#weather-related accidents

[beingjellybeans]

Pinoy commuters' guide to rainy days

If the recent spates of wet weather haven’t clued you in yet, the rainy season has officially arrived in the Philippines. In a recently issued advisory, the Philippine Atmospheric, Geophysical and Astronomical Services Administration (PAGASA) stated that the occurrence of scattered rain showers, frequent thunderstorms, and the Southwest Monsoon (Habagat) over the past few days have brought…

[viraltrendsspot]

Peruvian Soccer (Football) Players Struck By Lightning In Chilca, Peru

A tragic incident occurred during a regional football match in Chilca, Peru, where 39-year-old defender Jose Hugo de la Cruz Meza passed away after being struck by lightning.

[thepartyishere]

woke up to 2.5 inches of snow overnight, I didnt even know it was going to snow!! lame day for the first snow of the season :(

[katiedido2]

Wiśnierska is the type of rescue IR most despairs of - the one that could have been - should have been - avoided by listening to the weather forecast.

I'm glad she was okay and didn't end up a recipient of a Darwin Award.

source {x}

[jadevine]

Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

--

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

[swordsandholly]

Live in Five

Reporter Reader x Cameraman Kyle Garrick | Ao3

MDNI | NSFW | cw: sexism, almost car wreck, driving in blizzard, PiV sex, fingering, afab reader, consent checks, unprotected sex, barely edited

Word Count: 4.9k

Summary: After your boss sends you and your cameraman out into a blizzard you find yourselves stuck in the snow in your news van. With no signal and no way to get the van out, the two of you have nowhere to go for the night. You have to entertain yourselves one way or another.

A/N: Y'all thank @mareiasereia for sending this ask that reminded me of this idea.

You sigh, looking down at your feet for the time being. As long as you can until you’re forced to stare into the sun behind the silhouetted camera. Cold wind bites at your cheeks, nearly seeping through the thick wool of your trench coat. You hate these winter outdoor broadcasts - can’t ever quite get used to the weather despite doing them for years now. It takes all your concentration to keep your teeth from chattering while you speak.

“How’s my hair?” You ask, squinting as you try to meet Kyle’s eye where he works on setting up his camera.

“Just perf- oh!” He jogs forward, gently tucking what you assume to be a stray piece back. “Perfect. As always.”

You roll your eyes, cheeks warming. He always manages to get you flustered, even after years of working together. You’d think you’d get used to it - the way his dark eyes focus in and the slight grit to his voice. Instead it infects you - pools at the base of your spine and gnaws at your concentration.

Kyle whistles at you, holding up a three.

You nod, adjusting your stance and clearing your throat.

Two.

One.

“Thanks, John.” You grin, meeting the camera’s ‘eye’. “The downtown winter festival is well underway. Everyone seems to be enjoying the festivities-”

You go through the normal song and dance. Kyle follows as you move closer to the wooden, painted entrance to the park for the vent. It’s nice this year, actually. The city sprung for a real artist to craft something interesting. Though, nothing will top that one time they let the local elementary school decorate it. It isn’t anything special, this story. Just the usual yearly coverage of the usual winter activities. You’ve done the festival for the past three winters - the first just after the station hired you. If it weren’t for the icy air on your cheeks you might enjoy it more.

Kyle cuts, lowering his camera and you sigh in relief. Even after all this time your cheeks still hurt from smiling for so many minutes straight while talking. At least you didn’t stutter at all. Or slip. You almost wiped out last year. That clip became more popular among the highschoolers than you might have liked.

“Great job, luv.” Kyle grins, giving you a supportive thumbs up.

You snort. “Thanks.”

“It’s so cold.” Kyle sighs as he packs up his camera carefully into it’s case. His hands are always so delicate. “I’m thinkin’ a coffee stop on the way back?”

You hum and glance at your watch. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.”

“Always so serious.”

“One of us has to be.”

“Think you’re mixin’ me up with Johnny, luv.”

“Oh, right.” You snicker.

The station you work for is small. Local. Buried in the back woods, covering a single populated town and the surrounding rural counties. Most of the news pertains to weather for the sake of farming, or livestock related accidents. The occasional violence makes its way onto the main, evening segment but generally it isn’t anything that can’t be covered in an article. That’s the other half of your job - updating articles and writing short columns about recent events. It’s not glamourous, but it’s still journalism. Plus, picking up the extra work boosts your pay and vacation time enough to make the job a little more worth it.

You watch from the side while John and Kate prepare for the serious evening news. The big, main anchors of the station. They might as well walk on water around here. Not that they act like it. They’re actually quite kind. Kate’s suits are always smart and often brightly colored. Her hair is always quaffed and you pray that your skin looks that good at her age. John… well, everybody loves John. Hard not to with that warm smile and those wide set shoulders.

“Can you drop these at my desk, sweetheart?” Philip pulls you from your daze. He smirks down at you in that twisted, snake-like way while holding out a file. “Since you’re headed that way.”

You frown. “I’m not your-”

“Thanks a lot.” He drops the papers, the last of your coffee sloshing as you just manage to catch them. Philip is easily the most insufferable asshole in this place. You curse the day you volunteered to move cubicles because it would put you closer to the tech guys. To Kyle. Now you’re sharing a wall with the human embodiment of liquid shit.

It’s not just him, really. Most of the men here don’t see you as anything important. Too young, too new to hold any weight around the station. The pretty, soft girl that does feel good, soft stories. A petting zoo. Some fluffy little thing for them to caress and coo at. You glance back at Kate. The men don’t mess with Kate. What does she do so differently?

It’s not that you mind doing fluff stories. Those are fine. You enjoy them, even. You’d rather spend your time talking about kids selling lemonade to fund their future college (still dystopian) or some dog that managed to save it’s owners life (still cool as hell.) You just wish they took you seriously. That you weren’t treated as lesser for it. Lesser for not wanting to be subjected to violent accidents and crimes that make your gut churn.

So, you do what you usually do when you want to slam your head through a wall, disappear into the tech room. After messily throwing the file on Philip’s desk, of course.

“Alright, darlin’?” Kyle leans back in his chair as you push through the door into the designated ‘bat cave.’

You nod silently, glaring at your feet as you flop down into the open editing bay. It’s nice in here. Calm. Separated from the main office. You feel like you can actually breathe in here.

“There’s my bonnie lass!” Johnny appears from the supply closet with his usual ear to ear grin. You don’t miss the extra pinkness of his lips - or the way Simon follows him out.

You glance over at Kyle who has turned back to his editing. You watch his hands as they move, his eyes locked in on the screen before him. Are you the only person in the world that follows rules? That does as they’re told? How come everyone else gets to break them?

It’s Friday. A massive blizzard blew in seemingly out of nowhere halfway through the work day. Your meteorologist practically scrambled to figure out what to report on and how long it might last. Roach, they call him, on account of that time he survived getting picked up and thrown by a tornado. Most people mutter about leaving early, some preemptively grabbing their coats. A few snuck out the back nearly an hour ago when the weather first started. You opted to hunker down and get some work done, considering the universe blessed you with a lack of Philip for the day.

The harsh utterance of your name has you snapping up, back straight and eyes wide. “Mr. Shepherd! Uh, how can I help you?”

The station owner steps into your cubicle, face as taught and stern as ever. He isn’t the one that hired you but part of your onboarding included a brief meeting with him. You hated every second - an inexplicable pressure building in your chest the entire fifteen minutes. It’s back now.

“There was a massive wreck on the highway. Fifteen cars, apparently.” Shepherd says. “I want you at the hospital giving updates for the site. Take your camera man, too.”

You blink up at him dumbly for a moment. “Sir, I don’t- In this weather? It’s a blizzard out there! We’d just be in the way-”

“It’s not a request.” Shepherd snaps, staring down at you with that bored, icy gaze that makes you desperately wish he had hair you could rip out. You know you have to, though. You’ve seen him fire people more important than you over lesser infractions.

“O-okay.” You murmur, hands balled into fists. Partially from anger, partially to keep them from visibly shaking. It isn’t right. It isn’t right that he’s putting you in this kind of unnecessary danger. Kyle, either. Oh, Kyle…

You drag your feet as you head to the tech room, heart dropping into your gut as you see him packing up and pulling on his thick bomber coat. Probably assumed you’d get to leave early, too. You should get to leave early. You should have ducked out an hour ago like the others. Why do you always follow the fucking rules?

“Hey, angel.” Kyle grins, smile dropping as soon as his eye meets yours. “What’s up?”

“Shepherd wants us to go to the hospital.” You swallow roughly to keep your voice from cracking. “Wants us to cover some big car wreck from there.”

“Tha’s so far from here!” Johnny gasps from his perch at the editing bay. “He cannae expect ye tae go out like this.”

“He can, apparently.” You mutter, staring at your feet. You want to say no. You want to give him an earful - to really lay into him about his sexist, careless attitude. Y’know, girlboss stuff or whatever. Whatever Kate would probably do. She wouldn’t take this laying down, belly up. Instead your hands shake and your eyes sting with frustrated tears. You can’t breathe right. It’s wrong. This is wrong. It’s wrong and you can’t do anything about it without losing your job at the only station in town.

“Hey.” You jump as Kyle’s hand strokes down your arm - gentle and warm. Grounding. “It’s alright. The vans got chains on the tires. We’ll take a backroad and see how far we can get. If we have to turn back, I’ll take the heat.”

You snap your head up to meet his gaze. “Kyle-”

“It’s fine.” He smiles reassuringly. “C’mon, go get your coat.”

“O-okay…”

You stay quiet at you load into the van. Guilt gnaws at your chest while you do the same to your inner cheek. The idea that you’ve put Kyle in danger just because you’re too weak to argue with your boss makes you feel weak. Pathetic. You’re pathetic. Neither of you talk much as you drive, opting to keep the radio low so Kyle can concentrate on the road. It’s just as bad as it seemed. You can barely see to the end of the headlights - the sun having already nearly set - everything else pitch black while the snow glints in the light. It’s falling sideways. You can feel the truck sway every so often from a massive gust of wind. At least no one else is on the road.

You wish you didn’t feel like crying so badly.

There’s a loud cracking sound somewhere. You can’t tell from what direction - unsure if it was even real. You can’t hear much of anything over the howling wind and snow beating against the van.

“Did you-” You’re cut off as a massive trunk appears in front of you, crashing down onto the street.

Kyle gasps. You screech, the van whipping off road and he redirects away. A strong arm braces itself over your chest to keep you steady as you careen off the road. You screw your eyes shut tightly, bracing for a likely impact. Between the snow and the darkness you can’t tell what direction you’re facing when the van finally lurches to a stop in the icy mud. A loud grunt escapes you as your seatbelt locks against your sternum.

Several beats of quiet pass between you. Both of you panting, trying to clear your heads and take in what just happened. The moment breaks when Kyle drops his arm, hand resting on your thigh. You don’t think anything of it past a comforting gesture - there isn’t any room in your brain for anything else as you blink slow. It feels good, though. Grounding. It slows your heart and evens your breathing.

“Scary, huh?” Kyle chuckles nervously, still staring forward out the windshield.

You can’t help but giggle back, nervous energy making your hands shake. “Uh-huh. You okay?”

“Yeah.” He finally turns to look at you. “You?”

You nod quietly.

“Alright.” He grunts. “Let’s see about getting out of here.”

The moment he hits the gas to reverse you both know you’re in trouble. The tires spin, whirring loudly along to the wind outside. The van doesn’t budge an inch. You’re stuck on the side of a random backroad, in the middle of a blizzard, with a felled tree in your path, all alone.

Kyle pulls out his phone, tapping around. He sighs loudly, resting his head back on the car seat headrest. “No signal out here. Fuckin’ hell.”

You’re well and truly stranded.

Your shoulders start shaking and you bend forward, curling in on yourself. You bury your face in your hands, hot tears swelling in your eyes. “Kyle, I’m so sorry…”

“Oh, angel-”

“I could’ve gotten you killed! I could’ve - all because I couldn’t - It’d be all my fault!” You sob.

Kyle’s hand comes to rest on your upper back, rubbing in gentle circles. “Love- it’s okay. We’re okay. Hey, look at me.”

You shake your head. How could you? How fucking could you? Pathetic.

He takes your wrist, peeling your hands away from your face. “Look. At. Me.”

You sit up slowly, still hiccupping, though no longer sobbing like before. Something about his touch, his hands on you, just feels right. The world feels right. Grounded.

“It’s not your fault. Shepherd’s an arse. He shouldn’t have put us in this position. He knew you couldn’t say no. That’s the only reason he asked.” There’s a snarl at the edges of his voice. Something bitter - wrong sounding in his sweet voice. He glances over at the dash. “We’ve got plenty of gas. The battery is basically new. We’ll be fine for the night. Roach said it should be over by morning and they’ll figure out we didn’t make it back.”

You sniffle, nodding weakly and undoing your seat belt to breathe properly. Your chest still hurts. “I’m sorry…”

“Here.” After rooting around in the glove box, Kyle comes up with a small pack of tissues. You reach for it, but he makes no move to hand them over. Instead, he takes one out. Cupping your jaw in one hand and slowly, gently, patting around your eyes to fix up the mess you made. Like he always does.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur.

“No more sorries.” He shakes his head.

Kyle shuts the high beams off, leaving the regular lights on just in case someone drives by. Not that anyone will. This road is underpopulated even during the best summer days. Neither of you speak for a long while. You keep glancing over at Kyle out of the corner of your eye. He’s thinking about something - you can tell by the pinch in his brow and the pull in the corner of his mouth. He looks so pretty in the moonlight. The contours of his face softened by the low light, eyes nearly pitch black besides a pinprick of light.

“How are your moms?” You blurt.

He chuckles. “Good. Think they’re on a cruise right now.”

“I’m jealous.” You snort, looking out the window at the ice.

“Facts.”

You lapse back into quiet, emotionally and physically drained - he probably feels the same. Neither of you quite able to muster your usual, easy banter. A slimy little part of you is glad that Kyle came with you - even if is did put him in unnecessary danger. You don’t think you would have handled this situation well on your own. Adrenaline makes your hands shake, your heart still pounding in your chest.

“Want t’ fuck?” Kyle breaks the silence suddenly, head leaned on his hand and elbow on the window seal.

You sputter out an awkward laugh. He’s joking right? He’s just fucking with you because he’s bored. “Don’t mess with me, it’s not nice.”

“Not messin’.”

You slowly meet his eye. Even in the dark with only the moonlight and the glow of the electric buttons in the back of the van you can see the seriousness of his expression. The unwavering way his eyes rake over you. He means it.

You shrink away, bashful now. “Kyle-”

“You can’t deny that there’s something here.” He gestures between you. “I know you feel it. That night at the pub-”

“We were drunk.”

“We were honest.” He shrugs. “Besides, what better way to pass the time and keep warm?”

