with the bags dangling off his thick forearms but they still manage to curl, boa constrictor snug around your waist, the weight of their contents pressing you further against him.

“Hello darling,” he murmurs. 

You let him bury his nose against your nape, feeling the burdens of the world slough off him as he inhales your scent, ever familiar, ever constant. Never changing. 

Staring past the summit of his shoulders, you see dust motes drifting unencumbered in the scorched-tangerine shaft of the setting sun, the pavement glowing white, the bright brilliance of its incandescence and resistance petering into the imminence of night; all this, a few tantalising inches beyond the door. 

You blink, the dark spots perform their pirouette, and the temptation passes. You put on a smile as you feel Nanami’s question rumble low along your throat, peeling you away from his chest as he carefully shuts the door behind him, zipping chains one through four back into place.  

“I said, how was your day?” 

“Oh, good. Pretty good. You’ll be proud of me.”

“Yes?”

“I got through a whole 4 pages in your absence,” you grin at Nanami, waggling the book at him. 

“Am I proving such a distraction?” His tone is bone-dry, but you catch the glimmer in his eye, polished as fragments beneath flesh desiccated by a desert.

“You mean providing?” you hum, smoothing a palm across his pectorals as Nanami shrugs out of his coat.

Nanami tuts, catching your fingers and greeting them with a kiss,“You ought to know by now, your flattery has its consequences.”

“Seems like an acceptable risk.” 

Nanami tuts and you feel his lips twitch over your knuckles at the belligerence lilting your tone.

“Well, I’m sorry sweetheart but I was picking up a few extra things for dinner.” 

Nanami finally relinquishes your hand to set the bags down on the dining table. You gape as he proceeds to carefully uncover the biggest bundle of blue hydrangeas and pale yellow daffodils you’ve ever laid eyes upon, all exquisitely wrapped with an embroidered silk ribbon. Nanami holds the flowers out to you, savouring your little gasp as the full size of his generosity blossoms into view.

“It was a bit of an impulse buy,” he confesses, to fill your stunned silence. 

“You expect me to believe this was a snap decision?”

“Well, no, I was intending to get a bouquet from the start but they’d run out of roses. The florist suggested these instead, plus they seemed particularly fresh.”

“They’re gorgeous, Ken. Thank you, and I think I like their scent much better.” You press your nose to the delicate petals for a moment before you go to fetch a vase, submerging the stems in a few inches of water.

“These make me wish I’d paid more attention to my ikebana classes in elementary school,” you comment, caressing one of the butter bright coronas. “Or maybe I could enrol in one of those community courses now.”

“Leave it to the shops’ experts, they know the optimal aesthetic arrangement.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just, it’d be fun to learn something trivial and new.”

Nanami’s smile at you is soft and relaxed. “I’ll buy you more flowers, you can learn through trial and error, Miss Independent.”

“That seems a little lavish. What if I just consult our neighbours across the road, I’ve seen them growing-“

“You can figure it out on your own I’m sure,” Nanami interjects, patting your cheek and you have to remind yourself not to flinch, letting your face go taut with a perfected smile instead. “Or with a book. It could even be a nice hobby for us both, right?”

“Sure, Kento. Sounds fun.” You sigh, separating out some of the stalks. “So this is why you were delayed by half an hour today?”

“Yes, I’m sorry dear.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as Nanami observes you carefully thumbing through the floral clusters.

“I was...just a little worried. I wish you could tell me in advance. Maybe a text?”

Nanami lifts a brow, barely perceptibly.  “And you’d receive it with what phone?”

Swiftly, you recalibrate, your tone shifting into a playful inflection. “Or we can resort to pagers. Like it’s the 1980s.”

It was one of the ironies of this living situation; a tradeoff, Nanami would have termed it. Although you dwelled under the same roof, you communicated less than ever before with him. 

Nanami shakes his head ruefully, plaintively remarking, “I didn’t think you missed doomscrolling more than me.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” you huff, setting aside the vase to place a peck on Nanami’s nose. Apparently random acts of affection usually worked to disrupt his morose musings.

You start to bustle with the groceries. “Don’t get me wrong, Bruckner’s 7th symphony on vinyl is exquisite,” you continue, “And I’ll be eternally grateful to you for making a cultured woman out of me…”

Nanami practically pouts at your exaggeration, indignation pulling the corners of his mouth down. You give a lopsided smile, pushing your luck.

“But…I’m just a little bit curious about the Top 40 stuff. Like what’s Ed Sheeran been up to?”

“That’s what the radio is for, dear. I’m not depriving you of pop hits.” 

No, just music videos. And remixes. Plus you’ll never set foot inside another club or karaoke bar. Or attend a live gig. Hell, you’d pay dearly to hear an off-key sidewalk busker. Even a drunkard caterwauling in a subway. 

Sounds from a lifetime ago. Better not to dwell on them. 

You pull out carrots, a few stalks of celery, some onions. “You’re right. I doubt Square Roots or whatever mathematical function his latest album is titled after is a seminal turning point in his discography. I’m not missing anything.” 

You survey the ingredients, feeling Nanami’s mild concern descend upon you as you ramble through your unexpectedly eloquent tirade.

You glance back up at him. “Anyway, dinner tonight involves a mirepoix?”

Nanami nods. You pass a hand hesitantly over the vegetables.

“It’s a lot of prepwork for a…a weekday, right?” 

“It’s a Thursday,” Nanami offers to your unarticulated question. “And trust me, it’s worth it.” 

This time the kiss he presses to your temple is a shade too tender. 

“You’re always worth it.”

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, letting Nanami’s words lodge deep between your ribs. Then, you carve a smile against his cheek. 

“Who’s the one hoping for consequences now, mister?”

Nanami gives a light squeeze around your hips. “The meal will be ready in about 40 minutes.”

“Can I help?”

Nanami considers you for a moment, looking at your open face.

You skate your thumb across his knuckles, your voice becoming demure, saccharine in its wheedling. “I’ll just wash the vegetables? You’re welcome to do all the dicing and slicing.” 

Nanami chuckles and you feel the tension ebb from his hands at your suggestion. He fishes out his phone and taps on Spotify. “What are you in the mood to listen to, darling?”

Walking on a dream How can I explain? Talking to myself Will I see again?

The upbeat 80s inspired synths pulse through the kitchen, a backdrop to Nanami’s knife working its hypnotic rhythm against the chopping board. You run the cucumbers under the tap while he slides the last of the cubed carrots into a bowl alongside the onions and celery, also cut into similar sized pieces. 

“What are you thinking for the salad?” 

“Yuzu-wafu for the dressing?” Nanami checks his blade, noting its dulled edge. 

“Maybe some kind of vinaigrette? Would pair well since this variety is a little more tart.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully, setting down the knife. He strolls over to a drawer where the cleaver, scissors and matches are stored and after making discrete adjustments to its built-in number padlock, retrieves a whetstone.

“Good call, there’s some EVOO we need to finish up-” Nanami turns around and goes rigid, seeing the knife clasped in both your hands, poised just under your chin.

Thought I'd never see The love you found in me Now it's changing all the time Living in a rhythm where the minute's working overtime

You’re swaying back and forth to the melody, a distant look in your eyes.

“Dear?” 

His voice is gentle, even gentler than usual. Which is plenty gentle already.

Your gaze slides towards Nanami, how he’s tracking the most minute shifts of the gleaming point hovering inches away from your skin. He’s perfectly still, not a tendon twitching, not a nostril flared; the air doesn’t leave his body, you see how it’s gripped between his lungs, as if the oxygen has become cement pooling in his valves. Nanami locks eyes with you, ochre irises shimmering tourmaline, exuding perfect calm. Waiting on you for his next heartbeat.

We are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it Always pushing up the hill, searching for the thrill of it On and on and on we are calling out, out again Never looking down, I'm just in awe of what's in front of me

You grin at Nanami on the other side of the kitchen island, your captive audience as you belt out the chorus.

Is it real now? Two people become one I can feel it Two people become one

Nanami purses his lips, taking a step towards you. “Dear…why don’t you get the olive oil?”

Your grip tightens on the knife’s handle. You shut your eyes.

Is it real now? Two people become one I can feel it Two people become-

You don’t immediately feel his iron grip manacled around your pulse; instead what first alerts you to his presence back by your side are his lips brushing against your temple. And that’s worse somehow, than his touch molding over your whitened knuckles, and the sinews of your wrist gilded with their jagged deltas of silver.

“I love you,” Nanami states, one hand heavily dwarfing your fists. You release the knife into his grip without another word. He swipes a brisk kiss across your jugular and you feel the maniacal desperation bleed from you, receding into the whirlpool of your subconscious. What had come over you?

“You’re kinda pitchy, but I love you anyway.” 

With that cavalier comment, Nanami starts on the cucumbers.

A joke. He's making a joke. Had he seen right through you?

Hasn’t he always? Another voice, almost perfectly resembling your own, whispers within your mind. And he always will. You’re a glass wall to him, utterly transparent, easily shattered.

And Nanami’s the only one who’s been patient enough to put you back together, the only one who can make you whole.

He knows all your fractures, enough to refract and reframe the truth. This was your choice to live as a one-way mirror, to reflect his desires; to orient to the prism without realising it was a prison.

You watch Nanami quickly and quietly julienne the verdant oblongs, the knife’s swift staccato the only sound for a while. You pinch a slender, perfect matchstick from the mound of green, holding it between your fingers. 

“Is there a point to such precision?” 

“It’s so everything cooks evenly. It’s the standard for mise en place cooking.”

“Miso what?”

“It’s another French technique.” Nanami puts down the knife on the far side of the chopping board before plucking the sliver of cucumber from you and returning it to the pile. 

“Literally translated, it means ‘putting in place’.”

“I see, I didn’t know that before.”

You fold your empty palms in your lap, eyes downcast. 

One hand still on the blade, Nanami settles the other over your fingers, his heated grip squeezing just tightly enough for you to feel your metacarpals briefly grate against each other.

“Now you do.”

As Nanami turns back to prepping the ingredients, he tells you, “Go set the table, dear. And open up the bottle, so the wine breathes.” At least one thing in this house can, you think, walking away from him.

“Taste familiar?”

The burgundy swirls in your glass, glinting like fluid rubies as you dip your nose over the rim. 

“You know I don't have your refined palette, Ken. Just tell me already.”

Nanami shakes his head, nudging the ceramic dish towards you.

“Pair it with the cassoulet, then try again.”

You follow your spoonful of the hearty stew with a sip of the red, and this time notes of Pinot noir and brambleberries are more pronounced, as the tannins press their lingering tingle on your tongue, coaxing forth a vaguely familiar association from the recesses of your mind.

“I’ve had this before?”

“It was a fusion restaurant, Japanese-French. We had our first date there,” Nanami prompts.

