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#had fun writing this

thedarkmysticsofvirus · 3 months

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Continuing some character info

Alright it's already been a little while now and I should not have waited this long. continuing on with my dear oc Tanya right here let's discuss her interests. ╔════════════════ஓ๑♡๑ஓ════════════════╗ Interests - There aren't a lot of interests or hobbies that come to this darling right here but there are a few that caught her eye that she likes to keep hidden about. The first is Inventing; one of us saw this a mile away but she's seen something... beautiful out of it. intriguing mainly.. to create life itself not in the shape or form of a human, just something more of a use. might have seen it up close or afar, may take days, a month, or even a year... but the results came out worth it, depends. The second interest that came to mind is mushrooms; as a small child, she tends to wander around forests, inspecting and collecting mushrooms. now from middle school to university she's been studying them, alone. (The damn dedication.) it became too much of a hyper-fixation, she's tried to stop the small obsession with em but she couldn't help herself to do much. of course she wasn't open to talk about it too much. (Especially when this damn school is full of roses-) The third and last interest for is guns: reason is self-explanatory. Now that I got interests out of the way my favorite part to go with next is the dear small

ღ ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত ღ Relationships- this mf doesn't want to make any lasting relationships, ESPECIALLY when it comes to students in this school right here. but if it happens it is what it is, or you're being held hostage for it. let's start with the lovely few main cast here. Toro is one of the people she's actually alright hanging around with, their close enough that she can actually drop her guard for a while, he seemed like a decent guy at best. Misty on the other hand is a bit strange to her, in all, hasn't even trusted her at first but she seems friendly around her (and everybody else). Tanya started to get a little more acquainted to the silly chatter-box, even though at this point her angelic voice causes her ears to ring a bit, on the bright side she gives good fashion advice. Tanya doesn't associate with Mary too much unless if it's work related or if Misty is hanging around since she seems so "kind" around her. other than that, it's just complete silence around them, barely to acknowledge each other. good. Mary intimidates her. For Barry, she ain't even gonna be given a chance to speak. the moment he steps into the room there's a guarantee to be a long conversation. it's nothing much like Misty, oh no... by the looks of him he seems like a confident narcissist that (In pure.wav's words) would probably bully ya phycologically. to her, he's kind of just a little annoying, silly, but annoying. Now to Larry... hmm... what are some words I can describe... she does not like him well and he doesn't like her either. from the moment they've met it was hatred at first sight, they couldn't stand to look at each other unless if they were planning to strangle each other out 💞. maybe just maybe they'll slowly start to get along... but until that happens, they want to kill each other. Any who, I think that's all for today, thank you so much for listening to this dumb crap. got any questions then let me know, so I can cry to myself. have a good day/night.

#break in oc #ocs #creepy trio #send help.#Had fun writing this #Suffered too #wanted to draw something for it but it took WAY TOO LONG #Tanya put the gun down.#dumb shit

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princesslocket · 8 months

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Fandoms: 原神 | Genshin Impact (Video Game)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Scaramouche (Genshin Impact), Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact)

Relationships: Scaramouche/Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact)

Additional Tags: Brief mentions of the Tsarita, Beidou makes an apperance, Enemies to Lovers, Rivals to Lovers, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Soft Tartaglia | Childe (Genshin Impact), First Kiss, Tartaglia | Childe is a Menace (Genshin Impact), Scaramouche Being a Little Shit (Genshin Impact), Mutual Pining, Feelings Realizations, Pre: Chapter 1: Liyue (Genshin Impact), Fatui Harbingers (Genshin IMpact), chiscaraficfest

Summary:

“Pack your things.” All of Childe’s thoughts seemed to come to a halt as he blinked almost owlishly at Scaramouche, unable to process what had just been said. There had to be something wrong with his hearing, right? There was no way he’d heard that right… Scaramouche had made his distaste for pairing up with Childe on any activity pretty well-known to just about everyone in the Fatui. Childe was always the last person Scaramouche would turn to if he ever needed anything. Going by that logic, Scaramouche must have been down on his luck in getting any of the other harbingers to take with him in on his mission. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been standing outside of Childe’s room asking, or more like demanding, him to pack for what Childe assumed was going to be their soon to be mission together. “Come again?” Childe straightened up a bit after gathering his thoughts.

Or: Childe was never very good when it came to co-operating with his coworkers. But when he’s assigned to work with Scaramouche on an undercover mission to retrieve a missing delusion, he makes an exception.

This is a gift for @/moonxglasses as part of the chiscara fic fest on Twitter!

#chiscara #ficfest #fanfic #childe #tartaglia #ajax #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin impact #long post #had fun writing this #it was a nice change #i miss them so much

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goldendiie · 1 year

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Ok here me out! Fillmores parents try visiting Fillmore to convince him to come home because it looks bad to the public for a politician son to disappear and they see sarge like

Fillmores dad :"ah yes my son being friends with this upstanding young man will help straighten him out "

Sarge: Don't be suspicious Don't be suspicious don't be suspicious

Fillmore was having a bad day. He and Sarge had argued that morning, and his customer intake had been lower than usual. The gift-wrapped bow on top of everything, though, was the fact that his father had tracked him down.

He looked almost comical: Roger Callahan had always been an extremely buttoned-up individual, yet here he stood against the psychedelic lavender-washed backdrop of the Taste-In.

“For someone so smart, you could’ve done a better job of covering your tracks,” his father said flatly, “For God’s sake, at least change your name the next time you run away.”

“I didn’t run away,” Fillmore bit back. “You kicked me out.”

His father looks back at him challengingly. “Did you not drop out of Berkeley?”

“What I do with my time and money is none of your concern,” Fillmore replied. “What the hell are you doing here, anyways?” He added, somewhat snarky, “Have you ever heard of the telephone? You could’ve called.”

“I’m taking you back to New York,” his father replied, a tone of finality to his voice. “People have started asking questions about where you’ve gone, and we can’t afford a scandal.”

Fillmore stared back at him, floored. “What, I don’t get a say in this?” He snapped, “Maybe I’d prefer to stay gone.”

“Son, I’m not going to tell you twice,” his father said, “This is serious! People are beginning to notice!”

Fillmore scoffed. “Not my problem.”

Just then, the beaded curtain was pushed aside. Fillmore nearly snapped his head to look, uttering a short we’re closed—Unfortunately, it was Sarge that was standing there. He looked halfway terrified, looking between them as he began to back away.