You stare at him, eyes searching his face for some other meaning. Some secondary, malicious intent. It’s not there, of course. Kyle simply isn’t like that. Those dark eyes meet yours honestly. You glance down at his hand laying on the arm rest. It’s been so long since you've been held; touched. You’re coworkers, though. Close knit professionals. A team. What if moving forward ruins your dynamic? What if you lose him? It would be wrong, wouldn’t it? A total HR violation.

Then again… why should you always follow the rules?

Fuck it. “Okay.”

“C’mere.” Kyle smiles and reaches over to pull you by your waist and you follow.

It’s too easy, almost, to let yourself go over the armrests and right across his lap. It takes a moment with your wide hips and thick thighs to get comfortable straddling him. At least the van seats are big. You hover over him slightly, leaning your weight on the hand holding the armrest.

He clicks his tongue, the hands on your waist pressing down. “On me, love. Want t’ feel you.”

How could you ever deny that? You sigh softly, letting your weight fall into his thighs. Kyle hums appreciatively. The hands on your waist begin to knead down over your hips. You aren’t quite sure what to do - what the social protocol is for this situation. Your hands find a resting point on his shoulders, so strong and firm under your touch.

You don’t have to worry for long. Not when he leans up to you, the hands on your hips arching you into him, “Kiss me?”

You nod, for some reason, before pressing your lips to his. It remains chaste, at first. Little pecks and presses as you feel each other out. His lips are soft, moving so naturally against yours you nearly miss when his tongue swipes across your lower lip. You gasp, giving him just enough room to make his move forward. Suddenly, you’re collapsing into each other. He tastes like his usual morning coffee - sharply sweet caramel. Your hand finds it’s way to the back of his head, one of the hands on your hip scrapes down to grip your thigh.

The moment only breaks when he leans you back too far, sounding off the van horn into the empty night. You both stop, looking at each other for a beat before giggling.

You gasp as the hand on your thigh suddenly disappears under your skirt - your laugh breaking off into a gasp as he cups your pussy through your tights and underwear. His nail catches on the thin fabric. A promise if what’s to come.

“You and these fuckin’ skirts…even in the middle of winter…” Kyle murmurs, breath warm against your ear. “D’you have any idea how good you look? Prancing around for my camera, huh?”

“Kyle…” A shiver runs down your spine.

“It’s just for me, isn’t it?” He chuckles, big hands running up your thighs to the bend of your hips. “I’ve seen you with the other guys. Not nearly as excited. Lackin’ that little pep in your step.”

He lightly smacks your ass for emphasis. You squeak - face so hot you almost want to get out of the van and bury it in the snow. The heel of his hand grinds against your clit and you can’t help but whine quietly. His other hand travels up, pushing at your sweater. His hand catches your bralette as he moves, hiking both up over your chest. A gasp rattles in your throat as he catches a nipple between his teeth, your hands tightly fisting his shirt while you let him explore.

A tearing sound echoes through the van. You can’t complain - it’s not like these were your nice tights anyway. Kyle drags his finger along your lips through your underwear. He’s teasing, eyes locked on your face as he waits for you to react. You just sigh each time his fingers glide over your clit ever so slightly until they stop, catching the hem of your underwear and pushing them to the side.

Kyle pauses, looking up at you. “May I?”

You huff. “You better.”

He grins up at you from ear to ear, pressing his lips to yours once again as he drags his fingers between your folds. A low, gravelly hum rumbles in his chest. “So wet already… all this for me?”

The reply gets caught in your throat - cutting off into a moan as he circles your clit with the pads of his fingers. His middle finger circles your entrance, eyes never leaving your face as he gauges your reaction. You’re sure you look ridiculous - face hot and utter disheveled. He seems to like it, though, quietly moaning with you as he presses one digit inside. You tip your head to the side, matching his slow pace until he adds another. They reach so much deeper than yours ever can, lightly prodding until he finds what he was looking for.

“Fuck-!” You gasp, whole body shuddering.

“There she is.” Kyle murmurs, almost to himself more than you.

“Kyyy-!” You whine, rocking back and forth on his hand, desperate for any friction on your clit.

“Thassit, take what y’need, babygirl.” He sighs, catching your nipple between his teeth. “Be good and cum on my fingers.”

It doesn’t take much. A few more bounces of your hips just as his fingers curl even further into that spot that leaves you seeing stars. You keen loudly, face buried in the crook of his neck as you fuck yourself on his fingers. You slow to a stop, breathing heavy. Your skin feels electric, body practically humming happily. A pathetic sigh pushes past your lips as Kyle removes his hand.

He slowly brings his fingers to his mouth, groaning as he licks them clean. “Taste just as pretty as you look, love.”

You whine back dumbly, mind and body still coming down from your first orgasm in a long, long time. Well, with a partner at least. Fuck, if Kyle doesn’t know what he’s doing. Your find yourself clumsily pawing at his shirt, suddenly desperate to get to see him properly. He just chuckles, pulling it over his head and tossing it toward the passenger seat.

Kyle leans the seat back. It doesn’t go far, just enough to give you some extra room to maneuver. Your hands drag over corded muscle just under a layer of soft. You run your fingers through the light dusting of hair on his chest. He lets you take your time, lets you feel him out until you’re satisfied and leaning down for another kiss.

“Y’want to keep going?” He murmurs against your lips. “No pressure.”

You nod vigorously, the hands you braced on his chest gliding down toward his belt. “Do you?”

“Fuck yes.” He sighs, hips bucking up into your hand - telling you to get a move on.

You don’t, brain to cottony to care much as you take your time with his leather belt. His breath hitches when you palm him through his trousers - the size of him registering somewhere in the back of your mind. You clumsily undo his trousers, hands shaking in anticipation. He lifts his hips just enough to help you pull his pants and boxers partially down his thighs.

Kyle sighs as his cock springs free, eyes still fixed on you as you take him in. Your eyes widen - raking over the length of hum to the perfectly groomed curls at the base. He’s what you imagine an artist would carve - curve and veins too perfect. Another shiver runs down your spine.

“Pretty…” The word falls from your lips before you can stop it. You cover your mouth, embarrassment forcing you to look away. Kyle just laughs, reaching up to pulls your face back to him.

“I know.”

You suck your teeth. “Arrogant man, you are.”

“Just self aware.” He shrugs, smirking up at you.

You roll your eyes, raising your hand to lick a long, wet stripe over your palm and fingers. You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, giving him a long, slow stroke from root to tip. Kyle groans, hips bucking up into your touch. You wish you could reach down to wrap your lips around it - let him rest warm and heavy on your tongue. Another time, perhaps.

You meet his gaze as you position yourself over him. A brief moment to let either of you end it here. To stay on this side of the boundary. To leave things as they were - for the most part, at least. Neither of you take it.

The hands on your hips help guide you down. Slowly, an inch at a time. Without any extra lube there’s a slight burn to the stretch just on this side of too much. You moan, low and quiet as you finally rest at the base of his cock. He sighs out a moan as you lean your weight on him again - fully sheathed inside you. You peek your eyes open to look down at him. His dark eyes have locked onto where you’re connected, the hands on your hips grip so tight you wonder if they’ll leave bruises. Kyle’s jaw is set as he breathes long and deep.

“A-alright?” You gasp out.

“Feel so fuckin’ good around me, doll.” He grunts through grit teeth. “Christ.”

You tilt your head to watch his reaction while you tentatively roll your hips. Those pretty lashes flutter and Kyle tips his head back, groaning.

A newfound confidence overtakes you. “Feels that good, huh?”

He nods with another low groan as you begin to roll your hips at a rhythm. A slow grind down onto each other. Lazy. You’re both tired after that adrenaline spike earlier, and your legs still feel loose and jelly after already cumming once. He fills you so perfectly, though. His warm hands drag over your skin, leaving an electric feel in their path. His teeth nips at your neck, mouthing along your jaw. He’s everywhere - all consuming.

“Kyle-” You whine, cheek pressing to his temple.

“Yeah, baby?” He moans back. “C’mon - shite -say my name again.”

“Please, Kyle, f-fu-” Your words trail off into nothing. Just unintelligible chants that you think are supposed to be his name. You can’t tell anymore, to enraptured in the feeling of your bodies moving against each other.

Kyle’s hand drifts up your back to cup the base of your neck, pulling you down until your foreheads press together. Your eyes may be screwed shut, but you can feel his on you - boring through to the very core of you. He shifts under you, just slightly, suddenly forcing a startled, keening sound out of you as he thrusts up into you with his newfound footing. The pace becomes desperate as you both careen toward the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You whine, nails biting into his shoulder and the fabric to the seat beside his head.

“Gonna cum again?” He pants against your lips. “I can feel it - pretty little cunt’s clenching around me like a fuckin’ vice.”

You nod sloppily, only managing a choked, “Y-yea-”

“Together?”

“Mmhmm!”

You cling to each other, eyes screwed shut. Your teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling the high pitched whine that tears through your throat as you climax. Kyle moans in your ear, hands digging into your skin so hard they’ll surely leave bruises in their wake as he spills inside you. You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath - his cum dripping from you as he slips out. You sigh, far too content to just stay here with your face buried in the crook of his neck. Warm and comfortable. It feels right - laying in his arms.

“Hey.” Kyle pats your hip, pointing behind you. “We did the Titanic thing.”

You glance at the fogged up windows and laugh.

[mysticheathenn]

What's You're Soul Contract?

Hi, Hexlings!

This pick-a-card reading is about what your soul agreed upon coming to earth. Did you come here to be successful? Break Generational Trauma? Did you come here just for the fun of it? This pick-a-card may help give you more clarity and guidance on why you are here on Earth.

This is a general reading, remember to take what resonates and leave what does not. This reading does not supplement your need to seek professional help. Tarot should be used as entertainment and not a for sure answer to your problems but as a guide, a sense of hope, and amusement.

Take your time when choosing your pile. Ask yourself the question and choose the picture that you can’t stop looking at. Listen to your intuition.

MasterList

Patreon Link

Ko-Fi Donations

NEXT PAC: Patreon Related (I just don't know what as of yet) If you have any suggestions feel free to send them.

Sorry, I have been M.I.A. Depression really is a bitch, but I'm doing better still under the weather but better. I hope everyone is doing well. I missed and love you guys.

Pile l:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: 6 of Cups, Ace of Swords, 3 of Wands, 10 of Cups, 10 of Wands, Page of Cups.

Breaking Generational Trauma/Curses. You have a lot of cups and wand energy pile l. This means your pile is all about pent-up fiery emotions that have been denied an avenue to being expressed whether in your lifetime or over the many generations before you. You probably grew up in a household where you are supposed to "stay in a child's place" or "you should be seen not heard." Some of you have to deal with constantly seeing your parents, grandparents, or family in general struggling with money or hating what they do for work but it puts food on the table and clothes on your back but at the end of the day they took out their frustrations on you. I'm hearing "Money is burning a hole in my pocket." Maybe you have one of those parents where you went to your room as soon as they came home because they were always in a bad mood because of how stressed they were or they are penny pinchers like Julius from "Everybody Hates Chris" I heard "That's .49 cents of spilled milk dripping on my table. Somebody is going to drink this milk. Clip Link." They may even hit you for spilling juice even if it were an accident. Either way, you vowed long ago that you were going to break the chains of what your ancestors have passed down. You want to live a life where you can come home to and feel at peace and happy. You want to be that parent that lets your kids feel like they can express themselves while establishing healthy boundaries. Some of you I am even hearing will never stay with someone for the sake of the kids like some of your parents have done. You overall want to live a life where you don't have to apologize, walk on eggshells, or be miserable. Your soul contract is basically to live your life outside the boundaries of what your ancestors have placed on each generation and to pass that same freedom on to those around you or your kids. You are meant to live out loud and maybe even cut off family members if you feel called to do that. I am even hearing that some of you are in the process of re-parenting your parents. Helping or teaching them that the ways of what they knew are wrong and that if they want to remain in your life they need to make changes.

Pile ll:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: Page of Pentacles, The World, The Sun, 8 of Pentacles, Queen of Swords

Independence/Financial Abundance. Your soul contract reminds me a bit of pile l but only 1% of it when it deals with breaking trauma/curses surrounding money. You probably grew up if not poor you grew up okay. While you weren't poor your family wasn't rich or even middle class, they were a little above working paycheck to paycheck. For some of you, this has nothing to do with growing up poor but more so with wanting a better life for yourself so you can provide for those around you especially if you are close to family. If not family you may just want Fuck you money to lavishly spend. Some of you want to pay off your parent's mortgage or buy them their dream car. Whatever it is as everyone has their personal reasoning for why they want financial abundance or independence, you are placed here to experience riches and create abundance. I am hearing that some of you want to make a change within the world. You want to grow a business where employees are treated fairly and paid a living wage. This reminds me of the CEO who took a pay cut so he could give all his employees including himself a starting salary of 70k. You want to help out the needy and give back to whatever you can, I'm hearing about finding new solutions to food waste for very few of you. Either way, you are meant to be your own boss. You were never meant to work underneath someone and I feel quite a few of you have been feeling that feeling for quite a while now but don't know how to break the chains, don't have a business idea/where to start, or don't know how to get the funding to start your business idea. Just remember to ask and you shall receive speak to your guides and ask them for help, a sign, or to put someone in your path who can help you out. In the meantime, please be careful with who you share your ideas with. Some of you are too trusting with your friends and family group not knowing they are waiting to see you fail or talk you out of the idea because they want you to remain in the same position as them knowing they could never amount to half your potential. Some of them remind me of the popular TikTok trend from Snowfall "Me. I built this shit. Brick by Brick and I'll be dam if you tear it down because you don't like the way another n*gga talk." Some also just want to latch onto you, remember not everyone is meant to walk the same path. Some people are meant to be left behind or they will keep you in the same place as you are now with wanting handouts, filling you with limiting beliefs, etc.

Pile lll:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot:10 of Cups/10 of Pentacles, The Wheel, 4 of Cups, The Tower (clarified by the Chariot), The Hermit

Divinity / Spiritual Growth/ Light & Love. You may be seeing the number 1010 everywhere pile lll. You have the 10 of Pentacles, 10 of Cups, and The Wheel is the 10th card in my "The Muse Tarot Deck." The 1010 angel number serves as a guiding light, illuminating your journey in love, money, and spiritual growth. You were placed on this earth to spread light and love, becoming the embodiment of it, and to walk a spiritual path. For some of you this spiritual path may be a religious path, take what resonates and leave what does not. I mostly feel this is a spiritual group because of the symbolism on each card that came out for you. Some of you are leaving your religious background for spirituality because you saw how religion has turned the people around you into the complete opposite of what they teach during Sunday service, some of you are leaving because you felt that the religion doesn't align with you anymore and you feel lost but somehow spirituality has been calling your name and has done some things for you but you feel some type of guilt surrounding it because of your upbringing. For others of you, this may be vice versa where you decide to go back to church, etc. Again take what resonates and leave what does not, either way, you are finding your way back to god (Universe, Allah, Source, etc) and wanting to bring more harmony, love, and community into your life. You probably have been going through some changes recently and for some of you who are atheist or agnostic and experiencing the feeling of being lost, like the way you are living can't just be this, or feeling that there is no way that you are here to just take up space and struggle. You are trying to find more meaning in life because you are on the verge of a mental breakdown or may even have thoughts of suicide because of how alone you have been feeling. Overall you were meant to find yourself. You are meant to come back to yourself through spiritual or religious means. Finding a community that shows you that there is light and love in this world and you aren't alone nor placed here as a waste of space or to struggle. I heard God loves the little children bible school song and this little light of mine. I feel those two songs are to let you know that within the darkness there is always a bit of light at the end of the tunnel you just can't see it because you're honed into the darkness not looking for the light. Also that you are loved whether you feel that way or not. Your community is out there, don't give up.