“Oh! Jonquilla’s?” 

Nanami smiles as his clues finally click together for you. 

“I visited them before their evening service started, on one of my days off. Had a chat with their chef to recreate the recipe for the cassoulet, though I don’t know if the proportion of spice blends is identical-“

“Never mind accuracy, it was absolutely delicious, Ken. You’ve really outdone yourself.” You hum in satisfaction and satiation around the last mouthful of his culinary achievement.

“But what’s the occasion?”

Nanami’s brow arches, almost imperceptibly. “Today’s March 7th.”

You blink owlishly at him for an extended second, then abruptly recoil, stiffening with your realisation.

“Oh crap- I mean, sorry! I-I didn’t know.”

Nanami gestures placatingly, sliding his hand over yours. You stare sheepishly as he laces his fingers through yours. “It’s all right, love. I should have left a note in the morning.”

Timidly, you glance up at him. The mortification only churns with more turbulence seeing Nanami’s gaze brimming with affection and mild amusement.

“Umm...well, happy fourth anniversary Kento.”

For the first time this evening his smile falters.

“Fifth,” he corrects you, with the slightest suggestion of a sigh ghosting over the single syllable. 

Your gaze plummets back to your hand underneath his. “Right, fifth. Five years.”

Five entire years...everything had changed; now none of your days did. All of them spent waiting, then waiting for him. The past three years had been an eternity, dwelling with a man you’d once been keen to spend forever with. The prospect had been a privilege, a certainty back then. When you’d been free to choose it.

Now, like death, it was nothing more than an inevitability.

The redundancy of your statement lurches heavily into the air; you and Nanami sit in silence for several epochs, its weight creeping into the room like a mastodon carcass emerging from permafrost. He splinters it first.

“You didn’t check the calendar?”

What would have been the point, etching out eternity by the day as if that would stall the lobotomy of this monotony? Every flick of a page would have been another papercut embedded in your epidermis, your spine chipped away ever quicker, just one more reminder of your sinews and synapses and wits atrophying, triggering an avalanche of spiraling, depressive thoughts and an even swifter, simultaneous erosion of your sense of self, your will to survive.

You can no more resist the scalpel than the cudgel, it’s an insidious chiselling of your core, to be remade in someone else’s image. Beatific as Helen of Troy, argumentative as an effigy. 

“I forgot today and well, you know the saying, time flies.” 

You pull your hand away from Nanami’s to examine the wine bottle, brushing a thumb over the label. 

“It really is the exact same isn’t it?” you murmur, looking up at him with a wider smile. The Ice Age passes, and both Nanami’s tone and gaze thaws.

“I figured I’d speak to their sommelier at the same time, since I was there. Not many places import this so it took some convincing for them to part with one from their cellar.”

You raise a brow. “Please don’t tell me you spent more than-“

“It was complimentary in fact. Turns out the sommelier was a rather romantic fellow.”

“Sounds like he was giving someone a run for their money.” You lean forward, topping off Nanami’s glass.

With an appreciative chuckle, he responds, “He said it was the least he could do, bringing Provence to you if you couldn’t go.”

Provence, hah. If he only knew, the furthest place you’d been dreaming of was the konbini that had been a five minutes stroll from your old apartment. It was cramped, and the rent had been exorbitant despite being in a dodgy part of town - sort of a shithole if you were honest, but it’d been your shithole.

What colour had you painted the walls? Turquoise? Cerulean? No, aquamarine maybe,to match the canal you could just about glimpse from your balcony in summer-

“They really do a good job, highlighting the seasonal and regional specialties.”

You snap your attention back to the conversation, before the man opposite you can notice anything amiss. Perfunctory participation and trite observations were necessary to shield your most private thoughts from Nanami.

“Yeah, incredible menu. I loved the ambience of the place too.”

“The ambience?”

“Well, everything. The art, the lighting, that live violinist. It all adds to the dining experience, you know.” You let your gaze drift into the scarlet liquid swishing around in your glass, the garnet sparkles enticing in their reminiscence of sweeter, simpler times, when you and Nanami were just getting to know each other.

“Perhaps. I’ve never really noticed those things. That’s just decor.”

Now of course you know him all too well. 

“Oh obviously the food should be the focus. And it definitely stood out. Your tarte tatin really took me back there.” 

“Hmm, you know I suspect they used caster not muscovado after all,” Nanami remarks, scrutinizing the remnant fleck of pastry balanced delicately on a single tine.

“Sweetheart, tonight was a success,” you coo, patting his hand. “Trust me.”

Nanami relents, putting the fork down. “Even in the absence of a live violinist?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, even without that.”

Nanami raises the stem of his glass, trying to hide how pleased he is. You copy him, gaze catching his as the both of you drain your drinking vessels. It is good wine, after all.

You hum, idly letting your fingers skate up Nanami’s forearms.

“Still, there’s lots of French fusion places around Tokyo. Why’d you pick that particular one?”

Nanami shrugs. “I went there with a client once, back when I was a salary man, so I knew it was good. I’d checked the more recent reviews too. Based off those I was convinced the 4.8 average rating it retained was warranted.” 

You incline your head to the side, expectant. There were sure to be other factors, with this pinnacle of logic. Nanami pushes his spectacles up the strong bridge of his nose and sighs.

“And it was, well...equidistant from both our houses.”

You let out a mock gasp, voice fruity with an affectation of being scandalised. “Mr Nanami, I did not take you for such a schemer.”

Perhaps it’s the burgundy, but you can’t help but think the pink tinting Nanami’s cheeks is rather endearing. 

He clears his throat, sitting up straight. “That’s not what I meant. Quite the opposite in fact. We both had assignments early the next day. I wasn’t...making any assumptions.”

You purse your lips together, withholding a smirk as Nanami stumbles through more of his rationalisations.

“I mean, it could have gone poorly too, you could have wanted to cut the date short. So I considered your cab fare wouldn’t amount to more than-“

“Well, our first date didn’t end early, did it, Kento?” you interject. You don’t know why, but it delights you to see a rush of poppies blossom downwards, beneath his collar.

“I suppose not.”

You relax back into your chair with a chuckle, feeling Nanami’s significantly warmer gaze on you.

“Actually, I do have a gift for you.”

Nanami reaches into his satchel and for a moment you’re worried a velvet box will materialise from it. To your relief, he instead withdraws a simple paper envelope, too slim and understated for any expensive jewellery.

“Here you go,” he says, sliding the envelope over to you. 

“Takashimaya vouchers? Oh Kento, how romantic-“  You stop short of delivering the jibe when you see what his gift actually is - a library card. 

Your library card, to be exact.

It’s your turn to be baffled now.

“You were racking up too many fines on mine,” Nanami’s expression is strait-laced, but his gaze is affectionate .“So I renewed yours.”

“Is there, um, some kind of new demerit system?”

“No, the length of the penalty period is the same as the overdue one. Basically I was barred from loaning out more books till you were done, Miss four pages per day.”

“It’s not my fault if the plot drags on,” you protest.

“Pick a more compelling read then,” Nanami smirks, “Or know when to give up.”

You examine the laminated rectangle, and the photo of yourself from five years ago stares back at you, her expression bright and clear-eyed, the set of her jaw resolute. Virtually unrecognisable.

“I can...pick up my own books?” you mumble, eyes still locked on your picture. 

Nanami’s sigh is heavy and you hear him remove his lenses, setting them down on the table. You look up when he addresses you, and his gaze is tinged with the same slight weariness wrung from your name.

“Your residence needed to be updated, that’s all.” Nanami speaks patiently - no, patronisingly. “You can continue to give me the list of titles you want to check out.”

So, you wouldn’t be able to borrow the books in person, let alone browse the shelves in a public space, without him.

“I should...probably pay my late fees myself though, right?”

Nanami shrugs, “They don’t add up to that much. I usually take care of it with the petty cash.”

Money he wouldn’t miss. Transactions without a bank statement. Untraceable.

You’d never have to pay for anything ever again. And it had only cost you your freedom.

You slip the card carefully back into the envelope, face down. 

Some unthinking machine would scan its barcode, would log your details, your preferences in novels and fiction, the imaginations you escaped into. On some arbitrary database, you’d exist.

Somewhere outside these four walls, you’d live.

“Thank you, Ken. It’s a lovely...gesture.”

You don’t think Nanami registers the pause, neutrally watching you empty the wine bottle equally into his glass and yours. 

“Shame that’s the last of it,” you sigh, setting the bottle down. Nanami hums contemplatively as you drink up.

“It was... a nice restaurant. Would you want to visit it again?”

You stare at Nanami, not quite believing your ears at the sentimentality that has seeped into his tone, let alone his offer.

“Visit it?”

That would involve going back into the world. Strangers would see you. Might even interact with you. That would be too much, surely?

Nanami takes a long sip of wine before continuing.

“I could get candles and cushions and white linen tablecloths, or put a Poulenc record on...but I know it’s not the same.The environment does make a difference.” 

You nod slowly, twisting the stem of your glass between your fingers. He reaches for your hand and you let him hold it.

“You could do your hair, nails, get dolled up and all, just like old times. There’s this dress in a corner boutique I go past every day, that I think you’ll like-“

“That I’ll like or you’ll like?” 

He chuckles, “My dear, if you want to wear a burlap sack there you’re welcome to. I’ll insist to the maître d’ I have the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm, regardless.”

A blush unfurls across your face, looking into Nanami’s eyes and seeing the absolute sincerity and conviction there. 

“I just want you to feel as special as you are to me, when we go.”

Nanami brings your hand to his mouth, eyes closed, taking his time to plant a kiss on each of your knuckles. Something constricts in your chest, watching the reverence and regret of his lips each time they have to lift a tiny fraction away from your rapidly warming skin.

“It’s where we started to make so many memories.” Nanami says softly, opening his eyes to stare deeply into yours. You sink into the rich russet warmth of those irises, mesmerised by the familiar tawny flecks shining bronze with pure adoration for you. 

“If we were going to celebrate, it would be worth commemorating it there, yes?”

He almost whispers the question, with both his hands now clasping yours. Nanami brushes a thumb across your hand and you barely notice how it strokes slow, tender circles on your fourth finger.

Barely.

You know what he is truly asking. What he’s really after.

Would it be a celebration or a sentencing?

Even after all this time, it isn’t clear if there’s just the one answer.

You shut your eyes, taking a breath. You lean forward in the darkness, finding and anchoring your lips to Nanami’s, parting them to reel his soft exhalation into your mouth, feeling the tidal surge of his ache in his tongue tracing the very edges of your mouth, desperation lapping at your own control.

You haven’t permitted him this little in so long. You haven’t permitted yourself this much for even longer.

You break away just as his canines start to graze your trembling lower lip, whispering the truth through your teeth. “I’ve been utterly smitten by you, Nanami Kento. Too often, you know me better than I do myself. But I know you too.”