He said, “I’ll come back—”

“No, no, you’re cool,” Fillmore said after him. “My father was just leaving, anyways.”

Sarge froze, one foot behind him in the doorway. He mumbled, “I just, uh… I seem to have lost my wallet. Have you seen it?”

Sarge had likely come to talk about their argument earlier, as his wallet was very clearly in his front-right pocket. Fillmore seemed to sense this, and gestured with his head. “You can check inside.”

Sarge ushered past them, looking as though he wanted to avoid being seen. He nodded his head vaguely in the direction of Fillmore’s father as he passed.

“A friend of yours?” his father asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes." Fillmore nodded shortly, unwilling to divulge any other information.

His father hummed, evidently surprised. "He's normal."

"Very."

Sarge returned a moment later, wallet in hand. “Found it,” he said, smiling nervously.

Roger Callahan turned on him. “You," he said. "What's a respectable young man like yourself doing wasting time with this—" he gestured vaguely in Fillmore's direction, "—vagrant?"

Fillmore cut in, "I said he's my friend."

"Speak when spoken to." His father shot him a rather dangerous glare, before looking back to Sarge. "And that's all?"

Sarge stood a little straighter, a rather challenging expression crossing through his eyes. "If not friends, what else would we be?"

Roger Callahan scoffed, "Like you don't know."

Fillmore, again, spoke up, "Go back to New York, asshole."

His father swung around, furious, "I won't say it again—"

"No, you won't," Fillmore interrupted, "This is my property, and I'm calling the sheriff if you don't scram." He gestured in the direction of the door, picking up the telephone.

"You'd call the police on your own father?"

"Try me."

Roger Callahan took one step forward. Fillmore dialed one number on the rotary. Another step, another number. He pressed the receiver to his ear, ready...

"Christ," his father said. He turned back to Sarge, incredulous. "You, young man— do me a favor and straighten him out, would you?" He added, "Maybe you'll rub off on him."

Sarge exchanged glances with Fillmore. "I'll, uh... I'll sure try."

"You—" Roger Callahan continued, wheeling around and quickly advancing on Fillmore. "You will be coming back to New York if it kills me."

"Cool," Fillmore said, indifferently, "Hope it does."

His father blinked at him, before storming out. It was another moment before the car left his lot, and another still before its tires screeched down the highway.

Across the room, Sarge deflated. "What the hell?" he asked.

"Right?" Fillmore replied, "What's his problem?"

Sarge whistled, and neared the Taste-In's counter. He seemed to peer out the beaded curtain for a moment, as though he was making sure that Fillmore's father had actually left.

"So," Fillmore said, "Promise you'll straighten me out?"

Sarge groaned. "Please, shut up."

#had fun writing this #we all have a roger callahan in our lives #stick it to the man!

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forcheol · 6 months

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heyy!! Can I ask for smtg with Cheol and him being like the toxic masculine, dom bf in front of the members. Thankyouu💕💕

hi!! thank you for your ask <3 i don't really know how to write toxic masculine characters but i tried anyways so i hope i did your ask justice!

also, sorry if it’s short (& if it doesn’t make sense lol). i hurt my palm on my left hand so it hurts to type for too long ㅠㅠ.

seungcheol would hate when any of the other guys would get close to you. if it wasn’t him resting a hand on your thigh or ruffling your hair, his heart would start picking up its pace, jealousy seeping into his veins.

he hated it. it should be him touching you and him that should be sitting next to you. not soonyoung, not wonwoo and definitely not jeonghan.

he hates the way soonyoung grabs your arm to catch your attention and tell you something he was ‘dying to tell you’.

he hates how wonwoo’s arm stretches out from the back of the couch to play with the ends of your hair absentmindedly while he contributes to the conversation topic of joshua’s surprise birthday party.

he hates it when you so much as even high five jeonghan every time you two make a joke only the both of you understand.

he hates how he has to sit on a different couch opposite from the couch you’re sitting on.

and, oh, how he hates that he can’t get you alone to even kiss you and remind you who you belong to.

possessive thoughts swirl around his mind and his hands twitch to just pull you away from soonyoung’s side and into his own lap.

that’s what’s happening, isn’t it? seungcheol walking over to the couch you’re sitting on, wonwoo and soonyoung sitting either side of you.

he grabs your hand firmly and helps you to stand up. your eyes wander around to look at the others, staring a little at woozi who just shrugs at you.

seungcheol walks back to his original spot and sits down with his legs slightly spread. you stare down at him with a ‘what are you doing?’ look on your face. he looks up at you and now you notice the very faint pout on his lips.

chan, who’s next to your boyfriend, covers his mouth and snickers into his hand quietly. seungcheol, on the other hand, pulls at your fingers but when you don’t get the hint, he yanks you down and you practically fall onto his lap.

because of the way you fell back, you quickly fix your position into a more comfortable one. you try to sit between seungcheol and chan but seungcheol stops you before your ass could even touch the couch, instead your ass making contact with his plush thighs once again

there’s a deafening silence in the room yet when you look back at the guys, they continue the conversation as if no one had even stopped it.

“mine, all mine. my baby, hm?” he whispers, pressing his lips onto your shoulder blades and his hands resting on your waist.

#hani: asks #had fun writing this #but it kinda turned more into possessive bf cheol #i tried my best!#scoups #scoups x reader #scoups imagines #scoups fluff #choi seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol imagines #seungcheol fluff #seventeen #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #seventeen fluff

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ohposhers · 3 months

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This started as a shitpost and then I just kept going anyway AU where Floyd eventually forgives Veneer and they end up becoming besties a few years down the line and have girls nights ugh [NOT SHIP ART!!!] aaand Bonus doodle of when they take the curlers out or some shit dont look at me man

#floyd was convinced his hair was gonna look stupid with curls but hes a believer now #this is so stupid im sorry guys #can you tell i had fun writing the dialogue #trolls #trolls band together #floyd trolls #veneer trolls #im so tired i stayed up all night making this #veneer and his senior citizen best friend #my art

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tizzymcwizzy · 13 days

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for my illustration final we had to make some spreads for a children's haiku book! my classmate wrote the first haiku and i wrote the second one,

im super proud of how these turned out!! maybe i should be a picture book artist.....