Pile lV:

What is your Soul Contract? Tarot: Queen of Wands, 9 of Pentacles, Knight of Cups, 4 of Swords, 4 of Cups, 10 of Wands (reversed)

Love/Beauty/Life. You may be seeing 44 or 444 everywhere pile lV. That is for just a few of you not everyone but pile lV your soul contract, the reason you are here is to experience all of life's beauty, glory, and love. Your pile somewhat reminds me of pile lll but only 1% of it is about finding yourself, but for a few of you the whole reading might resonate also. Anyway, you are here to experience being human. I mean after all, you are a spiritual being having a human experience. Some of you probably wonder why you go through tough times or maybe get pissed off at even small inconveniences and I'm here to let you know it's all a part of your process, mission, and experience. You are meant to see life's beauty, travel, fall in love, get your heart broken, make life-long friends, have your first fight, lose all of your money, win the lottery.... all of it...do you hear me? You are meant to experience the good with the bad. The small details of life like Starbucks's pumpkin spice lattes to the smell of books in the library or book store. You signed up to also find yourself amongst experiencing all the large and small things in life. To live your life unapologetically and to be free from what society has placed on what it is to being a human, an adult, etc. If you haven't seen the movie Soul by Pixar/Disney I highly recommend it as this is literally your pile. You were meant to say what goes for your life and what does not because everything is temporary. You know the question "If you were on your deathbed what would your regrets be? What would you have wished you would have done more of? What would you have done less of? Those questions that people love to ask old people.....that is your soul contract. To be asked on your death bed some of those questions and being able to say you lived life exactly how you wanted to live it: Beautifully, authentically, boldly, and filled with love and freedom surrounded by those you love and who deeply love and express their love for you. While you are meant to experience some struggle as it is a part of the human experience you are not meant to live one that is traditional, rigid, or stale. Go bungee jumping, get a tattoo sleeve (or fake one), take risks and ask out the guy first, and write that book that has been on your mind even if you don't plan on sharing it. Overall, do you boo, do you. Live life with no regrets. Live life as if Wes Anderson was the director. If you were a book genre it would be coming of age.

Thank you for liking and reblogging my readings. I always appreciate you guys on here and on Patreon.

Stay safe and be blessed

[princeoftheeternalbog]

THE KING HAS RETURNED

guys im so sorry I can't believe i havent posted in so long its very unsexy of me so this is sweet comfort fluff about embarrassment as i am very embarrassed right now of my own actions (taking over two months to post again)

i was considering posting this without the old men and then decided that if im doing the strawhats im doing everyone ESPECIALLY sans and moby dick

Luffy

Laughs. But if you look sad he starts feeling bad and tries to make you laugh instead. But also he'll forget that it made you sad and bring it up again later. He tries his best to accommodate for your feelings but he's a naturally casual guy so he doesn't see what's embarrassing. There's a few miscommunications about this at the start of your relationship until he explains that no matter what you do he adores you🥲

Zoro

He didn't even notice it to be honest, or he thinks it's really cute. And if you bring it up to ask him about it he's just like what are you talking about, nobody was even looking. That's a lie, he was looking because he he's lowkey obsessed with you, but he doesn't want to make you feel worse so he just lies. He even pretends that him always saving you from falling is coincidental, you at least know that ones a lie but sweet nonetheless.

Sanji

Tries to reassure you but draws attention to it by accident, and then he does something more embarrassing to cover it up. To be honest though it really works, people just talk about him instead. But he also makes you feel less embarrassed just by how much he dotes on you, if you fall then he's swooping you up bridal style to go to chopper, if you spill something on your dress he'll cover you up with his jacket, he'll clean anything you break with not a single complaint, he just adores every fibre of your being, even the wayward clumsy ones.

Usopp

Always thinks it's cute. And he really relates to the anxious feelings so he's just treats it like a normal situation, if anyone else saw it then he makes sure to tell them to not speak of it. He will also replace your clothes if you accidentally damage them :) like you wake up and your favourite skirt that you accidentally spilled ink all over and had to bin is now on your bed, brand new and sparkling. He also makes little inventions to help you out, both silly and serious, like a portable air bag that inflates with a button, a little robot that is essentially a roomba, little things like that.

Nami

Threatens everyone who saw it to never speak of it and then distracts you as much as possible until you stop thinking about it. Will cuddle you if you get really upset about it but she doesn't really understand why you would be embarrassed because she thinks everything you do is perfect. She does eventually learn when there's going to be a possible chance for an accident, she's predicting your clumsiness like the weather🫡 she stops what she can and tries to teach you how to avoid these situations :)

Prevents said embarrassing moment. Listen she's just so efficient and she spots problems before they happen so she's just secretly fixing stuff because she never wants you to feel bad. It's not until like months into your relationship and you're apart for some reason that theres like a series of unfortunate events that reminds you how clumsy you can be and realise what she's been doing. Lots of appreciation kisses after that for sure.

Robin

Franky

Honestly you never really feel embarrassed around him, he's just so easy going and he manages to make everything seem normal. If you trip or walk into something he just checks to see if you're okay, if you spill something on yourself or rip something he uses his shirt to cover you while you go and get changed. He really could not gaf as long as you still fancy him tbh. But if someone makes you feel bad then it's like that scene from the cat in the hat(he will make it look like an accident) :

Brook

Concerned if you're hurt or if you get upset, but otherwise completely doesn't care. He just nonchalantly fixes the vase you broke, or helps you up from the floor and just pretends that he didn't watch you accidentally eat a fly. He really is just so in love with you and he still carries the manners of his youth so he refuses to contribute to your embarrassment in any way. But he loves an excuse to keep his hands on you, guiding you by the shoulders, holding your arm, carrying you around, he can't get enough of it.

Jinbei

Lovely beautiful man, he is always embarrassing himself but he's old enough to not care anymore and neither should you, if you fall over guaranteed it's because you're laughing at him just having slipped on deck. With Jinbei you become the type of couple where you bring each other down literally and up metaphorically, there can hardly be any embarrassment to you're sharing happiness all the time.

[lilfluffyfeather]

Creative Regression Things

🌈 sidewalk chalk/paint during warm weather

🌈 getting distracted and making little doodles in notebooks

🖍so. many. stickers. Never enough stickers

🖍 always covered in paint/marker/glitter

🌈 top tier playlists for background music

🌈 searching up and printing out coloring pages

🖍 lots of primary colors & rainbows grabbing kiddos attention

🖍 room has lots of different textures and sensory experiences

🌈 bath crayons & bath-bombs to make bath time more fun

🌈 using art to help slip into regression/dreaming

🖍 kicking feet while focusing on making art

🖍 LOTS of washable paints/markers/stamps

🌈 …glitter? glitter???? glittery things?????????

🌈 excited squeaks, huffs, babbles over their art!

🖍 favorite part of going to the store is going to the craft section and looking at all the cool stuffs!

🖍 watching YouTube/Shows that have lots of art and following along

🌈 non-spill cups & snack bowls to keep kiddo’s art safe from accidents!

🌈 craft outfits/aprons with paint and marker all over them

🖍 standing in front of the coloring books at the store resisting the urge to make your collection even bigger

🖍 hanging up favorite art pieces and showing them off to your cg/stuffies

DNI: ANYTHING KINK EVEN IF YOU CLAIM TO BE ‘sfw’! DO NOT INTERACT IF YOUR INTENT IS TO MAKE MY CONTENT KINK RELATED. I DO NOT CONSENT TO KINK BLOGS INTERACTING WITH ME.

[metalotaku-da]

danny phantom x dc prompt ideas: weather wizard addition.

this comes to you thanks to my big story pieces comment section. i think if the phandom knew more of this characters background and i thought it was more commonly known. it would have more of a field day. same with gotham academy >.> but that is for another post.

alright weather wizard, is a flash villain and a member of the rogues.

mark mardon. is a thief and criminal who escapes from prison and fleas to his brothers house. where he believes he found his brother dead and his weather experiments. including the weather wand which he takes and starts his alias crime as weather wizard. it is hinted at in the comics he actually killed his brother and stole his work. it is believed he had a confrontation with his brother over his prison break, the argument and heightened emotions triggered mark's meta gene and he accidently killed his brother when his powers manifested. and he blocked out that memory. and it is also why he can't use his weather powers without the wand. as a mental block. because he does have powers without the wand.

later on he finds out he has a son with a cop he had relations with. it is known josh is his son because he has weather powers. mark in a fit of rage and jealousy over the his son's powers kidnaps him, with plans to DISSECT AND EXPERIMENT ON HIM TO FIND OUT HOW HIS POWERS WORK SO HE CAN GET THEM. he has a break down though over it before he can go through with it. and wishes his son had someone besides him as a father, because he deserves someone better.

other facts of note: josh was thought to be wally's kid till he got his powers. lady cop has batman's taste. her name is julie.

the rogues have strict rules against hurting kids.

weather wizard killed impulse breaking this rule. though he was tricked.

so yes phandom. here are some options i've brain stormed. please add more ideas for others to knaw on.

1: danny has escaped the fentons/and or giw. flees to central city and weather wizard finds this vivisected terrified kid. and man does it hit his guilt and crazy. this could have been his son. he was going to do this to his child. and it's his redemption/penance to protect this child to make up for his sins. could have a mental break and think he actually did this danny and danny is his son josh too. so many ways to go.

2: other rogues find him, after hearing about ww kidnapping his son and think danny is his son who escaped from his injuries and go on revenge spree for this kid in mistaken idenity. which has funny and dark ways it can go.

3: danny meets ww or his son. and hears how ww couldn't go through with it. maybe from young justice. impulse or members of the league, other rogues dealers choice. danny just dieing a little on the inside like, how come your parent could stop himself with love when he never met you, but my parents raised me and still didn't love me enough not to. the angst protentional here is so high.

4: jazz could work at the facility treating mark. her point of view from treating a person who is so much like her parents but who showed their love for their child in the end. when hers couldn't move past their goals and see their child they claimed to love. could add in she's got a de-aged danny/dannies because of it. to see what it could have been if her parents had been better. stronger. she could get feelings. (totally thinking on par with harley/joker kind of but not that dark.) where mark actually like her and cares for her. could be one-sided. and the giw find them mark breaks out cause she and or kids are in danger and saves them.

5:mix and match the above.

please add more

[littlefireball]

ᴡʏ|ꜰᴀᴛᴀʟ ᴛᴇᴍᴘᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ (ᴍ)

ꜱɪʀᴇɴ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ x ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀʀᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ| ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱʜᴏᴏᴛ| ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇɴᴇᴛʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ|ᴍᴀᴛᴇ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.4ᴋ

ꜱᴇᴛᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴ ᴀʟʟ ꜱɪʀᴇɴ ꜱᴛᴏʀɪᴇꜱ:

ꜱɪʀᴇɴ'ꜱ ꜱɪɴɢɪɴɢ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴘᴘᴏꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏɴʟʏ.ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴘᴏʀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀʟᴇ ꜱɪʀᴇɴꜱ ɪꜱ ᴠᴇʀʏ ꜱᴍᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ꜱᴏʟᴇʟʏ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.ꜱɪʀᴇɴꜱ ᴄᴀɴ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ɪɴᴛᴏ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ ꜰᴏʀᴍ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴛʜᴇʏ ʟᴀɴᴅᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ.

"Sirens' beautiful voice is like a heavenly melody, graceful and captivating. Its sound resembles the clear waves from the depths of the sea, like the sound of ripples hitting the rocks, filled with mysterious and charming rhythms.

Every time they sing, it's like a magical spell, intoxicating and mesmerizing. A magical incantation, immersed in false happiness and beauty, constantly wanting to delve deeper into the enchanting melodies.

In the end, sailors who are attracted by the song will lose themselves, allowing their bodies to be swallowed by the dark ocean, disappearing into the endless abyss."

As a crew member read out the contents of the old book, the story described in it shocked all the sailors present, creating an atmosphere of unease in the air.

"Where did you get this book?" you asked curiously, playing with the old pocket watch in your hand, curious about the origin of the water-damaged and dilapidated book.

"I found it randomly, just in that chest." The crew member pointed to a wooden box filled with various books. The books had water stains and were worn out, and the wooden box had faded due to the erosion of seawater, losing its original luster and now only displaying a dull vintage color.

"This is just a scary children's story." You scoffed at these unsubstantiated 'stories,' believing that they were strange fabrications made by people in the past to prevent others from going to sea.

"But captain, this story sounds so real…"

"Have you seen them? We've gone to sea so many times, yet we've never heard those so-called songs."

"I swear I have actually heard them!"

"Then why haven't you died yet?" Irritated by their words, you straightforwardly dismissed their baseless statements, clearly showing impatience on your face.

"If you have so much time here to read stories, why don't you go and find some treasure?" Hearing this, the others immediately got to work, leaving the ancient books on the wooden box.

"Boring."

Your gaze fell upon the ship stranded on the shore. It looked completely dilapidated, covered in weathered marks and worn-out wooden textures. The once magnificent painted exterior of the ship had been eroded and damaged over time, revealing a dull wood color and decayed parts.

Part of the ship's deck and stern had cracked due to long exposure to wind and rain, exposing the inner support structure. The sails were dirty, torn, and useless, with some masts tilting and others even breaking halfway.

As you looked at the scene, thinking about the story of the siren, you couldn't help but wonder if the ship had met its demise because of them. Ha~ how could you have such thoughts when you had just scoffed at those stories earlier? Why do you suddenly believe now? Your own mysterious thought process is quite ridiculous.

"How is that possible?" You mocked your unrealistic thoughts, not dwelling on them further, and continued to search the ship for any remaining treasures. You were the only woman on board, also the highest-ranking captain. Since childhood, you had been 'hunting' with your father at sea, searching stranded ships for supplies or treasures, and sometimes finding unexpected treasures.