“And?” 

You let the panted word hang in the air, savouring the way his anticipation swells through his button-up shirt, his chest rising and falling with each second that passes, that you hold out on.

You imbibe a heavy gulp of composure, some of the burgundy spilling past your lips.

Your glass chimes against the table with a definitive clink as you reply, “And I know how much of a hassle you find washing cast iron skillets to be. Restaurants would take care of that, right?”

Nanami’s face crumples into confusion, his consternation finding physical manifestations in the crease of his brows and down turned lips.

Maybe you’d gone too far, even if it wasn’t an outright rejection. He might interpret it as a stalling tactic.

“That was a joke, Kento. Of course I’d love to revisit Jonquilla’s with you. Or even a Mcdonalds drive-thru.” 

“My dear, you deserve so much better than that sodium saturated crap.”

Your laugh quivers, rippling with the pronounced vehemence with which Nanami had spat the expletive. He pins you with a stern glare, but you will mischief to glaze over your face, like a visor.

“Y’know, I’ve kinda been craving their fries.”

Nanami wrinkles his nose, and you breathe a little easier. “How your standards haven’t improved, after years of living together with home cooked meals, is beyond me.”

“You’re such a snob sometimes,” you dismiss his disdain with a giggle, “You gotta realise there are just some things you can’t exert influence over.”

Nanami’s eyes narrow. “I’m not going to give up.”

“Suit yourself,” you lick the last traces of a sauce off the back of a spoon with deliberation, feeling his gaze track your movements. “I see no downsides for me, if that means more yummy replications.”

Nanami’s exhale through his nose is short and sharp; what passes for a laugh these days. He regards you silently for a minute, exasperation mingling and melting into fondness, ever so gradually.

It seems you’re out of the woods. Still, it doesn't hurt to keep him in a good mood.

You reach out to caress Nanami’s cheek lightly, and his eyes drift close against your touch. “You can take me anywhere you want.” 

Everywhere and nowhere. 

“How about we start with the shower?”

Nanami stands a few feet away from you as vines of steam coil around his granite cheekbones, wilting his collar, leaching translucence into the whites of his Oxford top. You see the fibres strain with every rise and fall of his chest, the vapours of his mouth melding with the swelling humidity of the bath, amidst fluctuations of hunger and hesitation.

“Are you sure about this?” Nanami murmurs, he braces his arms behind him, pressing his back against the tiles, breath expanding underneath his shirt. You gaze upon Nanami, a centurion sculpted by Rodin, a cornered animal. 

You take a step towards him, feeling his heart hammer as you enclose your palm over it.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” you whisper, reaching for his first button.

It wasn’t quite the same of course, as on the other nights. Usually your positions were reversed; Nanami, fully clothed, would strip you and usher you into the shower, only a sponge between you and him as he cleansed every inch of your skin. His own bath would be brisk, but he’d thank you for your patience every evening as you shuddered in the corner, eyes tightly shut. He didn’t seem to care if you stared at him with revulsion or resignation, the way a leopard would disregard a sparrow.

That was all your bodies had been to each other for the longest time, mere objects co-existing in space, empty vessels requiring maintenance.

It’s hard to remember that now, as a more carnal need pumps through your veins, as the fabric peels away from his skin, sleeves rippling slow in their remorse of being parted from his swollen biceps. You replace them with your palms, gliding over arms corded with sinews like steel cables. All this strength he’s never used on you, keeping you in his grasp by some other power.

No, it was exactly this restraint that restrained you; shackled to the myth that it couldn’t get worse, torture earning your tolerance, tolerance reaping your torture.

You thread your fingers through Nanami’s locks, barley sheaves darkening into rye beneath the spray and the circular motion of your hands, massaging shampoo into his silken roots. The cascade of water catches his lashes just right, fronds fluttering like the gold-gilded ruffled edges of ginkgo leaves at the terminus of autumn; yet, as you sink your fingers into the joints where Nanami’s nape connects to the base of his cranium, you doubt it’s the scattered droplets which are responsible for his eyes closing, or the guttural groan dragged from his throat, the octaves dripping much lower than you’ve heard in months, sending simultaneous sensations of heat dribbling down your spine and a lush insistence of warmth tugging through your gut.

Suds slip their foamy trail over the corded tendons in his neck, iridescence slathering over his chest and arms. Your fingers follow them, naturally. Nanami holds himself very still as you scratch your nails lightly over his pectorals and abdominals, tracing a path of your own design and desires, forgotten yet familiar. The terrain prickles beneath your wandering palms, goosebumps sprouting at your touch. But then, you reach a swathe of blue mottling into violet, and your hand hovers over it, a sickle sized smudge wrapped around his upper ribs. You can’t control the flood that suddenly surges to your waterline, blurring your vision.

All the violence, and all the silence. The endless chaos. This was the truth out there, and here was the evidence he kept from you. 

The bruise spreads beneath your fingers, wider than your hand.

And what was the truth in here? Where was the danger? Long ago you’d confronted that same savagery, the senseless cruelty, those injustices he used to justify keeping you safe now.

You sink your thumb against the wound, dragging your anguish through it. You feel the breath juddering through Nanami, as he winces. But he doesn’t stop you.

You can hurt him too.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, leaning into your touch.

Monsters creating monsters, curses birthing more curses. Perhaps misery didn’t love company, as much as it feared and loathed enduring its own misanthropy alone.

There were worse things to lose than freedom.

You lift your hand away, to cup Nanami’s face instead.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing the apology over his closed eyes. You feel them flickering beneath your lips.

“I’m sorry for all of this.” His gaze, when it returns to you, wavers wearily between guilt and grief. It’s dimmed and misty, there are no calculations, no charting these choppy waters; he sways towards you, a man (as before, as ever) seeking safe harbour, adrift in your arms.

You coax his calloused hands around your hips, and you’re uncertain for a few moments if the trembling from his fingertips has summoned the same across your skin, or if it’s your own nerves rippling outwards to his touch, all too tentative.

“Do you…not want to-”

You feel the answer in his immediate indentations upon your waist, squeezing your doubts into silence. But his gaze remains obscured behind his fringe, plastered to his forehead. You brace against the silence by sliding your arms over his, thumb circling the taut knot at the crease of his elbow. Gently you lay your cheek against his chest, savouring the solidness that has been so absent, and its underlying thump-thump-thump, far less steady. 

You feel the breath rising through his lungs as he tilts your chin up towards him, voice rasping with frayed restraint.

“I want to. Of course I want you.”

Nanami drags his thumb from the corner of your lips to its plush centre, feeling it furl and yield without very much pressure.

“What if I want too much?”

For him to ask this now is a kindness you can’t afford. You don’t owe him this, he has reassured you of that much, tonight and many other nights. Perhaps it’s time that has taken its toll instead, so that with your last shred of autonomy, you choose to give, or at least give in.

“Just let me be selfish, this once.”

You angle your face towards him, lips parted and watch the light in his eyes shrink to pinpricks; firelight flickering out as bipedal silhouettes slink and morph back into the shadows of beasts - 

coherence, logic, caution all consumed by more primal instincts.

And so, you anticipate his devouring, his half-snarl, his clash of teeth when he claims your mouth again for the first time in ages but it’s worse, so much worse. And divine. 

His kiss is slow but no less forceful, the pressure gradually mounting, lapping at your lips then teasingly receding so you have to push up into him, deepening the kiss so quickly without you realising, only vaguely aware of your shortness of breath, of the most mild discomfort; the same dissonance of someone witnessing a revealed shore and wading further and further onto it, clueless that the waves are pulling back because of the tsunami surging towards them.

It’s too late by then, caught in Nanami’s undertow when your head rolls to the side, hardly far enough before it’s cradled by one of his large hands. The warmth from his palms pools across your nape, dripping down down down your spinal column, an erosion of stalactites as your weight melts against Nanami when he pulls your waist flush to his. He drinks in your whimpered surprise as you feel a smear, thick and wet, between your legs and prodding at your gusset. 

Nanami finally lets you part for air but you cling to him, limpet-limbed. Your gaze and hand drifts down to where he’s stiff, scarlet and sobbing from his slit, globs of fat white pearls that remind you of the dryness in your mouth.

“So much…you’ve been holding back this much?”

Nanami had never responded this way when conducting your evening rituals of hygiene, had swept his eyes over your breasts and buttocks as efficiently as he’d inspected your scalp, elbows, knees. His touch had been mechanical, clinical to the point of brusque. You came to the conclusion then, over the years, that he was inoculated against arousal, that the sight of your bare flesh no longer titillated him, that on some level even, he was completely apathetic to your nudity. It’s impossible to argue such a stance now with the copious amount of evidence painting your thighs, the head bobbing heavily as it brushes against your skin.

“Sometimes at work…” Nanami croaks and you finally tear your stare away from his glistening length, to be sucked into the brine-dark whirlpools of lust churning in his eyes. “I’d…I’d take the edge off.”

“How?” you whisper. The crimson rush crests high on his cheeks and you reach out to caress his face, residual heat sweeping from your fingers down your wrist. 

“J-just in a cubicle,” he confesses, averting his eyes. “Not often.”

During lunch breaks. In between meetings. Just before commuting. You hadn’t been able to keep your hands off each other, in those early days. So many late nights, and later mornings. Beds were irrelevant. Desks, couches, corridors, stairwells - the two of you didn’t need much to improvise intimacy, the sparse surroundings testimony to the inspiration you found endlessly in each other. 

It must have been difficult, to forget and forego all that. It was, for you.

“Made it worse…I tried to stop.”

Nanami Kento, with his crisp collars, perfectly ironed jackets, shiny brogues - in a sterile bathroom hunched over fisting his cock with frantic, feverish tugs, struggling to sputter to a paltry climax, the spit in his palms a poor substitute for what he refused himself every evening, 

so close, so easily within reach that he couldn’t take it.

Temporarily vanquishing his visceral ache for you, while heightening his hankering, compounding his cravings, haunted by his half-measures for months and months. 

Diminishing returns, returning with a vengeance. 

“Why not here, at home?” 

You see the anguish flash across his face, feel the tremor in his hands as he clutches at your waist. 

“I…didn’t want you to ever - ever - remotely consider that risk, with m-”

You crush your mouth to Nanami’s, pillow-soft lips pummeling his doubts into nothing more than the air that escapes with his choked grunt of surprise, tongue spearing deep past his lips to wrestle with his, an excavation of the remnants of his uncertainty.

“Kento…” And he hears his name panted, twisted through with such longing he has no choice but to look at you. 

“You don’t have to stop yourself anymore.”

Coals glow in Nanami’s irises, you witness in an instant the incineration of his final vestiges of control. But even if you hadn’t caught the change, you feel it as your body is engulfed in flames for the remainder of the night. 