#i had so much fun doing these #also writing haikus was fun! i think i wrote like 8 total before i decided on the stars one #my art #illustration #picture book #childrens book #artists on tumblr #haiku poetry #no idea what else to tag #art #???

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teddybeartoji · 11 days

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im gnawing at puppy!satoru.... like pookie.... i didnt know I'd be obsessed with that.......... IM DESPERTLY WAITING FOR PUPPY!SATORU 😭 😭 😭

18+ mdni; gn!reader

puppy!satoru, who sits in front of your bed with the biggest and prettiest wide-eyes. tears pool in the corners of them, wetting his angelic eyelashes in the most beautiful way. a pretty baby blue collar hangs from his neck – it's tied to one of your desk's legs and it's the only thing that's keeping him from lunging at you. whimpers fall from his wet lips and drool dribbles down his chin; his tongue hangs from his mouth as he pants in desperation. he wants to taste, he wants to touch – but he's being punished right now.

he has been a bad pup.

a muzzle rests on his face, the straps sink into his soft flushed cheeks and you can already see the faint red marks that they're leaving on his perfect skin. you almost feel bad. almost. his hands are tied behind his back and he's completely at your mercy.

sitting down on his knees, he slightly bounces up and down on his legs just to get some relief. his tail thumps against the floor so hard that you can hear it. his fuzzy ears are bent back and he looks oh, so cute like this. they flop a little every time he raises his hips from the ground and you coo at him.

the sudden murmur makes them perk up again, his eyes growing even bigger than before. please, please, please. you grin at him from your place on your shared bed.

the thing he desires the most, the heaven that sits right between your legs, your soft thighs – it's exactly at his eye-level. this is pure torture.

he watches you touch yourself, play with yourself with slow movements; he can see the slick glistening on your sensitive skin and he'd do anything to lick you clean. he just wants to make you feel good! white tufts of hair fall in front of his eyes; they're starting to cling to his forehead from the way he's sweating. it's too hot in the room - he's not even wearing anything other than he stupid collar!

his rock hard cock bobs in the air, his balls twitching every time it hits his own lower belly. there's pre-cum smeared all over his happy trail and he's making such a big mess even without your help. your dirty pup...

another pretty little mewl tumbles from his swollen lips and he tugs harshly at his leash, but winces when it doesn't let up. a soft gasp followed by loud panting, his tail smacks against the floor. c'mon, he's being so good. he's so good for you. please, just let him taste you.

"does puppy wanna play, hm?"

his eyes roll back into his head at your sultry voice and he's nodding his head so strongly that he starts to feel a little dizzy. the collar around his neck only seems to be getting tighter and tighter, his airways getting blocked by his suffocating desire. a glob of pre-cum spills from his slit and it slides down the side of his shaft. he feels it. he imagines you wiping it off with your finger, with your mouth. he's so fucking hard.

his eyes are glued to your center – his least meal, his only solution to his unquenchable thirst. he wants to bury his nose into your crotch, he wants to breathe you in, he wants you to be the only thing on his mind.

(as if you aren't just that already.)

more. he needs more.

the silk ropes around his wrist dig into him, and even those just seem to be getting tighter by the second. he can't stop moving around, he can't sit still – he's the one that's making it worse. it hurts.

he likes it.

satoru's glassy eyes follow your free hand as it trails all over your thigh and your stomach and he can't surpress the saddest little whine that crawls up his throat. your lips stretch into a wide grin while raising your hand to play with your nipple. your other hand stays playing with yourself, filling the room with the slick delicious sounds.

you watch him lick his lips, you watch him pant, you watch him yank at the collar again – he's like a magnet, drawn to you always and forever.

he humps the air and a tear falls from the corner of his eye.

"aww... you crying, puppy?" voice far from sincere, his cock twitches. your teeth sink into your lower lip and your eyebrows furrow in a fake, mocking expression. "oh, you poor thing..."

his sharp fangs glimmer in the low lights of the room. "please..."

his tail swishes behind him, he can't help himself. he has no control over his own body.

"please what, baby?"

"taste, please, can i have a taste?"

you laugh at his neediness and you hear the little metal parts of his collar cling together. he's getting impatient now. "i don't know... can you?"

pushing yourself off your back, you crawl over to your pup. he's sitting so pretty, harboring a big aching mess between his legs. you reward him with another teasing coo as you situate yourself on the edge of the bed – close enough for him to drown in your scent but far enough to shed another miserable tear.

his eyes fall shut as he lets you properly fill his nostrils, all of his senses. a shiver runs down his spine when he feels your fingers on the side of his face and his pretty blues snap open in an instant. he's staring up at you – hungry and eager to please, ready to take whatever you'll give him—

—ready to give whatever you'll take.

you push his head back a little, tilting his head so he's getting a good look at you. in this position, you tower over him so easily and he feels like putty in your hands. combing through his hair, you scratch right behind his ear and watch him lean into your touch with hearts in your eyes.

but then you tug on his white strands, intoxicated by the smallest sounds that keep falling from him. forcing him to keep his gaze on you, you widen your legs in front of him. it's so, so hard for him to obey you, to be good, when it's right there. his lip wobbles behind the restriction and another quiet plea echoes the room.

"are you gonna behave, puppy?"

"yes." the speed at which he answers is almost ridiculous, but you can't tease him for it. not when your own stomach fills with butterflies aswell. you want him just as much.

loosing the grip in his hair, you let him slowly sink toward your center; he keeps his eyes on you, not daring to look away for even a second. the scent is so strong now, his balls twitch as pre-cum dribbles down them. just another inch, just a little more. he's right there. right fucking there.

the muzzle barely bumps against your crotch and eyes fall shut with a dramatic sigh. his ears flop down so fucking cutely; he's literally a breath away but the damn thing is in his way, it's ruining him, it's killing him. and to add to that, it seems like the collar is just about an inch too short aswell because there's a big vein running on the side of his neck – a clear sign of him not getting enough air.

but he doesn't pull away. his tail thumps, it never stopped. he bounces on his heel and tilts his head to meet your gaze again. he rests his cheek on against your thigh and you take the second to admire the mess he's made already. his skin is all flushed, from his chest and up to the tips of his ears; red markings peek from behind the straps of the muzzle – the contrast between those and his marble skin is just exceptional.

drool trickles through the miniature cage and straight down onto your thigh but you don't mind. he looks absolutely fucked out like this. you allow yourself to card through his hair again, unable to keep your hands off of him for more than two minutes and he hums at your soft touch.