However, your mother did not approve of you going to sea, especially after your father died in a sailing accident. She feared that you would end up like him, attacked by sirens and buried at sea. You didn't believe in all this talk about sirens. They were just legends. Maybe in your heart, you still refused to admit the fact that he had died a long time ago, which was why you resist anything related to sirens.

"Reporting, captain. We only found these few pieces of jewelry, no other valuable items." You nodded, instructing them to safely store the treasures they found.

"Board the ship! Prepare to set sail!"

As night falls, the moon hangs brightly in the sky, giving off a fascinating moonlight. The sea breeze blows gently across your face, soothing your body and mind. You sat on the deck and enjoyed the moment of relaxation, admiring the endless horizon in front of you.

"How would you say it would be great if someone could sing?" One crew member lamented."Yeah, it would be better if there were beautiful women dancing here." Another man chimed in, hoping that there were beauties to cheer them up and add a little fun to their boring sea life.

It seems that their wishes have been heard by the God of the Sea. A beautiful tone of music came from nowhere, the unique voice full of power, yet gentle like a soft thread, gently stroking the heartstrings.

"A cold wind blows in my frozen heart, When I lean on a small candle, And hold back my tears" (ATEEZ-be with you)

"Wow!What a beautiful voice."

"Yes! Maybe the God of the sea heard our wish! It goes so well with this beautiful scenery." The crew couldn't help but admire this exquisite female voice, and echoed one after another. All the crew members unconsciously indulged in this heavenly sound.

On the contrary, while listening to the melodious music, instead of being lost in it, your doubts arose. "Where does the female voice come from?" There was only one woman on the ship, and you hadn't been singing, let alone having such a wonderful voice. Driven by curiosity, you couldn't help but explore the truth, but the strange sight in front of you surprised you.

The crew, who had lost consciousness, gradually approached the edge of the ship and jumped into the dark sea uncontrollably. The ghostly hands reaching out from underwater dragged their bodies, making them disappear directly into the abyss.

"What…?" Your heart tightened suddenly, and dark shadows appeared in your vision. You helplessly felt fear devouring you. "Are those sirens?! No!!" Despite the fear, your responsibility as the captain reminded you not to sit idly by. You took out the handgun from your pocket and without hesitation, fired at the monsters emerging from the water's surface. Screams of agony rose and fell, and the nauseating smell of blood made you sick.

"What happened? Why weren't they controlled?" The sirens underwater were puzzled. They had never failed before, and it was impossible for anyone to be immune to their singing… unless…

"Is there a woman?"

"A woman? I never thought there would be a woman as a pirate~" Wooyoung swung his fishtail below and swam from beneath the water to underneath the ship, curious about who fired the gun. Throughout history, sailors have predominantly been men, with only a very small number of women, because humans always believed that the presence of women would bring misfortune to a fleet. That's why most sirens are female, and their songs only have an effect on men. Due to this, there are only a few male sirens, who exist solely for reproduction.

Hearing about the presence of a woman made Wooyoung excited and curious. Since he was born, he had only seen photos of human women from the belongings of stranded crew members, and had never encountered a real woman. Although the sirens grew legs during their breeding season, they were still different from human women. He wanted to know what women were really like.

"Fuck!" The bullets were about to run out, but the enemies were increasing. Continuing like this, you couldn't hold on. You desperately grabbed the sleeves of the crew members who wanted to jump into the sea, preventing them from approaching the edge of the ship. But it's too hard to grab them all; stopping one couldn't stop the others, and you could only watch helplessly as another companion perished.

"What should I do… can I only use the cannon?" You knew that firing the cannon was the only way to escape from this predicament, but it meant killing your own comrades. As you pondered, another voice sounded, but this one was relatively deep, powerful, and magnetic - it was a male voice.

"Everything in this world, Hurts so much by your side, Can I come over? Can I do that? Can I hug you?"

His voice was melodious and enchanting, like a gentle breeze that lightly touched your soul, causing you to completely immerse yourself. The hands that had been gripping the crew members' sleeves became weaker, and in the end, your fist loosened, allowing the crew members to jump into the sea. Your feet uncontrollably walked to the edge of the ship, with empty, lifeless eyes, as if the flame of life had gone out.

Wooyoung had a victorious smile on his face, extending his hands to entice you to jump into the water, but unconsciously, he stared at your beauty and became fascinated. You were bathed in the gentle moonlight, like a graceful and beautiful flower, your long hair floating in the breeze, intoxicating. Wooyoung had never seen such a scene before, and for a moment, he was captivated.

Without a moment's hesitation, you jumped into the water, the sound of the water hitting the surface pulling him back to reality. He quickly held onto your sinking body, his hands grasping your neck tightly, wanting to accelerate your suffocation. But in his mind, the scene from just now flashed again, your elegant posture making him lose focus, and your captain's uniform piqued his curiosity about your story.

What's your name? Why do you become a captain? Why do you appear on a ship? Do you have no webbed? What does it feel like to kiss a human…even have sex?

Curiosity compelled him to let go of his murderous intent and gradually release his hand from your neck. But the merciless seawater had already taken away your breath, and your heartbeat felt weak as if it would stop in the next second.

"No… no…" he cried sadly, not wanting you to die like this. He wanted to know everything about you. His scaled hand gently caressed your face, lifting your chin. Without hesitation, he directly kissed your already pale lips. Anyone kissed by a merman could gain the ability to breathe underwater. Your lips touched lightly, warm and tender. You felt a soft sensation from your lips, and then your whole body seemed to float in the water. Oxygen returned to your lungs, and you could breathe again.

You slowly opened your eyes and found the man in front of you kissing you. Surprised, you wanted to break free but he tightly held your wrists, restraining your movement. He left your lips, pleasantly surprised that you had awakened. He smiled satisfactorily and said, "Let me take you back."

Without waiting for your reaction, he carried you in his arms and swam directly into the distance. You were amazed that you could breathe underwater, feeling the gentle and powerful waves passing through your body, a wonderful sensation you had never experienced before. Unconsciously, you held onto his shoulders, pressing against his chest, feeling the only warmth in this cold seawater.

In no time, the two of you arrived back on the shore. His fish tail transformed into legs the moment it touched the land, and droplets slid along the lines of his legs onto the ground. He gently placed you back on the ground and as he looked at your face again, he became captivated once more. Despite being soaked from head to toe, you still appeared so captivating in his eyes.

"You…" Too much information flooded your mind, making it difficult for you to organize your thoughts at the moment.

"I am Wooyoung." Without hesitation, he told his name, imitating human etiquette and extending his hand towards you.

"Y… Y/N. '' Maybe because your brain wasn't functioning properly yet, you involuntarily said your name and shook his hand, covered in scales.

The soft touch of your hand was different from other sirens. There were no hard scales on it, not even the slippery texture that fish usually have. Moonlight shimmered in your eyes, sparkling like starlight, proud and radiant, incredibly enticing. Once again, he examined your attire with curiosity, his curiosity like a string gently plucked by your mysterious aura, immediately bursting into infinite passion and interest.

Everything about you was like a book full of mystery and puzzles, waiting for him to read one by one. Every action, every detail, every expression of yours fascinated him more and more, making him increasingly captivated and unable to escape. As the nature of a male siren gradually revealed itself, his once innocent curiosity turned into evil desire. He didn't just want to know your name, your experiences, your story, but he wanted to know everything about you, to have you completely.

"You are so beautiful, so stunning." He approached you even closer, bending down to maintain eye level with you. His voice was deep and magnetic, like an ocean far away from the world, full of temptation.

"I want you, Y/N." Without giving you any chance to resist, he once again sang a beautiful melody. His words came slowly, like poetry, beautiful and captivating, irresistibly seductive.

With the sound of the song, you once again lost consciousness, letting him take off your clothes, leaving only your wet underwear. The deep and magnetic voice made you indulge in his temptation, unable to resist.

Your skin, unlike the magnificent scales of a siren, was instead pure and delicate, like smooth porcelain, flawless. Under the effect of moonlight, droplets of water on your skin reflected a faint glow, radiating a charming luster, inviting one to touch.

"Oh god, you are really pretty." He lifted your chin, kissing your lips. Unlike the gentle touch earlier, this kiss hid dangerous desire behind it. Lips slowly sealed together, a warm sensation spreading slowly, the friction between tongues making Wooyoung unable to hide his smile. You also responded to his kiss, sucking on each other's lips, occasionally lightly biting each other's lips, alternating between gentleness and strength.

Your hands involuntarily roamed each other's bodies, feeling the ups and downs of each other's bodies. Fingertips brushed over every inch of skin, igniting a burning desire, embracing each other closely, rubbing against each other. His hand glided over your waist, directly caressing your buttocks, the soft touch driving him crazy, occasionally squeezing; his other hand touched your chest, tracing the contours of your nipples in circles.

Your lips never separated, becoming even more frantic, tongues soothing each other. He extended his tongue directly into your throat, wanting to explore everything about you, to taste all your sweetness.

"Ummmm…" You couldn't help but feel a slight nausea, emitting a muffled sound. But your voice didn't stop Wooyoung, instead making him more intense. To him, you were his siren. His firmness couldn't bear it any longer, he urgently needed to enter your body - to mate, he wanted to mate.

"Ride me." Each of his words held a kind of magic, completely enchanting you. He lay on the damp and uneven ground, the sensation of sharp stones pressed against his back slightly discomforting, but he wanted to watch your body as he fucked you.

"Have a seat, babe." You took off your underwear, aiming for his erect member, slowly sinking down. The initial coolness immediately wrapped in heat as you entered, causing you to let out a captivating moan. As you sat down, the sharp stones beneath Wooyoung's body pressed deeper, leaving red imprints, but that didn't deter his desire to fuck you.

You supported yourself on his shoulders, beginning to bounce up and down. "Oh gosh, it feels so good!" He groaned, feeling his cock reach its deepest point as it touched every inch of your skin. The friction between his shaft and your vagina brought heat that made him more excited. Your wet walls wrapped tightly around his cock, each sucking motion stimulating his sensitive nerves.

"Fuck!" The pleasure beneath him fascinated him, he caressed your body, touching your breasts. Not knowing how to remove the bra, he tore it open from the middle, leaving the cups hanging on either side of your chest, swaying with your movements. He cupped your breasts, feeling their softness, occasionally massaging with his thumb.

"ahh~ahh~" The stimulation all over your body gave you goosebumps, every inch of your body bursting with countless sparks. Wooyoung's touches gave you endless pleasure, awakening all your senses, craving his caress.

"Louder, Y/N. I want to hear your voice."

"Ahhhh~fuck~" You released a scream from your throat, which reverberated against the walls of the cave, echoing throughout. "I can't get enough of you." He sat up straight, once again holding your face, lips tightly intertwined, the passionate kiss filling the air with sparks. Your lips and tongues twined and explored, releasing endless desire and passion.

He pressed down on you directly, this time it was your back against the rough stones, the slight pain making you slightly more awake. "ahh~wooyoung" When his name left your mouth, his entire body felt like it had been electrified, a surge of electricity ran through him, his cock twitching inside you. He had never felt such pleasure before.

"Say my name again, Y/N."

"ummm…Wooyoung." Fuck,he loves your moan so bad. His balls slapped you ass clearly as the speed of his thrusts increased with his excitement. There was no interruption in his thrusts, the tip kept hitting you in the deepest part, sperm kept flowing out and soaking your inner walls. The sounds of wacking and squeaking of water and skin slapping skin are mesmerizing, and your body's temperature continues to rise with no sign of cooling off.

"ahhh~ahhh~ahhh~" The friction from the rubbing of the gravel on your back wakes you up, while the pleasure in your lower body continues to take your mind, the double whammy making you dizzy. Unsure if you're awake or continuing to fall for his seduction, you only want more pleasure to replace the pain, letting out a moan in hopes that the man on top of you will try harder.

As expected, his thrusts quickened in speed, the intensity increasing. You arched your back, moaned, the connection between your bodies became even closer. "You are so fucking tight, different from those female sirens." "Fuck!!"He pulled you up, your skin pressed tightly together as he thrust into you. You also moved back and forth in rhythm, each thrust making you hold your breath.

"Ah! Ah! I am close." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders, buried your face in his neck, and screamed, your nails sinking into the palm of your hand, eyes squeezed shut, feeling yourself reaching the edge.

"I am gonna fuck my eggs inside your cunt." He also felt that he was about to climax, all the hot streams rushing to the tip of his shaft, about to overflow. With the maximum force, he thrust forward, after a few more thrusts, all the hot streams were released, and you reached climax in a moan.

His eggs creamed your cunt fully, even dripping onto the ground, the sharp stones beneath you stained with white liquid. He had never experienced such a climax, let alone produced so many eggs.

"That's my best sex ever." He pecked your lips and pulled out of your body. You also regained your composure, breathing not as rapid as before, your mind also becoming clear. You could now clearly see the man's face in front of you, his gaze was as deep and cold as the ocean, as if it could see through you completely; his lips were red,a mole on the lower lip and shaped perfectly, slightly upturned, exuding an enticing smile, but also revealing a dangerous aura.

"Wanna come with me?"

"Where?"

"To the sea, where I belong." He returned to the water, his legs transformed into a fish tail, gracefully floating. His body was slim and strong, his skin fair and smooth like a seashell. Wet hair pushed back, droplets shimmering under the moonlight, emanating an enchanting atmosphere.

The mysterious aura and unique charm that radiated from him made you feel like he was a being from the endless abyss. The ocean boiled because of his charm, creatures dancing around him, as if they had already been captivated by his beauty, praising this beautiful and mysterious existence. This was the most mysterious and seductive treasure that you, as a pirate, had ever pursued in your life.

All the animosity, all the doubts vanished long ago. Now you were completely immersed in the whirlpool called him, unable to wake up.

"Come with me, Y/N." He extended his hand towards you, each word seemed to be immersed in the music flowing in the water, awakening your desires and dreams hidden deep inside you. Without any hesitation, you took his hand, diving into the dark depths of the sea together.

From then on, no one knew the whereabouts of you and the crew - just like your father.

[universitypenguin]

Chapter 29

The Princess & the Lawyer

Summary: In the aftermath of the incident, Lloyd grapples with his emotions and begins to wonder about their future.

Word Count: 4,605  

Warnings: Mention of adult content such as sex and drug use. Non-explicit references to child abuse, which is made clear by a character’s reactions and implied by their internal reflection, but not discussed in specific or graphic terms.

Author’s Note: Thank you for coming back to read this, despite my long absence! Full Author’s Note can be found here.

Masterlist 

Lloyd wasn’t where he should be. 

He should be sitting at your bedside, like men did when the women they loved were injured. Instead, he stood by the window. His gaze was fixed on the leafless silhouettes of the tree branches outside, drawn there because if he was looking at them he wasn’t looking at you, swathed in bandages and draped in sheets that bore an unsettling resemblance to a shroud. 