Nanami grabs you, pins you to the wall as he nips kisses all across your nape, sucks bruises down the column of your throat, carnality swelling carnelian across your clavicle, as you claw ruby rivulets down his spine. He buries his pleasured growls between your breasts, stuffing his mouth with your mounds and moans and the stiffened peaks of your nubs, while his hands waste no time, grasping at every inch of you, your curves, the plush of your thighs, the fat of your bum, years of denial striking the flint of desperation, skin singeing against each other, ragged sighs breathing life into him, coaxing the inferno higher and higher.

And then his knuckles graze the lake of slick between your legs and when did he get on his knees and Nanami hisses your name, whiskey-smoked gaze drilling into yours, demanding not your permission, but your focus when he finally sinks his tongue into you, and the sob rips from your throat at his impatience, his insistence, lapping ravenously at your folds, retracing every crease and crevasse of you, tip curving into spots you forgot you had to chase and catch every drop drooling from your niche, greed driving him deeper to get closer to the mouth of the river, your lust already streaming down his face. He grinds your weight further on his face, disregarding your garbled protests, you cry out as the high bridge of his nose brushes your clit and almost immediately you regret it as he switches his attentions and abuse there, to that tiny bundle of nerves, tongue now stroking ruthlessly fast, alternating between flicking and wrapping tight circles around it. 

A particularly vicious suck has your climax shattering over you, your wails of his name bouncing off the tiles and to your fascinated horror, falling on deaf ears. It takes you a few moments, with every synapse scorched beyond function, to realise that your jerking and spasms aren’t from your first orgasm, but an impending second. Because Nanami hasn’t slowed down for a fraction of a moment, your cunt still sealed around the cavern of his mouth, the beast within writhing its way back into its reclaimed burrow; you squeal and whine and squirm, but it’s no use, Nanami slaps a hand against your thigh, angling it to hook high over his broad shoulders to keep you splayed, the iridescence you’re spraying across his cheeks no match for the gleam in his eyes as he feasts and slurps and sucks. 

His moans reverberating through your pussy seem to crawl their way up through your own throat, writhing into your garbled pleas for amnesty, for release. You’re convinced your pleasure is mere collateral, not the priority, to Nanami now, that he’s punishing you in some sadistic, delightful way - until you feel the swipes of his tongue soften and his smirk stretching you, in time with the tips of his fingers spreading across your swollen lips.

“One more darling,” he promises, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. You brace against the wall, whimpers tapering into relieved little mewls of his name as Nanami’s index glides inside you, pussy readily receiving every ridge and joint, liquid-smooth, as your resistance dribbles down his wrist.

“Gotta prep you, it’s been a while mmh?” he mumbles against your sodden core, starting to pump his digits in and out of you steadily, before he latches back onto your clit like an addict, picking up his pace and pressing into the soft spongy spots that have you erupting into your next climax.

But Nanami’s far from finished. 

He withdraws his fingers, luminescent with your essence and sucks them…clean hardly seemed an appropriate word, but it had to suffice in your severely diminished mental state, as the aftershocks scoured every nerve ending south of your tummy, satiation severing any attempt by your neurons to connect.

Brain mushy and muscles gelatinous, you slump forward into Nanami’s solid embrace, his baritone rumbling sweet nothings to reinforce the trembling in your knees. In a single fluid motion, he sweeps you into his arms, bundling you up bridal style out of the bathroom, not bothering with a towel.

“Ken! I’ll get the bed soaked,” you complain, clutching at his biceps.

“That’s the plan, dearest,” he rasps, the menace in his voice somehow simultaneously melodious. Nanami tosses you down on the mattress, lips chasing the blush rushing down your bosom, mouth puckering around the pertness of your buds, alternating between his tongue’s gentle flicks and how he rolls them roughly between his fingers. 

But Nanami’s only got one hand occupied by your tits. With the other you distantly hear him rummaging through the nightstand, sounding increasingly agitated. He cusses against your cleavage, and you hear a hollow cardboard box clatter off in the corner as he hurls it across the room.

Of course, neither of you had considered replenishing contraceptives in a long time. 

Nanami sits back on his haunches, hands clenched on his knees. His erection juts tantalisingly between them, in a proud upwards sweep of roseate to vermillion, milky droplets already beading again from the heavy head. 

Later, you’ll blame the flowers, the wine. Even that damned library card, for the next words that spill from your mouth.

But something possesses you, and you whisper in a voice you barely recognise as your own, “I don’t care, Nanami.” You feel his gaze snap from the offending emptiness of the bedside drawer to your hooded eyes, which are decidedly not directed at his face.

Your statement sinks into the silence taut between your bodies, and you feel the bed dip, as Nanami cautiously (but eagerly) shuffles forward on one knee, the hard silhouette of his length brushing against his belly. Errant pearls drip wastefully into the sheets, and you have to hold back a sob.

“Repeat it.”

“I…I don’t care, I j-just want…” your voice falters as Nanami looms over you, caging you in beneath his arms. His broad mushroom head glides along your slit, rivulets of your slick running from his tip down the rest of his cock. In all your years together, you’ve never felt him this way, with such intimacy, such bristling urgency.

“What do you want, love?”

“You, all of you.” The conviction crackles from your lungs at last and something snaps when Nanami suddenly sinks partially inside you, hips stuttering at your confession, gasps eclipsing each other’s at the sudden surge and squelch of wet and heat and clinging.

It’s too much and not enough all at once and it has your hips jerking up involuntarily, your body remembering there was more, that it was made for much more - but Nanami clamps down on them, shushing your indignant whines even as you try to draw more of him in.

“There’ll be time for you to regret your greed later, my girl,” Nanami chuckles his hoarse assurance, and there’s something about the specific blend of his tone; the sardonicism, the delirium, the absolute warmth under it all that is completely familiar to you. You slip into surrender, relaxing entirely into the kiss you drag him down for. 

Nanami is slow to sleeve himself fully within you, savouring how your expressions flicker between frustration and pleasure, a reticence resonant with the way your pussy flutters around his girth, beguiling in its struggle as Nanami feeds you his meat, inch by throbbing inch. You feel him wrestle with the dilemma too in the aberrant twitches of his cockhead, leaking pre-cum, as if your passage weren’t satin-slick enough already and arduous with your ardour. 

It’s a surreptitious, viscous cycle; you get more sodden and sensitive with every incremental shimmy Nanami presses into you, the teasingly measured secretion of his slimy trail inside you mingles with your own wet wantonness, the excesses of this elixir dribbling down the remainder of his length and coating your already considerably saturated walls, making it harder and harder for him to resist slamming the rest of his way inside you.

He knows you could take it, that you crave such treatment even, but he wants even more to commit this eternity to memory, not simply the glorious, torturous novel sensation of fucking you raw but the way your face shifts from arousal to adoration, back and forth, again and again, as he seeds a new addiction inside you, gradually stretching you past your former limits; physical, emotional, moral.

Nanami presses a stilted groan into your nape when he bottoms out inside you at last, laving his tongue over the film of perspiration clinging to your collarbones, as if there were some secret adhesive he could absorb to keep himself together, to prevent himself from falling apart with every rippling contraction of your cunt, as your being is molded once more around his pulsing length. 

“Ke~nnnhg…” you moan, and he twitches hard inside your gluey, velvet-vice to hear his name so stretched out, like gum, like rubber, like the dearth thereof, of any barrier between your bodies when you squeeze around him, deliberately this time. There’s an abundance of obviousness that it’s your action, not a reaction, by how your voice tremors with the effort.

“Already told ya,” you huff, “You don’t have to stop yourself anymore.”

And perhaps it’s your petulance, how you’re pouting this reminder of your mutual needs to be devastated, that sets Nanami off, that has his hips snapping forward, callous and careless at last, his thrusts initially sharp and shallow building quickly into an erratic rhythm that you can barely keep up with, letting yourself be jostled and pounded and shaken like a ragdoll, like Nanami’s exclusive fucktoy for him to drain his desires into. 

“Fuck, angel, so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, make you so swollen with me, mmh?” 

Your keen peels from your ribs, pitching high into the air, as Nanami continues to whisper filth and praise and promises you can’t quite comprehend, the only sounds, barely intelligible, is his slurring of your name, the syllables stringing stickily together like the messy ropes of cum swaying with every plunge of his cock back into your cunt, relentlessly bruising those spots that make meteors flash across your screwed shut eyes.

“Ken, K-Kento! Ah, ah- missed this so much, m-missed you!”

It’s your last attempt at coherence before your climax crashes over you and you clench around Nanami’s spurting cock, his broken bellows echoing through your bones and veins as he cums shortly after, flooding you, tethering you. You arch into him, receiving each pump, pulses blending with tongues tangling, till there is no distinction between tributaries and alluvium, between river and ravine, only the abundance of silt from his slit, nestled snugly against your cervix.

Nanami shifts to settle you in his arms, some of his spend seeping from the apex of your thighs.Will there be a price to pay? The potential of a gynecologist’s scrutiny, doula appointments, consultations and consolations,  complications and consequences, another presence at last in this house…you push these questions far from your mind.

Because the night doesn’t end there of course, you don’t recall if it ends at all. It’s a haze of hormonal hedonism, hours lost in the fog of damp breaths and senses swamped by desire. It is as if you dreamed it all, drifting off with Nanami inside you, waking to find his hunger unabated. Any concerns the morning might bring are cloudy, what is crystalline instead - what you choose to curate - are the sparse intermissions of his syrupy kisses over the words you exchange, that he demands to hear with your will languishing, effervescent as the vow he pulls from you, but will hold you to, lingering in the long shadows of your subconscious: I’m yours and you are mine, I need nothing else.

Seraphim, succubus, sorceress...all these accusations and adorations Kento lays at your feet, worshipping at the altar of your thighs, whether you were astride or under him. Calling you his cornerstone, a becoming like cinder blocks around your ankles.

Drunk off of him, kisses spilling kerosene and casks of Amontillado, your kindness your kindling, immolated by indulgence. You’d yearned for this too, his hunger feeding yours, an Ouroborous of obsession wrapping around your arms, chest, eyes so you couldn’t see how symbiosis ceded to the parasitic, the pleasure paralytic, ambrosia abused into anaesthetic until it cemented your ruin. Your comfort and his catharsis was a drug, yet you do not stop to wonder if this love had never been medicinal, if it had been narcotics lavished against necrosis.

It was too late for either of you to realise he’d never healed, amidst the eternity of nights spent with your lips sealed to Nanami’s like an oath. He never cared or dared to question destiny, yet never been so sure he’s meant to share his with anyone except you. But Fate has always been cruel to the best people he’s known and known too late just how much he needed in his life. 

And he couldn’t possibly be crueler than Fate, could he, if it meant protecting you?