"such a cute, pup, hm?"

you cradle his jaw as best as you can and hold his face to yours again before leaning down and pressing a kiss onto the muzzle, just above where his nose would be. and then another to the side of the thing. he squirms in your hold, overwhelmed by your sudden touches. he feels like he's going to melt into a puddle when you press the next one to his jaw.

he can smell your arousal. it's... so fucking good. he hums as he tries to nuzzle further into you. all he can think about is filling you up and giving you his knot. c'mon, he's been so, soooo good... he deserves it, right?

you will let him breed you, right? you're gonna let him have a taste? gonna let him pump you full? gonna let him give you his knot?

right?

+ @staryukis & @ohimsummer hiiiiiiii guuuyss.... puppyboy!satoru on my mind so i just had to tag you two too hehehehe:333

#super not proofread again i'm sorry this just popped into my head and i knew i had to get it out #the magnet reference is for u logan my dear #lmao #I LOVE BLUE BALLLSSSSS #YEEAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH #so fun to end stuff like this ngl #hehehhehehee #puppy!gojo #angel boy #wtf mickey can write #gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #tw hybrids

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vacantgodling · 5 months

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ngl i get that people hype up hating writing for the bit but like. idk. yall i Do actually really like writing. it is so satisfying and fun and rewarding and i get to look back what i made over and over again and get joy every single time.

yes writing is hard but if you hate it more than you love it im kinda like. idk. find another hobby?

#also the planning parts and the daydreaming is part of the process so idk #yall it is getting exhausting seeing all the quirky see how little i’m writing shit #like what if for once i am writing and im having a grand time!!#what if not being able to write isn’t a fun joke it is honestly detrimental to my brain!!!#what if writing has been my friend when i never had any and it is the love of my life and love language and i love actually doing it perhap #talking #ren hot cakes

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bellatrixscurls · 3 months

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remus lupin has a fucking tongue piercing, idc.

but of course, being so shy, he doesn’t tell you. instead, you find out the first time he begs to eat you out.

you are desperate as it is, clawing at his big arms as they settle on your stomach, rubbing soothing circles there. he lowers his head, pressing a sweet kiss to your clit first, causing you to buck up your hips. “fuck you, rem...” you whine, but he finds it funny, adorable.

he chuckles in a way that makes you want to smash your lips into his, but he beats you to it as his tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your cunt that sends a shiver up your spine. but wait.

“r-remmy!” you whimper, feeling something cold against your hot aching cunt. “tongue... o-out” he looks up at you in surprise, but obeys nonetheless, his tongue lulling out, presenting it to you.

and then you see it. a tongue piercing. remus lupin and a tongue piercing. the same remus lupin who struggled to ask you out for the first time a few months back. you couldn’t believe your eyes.

he looks at you expectantly, half waiting for you to run away from him for merlin knows what reason, because everyone knows that remus is the biggest overthinker.

but instead, your fingers press into the nape of his neck, forcing him back against you. “you drive me crazy, remus lupin.”

and he grins. he grins like a fucking maniac.

#remus lupin smut #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin dialogue #remus lupin imagine #harry potter smut #jade writes #had this thought while showering today. was fun #he is loml

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solarmorrigan · 4 months

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I'm late, I'm sorry, but here's the full fic from this WIP post yesterday!

[CW: bullying, references to canon racism and violence, mentions of recreational drug use]

Steve makes it to the bathroom down the hall from the shop classroom—the one that’s far from the cafeteria and always empty during lunch, where people really only come to smoke, anyway—before he completely loses his shit.

“Son of a bitch!” He’s almost screaming as he hauls off and punches the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, putting every ounce of anger and frustration and humiliation into it, hitting it so hard that the whole construction rattles.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses, shaking his hand out, because it had hurt, and then he winds up to do it again, to make it hurt more, because at least he’s in control of that much, at least it’s anything but what he’s feeling right now.

“That’s a good way to break your hand, y’know,” a voice comes from the doorway, startling Steve into pivoting and aiming his fist at whoever is coming after him now.

He stops short when he sees nobody but Eddie goddamn Munson standing there, cringing into a startled flinch to protect his head as Steve nearly swings at him.

“Jesus shit,” Steve barks, dropping his fist and stepping back, shaky with adrenaline. “You walk like a fucking ghost, Munson.”

Munson peeks out of his defensive crouch before straightening up and sending a meaningful glance at the stall wall. “Somehow, I don’t think you would’ve heard me even if I was making all the noise in the world.”

Steve shrugs, his shoulders staying up near his ears in a defensive slouch. He can feel something dropping out of his hair and down the side of his face, and he feels the humiliation all over again as he tries to swipe it away.

“What do you want?” he asks, beyond caring if he sounds rude; he thinks he’s entitled, considering.

This time, Munson shrugs, a rolling, casual thing that belies the sharp look in his eyes. “Came to see if you were okay, I guess.”

Steve snorts. Is he okay?

Like, in the grand scheme of things, the answer is a really shaky “maybe.” But lately? It’s more of a resounding “no, not fucking really.”

Aside from everything else – aside from the nightmares, aside from the headaches, aside from the fact he’d had to drop basketball after his concussion, aside from having no real friends or allies at school now that he and Nancy aren’t together – aside from all that, there’s Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hargrove, who had taken all of a month to start pushing Steve’s buttons again. Who had taken less than a few days after that to realize that Steve wasn’t going to push back.

And then he’d started looking for the boundary line, pushing and pushing, shoulder-checking Steve in the hall, tripping him in the single class they share, knocking shit out of his hands, shoving him when his back is turned, all the while spitting names and insults, until it had culminated into today’s fiasco: dumping a carton of chocolate milk over the top of Steve’s head in the middle of the cafeteria with a deeply unconvincing “oops.”

It had gone dead silent, every eye in the room on Steve’s red face and Hargrove’s triumphant grin, while Steve had only been able to stand there, shaking with startled rage as milk had sluiced out of his hair and seeped into his collar and down the back of his shirt, knowing that he couldn’t retaliate.

He couldn’t.

He’d marched out of the cafeteria, shame and anger growing as voices had bloomed up behind him, already gossiping and speculating.

So, no, actually, he’s not really okay.

But instead of saying any of this to Munson, he just scoffs and turns away, looking towards the sinks.