Injured felt like too plain of a word to describe your condition. You’d rammed a car head-on into a concrete barrier at high speed and a moment later, Westin Tafferty had shot you in the head at close range. The doctors said the bullet had grazed your parietal bone and fractured your skull, triggering internal bleeding. Within minutes of arriving at the hospital you’d been rushed into the operating room for an emergent craniotomy.

Now, you were sedated in a coma and no one could say if the surgery had been successful or not. The carefully titrated medications flowing through your I.V. masked any sign of improvement or deterioration. As long as the sedatives infused, you remained trapped in a stasis where no one could tell if you were healing or slipping away. Until they dialed back the drugs the state of suspension would persist. He’d asked, but no one was willing to estimate when they’d begin tapering off the medication–or if that was even part of the plan. 

Behind him, the ventilator hissed. Lloyd twisted his neck, trying to ease the tension as his eyes drifted over the landscape. Your room overlooked the courtyard, which wasn’t much to see, especially after the weekend’s turn in the weather. Skeletal tree branches stretched toward the sky, stripped bare by last night’s windstorm, which had brought in an unexpected cold front that settled into a hard frost. Just yesterday, the leaves had been turning yellow. Today they were scattered in a thick carpet over the grass. Your day nurse had told him it was the earliest frost since 1979. Lloyd hadn’t offered a response. 

In fact, he’d barely registered her remark at all. Information hadn’t been sticking in his mind lately. Between the car accident, the shooting, and the discovery that Westin Tafferty had been stalking you all along, his brain had short-circuited. The machinery in his head was broken. Synapses fired sluggishly, like a circuit board trying to transmit a signal through frayed wires. His thoughts flickered, dimmed, then disappeared.

He twisted his neck and scanned to the left, his gaze colliding with a reflection in the glass. The image was distorted but he could make out your form lying in the hospital bed directly behind him. Monitors were packed around your bed. A screen displayed your vitals, another showed wavy lines related to breathing, and one monitored intracranial pressure. A drain connected to your skull through a thin tube—that was a left over from the operation. He’d been curious about it but hadn’t asked. After two days in the ICU, he’d learned it was sometimes better not to know. On the other side of the bed, an infusion pump was hooked to the I.V. in your forearm, along with a ventilator.

The machine noisily breathed for you. He’d grown so used to its rhythmic—whoosh, thump…pause… hiss—that the sounds faded into the background. Looking at your reflection in the glass was easier than actually looking at you. It softened the bruises that had deformed your features and hid the traction splint on your left lower leg. But the ventilator’s whir was a constant reminder that a machine was all that stood between you and death. Lloyd inhaled sharply, closing his eyes. He took a long breath, drawing the air in deep to ease the sudden wave of nausea. His phone buzzed.

Expecting it was your mother or Vivian, Lloyd fished the device out of his pocket. The message was from an unsaved number.

I’m at the nurse’s station. Which hallway should I take?

Lloyd frowned and scrolled through the messages. He’d exchanged about a dozen texts with this number over the weekend, the details of which were fuzzy in his memory. It took some scrolling to realize the number belonged to Jen Kyzansky. Right. He remembered now. Jen had promised she’d stop by after work and it was five o’clock. He’d asked her to visit after an exchange with your day nurse, who confirmed that coma patients could sometimes hear people. Not always—but in some cases. 

He could barely stand to look at you in this condition, let alone speak, so he’d called in reinforcements. For all his personal dislike of the woman he was supremely confident in her ability to carry on a one-sided conversation. She would keep it positive and upbeat and talk about things you’d enjoy. You needed Jen right now, not him. 

He sent instructions to guide her through the maze of hallways and stepped outside the glass booth the ICU considered a “room” to wait for her arrival. A moment later, someone carrying a giant vase of flowers rounded the corner. Though he couldn’t see the person’s upper half, he recognized the tailored oxblood trousers. Jen shifted the flowers to her hip to read the room placards. Before he could call out, she spotted him and picked up the pace. When she was an arm’s length away she stopped, her gaze sweeping up and down his form. 

“You look like hell.”

“Thanks.”

She didn’t smirk, as he’d expected. “When was the last time you slept?”

Lloyd shrugged. He tried to sneer–after all, it was the customary greeting between him and Jen–but his features wouldn’t cooperate. To his dismay, her expression softened into something that looked suspiciously like sympathy.

“Go home. Take a hot shower and a couple Benadryl. Once you’ve slept, you’ll feel better.”

“Will I?” He’d been aiming for sarcasm but a waver of apprehension snuck into his voice instead. 

Her chin lifted. “Yes, you will. Call someone to drive you home, or at least drink some coffee. Driving tired is as bad as driving drunk.” 

Lloyd obeyed. At the end of the hall, he glanced back to see Jen sitting beside your bed. Jealousy cut through him. It was irrational, given that he had all afternoon to do what Jen was doing now, but unfortunately he couldn’t look at you for more than thirty seconds without wanting to throw himself off the roof. 

At the elevator bank his gaze drifted to the window as he waited for the car. It offered a different perspective on the same barren trees he’d stared at from your room. In a few months they’d be reborn, sprouting new buds and leafing out. Nature healed itself, even after the most brutal storms. He had no such ability. His wounds didn’t heal; they stayed with him, out of sight, but always festering under the surface. Lloyd scrubbed a hand over his face. Wallowing in self-pity didn’t do you any good. It wasn’t good for him, either, as painful emotions tended to corrode his self-control. He could feel the chaos welling up and worried that he wouldn’t be able to contain it much longer. The stitches of his composure were straining, threatening to tear apart. 

How could he ever support you if he couldn’t control his own emotions? He’d sent Jen in as his substitute for a task as basic as sitting by your bed and talking. He was useless—he couldn’t even look at you! You needed him right now, and he couldn't even look at you. He was a coward, and not because of the fear, but because he was letting it dictate his actions.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The elevator took him down to the lobby. As Jen suggested, he stopped by the coffee shop and ordered a London Fog. It was late afternoon, and aside from him and the barista, the shop was empty. That made sense. At five o’clock on a Monday most people were still at work, stuck in traffic, or picking up their kids.

Nothing played over the speakers and the weight of the silence pressed down on him. Lloyd sat down at a table to wait. He listened to the hum of the espresso machine, the soft clatter of metal instruments as the barista stirred his tea. His thoughts drifted back upstairs, comparing the quiet sounds of the coffee shop to the symphony of whirling, hissing, and beeping that filled your room. If you were here, you’d have ordered something so sugary and caffeinated that it ought to come with a Surgeon General’s warning. 

“Lloyd, your London Fog,” the barista called.

He collected his drink and turned to face a jarring sight—a group of nurses gathered in a loose semi-circle on the other side of the glass partition separating the shop from the hallway. They all wore the same unmistakable shade of green. Over the past few days, he’d learned the color coding system of the hospital’s scrubs: navy blue for ICU nurses, burgundy for lab techs, pale blue for surgical staff, and a garish shade of sea-foam green that identified this group as trauma nurses. His grip tightened around the cup, the heat seeping through the paper doing nothing to thaw the sudden chill in his fingers. The sight of the trauma nurses triggered a flood of memories, sharp and uninvited. 

The drive into the city. Detective Roth’s hands tight on the steering wheel as he wove through traffic. The flashing dash lights in the silent car, no wail of sirens overhead because those were only for official emergencies…Walking past the destroyed trauma bay, its floor littered with the debris of plastic packaging and soiled gauze, as a gray scrubbed man mopped blood off linoleum tiles. Meeting your parents in the waiting room of the surgical suite. The doctor entering, asking if anyone was ready to see you. Your mother, crying, too distraught to accompany your father to the post-anesthesia unit… Vivian suggesting Lloyd go with him instead…

Dishes clattered in the sink, snapping him back to the present. Lloyd pulled his gaze from the nurses and moved to a table, deliberately facing away from them, but the image of those green scrubs lingered in his mind.

For the past seventy-two hours, he’d clung to the hope that you would wake up, that somehow you’d shake off a traumatic brain injury as if it were nothing more than a common cold. The sheer absurdity of such magical thinking grated on his nerves, but he couldn’t stop the optimistic thought from creeping in. Being irrational didn’t change the facts, though, and two days later your diagnosis remained unchanged: critical but stable.

The word “stable” circled in his mind. He rolled the word silently over his tongue, as if repeating it would make it easier to accept. Stable meant things weren’t getting worse, but it didn’t mean they were getting better either. It was a fragile reassurance, one that only made him more anxious the longer he sat with it. The fact that you were stable didn’t offer any hint of what came next, whether you’d recover or languish in this state forever. Instead of easing his fears, the thought of your impending recovery opened up an uncomfortable set of questions, chief among them: where did your relationship go from here? 

Recent events had solidified one fact—whatever this relationship was, it wasn’t casual. Not anymore. He couldn’t deny it, not when he’d spent days by your bedside, received updates from your family, and been added to your list of emergency contacts. The lack of questioning about his presence from either of your parents symbolized how entrenched your relationship had become. Vivian likely played a role in that, but it reinforced the same point: he was more than just your friend. What exactly he was remained unexamined as of yet, but it was only a matter of time.

There was an eighteen year age gap between you. While he’d packed for college, you’d turned two weeks old. Your future was filled with hope and potential, any path was open and ready to be explored whenever you craved something more. He’d wasted his future already, thrown it away on bad decisions, mental instability, and addiction. The gap between you wasn’t just measured in years but also by directions; your lives were moving along different paths. You had spent this spring considering your options for law school and Lloyd had mapped out a tax-efficient withdrawal plan for his retirement funds. 

He wasn’t blind to the fact that the age gap was part of what had drawn you to him. You’d wanted sexual experience, and he had plenty to offer. His sophistication and confidence were traits you appreciated in him, even as a friend. Sometimes he wondered if it was him you were drawn to, or the feeling of security he provided. You’d had too many responsibilities handed to you too early. He was good at taking charge. It didn’t take a genius to figure out where the attraction stemmed from. Doubt gnawed at him. Did you want him, or did you just want someone competent, who made you feel safe? He wasn’t the only man who could meet those needs. Lloyd wished he could pretend otherwise, but he couldn’t see how both your futures could coexist in the long term.

The chime of the door announced the admission of two new patrons to the coffee shop. A pair of nurses in pink scrubs entered, giggling at some private joke as they formed a queue at the counter. Labor and delivery nurses, Lloyd guessed, judging by their uniforms. Their conversation quickly confirmed his assumption and in the tight confines of the shop, he couldn’t help but overhear them. 

“I almost called him her dad,” the brunette said. “He’s like three times her age, it's the obvious way to go!”

“Melanie flagged the chart with a note.” 

“Yeah, but by the time I saw it the word ‘dad’ was already halfway out of my mouth.” 

“You really called him her Dad?!”

“I tried to change it to Dale. The transition was not smooth. Not at all. They stared at me like I was crazy. Then I made up some B.S. about how he looks like a Dale—”

Her friend snickered. “Girl…”

“Shut up! The man has white hair! He’s lucky I didn’t call him Grandpa.”

The other shook her head. “Can you imagine having a kid with a guy that old?”

“No thanks. You?”

“Pfft, absolutely not.” She wrinkled her nose. 

“Neither of them thought this through. The risk isn’t worth it.” 

“Hell no,” her friend agreed. “The odds of all that scary genetic crap is like six times as high with fathers over forty.”

“What about fathers over eighty?” the brunette giggled. 

“You know it’s harder for guys to get someone pregnant once they’re over forty?”

“It’s like nature’s way of cutting the old timers off.” 

“Not if they’re persistent!”

They both laughed. 

Lloyd pulled out his phone and pretended to be occupied. The nurses quickly exited the shop after their orders were filled, but they’d given his thoughts a new path to wander down. There was a good chance that you’d want a family someday, given how healthy and tight-knit yours was. You were good with children. The idea of you not being a mother was somehow unfathomable to him. A chill ran down his spine. He could easily imagine the same story he’d just overheard being told about him. 

It wasn’t wise to become a father after a certain age, Lloyd mused. He cringed and shook himself, disturbed by the seriousness of the thought. There was no reason to consider such things. He had decided long ago that he didn’t want children. The Hansen line would end with him, and there would be no heir to carry on the family curse.

His mind drifted to Zach’s comment about vasectomies and his insinuation that Lloyd was keeping his options open by not getting snipped. Suddenly, that accusation hit too close to home. Being in a relationship with a much younger woman opened the door to that possibility, and you’d both been complacent by relying on only one form of birth control for the past few months.

What if you asked him for a baby? Would he be able to deny you what you wanted, even knowing the risks? He winced. No. He couldn’t be a father. He didn’t have the temperament for it, nor the energy it demanded.

You deserved to be with someone who could give you the full experience of parenthood—someone younger, willing to endure sleepless nights, with the stamina to chase after a toddler. He couldn’t picture himself running after a child at his current age, let alone keeping up with a teenager. By the time your child graduated high school, he’d be at least sixty, if not older. You needed someone with more life ahead of them than he had to offer.

Maybe you didn’t want children. For a moment, the thought sparked a flood of relief. But guilt came fast on its heels, crushing the tiny flicker of hope. How could he even think that? It wasn’t his decision to make. He had no right to wish you’d give up something as fundamental as motherhood just to accommodate his shortcomings. You might be willing to accept the limitations brought on by his age and past, but he couldn’t ask that of you. Your future didn’t need to be burdened by his realities. 

He wished he didn’t have to think of these unpleasant things, that time could freeze everything as it was and your relationship could stay vague and undefined forever, but time marched on and there was no escaping the truth. Being with him came at a cost, and you’d already paid the price. If not for your friendship with him, Court Gentry never would have known your name. If Lloyd hadn’t turned down Court’s request for help—not once, but twice—you wouldn’t have been drawn into his reckless scheme to expose the spy at Bishop & Howard. 

Then there was Westin Tafferty. His grudge against Lloyd had made you a target. Without that connection, Tafferty wouldn’t have spent months harassing and stalking you. He wouldn’t have tried to kill you. The worst part was that Lloyd still couldn’t remember meeting him; whether Tafferty hadn’t made much of an impression or Lloyd had been too high to recall their introduction was up for debate. But Zach had confirmed the truth: Tafferty had spent twenty years working for the NSA and he’d crossed paths with Lloyd on more than one occasion. Detective Diskant had recovered the flash drive you’d hidden and spent the weekend piecing things together. There was plenty of evidence, enough for three life sentences, but Tafferty had vanished.

Even forgotten memories from his past haunted him—and by extension, you. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t untangle the past from the present. You’d had a brush with his past in Singapore, then again in Qatar. Apparently, those close calls hadn’t been warning enough, because this time the consequences had really caught up and now there was a machine breathing for you. 

Lloyd’s tea had gone cold, but he was still deep in thought when Zach entered the coffee shop. His leather jacket creaked, stiff from the cold, as he sat down in the opposite chair. 