Sworn and bound to this, but it unleashed an ancient anguish that had festered for far too long in his heart, aches that should have stayed buried, instincts that should have gone extinct; His salvation now only in the mutation of satiation into starvation. Every love bite and bruise stacking upon each other’s skin like bricks in a citadel for two. You were his fortress, his hearth. 

You didn’t know he was building you a pedestal, a pyre, a pyramid.

All to serve a goddess in name, in invention not intervention. Does it matter? Nanami strips you of your mortality, your humanity. You are a being of infinite benevolence and eternal beauty, a deity who deigned to age alongside him. He would grow old with you. Even if it meant dooming you to dwell within a sarcophagus.

Nanami looks upon you, you are enshrined, entombed. He engulfs you in amber; Your life preserved, your love petrified.

thanks for reading!

a/n:also wanted to say I owe a debt of inspiration to @saintshigaraki's fic which has one of the most realistic, seductive portrayals of a Yandere Nanami I've read. Mise En Place would not exist without it.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

Sirensskai [Part 1/2]

DISCLAIMER: Please do not use this as an excuse to harass or track down anyone mentioned here.

Thank you to @fleabuki for helping me find and compile this information.

Kai, known by their Tumblr username sirensskai, has a history of overstepping boundaries, displaying incredibly unhealthy attachments to fictional characters, and refusing to cease or dial back their behavior when confronted. This post is meant not as an attack on them, but as a plea for them to make changes before these behaviors hurt both Kai themselves, and the people around them, any further.

Kai has a reputation for making people in the community deeply uncomfortable, and is known by many as simply the person with an incredibly strange attachment to Ripp Grunt. Several artists, as well as other creators and people in the community, have blocked Kai, citing their constant obsessive remarks as off putting and distressing.

Kai is well known for engaging in self-shipping, but this was never really the root of the problem. There is nothing inherently wrong with self-shipping, especially in a game as open to anything as The Sims. However, Kai takes this to a fanatical, obsessive extent, to the point where almost all of their Tumblr posts are about him, with many of these posts mentioning that this is a serious coping mechanism for Kai. They frequently express their struggles with being social and with hypersexuality.

Kai has proven time and time again to be unable to refrain from talking about their self-shipping, even when they know it is making others uncomfortable. They were banned from LazyDuchesses’s Discord server a few months ago, for repeatedly sharing NSFW Character AI chats, even after moderators explicitly told them to stop. Many members in the server believed the ban was long overdue. These sexual messages were in channels that could be viewed by any of the members of the Discord, including minors.

Kai has also shown that they use Ripp, and their perceived relationship with him, as a coping mechanism, to the point of being concerning. They mention in several posts and messages that they feel that they only exist to love him, or that fantasizing about him is the way that they process their trauma.

Kai was recently in a Discord server with a fifteen year old, who was new to the community and was hoping to make friends. Kai, at the time, was around nineteen, and had a history of discussing NSFW topics in Discord servers to the point that moderators told them to stop. When the child asked if he could discuss NSFW topics with Kai in private DMs, Kai agreed.

Screenshots show that Kai was aware of this person’s age, and that others in the server found it odd and creepy.

Kai was shown to make lewd remarks back and forth with this minor. Though I do not have evidence that the sexual remarks were ever directed at the fifteen year old, they were made in conversations with him, usually with Kai sexualizing Ripp. Kai is shown to react to the fifteen year old making sexual/inappropriate jokes with praise and encouragement.

The child expressed that this arrangement made him feel uncomfortable, and that he saw Kai as someone older, not as an equal. He has decided that the community made him feel unsafe and has decided to leave, and I wish him the best of luck. I want to offer a sincere apology that we, as a collective group, let anyone behaving like this go unchecked for so long.

[sciencebecameouraddiction]

tell me what you want for valentine’s…

in the spirit of February being the month of love, (specifically feb 14 BUT imma extend this to the month bc we need more love!), i have created prompt items that you can order for your own valentines fic!

Read the prompts and shows I’ll write for below! feel free to send a request!

Just as a reminder, because I do write NSFW stuff, if you are a minor, please do not interact!

Valentine’s Prompts:

Candy Hearts – Sweet, playful, lighthearted, flirty, teasing, possibly a game of hidden confessions

Wilted Rose – Angsty, bittersweet, exes, enemies, lovers turned to strangers, a love that’s slipping away.

Stuffed Animals – Soft, slow, cozy, cuddles, lazy mornings, whispered words, the warmth of just being together.

Pink Hearts – Cute, fluffy, full of butterflies, adorable Valentine’s dates, nervous confessions, giddy excitement.

Heart Eyes Emoji – Dazzling, smitten, full of admiration, outfit reveals, “you look incredible”, the rush of falling even harder, “i can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you”.

Heart Confetti – Celebratory, joyful, full of love, an anniversary, a milestone, good news.

Cute Craft – Wholesome, heartfelt, handmade, Character A makes Character B something special, adorable, maybe clumsy but most definitely meaningful.

Sweet Card – Sincere, romantic, filled with emotion, written words, a confession, a reminder, something long overdue.

Secret Note – Mystery, longing, hidden feeling, secret admirers, unsigned letters, thrill of wondering who it could be.

NSFW Prompts:

Red Roses – Steamy, spicy, full of tension, romantic passion, heated moments.

Chocolate-Dipped Strawberry – Sultry, playful, dripping with tension, flirty glances, suggestive teasing, leads to something more (?).

Red Hearts – Spicy, teasing, a date that starts romantic but quickly turns into something more heated.

Chocolates – Indulgent, romantic, maybe a little messy, sharing sweets, feeding each other, something a little more suggestive.

Example Prompt 1: hey! i would love a cute craft and a secret note with character!

Example Prompt 2: hi! i would love to receive a heart eyes emoji, Heart Confetti and Pink Hearts with character(s)

Example Prompt 3: would love to see a Red Heart and Secret Note with character(s)

I will write for:

Arcane

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

Thank you y’all and feel free to start requesting!

[the-californicationist]

Sending hugs as always!!!! Soooo, another request with no rush intended. Not sure if you are familiar with “Cool.” Gwen Stefani song and video. Love lost but no love lost. Rainy days and nights. He sees you with your “new” love. All the memories come rushing back, and he has to have you!!!! Dripping wet in his fit!! Maybe he tries to sneak away with you?! You’re the genius!! Still loving your Fluff and Stories on AO3. Thanks always!! ❤️💜

hey babe!! love this ask. sorry for the wait! <3 <3 trying to get out chapter 2 of bear price before the weekend, but this one just wouldn't leave my WIP station, so i had to get it done. very cool premise. hope this comes close to what you wanted!!

Cloudy, with a Chance

John Price was not having a good day. He’d had worse days, to be sure, but as he trudged through yet another puddle, soaked through with this torrential rain, freezing to his bones, he thought it had turned out pretty bloody bad. 

For one, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. Your laugh and the stuttering hello of your voicemail greeting were taunting him like a vicious demon, and every time he brought himself to pleasure, it was your sweet moans that flooded through his mind. He’d also come back from the field to find his truck broken into and his storage unit payment almost three months overdue. Getting all of his belongings back in order had been a real fucking drag. None of this would’ve happened if you were still there.

But, you weren’t. 

You’d left him before his last tour, and that was almost six months ago. He could still hear your complaints in his mind, clear and orderly, like a list of commandments:

I’m tired of being left alone, John!

I can’t keep wondering if every phone call is about to tell me you’ve died.

You promised you’d be here for me, and you’re not. 

I’m not stitching up another bullet hole. I can’t.

How much more of yourself are you going to give them? They don’t deserve you.

What if I need you? 

It had been a rough tour. He’d called you a few times, and when you’d answered, the guilt rent through his heart like a stake. 

“John? What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Aye, I’m fine. Lads are fine. Just… I needed to hear your voice.”

“It’s alright, John. I’m here.”

And you had been. You were still there for him. Sometimes, when he got your voicemail, he thought he’d reached the end of your generosity, but that wasn’t the hardest part. No, the worst thing was coming home to empty drawers and his toothbrush, lonely in its glass, all by itself. 

As he sheltered under the awning of a Nero’s coffee shop, he tried to get his bearings, deciding whether or not to wait out the storm. It was only by chance that he glanced into the window at Capello’s, and it was only by chance that the waiter had sat you and your date in the window seat. 

His breath caught in his chest when he realized it was you, and his shock turned from yearning to sadness to rage in the blink of an eye. Who was that muppet with his bloody fuckin’ hands all over you? You were his. 

Except you weren’t his. Not anymore. 

No, fuck that. 

He marched across the street, paying no mind to the honking traffic. A brief argument with the maître d' and he was through to the dining room. 

“John?” Your voice had an edge of panic, and your eyes were focused on him as he dripped his way across the carpet.

In fact, all eyes were on him, but he didn’t care. 

Your date looked more than a little put out, but when he started to stand up, Price grabbed his shoulder with no small amount of cruelty and shoved him back into his seat. 

“What’re you doin’ here, love? You fuckin’ hate Capello’s.”

“I don’t…” You looked around, lowering your voice, trying to get him to match your volume, “I’m on a date, Jonathan.”

“Don’t be stupid. You need to come home. I can’t do this without you. I can’t do anything without you, and I don’t care who bloody knows it. I need you, love. Please.”

“You can’t keep doing this! I deserve to have someone who is there for me when I need them to be,” you raised your voice again, frustrated by his words. 

Good. He liked it when you got all worked up.

“And you think this muppet can do more than me? Please.”

John rolled his eyes. The muppet tried to protest, moving to stand up again, only to be shoved back into position. 

You took a deep breath, and you tried not to notice just how small your date was compared to your ex-boyfriend. John towered over him, and his thigh was more than twice the size of this guy’s bicep. Seeing John’s huge hand covering this man’s frail-looking shoulder kind of gave you the ick for your date. 

You also tried to ignore your captain’s field-hardened body. He always came home so much more muscular, and so much larger, than he looked when he left. He was still soaking wet from the rain, drenched in his hoodie and tac-jacket. His canvas pants clung to his skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. But, that didn’t matter. You were imagining it anyway. 

What you couldn’t ignore was that cold, blue hunger in his eyes. His beard had grown out, and the scruff combined with his long hair, all raked back under that disgusting boonie hat, were doing things to you that made you clench your legs together, becoming acutely aware of how every piece of fabric felt as it touched your body, and you knew exactly how it would feel when he ripped it off of you. 

“Uh, hey. Listen, mate —” The date tried to protest weakly. 

“Shut up,” you and John spat at your date at the same time. 

John smiled at that, warming himself in your fire,

“C’mon, love. We’re leaving.”

He tossed a few wet hundred pound notes down on the table, not giving a shit if it was enough or not, and lifted the open bottle of wine from the ice bucket. His gaze fell to your date for a fleeting second, and he said, 

“Cheers, mate.”