“Wouldn’t have expected you to care,” he says, injecting as much lazy indifference into his voice as he can, trying to armor up the way he used to. “The number of speeches you’ve given about how much me and my group suck, I’d have figured you’d be the first to say I deserved it.”

Munson doesn’t say anything for a moment, and Steve doesn’t look back to see if the barb landed. He doesn’t really care, he just wants the guy to go away so Steve can finish his meltdown and clean up in peace.

“Not your group anymore, though,” Munson finally says.

Steve shrugs, pulling a wad of paper towels from the dispenser; might as well move on to cleanup if Munson isn’t going to fuck off. He guesses his little breakdown can wait until he gets home.

“Hasn’t been for over a year, now, right?” Munson goes on. Steve says nothing, using a dry paper towel to try to blot up the mess. “And whatever you were like then, you’re… less like that now. Like, anyone paying attention can see you’re kinda trying something new this year.”

Steve ignores the way that makes something catch in his throat. “Thanks for the endorsement,” he drawls. “I’ll put it on my college apps: Not as much of an asshole as I used to be.”

“It’s a start,” Munson says, and Steve glances up in time to see him shrug in the mirror.

“I guess,” Steve mutters.

“And, uh – hey, I grabbed your stuff,” Munson says, holding up the binder and notebooks that Steve’s attention had glossed over until now. “Some of it’s kinda… milky, sorry.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Thank you,” he says, stunned for a moment into sincerity.

Munson shrugs again, putting Steve’s stuff up on the narrow shelf on the wall that no one ever uses to hold things because it’s probably never been cleaned. Not like Steve’s stuff is clean now, anyway.

Steve turns back to the sink, wetting a few of the paper towels and waiting to see if Munson is going to leave now.

“What I can’t figure out–” nope, apparently he’s staying, “–is why you’re in here punching the wall, instead of out there, punching Hargrove.”

At least that makes more sense; he’s here out of curiosity, not concern.

“I mean, most people would’ve hit him for that,” Munson goes on. “I would’ve.”

But Steve’s already shaking his head before Munson’s finished speaking. “Not worth it,” he says firmly.

“What, afraid of a little suspension?” Munson asks, almost teasing. “Pretty sure the school would let their golden boy off with a slap on the wrist.”

“Not anybody’s golden boy anymore,” Steve snaps, scrubbing a wet paper towel through his hair in a vain attempt to get some of the rapidly-drying milk out. “I dropped basketball, remember? Didn’t even go in for swimming this year.”

“Oh, yeah,” Munson says, like he’d genuinely forgotten. “Sorry, not really into the whole… sports scene. Like, at all.”

Steve shrugs. “Whatever. Not important. I don’t give a shit about being suspended. I don’t even care if he hits me back. Not like I need another knock to the head at this point, but – whatever.” Steve shakes his head. “It’s just that he could– there are other things he could do.”

In the mirror, Munson’s eyebrows go up. “What, does he have blackmail on you or some shit?”

Steve raises his brows right back. “If he did, do you really think I’d tell you?”

Munson tips his head to the side. “Yeah, okay, fair enough.”

“Anyway, he doesn’t have blackmail, he has… leverage, I guess.” Steve lets out a harsh sigh and gives up on his hair for now, wetting a paper towel to try to get some of the milk off his face and neck, instead.

“…are you allowed to tell me what that is?” Munson asks after a moment.

And for a moment, Steve thinks about it. The only people in school who really know are Nancy and Jonathan, and he’s asked them to follow his lead in just – not talking about it. He hasn’t told anybody any version of what happened in the Byers’ house, or why Billy seems to have made him his personal stress ball. But who the hell would Munson tell? All his nerdy friends in his game club?

(No, no, that’s not fair. Steve doesn’t even know those people, and he’s trying not to be that guy anymore. He doesn’t have to be nice, but he shouldn’t be unkind.)

(The point stands, though – who would Munson even tell?)

“Do you know why Hargrove beat my face in back in November?” Steve finally asks, avoiding Munson’s eyes in the mirror by focusing very hard on getting the tacky milk off his hairline.

“Well, I’ve heard most of the rumors by now, I think. Heard Hargrove’s version of events, as has pretty much everyone, I’m sure. Haven’t heard yours, though,” Munson says, his voice tilting up in interest. “I just figured it was because he hated you.”

Steve lets out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, well, you’re not wrong. But also…” He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “There are these kids I babysit. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Munson presses.

“Well, most of the time it feels like they’re just ordering me around like a bunch of entitled shitheads. But I make sure they get where they’re going without, like, disappearing, and that they don’t have so much unsupervised time that they manage to get themselves killed,” Steve admits.

“Uh huh,” Munson says; he sounds… a little confused, but not disbelieving. “And you ended up with this gig, how?”

“It’s Nancy’s little brother, and his little nerd friends,” Steve says (he’s allowed to call them nerds because he knows them, and it’s true. And besides, it’s affectionate).

“Aaand you’re still doing it now? Even though you and Wheeler aren’t…”

Steve shrugs. “They grew on me. But that’s– that’s not the point. One of the kids is, uh. Hargrove’s stepsister. And the night me and Hargrove got into it, I guess she wasn’t supposed to be out.”

“Ah,” Munson says.

“Yeah.” Steve sighs, giving up on the milk as a bad job; he probably should’ve run off to the gym showers instead of a shitty bathroom. He turns and leans back against the sink, crossing his arms over his chest and staring at the floor near Munson’s scuffed sneakers. “So he came looking for her.”

“So… Not that I’m advocating handing over children to pieces of shit like him, but – like, wouldn’t it have been the technically correct thing to do, to send her home with what is legally a family member?” Munson asks.

Steve passes a hand over his face. “She was terrified,” he says quietly, feeling a little like he’s betraying Max’s trust by saying it out loud, by saying it to a stranger. “She was terrified of what he would do if he found her there, where she wasn’t supposed to be. Terrified of what he would do to one of the other kids if he caught them together, since he’d specifically warned her to stay away from him.”

“What’s wrong with this other kid?” Munson asks, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” Steve bites out. “He’s smart, and he’s brave, and he’s, like, slightly less of an asshole than some of the others, but what Hargrove cared about is that he’s black.”

“You’re fucking kidding me,” Munson snaps, and Steve’s hackles raise, ready to defend his kid all over again if he has to, but before he can get anything else out, Munson goes on. “We already knew he was a racist piece of shit, but – a fucking kid?”