“I thought I’d find you here,” Zach said, unzipping his jacket. He regarded Lloyd with a knowing gaze. “You look like you’re plotting something. Care to share?”

“I’m not plotting anything.” 

Zach’s eyebrow twitched, and Lloyd sighed, amending his statement. 

“Not now at least.” 

Zach leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. “Alright.” 

Lloyd grunted, picked up his tea and sipped, wincing at the bitter taste. 

“Is that tea?”

“Yes.”

“Disgusting.”

“It’s one less addiction to manage,” Lloyd said. 

“Mmmhhh.” 

Silence fell. Zach didn’t speak. He maintained the same relaxed posture but his eyes watched Lloyd with the intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. It was a pressure tactic that worked wonders in the interrogation room. Lloyd disliked having it used on him and felt ridiculous for wanting to fill the lingering silence, yet the thoughts bouncing around in his head had to go somewhere. He weighed the risks and decided that Zach was the safest option.

“Do you ever think about…kids?”  

Zach braced his elbows on the table. “No. I settled that issue a long time ago.” 

Lloyd rubbed his jaw, scowling at the itchiness of the three-day stubble he hadn’t found time to shave off. 

“Nurses were just in here talking about congenital issues with older fathers, the odds of it and such, that’s all.” 

Zach waved his hand. “You’re borrowing trouble.” 

“I’m not saying I want kids,” Lloyd rushed to clarify. 

“Spare me the bullshit. Let’s talk about it. You’re twisting yourself up over statistics without considering the rest of the picture.”

“What do you mean?”

“How many Gulf War vets, who were exposed to God-knows-what in Kuwait, had kids? And most of them were fine, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“They’ve researched it for decades and still can’t find a strong link. Genetic problems depend on a lot of factors.” 

He must not have looked persuaded because Zach continued. 

“How many twenty-five-year olds vape? Eat a diet of pure junk food? You’re healthier right now than most younger men could dream of being. Hell, you’re drinking tea.” 

Lloyd scoffed. “I don’t drink coffee so I’m off the hook?”

“And you eat turkey bacon, which is pathetic and un-American, but to each their own. Seriously, if it’s bothering you, get your sperm tested.”

“Do what?”

“Get your sperm tested,” Zach said, as casually as if he were reminding Lloyd to check his tire pressure. 

“Sperm testing? They do that?”

“Yeah. I had mine tested before and after my vasectomy.”

“Checking it right now wouldn’t matter much. Princess and I are in different places in life. By the time she’s ready to have kids…” Lloyd trailed off. 

“Deposit it at a sperm bank, they’ll put it on ice for later. Of course that’d take all the fun out of things, but it heads off the worst-case scenario.” 

Lloyd let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding as Zach’s logic cut through his spiraling. 

“Get your head on straight and focus on what you can control,” Zach said. 

“Which would be?”

The blond man’s face turned serious. “I have news.” 

Lloyd arched his brow. 

“Westin is dead.” 

“Since when?” 

“His body was found this afternoon—a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

Disgust hit first, followed by a surge of regret that twisted into concern. The disgust came from the fact that he hadn’t brought about Westin’s death by his own hand. Regret came from knowing, intuitively, how Westin’s death had played out. His eyes locked with Zach’s who read the unspoken assumption in them.. 

“I didn’t do it.”

“The others?” 

“No.”

“What about…”

“Possible,” Zach said. “No one knows where Gentry disappeared to, but I have a source that thinks he’s still in the city.”

“I might have something on that.”

“Care to share?”

“No.” 

“I take it you’re going to try and talk to him one-on-one?”

“Maybe.”

Zach snorted. “Because that went so well last time around.”

“Has anyone claimed the body?”

“No. They asked Bishop to identify him. Diskant said the scene was clean. There were no fingerprints other than Westin’s on the gun.” 

“There are still loose threads,” Lloyd said. 

“If you mean Aiden, he’s been arrested. Bishop has a friend at the district attorneys’ who says he’s going to be charged with espionage tomorrow.”

“Not the loose thread I was thinking of, but that’s good to hear.” 

“Tell me where the other loose thread is and I’ll take care of it,” Zach offered. 

“No. He’s worth more to us alive than dead.”

”Are you up to talking to him? Because you look like shit.” 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. “Screw you.” 

He shoved back from the table, snagged his empty cup and headed for the trash can. At the counter, he was about to toss it when something in the gleaming back panel of the espresso machine caught his eye. His blood froze at the sight of a familiar face staring back at him.

Joe. 

Somehow, Joe Hansen had crawled out of the grave and back up to the land of the living. There was no mistaking that face. The deep purple circles under his eyes, the dry, reddened skin partially hidden by a heavy five o’clock shadow, and bloodshot eyes from too much whiskey left Lloyd paralyzed for a moment. When his mind kicked back into gear, his first thought was almost smug: I knew you were too mean to die. But when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one behind him. Zach had stepped out to take a phone call. The shop was empty. His gaze turned back to the reflection. The eyes weren’t brown. They were crystal blue. 

It wasn’t Joe. It was him. 

He hadn’t shaved since Friday and had the scruff to prove it. A sleepless weekend explained the bloodshot eyes and dark circles. The wind and cold, combined with neglect of his skincare routine, had stripped his skin raw, leaving it cracked and red like a drunk’s. He looked as if he’d gone on a three-day bender instead of spending the weekend in a hospital room. He looked like Joe Hansen—even more so than usual. 

Lloyd stared at the reflection until his eyes couldn’t focus anymore. It didn’t make a difference. The image was burned into his brain. It wasn’t just their physical resemblance, it went deeper. The need for control, the volcanic temper. The chaos he’d spent his whole life trying to keep at bay. He crumpled up his cup and tossed it into the canister with more force than he’d meant to. A heavy weight settled in his chest. No matter how hard he tried to outrun it, Joe’s blood still ran in his veins. He’d rather die than admit it, but the truth, that he and Joe were fruit of the same tree, was inescapable. 

He stepped out of the coffee shop into the cold. Its icy bite was nothing compared to the pain of the knowledge that was sinking into his bones. He couldn’t keep you in his life, not in good conscience, not knowing the evil that lurked inside of him. The leaves crunched under his feet and the sound was like a physical reminder: nothing lasts forever. Your relationship had already stretched long beyond its season. No matter how much he wished otherwise, soon the pieces of your lives would no longer fit together. You’d outgrow him. Once that happened, any attempt he made to patch up the seams would cause it to unravel further.

The revelation cleared his mind, though his heart felt ten degrees colder. His chest throbbed, but at least the mental storm that had raged for days finally broke, leaving a hollow stillness in its wake. There wasn’t a choice for him to make, only a truth for him to accept. Your relationship was temporary and it would soon draw to a close. He couldn’t risk holding you back or allowing his past to endanger you again. The facts were clear cut, black-and-white. There was a wrong decision and a right one.  If he wanted you to have the future that you deserved he had to do the right thing.

He had to break things off. Whether it broke his own heart didn’t matter.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Coming Soon - Chapter XXX

Masterlist 

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Taglist: @denisemarieangelina @before-we-get-started @buckysteveloki-me @patzammit @badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess

@amiets2 @seitmai @elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers @kaleidoscopepov @fangirl-and-doctor-help @terry2227 @jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind @kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar @awkwardgiraffe726 @pono-pura-vida

@mysweetlittledesire @maylaysia109 @liecastillo @unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove @babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa @thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03 @cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @jeremyrennermakesmesmile @bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@calwitch @peachiestevie @texmexdarling @here4thefanfics @namelesssav @yiiiikesmish @andydrysdalerogers @mrsbarnes32557038 @lokislady82 @rogersbarber @spikeluv84 @dear-fifi @crayongirl-linz @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @thewritergremlin-rae @raven-blue3000 @samfreakingwinchester

[bow-n-scales]

oddly specific things that remind me of the children of the gods <3

children of ares: the click of a lighter, getting clothing caught on doorknobs and furniture edges, layered necklaces, beat up combat boots, brutal honesty, raucous laughter, chipped mugs, calloused hands, adrenaline rushes, tough exterior soft interior, meticulously polished armour and weapons

children of athena: grandfather clocks’ chimes, olive martinis, secret rooms behind bookshelves, “reading is sexy” tshirts, deserted museums, paper cuts, tea stains, intricately carved sword hilts, golden war helms, calculative gazes

children of apollo: whiskey-coloured eyes, chrysanthemum tea, badges/pins EVERYWHERE, dandelion fields, sandcastles, colourful bracelets, knowledge of music theory, perfect pitch, fireflies, band-aids with smiley faces, tie-dye shirts

children of artemis: metallic clothing, ripped jeans, dagger strapped to inside of thigh, gazing at the constellations, lumberjack plaid shirts, running barefoot underneath the moon, long braided hair (eg. katniss everdeen), sharp eyeliner and even sharper gazes, white platinum/silver jewellery, temporary tattoos, cd collection

children of hephaestus: worn-out headphones, crooked grins, cassette tapes, fireworks, drawers overflowing with tools, LEGO sets, neon signs, mismatched gears, bandaged thumbs (accidents happen sometimes & that’s okay), volcanic-like fury, being up-to-date with all technology-related news

children of iris: stained glass windows, skittles, bracelet beads, marshmallows, kaleidoscopes, cotton candy at carnivals, misty weather, coins at the bottom of fountains, bright eyeshadow, rainbow garlands, fogged-up windows with tiny drawings

children of aphrodite: polished sea glass, vintage avon perfume bottles, decorated handwritten letters, overflowing closets, femme fatale energy, sofia coppola archive, wild rose bushes, lipstick stains, eclectic decorations, chainmail armour, ever-changing fashion styles

children of hypnos: lavender spray bottles, fluffy slippers, liminal dreams, ticking clocks, stretching after a good nap, valais blacknose sheep, the smell of fresh linen, pillows that are cold on both sides, sleeping through thunderstorms, oil lanterns, customised sleep masks

children of nike: golden laurels, confident smirks, unending courage and determination, gold medallions, glorious ballrooms, the stinging feeling of disappointment after losing something, wars over uno, polished trophies and medals, an obsession with Nike sportswear, track and field competitions, feathered capes

children of hebe: tea sets, skincare routines, pansies, overflowing chalices, healed inner child, satin gowns, doe eyes, ribbons braided into hair, champagne towers, bubble guns, butterfly emblems

⋆˚₊· ͟͟͞➳❥ requests are open!!

[blackreaderfics]

Hygge | Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Pairing : Nanami Kento x Tiana

↳ Rating :  T

↳ Summary : Nanami breaks his well cultivated routine 

↳ W.C : 4.4k

↳ A/N: the voices in my head got me y’all… this is a purely self indulgent fic featuring relatable king Nanami (I, too, do not dream of labor✊🏾) and black girlbossqueen Tiana

↳ Tags + Warnings: xenophobia from a side character, fluff, set in Tokyo, next door neighbors, cultural differences, salaryman x cafe owner, they can speak each other’s languages but not fluently

🎵 A Commuter’s Trip (The Commuter OST) by Roque Baños

🎵 Hello Stranger by KAI

Hygge (n.) | Danish

“the feeling of calm, comfort, and contentment evoked by life’s simple joys”

Nanami had a simple routine. Wake up at 6, shower, get dressed, eat breakfast by 7:45 and be out of the door—at the latest—a minute before 8. He had everything calculated to the T. If Nanami had been a minute too late—let’s say 8:01— he would miss the morning train and therefore be late for work, and he was never late. He had taken into account all contingencies i.e. a train delay, traffic, inclement weather, and made sure he was prepared for any and all possibilities.

That’s why, much to his chagrin, he was “Employee of the Month” every month since he had been promoted from associate to advisor. Most workers would’ve taken pride in that, felt their presence valued at their company. But Nanami didn’t care much for awards or titles, in fact, he just hated working period. He made sure to always clock out at 6 p.m. on the dot. One minute more would be overtime and he didn’t want to give his thankless job a second more of his labor. 

When he left work, he always went straight home. When his head hit the pillow and he closed his eyes, thoughts about the next day would drift into his mind. 

Did the market close up or down? What reports did he need to finish? There’s a client meeting coming up; the presentation deck needs to be prepared… Just two more days. Get through two more days and it’s the weekend. 

And so on and so on. Wash rinse repeat. 

He presumed this endless cycle of corporate monotony would continue until the day he turned 40, after which he could retire and live modestly in a country like Malaysia or the Philippines to catch up on all the reading he missed. Perhaps even find a nice woman and marry her while he was there.

The marriage part was new—an afterthought after years of daydreaming—and he didn’t really think much about the kind of woman he wanted to marry. What she looked like or what she did was more of an amorphous thought, a vague idea in his mind. 

Until her.

He met her by accident. Nanami had been cooking, a hobby he only indulged in on the weekends, and he was just in the middle of making a rolled omelet when he heard a loud thump outside his door.

His apartment building was more of an office building which meant that his floor didn’t get much traffic. The people who rented rooms were not really tenants who lived there, but workers looking for an extra workspace.  He had assumed the thump to be a delivery man outside his door so, naturally, he was surprised when it wasn’t the post, but a foreigner woman standing outside the room next door.

The woman had a heavy bag of groceries balanced in the crook of her arm and another by her feet that he presumed had been the source of the sound. When they made eye contact, he had been so startled that he quickly closed his door. The apartment next to his had been empty for months, but it looked like it had finally been rented out. 

He thought nothing more of it until her very presence began to infiltrate his well-maintained routine. Every morning, if he was quiet enough, he could faintly hear her humming as he got dressed. Other times, he could hear upbeat jazzy music on the weekends if he opened his window.

Every night, he was surrounded by the fragrance of whatever she seemed to be cooking. Most of the time it was sweet, other times it was savory. It wasn’t an unpleasant aroma, just noticeable to the point where its absence would feel strange. There were days when they would leave for work at the same time, though oftentimes he would end up holding the elevator door open for her when she left her apartment a few minutes after he did. 

In the brief moments they encountered, Nanami made small observations about her: She was an American. Beautiful. Unmarried—Americans wore rings on their ring finger to signify marital status, he’d noticed she didn’t.

He couldn’t infer her job or what exactly brought her to Tokyo in the first place from her appearance alone, however. He’d seen a fair amount of young foreign teachers in the city. He wondered if she was a teacher. She looked young enough. A missionary? She dressed modestly and wore sensible shoes. Her curly hair was often tied into a low bun. From the very slim list of what young American women did for work in Tokyo, he decided on teacher and his curiosity was sated. 

One day he found out. After a long day of work, he walked his usual route from the train station back to his apartment building but was redirected due to construction at his usual subway exit. When he alighted from the escalator he was on a different street entirely. The extra few minutes from this detour would undoubtedly cut into the time he’d set aside to unwind, and subsequently, he’d have to make a few adjustments to still get a full 8 hours of sleep.