His hand grabbed yours and helped you from your seat, leading you outside. Once he had you back in your coat, he took you out into the rain, keeping his warm palm planted on the small of your back, and he didn’t say one single word to you until you were back in the foyer of his flat, dripping onto the marble tiles, panting and breathless in the quiet entrance, listening to his keys jingle in the lock. 

“Let’s get you dry, love. Then,” he was breathless from the rain and from something else, “We’ll get your things. Put them back where they go, yeah?”

You nodded dumbly, shivering from the cold,

“Yeah. Okay, John.”

“Get inside, love. That a new dress?”

“Mmhm,” you let him towel you dry in the entrance, feeling how strong he was even though you knew he was trying to be gentle with you. 

“Take it off.”

His voice had a tone that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on its end. You followed his command almost immediately, feeling your body rush with shock and excitement. 

John caught you by your arms and shoved you against the wall in the foyer, his eyes bearing down into you with a fiery intensity you’d never seen. He spoke through his teeth, gravelly and dark, full of warning,

“You belong here with me. I don’t want any more dates. I want you to be mine, and I bloody well want to be yours. Let me.”

“Alright, John,” you whispered, holding your breath, nervous and waiting.

“Don’t,” he pressed his forehead against yours like he had a fever, “Don’t say yes unless you mean it, love.”

You pushed his head back with yours just enough to reach his cheek. You kissed it as softly as you could, moving down his jaw and onto his neck, feeling his blood rush through his veins warming his skin beneath your lips. 

His hands fell away from your arms and you grabbed his hands, holding them in yours, still speaking to him in a low whisper, not wanting to break his spell,

“I’m yours, John. You’re all I have thought about for six months, and I don’t want to be without you. I don’t know what I was saying…”

He grabbed you on either side of your face and kissed you deeply, pushing his body into yours, grinding his wet clothes into you, and not caring a bit about the puddle on the floor,

“Shh. You’re mine. That’s all I need to hear.”

You looked into each others’ eyes and got lost for a moment. The blues of his irises were icy and sharp, tracking your every movement, your every breath. His sudden command pulled you out of your trance, 

“Take off your dress.”

John watched you as you slipped the straps off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him, your nipples pebbled from the cold, damp cloth. It fell, cascading down your body, showing off the black lace panties you wore underneath. Your strappy heels kicked the gown away from you, and you squirmed under his scrutiny,

“Were you gonna show him these?” John’s fingertips grazed the panties right above your clit, making little petting strokes with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah,” you lifted your chin, challenging him, willing to face his jealous wrath. 

“Yeah?” John growled, taking your bait, fisting your dripping hair in his hand and forcing your head back, baring your smooth neck to him, “On a first date? You must have been hungry for it, love.” He taunted you, touching your lips through the lace. 

“Second date…” You flashed your eyes up at him, knowing he would snarl, and he did. 

“Second… Mm,” John grabbed the panties by the front fabric and ripped them from your hips with one cruel tug. You gasped, and he caught your mouth with his, kissing you as his fingers found a different kind of wetness pooling between your legs, “My poor darling. You know he wouldn’t be enough for you. You’d have been so… fucking… disappointed...”

With every word of his last phrase, he thrust his fingers inside of you to their knuckle, lifting your body as he did so, his strength fully apparent. 

“Did you miss me?” He asked you quietly. All the anger was gone from his tone, and a somber desperation was back. 

“Yes, my love. I did,” you kissed him as sweetly as you could, telling him the truth. 

“Fuck,” he grimaced, “I missed you.”

Suddenly, you were airborne, lifted into his arms and being carried into the adjacent kitchen. He sat you on the counter, shoving stacks of unread mail and keys onto the floor. You helped him strip off his wet clothes, pulling his hoodie and his jacket from his back, watching with admiration as he tugged off his undershirt, revealing his damp, furry chest, all of his dark hair laying matted against his skin. He was tanned and burned from the desert sun in odd tan lines, proof of his work, and your hands felt his sculpted form with joy, exploring all of him with abandon. 

You knocked off his boonie hat and watched him rake his hair back again, trying to keep it out of his face. It was straight in the front, but it began to curl when it reached his ears, wild and unkempt. 

Then, you heard the buckle jingle, and that familiar tool of his fell from the open folds of his pants. It was just as you had dreamt it, heavy and large, throbbing and flushed, excited to see you. He dipped the head of it into your lips, rubbing himself back and forth through your wetness, making you moan. 

“Oh, fuck… There you are. My girl. Needed you. Fuck, I needed you.” He wasn’t talking to you. Not really. He was sort of lamenting aloud, lost in his selfish thrusting, slicking himself in the softness of your body, bumping your clit on the way up and teasing your hole on the way down. 

Finally, he positioned himself at your center, carefully aligned with your tight opening, and he commanded you once more, 

“Spread your legs for me. Show me. I wanna see you… that’s it. So damn pretty.”

“John, please…” You begged, touching yourself, trying to show him how ready you were. 

He chuckled, pressing just the tip of his head into you, making you writhe,

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours…” You whispered, feeling particularly naughty about this call and response. 

“Whose!” He got in your face, close enough to kiss you but holding himself back, his voice louder and more forceful. 

“Yours! It’s yours. Please, fuck me, John,” you pleaded, gasping from being so near to your release and not being able to reach it. 

“Mine,” he thrust himself into you and watched you fall apart, feeling you pulse around him uncontrollably, “My fuckin’ pussy. All mine.”

He found a rhythm, but it was punishing. You had orgasm after orgasm pulled from you cruelly. There was no lovemaking. He was claiming you. You were familiar with his need after his tour, especially if it had been particularly difficult, but six months of not knowing if he’d ever see you again had made him rabid. Each thrust was like the touch of a glowing brand, marking you as his, reminding you of where you found your pleasure. 

You were not in control, not anymore. Any of your goading or teasing was immediately quashed by his dominance. You were just  a mixture of screaming bliss and sopping, milking noises, made by his effort between your legs. 

Frustrated that he couldn’t fuck you deeper, he pulled you from the countertop and down onto the cold tile floor. You were crawling onto the soft kitchen mat on your hands and knees, trying to catch your bearings when you felt him position himself behind you.

He grabbed your hair and pulled you into a high arch, shoving his fat cock back into you, sighing with relief as he did so, praising you in muttered, grunting words. 

He began to slam himself back into you, somehow feeling harder and thicker than before, filling you up to your limit. 

“Fuck!” You moaned, “Fuck…”

“Is that what you needed, love? Hm?” He leaned his body over yours like a hound, whispering into your neck.

“Yes, yes, yes yes…” You could barely breathe. 

“Needed your man, didn’t ya?”

“Yes, please…” Whatever words came to mind, you said them. You didn’t care. You could barely put a coherent thought together much less a full sentence. 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this until you can’t even remember his goddamn name.”

You smiled, cock-drunk and high from your repeated pleasure, peeking at him over your shoulder,

“Whose name?”

He laughed like a demon, fucking you faster, chasing his end,

“That’s my girl.”

When he lost his steady, pumping rhythm, he began to let out a barking shout, and you felt his come begin to drip from his body and into yours, heating you up in your core. He pushed his cock through it, frothing it inside of you, letting it drip down his shaft and coat his hair. 

He fell out of you, sitting back on his knees, pulling you into his lap with his last ounce of strength, and leaned against the kitchen cabinets, legs spread, holding you to his chest. John was breathing hard, his eyes shut. You reached up and touched his bottom lip, earning your fingertips a soft kiss. 

John opened his eyes and looked down at you, holding you close, begging you,

“Don’t leave me, baby. Please. Don’t leave me alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere, John. I’m right here,” you told him, petting his chest in comforting strokes, breathing hard with him.

“Stay,” he whispered, so low you almost couldn’t hear him, “Please, stay.”

You kissed his neck and whispered back, 

“I’ll stay. Forever. I promise.”

Your tired captain pulled you tighter into him, leaning a sweaty cheek against your forehead, smiling slightly, finally at some kind of peace.

AO3 Link

[mousedetective]

Please Help A Homeless Family Pay Bills & Stay Housed?

PAYPAL | AMAZON WISHLIST | KOFI | GOFUNDME

VENMO: @penaltywaltz | CASHAPP: $afteriwake23 | ZELLE: DM me for email address

02/09/24 - New Post!

So good news! My glasses arrived, and they are amazing, and I am in love with both the regular glasses and the sunglasses. They didn't come with hard cases, but! Walmart Optometry was having a 75% off sale on hard cases so I picked up two for me, two for the glasses I plan on getting my daughter as soon as we get her an updated prescription and one for my mom's reading glasses for $14. I may go back and get the Pride cleaning cloths for Lena since she got rainbow and Pride cases. They're going to be, like, $2.

I also got denture supplies for my mom since she said it looks like she'll get her full and partial dentures when her teeth are pulled on the 26th, so she has the stuff on hand to clean them and to keep them secure so food particles don't get stuck underneath.

I would love to come up with $225 to get Lena an eye exam and the glasses she wants from Zeeolol (I have a 25% coupon to use with it...the exam will be $60 - $80 at Walmart, though). One is bisexual pride flag colors, the other is trans pride flag colors, and her current glasses are pre-quarantine, so she needs a new scrip badly. A friend may be able to help me with this later in the month, but if I can get the exam done this week that would be fantastic.

I also need $150 to pay a bill that is overdue and a bill that is due today. The $400 tied up with the loan company plus anything over the $350 I'm trying to get now will go towards keeping the room until March 2nd. Please help and/or reblog if you can. Thank you!

$1044/$1600

(I just got a donation through GoFundMe while I was waiting to get on my laptop...I'll get the money in a few days and it will go to paying off another sorely overdue bill, plus laundry if I get it by Monday)

[sagesolsticewrites]

Hiya could you do Harry Crosby + “ if you asked me to marry you tomorrow, i'd say yes. “ “ what about today?” from one of your drabble prompt lists please and thanks 💛

Thank you so much for requesting, Nonnie! I’ve adored these Masters of the Air requests, especially getting to write for Harry my love!! Our favorite navigator 🥰

Quick warning that there is a nonzero chance of historical inaccuracies here, and the timeline may be a little off, but I did actual research for this one y’all! New additions to the ever-growing Useless Knowledge section of my brain: knowing where Lt. Harry Crosby studied for college (he was working on his graduate degree at the University of Iowa when the Pearl Harbor attack occurred; he went back to finish his degree there in 1947 and earned his PhD from Stanford University in 1953!), when and why he joined the Army Air Forces (paused his studies at U of I to enlist after Pearl Harbor), and where he was sent for his training (Mathers Field, California) before being stationed in Idaho, and eventually at East Anglia. Look at me go lol 🤪 Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy!