Steve subsides. “Yeah. A fucking kid. So I told them all to stay inside and I went out to try to head him off. Or at least keep him out of the house. Which, obviously, I failed at.” He lets out a derisive little laugh, aimed solely at himself. “He knocked me on my ass, knocked the wind out of me, got past me– and by the time I was able to get up, he was already– he was inside, and he had that kid by the collar, up against the wall– one of my fucking kids–” Steve breaks off, the same rage and terror from that night choking up in his throat again. After the day he’s had, his emotions are all too close to the surface, too near to bubbling out, and he rubs at his nose, trying to stave off the angry, exhausted tears he can feel pricking at the corners of his eyes. “So I decked him.”

“Good!” Munson exclaims, and for a moment Steve actually manages a real smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “Then he hit me back, which, like, obviously. I was expecting him to, but– I mean, I might’ve actually won that fight if the fucker hadn’t hit me in the head with a plate.”

The expression that crosses Munson’s face is almost comically shocked. “What?”

“Yeah,” Steve says again, running a hand over his jaw, thumbing almost unconsciously at the still-fading scar where the porcelain had sliced him open. “I’m a little fuzzy on shit after that. Like, I remember being on the floor, and him kneeling over me, and hitting me, and hitting me, and then– I dunno, nothing.”

Distantly, Steve realizes that the expression on Munson’s face has turned from ‘comically shocked’ to ‘mildly horrified,’ but he’s a little too lost in the blurry memory of that night to do much about it.

“Holy shit, how are you not dead?” Munson blurts out.

He looks like he immediately regrets asking, but Steve finds he’s actually grateful for the question. He’s glad to move the conversation along.

“Max.” He smirks over at Eddie. “Hargrove’s stepsister. I guess she, uh– threatened him with a baseball bat? Saved my ass.”

That’s a deep over-simplification, but Steve can’t think of a way to explain the presence of heavy sedatives in the Byers’ house, and, anyway, she had threatened him with a baseball bat. The kids had all taken great joy in reenacting the way Max had nearly neutered Hargrove with the nailbat, actually; it’s almost like Steve had been there (and conscious).

“Holy shit,” Munson says, and whichever part he’s referring to, Steve is inclined to agree.

“Yep. So I was out fucking cold at the time, but the kids all insist that she got him to agree to leave her and her friends alone, but…” Steve shakes his head. “Hargrove is a fucking psychopath. I don’t trust him to keep that promise. So, at least if he’s focused on me, he might leave her alone. But if I hit back…”

“You think he’ll retaliate by going after one of your kids,” Munson says, only a hint of teasing in his words at the end.

“I know he will,” Steve says; Hargrove had implied as much more than once. He crosses his arms back over his chest. “And they are my kids.”

Munson throws his hands up, as if in surrender, but he’s definitely smiling now.

“I’m serious,” Steve insists, close to smiling himself. “They think I’m stuck with them, but they’re the ones stuck with me.”

“Lucky them,” Munson says, and– what?

“What?” Steve asks.

“Look, you’re either a better actor than, like, everyone in the drama club, or you at least seriously believe what you told me, which is more than I can say for Hargrove and whatever shit he came up with about the two of you getting into it over… what, his car was better than yours? He’s better at laundry ball? I don’t fucking remember, and it doesn’t really matter, because it was clearly and pathetically fabricated,” Munson says with an authoritative nod. “You, at the very least, really give a shit about those kids. So, yeah. Lucky them.”

“Well,” Steve scrambles for a moment, trying to cover the way he actually feels like he might start fucking blushing, “if I’d known all I had to do to change your mind about me was tell you about a fight I lost, I’d have done it ages ago.”

And now Munson’s back to smirking at him. “Seeking my esteem that badly, Harrington?”

“What? No. I mean – not– not specifically yours, it’s just… like, there’s not really an easy or fast way to make up for being kind of a dick for the last… while.” Steve runs his hand through his hair, stopping with a grimace when he remembers the drying milk. “You just have to keep not being a dick and hope people give you a chance. So, like, compared to that, convincing you was easy.”

“And all you had to do was get a severe concussion first,” Munson drawls.

Steve rolls his eyes. “I didn’t say it was severe.”

“You got hit with a plate,” Munson deadpans, and Steve can’t quite help the resulting flinch, at which Munson almost immediately softens. “Sorry.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Mouth screwed to the side, Munson eyes Steve for a moment, glancing over his shirt and up to his face before gesturing at him. “You want some help with that?”

Steve blinks at him. “What?”

“Your whole… hair situation. You could bend ov– like, you could lean over the sink and I could, uh. Try to rinse it for you. Or whatever,” Munson offers, awkward but apparently sincere.

It sounds like a stupid as hell way to try to rinse his hair. The sinks are small, and not exactly high off the ground; Steve would have better luck just going to the locker room and showering it all out. His soap is there, too, and an extra shirt.

On the other hand, Steve really doesn’t feel like leaving the bathroom yet. He’s pretty sure lunch is going to end soon, and encountering everyone during passing period sounds like a nightmare. In here, with Munson, it’s quiet. It feels almost safe.

“Yeah, sure,” Steve finally says, and Munson looks nearly shocked that he’s accepted.

Credit to him, though: he doesn’t back out. He just slides his jacket off, tosses it up over the wall of one of the bathroom stalls, rolls up his sleeves, and gestures for Steve to lean over the sink.

“Hot or cold?” he asks, going for the taps.

“Hot,” Steve answers immediately; he doesn’t need any other cold liquid on his head today.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Munson says airily, turning on the water. “You just kinda strike me as a cold shower guy. Like, up at dawn, go for a run, take a cold shower – all that weird jock shit.”

It isn’t intended to mock, Steve realizes as Munson tests the water temperature—the school pipes take forever to heat up—but to tease. It’s a joke, and Steve is invited in on it. And anyway, it’s… actually kind of close to the mark, so Steve doesn’t say anything at all for a moment as he puts his head as close to the faucet as he can get it and Munson places one cupped hand over the back of his neck and uses the other to scoop water over Steve’s hair.

“Cold water is better for your hair. Not that you’d know anything about that.” Steve finally says, hoping that his own teasing tone carries even with the way he has to raise his voice to be heard over the running water.