He loosened his tie and sighed inwardly as he walked on. Since he’d moved to this district last year he didn’t make much effort to visit any new places. For all he was concerned, he only really needed to know his route to work and the nearest Starbucks. 

So when he passed by a small cafe called “Tiana’s Place”, it didn’t immediately click that the jazz he’d heard playing softly from her apartment was the same music that was playing now. It was familiar enough that it gave him pause. Where had he heard that song before? When he finally caught sight of her—his neighbor— through the glass window, it finally registered that she wasn’t a teacher or a missionary, but a cafe worker, and from the looks of it, she owned the place. 

He watched her dimples deepen as she interacted with customers, giving each and every one of them a tireless smile. Before he knew it, Nanami found himself inside the cafe whisked into the after-work rush of impatient office workers. She was so busy already, the only indication of strain being a moment when she blew the hair out of her face before the next customer walked up to order. He planned to buy something small and leave; he wanted to give her time to catch her breath but inadvertently in his musings he was already holding up the line. 

She was…right in front of him? And speaking to him now? It was the first time he’d heard her voice and he decided it suited her. She spoke in Japanese and, though accented, was clear and practiced enough in a way that impressed him.

“Are you still deciding, sir?” Impossibly large brown eyes waited in expectation for him to order.

He broke out of his reverie quickly enough to make it seem like his stalling was deliberate, his unmarred poker face further upholding the charade.

He scanned the prepackaged foods and retrieved the first thing that looked like bread. “Just this.” 

“Good choice,” She looked positively elated as she scanned the barcode and activated the card machine. “Beignets are my specialty.” She was beaming at him. Not in a “thank you come again” customer way but like in a he’d just made her entire week way. She was so laughably easy to please that it discomfited him.

He muttered a “thank you”, taking the package and turning to leave quickly before he met her eyes again. The Fall of Icarus was a cautionary tale for a reason, he wouldn’t risk another trip into the sun.

Nanami’s routine had drastically altered over the next few weeks. Every morning he’d gotten used to riding down the elevator with her. They greeted each other regularly, albeit a bit awkwardly, in the shared space—A slight bow from him as he held the doors open, reciprocated by a grateful wave from her.

The last time they shared an elevator, however, they'd accidentally brushed hands while reaching for the ground floor button. For some reason, that unnerved Nanami. So now, most times, he avoided that, opting to wait and listen to the click of her door before he left the house. For good measure, he started taking the stairs. As a result, Nanami had added an extra 10 minutes to his morning commute.

The detour, having yet to be fixed, took him past the café every day. Though Nanami knew the process of waiting in line would add an extra 15 minutes to his after-work trek, he did so anyway, calculating that picking up a quick dinner bento would be a fair trade to taking the time to cook something for himself. 

“What can I get for you today, sir?”  

He knew her name now—Tiana, from the name tag she wore, and the sign on the storefront. He noticed from the way her eyes would widen as he approached, that she recognized him now too.

“Black tea. No sugar, please.” He placed his usual prepackaged meal and packet of beignets on the counter, taking out his wallet. Nanami didn’t always plan to add beignets to every order, but he found himself reaching for them every time, dreading her predictable delight when he did. Ordering tea was another stroke of impulse he didn’t account for, but it wasn’t so busy now, he could enjoy it before he went home.

He decided on a table by the window, savoring the warm liquid as the sun set to a melancholy soundtrack of brass and bass. It was like being transported to another time, outside of crowded subway cars and the hustle of his high-powered office.

Nanami closed his eyes and felt something akin to contentment. When he exhaled, the stiffness in his shoulders abated, and the strain behind his eyes subsided. Was this what it was like to finally relax? 

He was about to take another sip of his drink when he heard a loud bang. The front door to the restaurant had flown open, a bulky man with greasy hair and a lecherous smile stalking in. Nanami’s eyes trailed after the man’s movements, the cup still raised to his lip.

“I’d like a dozen of those powdered donut things. Ya got any of those?” The man leered at the part-timer manning the counter. He sauntered back and forth at the register, eying the self-serve pastries in the display. 

“Sure, would you like them fresh? There aren’t enough ready-made ones for a dozen, but if you’re willing to wait there’s a new batch being made—” 

The man picked up a package of beignets that had been warming under a heated case and without warning, ripped open the package and took a bite.

“S-sir! You need to pay for that first!” The part-timer sputtered.

“Well, I’m waitin’ for that new batch. I wanna try before I buy.” The delinquent guffawed and attempted another gleeful bite only for the pastry to be smacked out of his hand and onto the floor.

He whirled around to face Tiana, bursting into laughter upon seeing her. “And who the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

“Call the police,” Tiana stated calmly to her employee as she stared down the man. Her usual polite smile had been replaced with a stony-faced expression. “Sir, if you’re not going to buy anything then it’s best you leave.”

“Huh? What was that? I can barely understand you, foreign bit-AHh” A pressure on the man’s shoulder made him crumple in pain.

“Your ears must not be working. I can understand her perfectly well,” Nanami murmured, his vice-like grip squeezing at the juncture between the man’s neck and shoulder. While the delinquent whimpered pathetically at the deepening pressure, Nanami directed his attention to Tiana, motioning with a slight tilt of his head for her to step away. “It’s not worth your trouble, I’ll take care of it.” 

She nodded reluctantly and joined her staff member who was now waiting with a phone at her ear behind the counter.

Nanami appeared to be saying something to the man now, but in a volume that Tiana couldn’t hear. His face was calm, betraying no emotion while the delinquent paled gradually in terror, trembling under his grip. The moment Nanami released him, the man scrambled out of his grasp and prostrated himself on all fours.

“I’M SORRY I’M SORRY I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN PLEASE—” He shouted hysterically and proceeded to do a fervent bow of penitence. 

Tiana looked at Nanami quizzically but was only met with a mild shrug. 

“Alright alright,” she stepped around the counter to placate him. If he could just stop snotting up the floor she just mopped and get out of there, they could just forget this all happened.

The tinkling bell sound of the cafe door opening interrupted the scene; everyone’s attention shifted from the blubbering man on the floor to the police officer who had just stepped in. 

Before anyone could speak, the man sprang up from the ground and ran toward the policeman. “OFFICER! IT'S ALL MY FAULT I ADMIT IT! ARREST ME, PLEASE! JUST GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Within 10 minutes the offender was cuffed—willingly, to the cop’s surprise— and whisked noisily out of the cafe just as quickly as he’d burst in. Nanami, suddenly uninterested in the commotion, walked calmly back to his table and gathered his things. 

Tiana made her way over to Nanami, eyeing the man through the window. He was currently being escorted to a police car on the curb. Still in hysterics, he’d practically thrown himself into the back of the car.

“Ok…what on earth did you say to that man?” She quirked an eyebrow at the blonde businessman.

That this cafe is his one and only oasis in the heaping pile of shit called life, and if even so much as one insignificant waste of air like him tries to ruin it he’ll have no choice but to chop his fingers off one by one and shove them down his throat so hard he’ll be shitting fingernails for weeks…among other things.

It would’ve been improper to divulge this to Tiana, of course.

“I asked him to apologize,” he said instead in simple English, a far cry from the eloquently horrific threats he’d made in his native language. 

“Really?” She asked, accepting the sudden change of language in stride. Her arms were crossed, her hip jutted to the side, face incredulous. “Just like that?”

“I’m rather persuasive.”

After a beat she laughed. 

Nanami didn’t consider himself a funny person. And frankly, he didn’t understand why she was laughing now but he welcomed it, if only to see that the earlier disturbance hadn’t caused her too much distress.

“Well, thank you kindly,” she drawled in between giggles, her southern accent now unmistakable when she switched to English. “Mister…” 

“Kento.” He offered his first name, aware he was skipping over several customary stages of familiarity. In any other case, anyone less than an acquaintance addressing him by his first name would be extremely frowned upon. But it was common business practice to use given names when dealing with American clients; he thought it fitting to do the same with her.

He reached into his suit jacket, pulling out a silver business card holder, and passed over an impressive looking card: 

Nanami Kento, Investment Advisor

“If there are any similar issues please don’t hesitate to contact me.” He repeated an English phrase that had come in handy from past business dealings.

“Mr. Kento,” she repeated to herself with finality studying the card. Tiana faintly wondered why a guy with a fancy title—and the most expensive suits she’d ever laid eyes on— lived in the modest one-room apartment right next to hers. She pocketed the card and patted around for her own business card. 

“I would’ve given you my own card too. But if you ever need to contact me—”

“Boss!” Her part-timer called out, waving her over from where she stood next to a police officer holding a clipboard.

“I’d better go, you know where to find me.” She excused herself with an apologetic smile.

Unfortunately for Nanami, this little ordeal had cost him another hour of wasted time.

The next day Nanami waited for the familiar click of her door shutting before starting his commute. When he exited his apartment, he could still see the silhouette of her back walking towards the elevator bank. 

She left without an umbrella, he noted to himself as he walked part of the way down the hallway. He imagined walking up to her and bringing it up casually as they waited for the elevator. But as soon as she’d turned his direction he changed course abruptly, legs moving on their own through the emergency exit and down the stairs.

Work went on as usual. He sat at his desk going over the pitch deck, but his eyes could not seem to follow the text. Instead, he found himself gazing out the window, watching the clouds slowly darken in the horizon. 

“Fucking weather, right? News said it’s gonna rain like a bitch the next few days.”

His boss had walked up behind him, crouching at his eye level to see what Nanami was looking at. 

“Hope you brought your galoshes, rookie, we’re going overtime today for that big client meeting. Dinner’s on me.” His boss clapped a hand on his shoulder and went off to bother a different team.

He tried to return his attention to his work, but he couldn’t. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes against the blue light of his computer screen. All he could think about was the rain.

Tiana had hoped that by the time she closed, the rain would’ve stopped. But she found herself outside the doors of the cafe, reluctant to leave. The rain hadn’t let up, and it didn’t look like it was stopping any time soon.

It was a day of disappointments. On top of forgetting her umbrella, Nanami hadn’t come into the shop that day. She’d gotten used to seeing him enter the store at the same time every day, and perhaps even looked forward to it. 

She took one tentative step outside, shivering through the draft of wind. She didn’t live far, maybe it would be alright if she just ran home with a plastic bag over her head. Tiana locked the door behind her and raised the collar of her jacket, clasping it with her hand to protect her neck. On the count of three, she lifted the plastic takeout bag over her head and took the plunge.

After a few strides in the pelting rain, it suddenly stopped—She had run into something or someone. The rain made it difficult to see where she was going so she blindly sputtered a reflexive “I’m so sorry!” in English at whoever it was that she had run into.

When she wiped the rain out of her eyes she could see nothing but an impeccably tailored pinstripe suit in the dim of the streetlights. It was Nanami and he was holding an umbrella over her head. His collar was unbuttoned without a tie, and he looked utterly exhausted. The dark circles under his eyes were even more pronounced from where she stood underneath him.

“Mr. Kento? Are you alright? What are you—”

“I figured you could use an umbrella,” he said dryly and pretty pointedly at her makeshift plastic bag hat.

“Yea, I guess I could use one of those,” she laughed breathlessly and took the bag off her head, before giving him one of those heart-stopping smiles he loathed. “You saved my life.*”

The corner of his mouth quirked slightly, amused. Perhaps because her choice of words sounded highly literal, almost…cute?, in Japanese. He “saved her life” just by sharing his umbrella? Americans were known to have a penchant for the dramatic. But he didn’t bother to correct her, instead, he only hummed somewhat of an affirmative response.

They walked in a comfortable silence down a familiar tree-lined path leading to their apartment building. She noticed Nanami’s shoulder getting wet, and leaned closer to him. 

Feeling the imperceptible shift, he gave the woman beside him a sidelong glance. His eyes settled on the loose wisp of hair he’d always seen her blowing out of her face.

It bothered him.

Maybe it was the fatigue-driven delirium, but he was struck with the inane compulsion to brush that lock out of her eyes. He couldn’t have been more grateful for the umbrella currently occupying his hand, otherwise, he would’ve indulged it.

Tiana reached over and gently adjusted the umbrella closer over his side. “Wouldn’t want to ruin that nice suit of yours,” she said softly.

“I hate this suit.” The curt statement came off a bit more brusque than he’d initially intended, though, it was true. He hated that suit and everything it represented.

She looked at him curiously, wondering if this was another aspect of his humor. But from what she could see on his countenance, he was entirely serious. 

He glanced at her again, catching the confused look on her face. “I don’t mind if it gets wet,” he reiterated this time with the intended lack of severity, along with a kind of finality that implied an end to the discussion of his suit and his decision to prioritize her dryness. They continued the rest of the way, the umbrella above them biased towards her side.

When they got to the apartment he held the building door open, letting her walk through first. 

“Thank you again for yesterday. That man, he was—” she paused to conjure the correct word.

“He was being a nuisance,” he completed, pushing the button for the elevator door. Naturally, he had chosen the same number for their floors, and when they arrived at their floor he waited for her to alight before walking after her.

When they finally reached their neighboring doors, he set his umbrella on the hallway floor for it to dry and began to punch in the code for his door. 

“Mr. Kento, wait a moment.”

He stilled his movement and watched as she rummaged into her purse. 

Tiana pulled out a paper box from her bag and presented it to him, “I was going to give these to you earlier if you came in. Glad they didn’t get wet.”

It was a small gesture. Even so, he was reluctant to take it.

“You… didn’t have to,” he frowned, eyeing the box.

“You didn’t have to walk me home, either,” she shrugged. 

“We’re neighbors. We were going in the same direction,” he said plainly, though, he didn’t entirely believe the words as they left his mouth either. It was unlike him to go anywhere else except straight home after working overtime. He hadn’t run into her by some coincidence or divine guidance. He’d gone there on purpose, and he had a sinking feeling she figured that out already too.

“Then just think of it as a ‘thank you gift’,” she insisted, tugging gently at his wrist and nudging the box softly into his hands. “For being my favorite customer.”

He shifted uncomfortably to receive the box with both hands. It was an unfamiliar concept for him to be anyone’s favorite anything.

“Good night, Mr. Kento.” Tiana’s voice had an amused lilt to it. Nanami must’ve stood there frozen because she was already halfway through her door, a knowing smile on her lips.

He regained his composure and mumbled back a formal “Good night, Miss. Tiana,” —her name a bit alien on his tongue—before retreating back inside.

When the door shut behind him, he immediately shed his suit jacket. His body was much too warm despite one side being wet; his collar much too tight, despite his lack of tie.

Nanami stared at the assortment of pastries that Tiana had given to him. He couldn’t recall the last time he willingly ate dessert though he assumed if he had, it would’ve probably been with Gojo and his infantile palate.