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

a/n: well, that’ll teach me not to try to format my fics on mobile 😂 I guess the Harry fic’s coming out today! Hope you like it Nonnie <3

Masterlist

Just Say Yes

You waited anxiously under the maple tree at the edge of the campus courtyard, fiddling with the worn, creased paper in your hands — Harry’s last letter, telling you that this next visit home would likely be his last before he was transferred to Idaho, and then to who knows where.

I’ll meet you under our tree, pretty girl, the letter had read, Saturday, our usual time?

The tree— the very maple tree you stood in the shade of now— was where you had met often when you were both students at the University of Iowa, studying English. The tradition had started when you were paired up for a project, and Harry asked if you would mind working outside.

“I think better in the fresh air,” he had said, almost apologetically, and you had agreed almost instantly, captivated by the quiet but clearly very smart boy who sat next to you in class.

Even after the project was over and graded, you continued to meet under that tree nearly every day at 2 o’clock after class to compare class notes or exchange feedback on essays.

And after nearly four months of meeting and working together, it was under that tree where Harry Crosby finally asked you out on a date.

Leaning back against the tree, you were jolted out of your trip down memory lane by a familiar voice calling your name.

Grinning, you turned to see Harry strolling towards you, dapper in his dress uniform, one arm raised in greeting, the other cradling a bouquet of tulips— your favorite.

You pushed off from the tree, unable to wait a single second longer, and sprinted to meet him, uncaring of the students staring at the crazy lady running across their campus.

He opened his arms as the distance between you lessened until you crashed into him, burying your head in his chest. He stumbled back a bit, absorbing your momentum, but he was quick to embrace you, quicker still to turn your momentum into a dizzying, joyous twirl, lifting your feet off the ground.

You let out a gleeful laugh as the world spun around you, and pulled him in for a long-overdue kiss once your feet were firmly back on the ground.

After the two of you reluctantly pulled apart, you cupped his face in your hands, drinking him in: lips stained red from your lipstick, hat knocked askew, uniform now more than a little wrinkled, and best of all, those warm brown eyes you had missed so much overflowing with love.

He looked as dapper as ever.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he murmured with a smile, a greeting for your ears only.

It had been so long since you’d heard those words from his lips, and all you could do was blink back the tears that sprang to your eyes as you replied with a simple, tender “Hi.”

Understanding filled his eyes, and he pulled you into a hug, pressing a kiss to your forehead and allowing you a moment to compose yourself before the two of you headed back towards your tree.

“Oh!” He said, holding the bouquet out to you as if he just now remembered he had it, “For you, m’lady.”

You took the bouquet, fingering the delicate pink and yellow petals. “They’re beautiful, Harry,” you smiled up at him, “Thank you.”

“Anything for my girl,” he said, gesturing for you to sit and make yourself comfortable first before he settled next to you in the shade.

“So,” he said, wrapping an arm around you, “Tell me everything. What have I missed? How’d that paper go that you were telling me about?”

You couldn’t help but light up at the mention of your latest paper— your pride and joy, your best work yet if you didn’t say so yourself— and at Harry’s encouraging smile, you rambled on about themes and motifs and parallels, Harry occasionally chiming in with a suggestion that made the connections you had made even clearer.

Despite the plethora of letters you had sent each other, each doing your best to keep the other updated, you and Harry never seemed to run out of things to talk about: the conversation flowed from your latest paper to how Harry had been giving the guys some book recommendations based on your suggestions, to the small bookshop you had taken to visiting, compiling a list of titles for him that you thought he’d enjoy. Harry mentioned that some of his comrades had set up a small library of sorts in the barracks, running on the honor system, but they’d likely need to shut it down soon, with people moving to their more permanent placements.

“Oh that reminds me,” Harry said, digging in his pocket for a moment before triumphantly revealing a scrap of paper with his distinctive scrawl.

“Plenty of the guys are getting letters from their wives and sweethearts,” he said, slipping you the small piece of paper with the address of his next assignment in Boise, “I wanna make sure I’m one of ‘em.”

“Getting letters from your wife, or your sweetheart?” You asked playfully, tucking the slip of paper safely in your pocket.

“Uh.. Well, I mean…” Harry stammered, trying very hard not to think about the small box in his pocket.

“Hey,” you pause to assure him, “I was just kidding.” Under the shade of your tree, you rested your head on his shoulder, looking out at the courtyard. “I know we’re a little young, but…” You took a deep breath, entwining your fingers with his, “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.”

You caught the barest hint of movement out of the corner of your eye, and you glanced over to see a small box held out to you.

A box in Harry’s hand that was open to reveal a delicate gold ring.

“What about today?” Harry asked softly, close enough that his breath brushed your cheek.

“I— Harry—” You were speechless, your world zeroing in on that small gold band before realizing that you had been silent for far too long.

You nodded furiously, turning to kiss him before you could even get the words out.

“Is that a—”

Harry’s tentative question was cut short by your lips crashing onto his. His hands came up to cup your cheeks, kissing you back with equal fervor, the ring box left in your lap.

You both eventually pulled away, gasping for air. Harry’s forehead remained pressed to yours, chocolate brown eyes locked on you.

“Was that a yes?” He asked, lips still just barely brushing yours, and you could feel him trying not to smile.

You were an English major. There were a thousand words you could have said, a thousand speeches of acceptance and love and devotion you could have made.

Only one word mattered to you just then.

“Yes.”

[robotpussy]

i know i have another donation post going around and im sorry 2 do this while im also asking for a huge amount but my gfm goal isnt something that needs to be met in the next week - i do however have an overdue bill to pay from june 😭 its my water bill and it unfortunately costs £115 :/

i have like £10 in my bank account rn so i rlly do need help rn. and yes i have a job but i dont start it until later this month, i really wish i didnt have to do this but i have no other choice rn

paypal

cashapp

£0/£115

*ive reached my goal! thank you so much!!

[virescent-v]

School Yard Bully Pt. 2

A/N: The follow up to School Yard Bully. It's short and it's got smut. 😂 I know what my Emily fans like and I aim to please 🫡 Also, this gif? my god 🥵🥵🥵

Word Count: 1.8k+

Warnings: oral (r! receiving), use of pet names (baby, princess). I think that's about it. It's not that wild this time lol

Part One can be read here

Have fun ;) and happy Saturday! :)

A week has passed since your lock in with Emily. Work for the past week was quiet, mostly catching up on paperwork. While you were thankful a case didn’t tear you away, you had been bored every day, most of the team keeping their heads down and focusing on all of the overdue work they had. 

You and Emily hadn’t had much time alone together to talk about what happened at Rossi’s. You weren’t even entirely sure that your date was still on until Friday morning when Emily texted you from her desk. 

Emily: I need your address so I can pick you up tonight. 

You: Oh, we’re still going? You hadn’t said anything… 

You glanced up, catching Emily’s eyes across the bullpen. You could see the light shining in them, even from so far away. 

Emily: I didn’t want the team to be nosey. This is about us. 

You could see a light blush staining her cheeks and it made your insides warm. This was a complete switch from the Emily you’ve known. And you were looking forward to getting to know her. 

You sent off a text with your address and a ‘see you at 7pm sharp, Prentiss’ before getting back to your paperwork. 

Nothing was going to get in the way of your date tonight, especially paperwork. 

*

At exactly seven, your doorbell rang. You exhaled slowly, feeling the nerves rush through you. You weren’t sure what you were doing tonight, but you assumed it was something fancy, as Emily had told you to dress accordingly. 

You were wearing a tight fitting, but still appropriate, deep red dress. It clung to you in all the right ways, highlighting the curve of your hips, the valley between your breasts. It showed off just the right amount of both cleavage and legs. Your makeup was done with a little smokey eye, making your eyes look hooded and seductive. Simply, you looked hot. 

You opened the door to find an absolute vision in front of you. Emily was wearing black slacks and a white button down, the sleeves pushed halfway up her forearms. The shirt was tucked into her pants, drawing attention to her waist. She had a necklace that hung at the perfect space on her chest. It was minimal, but it took your breath away. 

Emily cleared her throat. “Wow, uh, you look beautiful,” she said, a little breathlessly, her eyes taking in every inch of you, focusing intently on the peek of your thighs from under your dress. 

You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks and chest with the way that she was looking at you. Intense, almost as if she was trying to memorize every curve of you. 

“Should we go?” You said, grabbing your things, trying to ignore the feelings rising in you. 

Emily smiled, extending her arm to you as you passed through your door, leading your way to her car, where she opened the door for you, watching you settle into the passenger seat. She leaned in close to you, her nose grazing the side of your neck, lightly inhaling the smell of your perfume. “I can’t wait to eat tonight,” she whispered, her breath tickling the side of your ear. 

A slow, steady throb started between your legs, making you break out in goosebumps. 

You turned your head slightly, your nose brushing against hers. 

You could feel the ghost of her breath against your lips as she said, “I’m so hungry, princess.” 

Before you could think, let alone respond, the car door was shut and Emily was making her way around the car. 

*

Dinner went well, the conversation staying relatively tame minus a few suggestive comments from Emily that made the ache between your legs grow throughout the meal. 

Emily tried her best to talk about anything but work, learning things about you that she hadn’t in the past few months. You two had enough in common that you could talk about your shared interests, but enough differences that it wasn’t boring. 

You could tell the whole meal that Emily was holding back on something, but you didn’t want to ruin the lighthearted mood that had settled over the table. 

It wasn’t long before you were back in the car, stuffed from a delicious meal paid for by Emily, heading back to your place. 

When she put the car in park, you placed your hand on her wrist, looking into her eyes as you said, “Care for a drink?” 

Emily took a deep breath, turned off the ignition, and followed you inside. 

You lead her into your kitchen, a semi-tense silence falling between the two of you. You could tell whatever was brewing throughout dinner was going to let itself free soon. 

You were pouring two glasses of wine, trying to listen to the glug of the liquid into the glass instead of the sound of your heart beating in your ears. As you turned around, Emily was leaned up against the opposite counter, both arms braced on the edge. Her eyes trailed down your form again, causing a fire to erupt in your chest. But you could still see the hesitation clouded in her dark eyes.

“I’m so sorry I was an ass for months to you just because I didn’t know how to handle my own feelings. It was immature, idiotic, and bitchy of me,” Emily said, her voice a breath above a whisper. “I regret it, and I’ll make it up to you every day if you’ll let me.” 

You could see something dark taking over the light in Emily’s eyes, a flash of past trauma and hurt taking over her mind. 

You reached behind you, placing the wine on the counter before walking slowly over to Emily, catching her eyes and holding them as you spoke. “I know you’re sorry, Em. I can see it and I believe it.” You made sure she was really looking at you before saying, “I forgive you.” 