Luckily, Munson sounds amused when he answers. “Oh! Shots fucking fired. I see how it is!” Even as he’s pretending at being offended, his fingers stay gentle against Steve’s scalp as he tries to scrub out the dried mess, and Steve fights very, very hard not to shudder.

He can’t remember when the last time someone touched him with gentle intent was. Maybe he’d gotten a hug from Dustin last week?

Shit, that’s fucking pathetic.

He tries even harder not to lean into the touch, into the surprisingly kind hands on the back of his neck and on his scalp, tries hard not to act like some kind of touch-starved weirdo and make Munson regret offering to help.

The irony of the fact that Steve is trying not to act like a freak in front of Eddie Munson is not lost on him.

After another couple of minutes of Munson manipulating Steve’s head this way and that, doing his best to be thorough, he lets Steve go entirely and shuts the water off.

“That’s probably as good as I’m gonna be able to get it,” he says, pushing another handful of paper towels at Steve as he stands up.

“Better than I could’ve done here,” Steve says with a shrug, rubbing the paper towels over his hair and grimacing as he can feel it frizzing in about a hundred different directions.

When he finishes, he turns to look in the mirror, watching in real time as it droops over his forehead and tickles at his wet shirt collar. Munson stands next to him, watching without judgement, but with what feels like an inappropriate amount of fascination.

“Well, I’m not going to lie to you,” Munson says at last, “you look a little like a sad, wet dog.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Munson with a glare. “Gee, thanks.”

“Some people are into that!” Munson insists, holding his hands up placatingly. “That droopy aesthetic, with the big, brown puppy eyes. Someone might just wanna scoop you up and take you home to take care of you. It’s a thing.”

Do you want to? – the question comes immediately and unbidden to Steve’s head, and he quickly shakes it away. They might be on amiable terms right now, teasing each other a little, but he isn’t sure that wouldn’t be a bridge too far.

(He isn’t even sure it is teasing. For a moment, he’d had the genuine urge to ask.)

“Anyway, I think most of the mess is out of your hair, but I’m pretty sure your shirt is toast,” Munson goes on, gesturing to the brown stain around the collar, over one shoulder, and probably down the back.

If he’d been wearing a darker color today, it might’ve been alright, but of course today he’d chosen light blue. Steve sighs, plucking at the front of the shirt. If he can’t salvage it, he might as well ditch it; it’s getting uncomfortably stiff and tacky with the dried milk, and he’d honestly rather stick it out in his undershirt for as long as it takes him to get to the locker room than walk around with evidence of Hargrove’s little stunt all over him.

He untucks the shirt and yanks it over his head, no need to be careful of his hair, emerging from the depths of it to find Munson staring at him in a stunned sort of silence.

“What?” Steve asks. “If it’s wrecked, anyway, I might as well get rid of it. I’ve got a spare shirt in my gym locker I can go grab.”

Munson blinks at him, almost like he’s trying to clear his head. “Or!” he practically shouts – possibly louder than he meant to, since he continues more quietly, “Or, you could just ditch for the rest of the day. I mean, you have any particularly interesting classes after lunch you feel the need to attend?”

“Not really,” Steve admits with a huff of a laugh. “But leaving after that feels a little like– letting Hargrove win. Like I’m retreating or some shit.”

“Nah, don’t think of it like that.” Munson tosses an arm over Steve shoulders, waving his other in front of both of them, like he’s trying to show Steve a grand vision and they aren’t both just staring at the ugly tile on the bathroom wall. “Think of it as cutting class and getting free weed from Hawkins High’s most esteemed dealer.”

Steve turns to look at Munson, staring at him more closely than he’s ever had reason to, and realizing there are tiny freckles on his face. “What, seriously?”

“Sure.” Munson shrugs. “Lemme smoke you out, Harrington. Seems like a good way to let your stress go for a bit – though I am just a little biased.”

“Why?” Steve asks; he doesn’t understand the sudden turn this day has taken, the sudden and bizarre kindness offered that he doesn’t even know what he’s done to deserve.

Munson’s eyes slide away from Steve, though his arm notably stays draped over his shoulders. “Been where you are. It’s not great. And, I mean, if it had happened last year, then, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have given as much of a shit. Jock on jock violence, whatever. But you,” he glances back at Steve, “you’re genuinely trying to be, like, a good person. And I don’t think you should be punished for that. I think, in fact, that you could probably use a friend.”

“I…” The words stick in Steve’s throat, because what the hell can he even say to that? On anyone else, Steve would have assumed an ulterior motive, but Munson had infused it with so much awkward sincerity that Steve can’t help but realize it’s probably the nicest thing anyone’s said or offered to do for him in… he’s not even sure how long.

His silence must stretch on a little too long, though, because the hopeful light in Munson’s eyes fades a bit, and he begins to slide his arm off of Steve’s shoulder. “Or, y’know, you can tell me to fuck off, because I’m, like, way overstepping some boundaries, and–”

“We should go to my place,” Steve blurts, while grabbing Munson’s wrist for some insane reason.

“What?” Munson blinks over at him, (understandably) startled.

“My place. We should go there to smoke. If you still want to.” Steve could cringe for how stilted the whole thing is coming out. “I want to be able to take a real shower.”

Munson stares at him for a moment longer before laying a hand over his heart with a gasp, suddenly leaning heavily into Steve’s side and forcing Steve to wrap an arm around his waist so they don’t both lose their balance.

“I see how it is!” Munson gasps dramatically. “My sink shower just wasn’t good enough!”

Steve holds in a laugh. “Your sink shower was… fine. But I’ve got milk dried in other uncomfortable places, so unless you want to wash my back for me, too, we should go back to mine.”

Munson’s gaze snaps back to Steve, something a little odd in it, and – oh. Oh, that hadn’t sounded quite like Steve had meant it. It had sounded a little like an offer of the kind you don’t go around making to just anybody.

Steve braces himself, waiting for the reaction (he doubts if Munson would get any kind of physical, but there will probably be an awkward pulling away and sudden remembering of something he has to do literally anywhere else that afternoon), but all Munson does is break into a sly smile and say, “I could, but I’d have to charge you extra.”

Steve can’t help it: he laughs, giving Munson a good-natured shove, who finally releases Steve but doesn’t stumble more than a couple of steps away.