Truthfully, Nanami didn’t really like sweets at all. The first time he bought those beignets, he’d just picked up the first thing in line that day and just…never stopped buying it. Over the past weeks, he’d amassed a bevy of unopened bags of the foreign confection and they were occupying the much-needed counter space of his kitchen. 

It was rather ironic for an investment advisor to be so frivolous with his money. Spending on foods he didn’t even eat when was supposed to be saving it didn’t make any sort of financial sense. He had been planning to retire by 40, and now he’d have to add an extra 5 years to his projections over mere fried dough.

Nanami turned over the yellow business card for “Tiana’s Place” that he had found wedged in the box. A simple “Bon Appétit ;) -T.” was written on the back.

He picked up a beignet from the box and took a bite—It was made for him, after all. He chewed it slowly, the consistency not too far off from that of a baguette. It wasn’t too sweet, either. In fact, it was…delicious? Better than any dessert he’s had before. Maybe everything he’d tried before this was just a crude imitation, a poor excuse for the craft of baking. 

Perhaps he did like sweets or even dessert right before bed. Maybe he didn’t even mind that he wouldn’t be getting his full 8 hours of sleep. If he concentrated hard enough, her faint humming as she got ready for bed filled the silence of his apartment. He could stay up even longer if at all possible.

When he finally closed his eyes, a rush of different kinds of thoughts flooded his mind. 

Some were more mundane: Maybe I’ll have a beignet for breakfast or It’s probably going to rain tomorrow. 

Some were imaginations: plump glossy lips curved in an oversweet smile meant solely for him. His fingers gently tucking that bothersome tendril of hair behind her ear. 

He finally drifted to sleep with one last thought just as simple as the others, a tiny hope that she would forget her umbrella again.

*A/N: Tiana’s words sound like a literal translation/unnatural because she’s a non-native speaker ex. “you saved my life” vs a more natural/colloquial “you’re a lifesaver”

©️ blackreaderfics // credit to cafekitsune for the dividers

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 10]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

You arrived to the second fake dating Thursday late again. But for different reasons this time—all Suguru Geto related.

You had overslept because you had stayed up till some unbelievable hour in the morning practicing the pitch with the group and rehearsing how you were going to sell the project to Suguru Geto. You only stopped when Megumi threw a tangerine at you to tell you to shut up since you were keeping him up from sleep. You ended up moving to your room and carrying on for at least another two hours.

Then if you weren’t already late enough, you had realised that your normal outfit (an oversized shirt, a pair of pants which passed the sniff test and your hair being messy) was probably not the best outfit to showcase your professionalism and sell you as a “future colleague” so you decided to change into more business attire. Dress for success and all that.

You burst through the door whispering the words to yourself over and over and then you noticed Satoru.

It was an okay-ish day for the time of year. You glanced at him, and immediately you knew he was in the nastiest of moods. That rumour of him throwing pens and pencils around his office because a deal was unsuccessful, or because one of his employees messed something up or something equally inconsequential had happened came to mind. You felt the need to duck.

It’s okay. You told yourself. This was worth it. It was all worth it. Things Maki and Yuta were starting to work out, really well. Better than even anticipated actually. They were almost officially dating, they had shown up to your most recent group outing together. You were hopefully going to convince Geto without messing things up, and in the right attire since you had made the last minute decision to change. In addition, you were gaining a free drink out of all this. You just had to look on the bright side. Even if it meant looking past this pitch-black mood of Satoru Gojo’s, it would be worth it.

“Hi.” You beamed. He looked at you, squinting as if you were too bright, with a look of angst and hatred painted on his face. “How are you?”

“Fine.” His tone was clipped, his expression unchanging, as usual. He was waring his usual attire. You couldn’t help but notice his muscles wondering if his clothes had been custom made. You had also taken note that his hair had gone ever so slightly shorter in length. It felt surreal to you that you were at the point that you were taking note and keeping track of Satoru Gojo’s hair and his moods.

“Ready to get coffee?” You chirped.

He nodded dismissively. Barely even looking at you. On a table inside one of your executors was glancing back and fourth pretending to clean the monitor of her laptop.

“Sorry I was late again. I just—”

“It’s fine.”

“How was your week?”

“Fine.”

Wow, okay. “Um…did you do anything at weekend?”

“I worked.”

You got into line and fought off your sigh. “Weathers been nice, huh?” God, you’d made it to awkward conversation fillers.

He grunted in response

It was starting to be too much. There was a limit to what you would do for this fake dating relationship—even for a free coffee. You sighed. “Is it because of the hair cut?”

“What?” He looked shocked.

“Is the mood because of the haircut?”

“What mood?”

You gestured to him. “This. This bad mood you’re in.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not in a bad mood.”

You snorted—thought that was probably not the right term for the noise you’d just made. It was too loud and derisive, more like a laugh.

A snaugh.

“What?” He frowned, unappreciative of your snaugh.

“Come on. You ooze moodiness.”

“I do not.” He sounded almost offended you’d even said that about him.

“You so do. But it’s fine, you’re allowed to be in a bad mood.”

It was your turn so you took a step forward and smiled at the barista.

“Morning. Can I have a pumpkin spice latte and that cream cheese danish over there. Yep, that one thank you. And”—You pointed at Satoru with your thumb—“he’ll have a chamomile tea. No sugar.” You added cheerfully taking a few small steps to the side to avoid damage in case Satoru decided to dart a pen at you. You were surprised when he calmly handed his card to the barista. Really, he wasn’t as bad as they made him out to be.

“I hate tea.” He said. “And chamomile.”

You beamed up at him. “That is truly unfortunate.”

“You smart-ass.”

He stared straight ahead, but you were almost certain that he was about to crack a smile. There was a lot to be said about him but not that he didn’t have a sense of humour.

“So…not the haircut?”

“Mm? Ah, no. It was a weird length. Getting in my way while I was running.”

Oh. So he was a runner. Like you. “Okay. Great. Because it doesn’t look bad.”

It looks good. As in really good. You are probably the most handsome man I’d ever talked to in the last week, but now you look even better. Not that I care about these things. I don’t care at all. I rarely even notice you, and I’m not sure why I’m noticing you, or your hair, or your clothes, or how tall you are. I really don’t get it. I never care. Usually. Ugh.

“I…” he seemed flustered for a second, his lips moving without making a sound as he looked for an appropriate response. Then, out of the blue, he said, “I talked with the CEO this morning. He’s still refusing to discuss a new contract.”

“Oh.” You cocked your head. “I thought they weren’t due until the end of September.”

“They aren’t. This was an informal meeting, but the topic came up. He said he’s still monitoring the situation.”

“I see.” You waited for him to continue. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, you asked, “Monitoring…how?”

“Unclear.” He was clenching his jaw.

“I’m sorry.” You felt for him. You really did. If there was something you could empathise with, it was contracts and how awkward they can be and how awkward companies can be about them. “Doesn’t that mean you can’t continue your career?”

“I have other plans it’s just awkward.”

“So…the problem is that you can’t remain here?”

“I can. But my contact would change and I like how it is now and I would like it to roll over and be the exact same on my next contract.”

Uh? “I see.” You cleared your throat. “So…let me recap. It sounds like they might terminate your contract based on rumours, which I agree is a crappy move. But it also sounds like now you can go bigger and get even greater deals with better companies, so…it’s not the end of the world?”

Satoru gave you an affronted glare, suddenly looking even more cross.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry I just don’t see how you’re truly missing out, i mean—” you were cut short when the barista handed you your danish.

You took a bite out of it—fuck it was nice—you watched his face, how it contorts, while you were chewing. He was watching the barista.

“Look okay, my point is, it’s not an insurmountable problem. Besides we’re working though it together, showing people that you’re going to stay here forever because of your amazing girlfriend.”

You pointed at yourself. His glare followed your hand, clearly he was not a fan of rationalising or working through his problems.

“Or you can stay mad, we can go to your office and throw pens at each other till the pain of being pelleted overrides your shitty mood? Sounds like fun, no?”

He looked away, rolling his eyes. You could see it in the curve of his cheeks that he was amused. Likely against his will. “You are such a smart-ass.”

“Maybe but I’m not the one who grunted when I asked how your week was.”

“I did not grunt. And you ordered me chamomile tea.”

You smiled. “You’re welcome.”

There was a quiet moment when you chewed through your of your danish. Once you’d swallowed you rationalised a little and said, “I’m sorry about your funds.”

He shook his heads “I’m sorry about the mood.”

Oh. “It’s okay. You’re famous for that.”

“I am?”

“Yep. It’s kinda of your thing.”

“Is that so?”

“Mmm.”

His mouth twitched. “Maybe I wanted to spare you.”

You smiled, because it was actually a nice thing to say. And he was not a nice person, but he was very kind to you most of the time—not always. He was almost smiling, staring down at you in a way that you couldn’t quite interpret but that made you think weird thoughts, until the barista deposited your drinks on the counter. He suddenly looks like he was about to retch.

“Satoru? Are you okay?”

He stared at your cup and took a step back. “The smell of that thing.”

You inhaled deeply. Heavenly. “You hate pumpkin spice latte?”

He wrinkled his nose, recoiling. “Gross.”

“How can you hate it? It’s the best thing your country has produced in the past century.”

“Please, stand back. The stench.”

“Hey. If I have to choose between you and pumpkin spice latte, maybe we should rethink our arrangement.”

He eyes your cup like it contained radioactive waste. “Maybe we should.”

He held the door open as you exited the coffee shop, taking care not to come too close to your drink. You could see through the windows of the lobby that, outside it was started by to drizzle. Some passers-by were hastily putting their hoods up and getting their umbrellas out. You had been in love with the rain since as far back as you could remember. You watched happily, Stopping with Satoru outside the cafe. He took a sip of his chamomile tea, and it made you happy.

“Hey,” you said, “I have an idea. Are you going to the event the company’s been promoting like crazy?”

He nodded. “I have to, if I want to keep this contract I kind of have to suck up to them.”

“Ah. That sounds…fun.” You winced sympathetically, almost laughing again at his appalled expression. “Well I’m going, Yuta says it promotes the band and shows are our bonding, something about us being seen as normal people. Are you going to make any of your big shot friends go?”

“No. I have other ways of making them miserable.”

You chuckled. He was funny, in that weird dark way of his. “I bet you do. Well, here’s my idea; since it’s a closed event, we should hand out. In front of the CEO and contract manager; they’ll see we’re basically one step away from marriage. Then he’ll make a quick phone call and a truck will drive up and give you your new contract right there in front of—”

“Hey, man!”

A black haired guy approached Satoru. You fell silent as Satoru turned to smile at him and exchanged a handshake—a close bros handshake. You blinked, wondering if you were seeing things, and took a sip of your latte.

You knew him.

“I thought you’d sleep in.” Satoru was saying.

You knew him.

“The time difference screwed me up. I figured I might as well come here and get to work. Something to eat, too, you have no food, man.”

You knew him.

“There are apples in the kitchen.”

You knew him.

“Right. No food.”

You knew him.

You took a step back, ready to excuse yourself when the guy turned to you. He looked eerily familiar, even though you were certain you had never met him before.

You knew him.

“And who’s this?” He asked curiously. His eyes were unnervingly black.

You knew him.

“This is Y/N,” Satoru said. There was a beat after your name, in which he should have probably specified how he knew you. He did not, and you really couldn’t blame him for not wanting to feed your fake-dating crap to someone who was clearly a good friend. You just kept your smile in place and let Satoru continue. “Y/N this is my collaborator—”

You knew him.

“Dude.” He interrupted. “Introduce me as your friend.”

You knew him.

Satoru rolled his eyes, clearly amused. “Y/N this is my friend and collaborator, Suguru Geto.”

Suguru Geto.

TAGLIST(29/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @fushigurosgirl @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.

[welcome-leon]

should be sleeping but I’ve got too many HCs for these characters so pls have some food related ones~

Leon

has a broad palette and will try anything once - has definitely eaten all manner of insects, arachnids, and offal, and been alright with most of them

always tries the local cuisine if he has time on missions, considers it one of the perks of the job

kinda lactose intolerant but he ignores it (don’t we all)

like he'll eat an ice cream and be fine but he should stay away from milkshakes

loves oreos (thanks Nick) and chocolate covered liquorice

comfort food: lasagna (something his mother used to cook. he could never get the recipe right)

also sweet breakfast foods. loves pancakes and waffles and french toast and croissants and—

certified tea hater. doesn’t see the point, it tastes weak and weird to him (Sherry probably tries to find a tea he likes, he always takes a sip to try it but nothing more)

his diet directly correlates to his mental health - his appetite just vanishes

he also generally forgets to eat a lot

at his worst, he’s ingesting nothing but power bars and espresso and maybe a banana

starts to cook properly again after Vendetta, and it becomes a hobby

had many mishaps in this time period (ruined more than one pot by accident) but he enjoys it

buy him cultural/ethnic cookbooks, he’d be thrilled

Chris

diet is consistent and generally well rounded. doesn’t really snack.

probably eats too much meat though, he needs some soup or a salad or smth

loves a good BBQ but is actually kinda bad at grilling (refuses to acknowledge this)

sweet flavoured popcorn (particularly caramel) is his guilty pleasure, he’ll devour a whole packet in 2 seconds flat

can cook pretty well and finds a sense of peace in doing so

HATES grocery shopping though

tends to eat the same meals over and over bc they’re easy/habitual, especially when he’s stressed

has a huge breakfast - scrambled eggs, avocado toast, cooked mushrooms, a small bowl of oatmeal and yoghurt, a large coffee or glass of orange juice (lucky the BSAA has a mess hall that cooks for him lmao)

will absolutely fall asleep if he gets too full. total food coma

keeps a bag of gummies on him during missions for his team, if their blood sugar gets low (usually Piers)

(alpha team defs try to fake it so they can have a snack)

eats bananas like they’re going extinct, just grabs one when he goes out the door. they’re perfect snacks to him

he’ll also just walk around eating a whole carrot. probably not in public but like, I wouldn’t put it past him

Piers

is as responsible in his diet as he is in everything, but he’s not overly restrictive

he loves a good routine and he eats in the same way, having the same meals every day for a month or two before he switches it up

goes out to eat often enough that he gets his variety that way

he loves cereal. he'll eat it any time of day and in any weather

really likes seafood, the fresher the better - not as much as steaks tho, obviously

WILL criticise how you cook steak until you do it the “right” way

eats fruit salads and veggie sticks for snacks (and genuinely enjoys them, the freak (affectionate))

really likes ice cream though. total comfort food

also hot chocolate

he’s a sucker for a mocha

at complete odds to his usual diet, he’s a complete garbage monster in the adrenaline drop after a mission

get this man some carbs NOW

will devour whatever is in front of him so long as its hot and there’s lots of it

takes hangry to a new level, good lord

it’s something of an inside joke (and a genuine warning) to never raise problems to Piers until after he’s eaten a meal