Emily's breath hitched, as if she couldn’t believe you would actually forgive her. You brought your hand up, stroking the underside of her jaw. “But act like that again, Prentiss, and you won’t like the version of me you see.” 

You could feel more than hear the little chuckle Emily let out. “I understand. Princess treatment from here on out.” She paused, bringing her hand up, catching yours that was still stroking her jaw. “Can I kiss you now?” 

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing quizzically. “What happened to eating me?” 

Emily guffawed, her eyes lighting back up in challenge. You could see the moment the switch flipped within her and knew you were in for it. 

She put one hand low on your belly and slowly pushed you back into the counter behind you. She said nothing as she gripped the underside of your thighs, lifting you up onto the counter. 

You gasped at her easy show of strength and at the cold tile beneath you. You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as Emily looked into your eyes, pushing your knees slowly apart before standing between them. 

As her hands painstakingly made their way up your delicious thighs, her thumbs rubbing slow, steady circles on your skin, she inched her face towards yours. As her hands reached the inside of your thighs, her thumbs brushing against the soft skin where your thighs and abdomen connect, Emily’s lips found yours in a heated kiss, the tension from the past few hours - few months - finally combusting between the two of you. 

Her hands circled around, grasping at your hips and then your ass, pulling you towards her, your dress riding up, almost exposing you. The friction from her between your legs was not nearly enough to do anything other than have you panting into Emily’s mouth as she ravished you. 

Emily’s lips trailed away from yours, ghosting down your jaw, sucking lightly on the skin of your throat before traveling to the exposed skin of your chest, teasing kisses against the edge of your dress. 

Her eyes glanced up at you, noting your dilated pupils, the flush spread across your cheeks, before smirking at you wickedly. “I’m ready for dessert, baby, are you?” 

You almost wanted to roll your eyes, but the incessant throbbing between your legs was beginning to be too much. “Fuck me, Emily.” 

You watched as Emily’s pupils got wider, darker, almost predatory. 

She moved without hesitation, pushing your dress up to your waist, shoving your knees further apart roughly. 

“No panties, baby? How naughty.” Her thumbs spread you further, your pussy fully on display. “Look at how wet you are for me. Practically dripping down your thighs.” 

“Please, Em-.” 

“I haven’t even really touched you yet and you’re already begging. How cute.” Emily wasted no more time, diving between your legs, dragging her tongue between your wet, silky folds, gathering your essence, her eyes closed as your taste erupted over her taste buds. “Fuck, you taste so good,” she moaned, attaching her mouth back to your pussy. 

Emily ate you out like she was starving, like you were her last meal. Her tongue never kept the same pace, building you up but switching before you even got close to the edge. 

Once your legs started shaking from the tension building in your lower stomach, Emily’s lips wrapped around your throbbing clit, skyrocketing your pleasure tenfold. As if she could tell you were close, she quickly thrust two fingers inside you, immediately curling them against the front wall of your cunt, zeroing in on the spot that made you grip her hair between your fingers, your hips rocking into her face as you tried to chase nirvana. 

A litany of curses tumbled from your lips, calling out to a god you didn’t even believe in. With your head tilted back, your straining neck exposed, your legs wrapped around Emily’s back as you held her against you, you could feel the coil inside tightening, ready to snap. 

With an exceptionally powerful thrust, the right twist of her fingers, and a well timed suck, your pleasure exploded, your hands tightening in Emily’s hair to an almost uncomfortable pain, a loud, stuttering moan falling from your lips. 

Emily continued to thrust into you, albeit more slowly, as you came down as if she was stroking something precious. As you brought your head up to look at her, she grinned salaciously at you, removing her fingers and licking them clean. 

As your breath caught in your throat at the sight, Emily dragged you off the counter, pressing up against you, kissing you with every feeling she’s been harboring for you for months. 

You moaned at the taste of yourself on her lips, winding your hands back in her hair as you tried to get the strength back in your legs. 

Pulling away from the kiss as you caught your breath, you smiled at Emily. “You owe me about…sixty more orgasms for how you treated me over the past six months, Em.” 

Emily smiled, kissed you quickly, before grabbing your hand and leading you out of the kitchen and to where she assumed your bedroom was. She looked back over her shoulder at you, winking, and said, “Whatever you say, princess.” 

[grogart]

One more overdue Patreon prompt from last month: Decon suggested a Splatoon 2 Octoling with some customized Converses. Thank you for your support!

[katyaromanoffpetrova]

A lifetime of dates (part 1)

After being together for twenty years, Natasha and Katya have been on many dates in their lifetime. In this series, we see one from every part of their lives.

- Natasha Romanoff x Fem!OC (Katya Petrova from the Forgotten Ghost series) - Wordcount: 1.2k - Warnings: bit angsty, but with a happy ending - This series will have multiple parts (6 or more) to celebrate my book Forgotten Ghost reaching 2 Million reads on Wattpad! We're kicking off with the Black Widow movie era (post Accords/Civil War) so this series will be out of order. Masterlist

A/N: thank you @nataliasquote for this idea! Couldn't imagine a more perfect way to celebrate 2 mil.

2016

''I can go without fries, you know?'' Katya said as Natasha turned onto the McDonald's parking lot.

It was dark, the only time they stepped outside their safehouse—or car, if that's all they had at that moment—if they could help it, but tonight, Natasha decided a date night was long overdue. Since they went on the run, months ago, there'd been none. There'd barely been any kisses or hugs either, let alone sex. They'd both been too depressed to do so.

But ever since they snuck onto a flight from rainy London to sunny Rome and started driving north in a stolen car, Natasha seemed a bit happier. Maybe it was the sea, or the sun giving her much-needed vitamin D, but when she saw the poster in the local supermarket advertising a drive-in cinema, she was adamant on going. 

The movie wasn't important. The fact that it was in Italian even less—they both spoke it fluently. What was important was that for those two hours, their lives would be about something else than surviving the day. They'd at least try.

''It'll be quick, there's barely a line,'' Natasha insisted, already pulling up behind the last car in the short drive-through line. She reached up to ensure her hood was on and covered her face as much as possible, nervous now that they were no longer moving fast. Her eyes shot in every direction, checking all mirrors repeatedly.

''You're risking a lot for date night,'' Katya teased half-heartedly, wondering where this sudden motivation came from. She feared one of Natasha's fears had taken the overhand, especially the one that revolved around losing her.

''You said you missed french fries.''

That was both sweet and sad. Grasping at straws, that's what it felt like. Desperately doing anything to try and make the other happy, even momentarily. But french fries weren't going to fix anything.

Katya kept her concerns to herself, though. Nowadays, Natasha didn't want to be confronted with anything.

The guy operating the ordering system would never know Natasha wasn't a native Italian if there wasn't a camera. Her speech was fluent and without accent, and the girl at the pick-up window didn't look at their faces twice. Before they knew it, they were on their way again with an amazing-smelling bag on Katya's lap.

Finding the drive-in cinema was a bit of a hassle. Since they solely survived on burner phones and tossed their last one in a bin back in London, they couldn't pull up a GPS. But they found the location, bought their tickets the same way as buying food at McDonald's—through the car window, with stolen cash—and found a parking spot at the back of the field.

It was too dark for any of the surrounding cars to see who sat in this one. It was perfect.

Katya reclined her seat and unpacked the brown paper bag on her lap, handing over Natasha's portion of fries and a milkshake. The redhead was less eager to relax, but tried to, flicking her eyes away from the surroundings and to her freshly fiancée-turned-wife. It was the smell of the food that reminded her exactly of how hungry she was.

''Thanks,'' she said, in the same monotone voice she'd used for months. Katya just smiled back.

The movie started shortly after. The days had been a blur lately, but within seconds, Katya was reminded that it was the week of Halloween when she recognized the first scenes of the movie, Friday The 13th. No movie would ever scare her. Straight-faced, she watched the scariest of them. They could never relate to the horrors she had seen in real life. That's probably part of the reason she couldn't focus on this one.

The silence between her and Natasha felt weird, like it had for a while now. Their silences never used to be weird. In fact, most of their time spent around each other happened in silence. But so many unspoken things, so much sadness, hung around their heads like a raincloud. The rain never fell, but the cloud went wherever they went, pressing, looming overhead.

No matter how many times she said that the past no longer mattered, Katya knew Natasha still beat herself up over everything that happened. Choosing the 'wrong' side in the fight around the Accords, therefore not being there to prevent Katya from being brainwashed again. Putting their relationship in jeopardy in the first place. The big, ugly scar on Katya's shin that reminded Natasha of the literal hurt she caused. 

''Natalia?'' Katya muttered, glancing at her face. It was so dark she could barely see it, the screen too far away to provide any light.

''Hm?'' Natasha didn't look away from the screen, placing another fry in her mouth. Her movements were on edge, restless about being around so many people.

''You know I love you, right?'' Katya saw her jaw pause. Another thing they didn't do often anymore; say they loved each other. It was worrying how quickly usual things became unusual. ''Things are shit, but it's you and me, always. And that's enough for me.''

Natasha swallowed thickly, because of emotions or not, and turned to face her. For the first time since everything went down, Katya was blessed with a look that she realized she'd taken for granted. That look that said, 'I love you more than anything in this world'. A less intense version of it, but it glimmered in her eyes in the dark.

''I know. I love you too,'' Natasha said softly. She tried a smile, barely reaching her eyes. But her words were sincere, and Katya's pathetic heart skipped a beat. ''Always.''

The air in the car lightened, the raincloud started to thin, and Katya smiled, placing her hand on Natasha's underarm. They were still them, incredibly in love, just disconnected from each other at the moment. 

''Thank you for doing this for me,'' she whispered, as the people in the cars around them screamed at a jumpscare. Natasha tensed up again, but Katya knew the best way to return her focus to her. ''Can I ask for one more thing?'' She waited until her intrigued wife nodded. ''Kiss me?''

A genuine smile flashed across Natasha's face. She put her fries down, took Katya's face in her hands, and kissed her. It was nothing like the short pecks they shared lately. The press of her lips was tender, but the way they moved against Katya's felt desperate too. Desperate to tell her what her words couldn't. Desperate to keep her. It hurt in a good way.

They were both out of breath when she pulled back.

The raincloud had disappeared. Both their smiles came from a place of real joy. Katya missed the warmth on her cheeks when Natasha removed her hands and was quick to snatch one of them up, intertwining their fingers. Without a word, as synched as they both were, they burned back to the screen. But not without cuddling up to each other first.

Scooting closer to the middle console, Katya rested her head on Natasha's shoulder, feeling a squeeze of her hand down in her lap. She'd craved this, as touchstarved as she was. For an hour longer, they could fool themselves that all was right in the world. That they were just two lovesick newlyweds on a date.

Katya already knew, but this gave her more faith that they'd be alright. And who knew, maybe they'd be in Italy again some day, under better circumstances.