“Meet you at my place?” Steve offers, balling up his shirt and dropping it on top of his notebooks as he grabs them from the shelf. “Half an hour?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” Munson gives him a corny little salute before grabbing his jacket from over the stall wall and preceding Steve to the bathroom door.

“Munson,” Steve finds himself calling out, just as the other boy’s hand closes around the door handle; Munson glances back and Steve fights the urge to look away. “Uh. Thanks. For, like… yeah. Thanks.”

Whatever meaning Munson takes out of Steve’s absolutely eloquent verbal vomit of gratitude, it makes him smile. “No need for thanks, man,” he says. “I’m honestly a little surprised to say it, but the pleasure was definitely mine.”

And then he disappears out the door, leaving Steve in the bathroom wondering how the hell his day had taken this turn, and just what destination it’s leading him to.

And thinking that he’s honestly a little excited to find out.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things post s2 AU #stranger things #this one is a bit long just as a heads up; about 4.6k #is it good? I dunno but I had fun writing it and you guys seem interested so here we go!#eddiesteve #solar wrote

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toruslvt · 3 months

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heyyy so what do you think of afab reader who is a prostitue x mafia boss sugar daddy pookie pookie bby sukuna (wow that was a mouthful) ty! (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

mdni. no pronouns!, daddy kink, size kink, he just uses his hand to keep you upwards ( no choking ) ( during → ) mirror sx, suku has tattoos hell yeah, there's actually some character development here I'm proud ( from being a dick to not so much )( he's so in love ), n he's low-key possessive<3

Sukuna’s daily visits to the city’s most luxury club —under his possession of course— wasn’t something new, with pretty girls perched on each one of his sides, tiny dresses and way too over-touching hands. he didn’t mind them though, neither he gave a fuck about them, the only thing Sukuna felt was amusement, amusement of allowing each girl to think they had a chance with him.

the sleeve tattoo on his right arm peeks from under a perfectly fit cuff, adorned by a golden watch that glimmers under the golden light as he leans forward to take a sip of his whiskey, a soft click of his tongue and a swirl of his finger is enough for his bodyguards to take said girls out, an endless rotation in which you took part.

but you’re not his favorite, —or at least, that’s what he told himself— no, Sukuna doesn’t partake in favoritism, if his guards escorted you to his private suite more times than they would to any other girl, who never lasts inside the room longer than 10 minutes, no one will admit it. it’s an inside gossip, they say the boss is in love, Sukuna admits he’s in love with the tight squeeze of your cunt, in love with the pretty moans you let out, with how eager you are to please his most wicked desires, he wants to keep you to himself, to adorn you with the most expensive jewelry, but certainly that’s not love, right?

the necklace he chose definitely compliments the beauty of your skin, and jingles oh so prettily when he’s pounding into you from behind, “aw, look at you” he mutters in your ear, almost imperceptively due to the loud sticky sound of his heavy balls smacking against clit, one of his hands rests on your neck, arms flexing and muscles bulging under the dark ink of his intrinsic tattoos, making you watch your own fucked out image in the golden rimmed mirror, clenching and keening at the sight of his large hand holding your dainty neck, “i knew this color would suit you” he smirks, meeting your eyes through the reflection for you to mewl.

your vision almost blurs from the intensity of Sukuna’s merciless thrusts, forcing your body to jolt up and down at the same time his back and thighs muscles clench at the way your cunt sucks on his cock, so tight it’s imposible for him not to make a mess right underneath your meeting bodies.

“say ‘thank you, daddy’” Sukuna urges, switching his thumb to resting on your collarbone to parting your lips slightly, rubbing on your tongue and inner cheeks.

“t-thank you... ah, daddy! ngh!” you manage to moan through whimpers, by this point your eyes are filled with tears, unable to see the lewd sight in front of you properly, yet Sukuna forces your eyes to remain still.

a slight change of angle in his hips and the man is able to see how your face contorts from pleasure, fucking you hard with soft ‘ah, ah’ s coming from your puffy lips. “that’s right, baby, only daddy gets to see you this ruined, only daddy can fuck your tight cunt” Sukuna grunts on your neck, cock bullying your tiny pussy at the same speed one of his thumbs rubs on your clit, urging your orgasm to coat hil whole.

“m’ cumming!” you get to squeal, earning a chuckle from him at the way your walls clamp around his cock, pulling him impossibly deeper as he continues to fuck his fat cock into your spasming cunt, allowing his eyes to travel through the expanse of your trembling body and slick oozing from your hole, making a puddle on the sheets right underneath your thighs.

Sukuna’s orgasm doesn’t take long in arriving, with a huffed “you’re fuckin’ mine” and making sure to be buried as deep into your pussy before filling the condom with his cum, maybe he’ll give his darling a creampie later on, for now, you’ll have to conform yourself with daddy’s black card.

he still won’t admit you’re his favorite, the girls are long gone and now it’s just you, sitting prettily on his lap with a strong arm around your waist, a smirk no one has ever seen before is now present on his face, but don’t get him wrong, Sukuna is still as ruthless and cruel as ever, but that doesn’t mean he can’t have a little more space in his heart for you.

#i had so much fun writing this <333333 #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna ryomen smut #jjk sukuna smut #𐔌᭥ᩙ༉

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amicheri · 1 year

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MIA" Sakura sick with a cold for 4 days after getting stuck outside in the room due to forgetting her unbrella. }} sorry dear but .. you are not getting out of this one.

;;~ This day wasn't the best not neither was it the worst, Sakura found herself a bit lightheaded to begin with as she hopped out bed. Grim was playing cards with one of the ghost which surpised her to say the least, however she shook it off.

"Good morning grim, im going to head to the cafateera do you want to come along, or perhaps wnat me to get somthing for you?" She held the door open realizing the small chill but brushed it off, she wasn't going to be gone for long.

She watched as the magically warlock cat lazily shook his head as he poped one of those weird tainted gems in his mouth and waved her off. "I'm busy.. nommhmm." With a roll to her eyes the female shook her head and closed the door not realizing it was supposed to rain today.

Sakura made her way out to the sidewalk with she admired the villionas statues. before making her way to the cafateria.

From there she grabbed her food just like any of the other students however heard a few whispered from the Middle classmen in heartslabyul that started talking about her animalistic features which caused her to feel a bit uncomfortable and decided to take her meal home.

From there she started to walk of the building Only to realize it was down pouring outside, Sakura made the choice to turn back around only to suddenly realize the door was locked from the side , she noticed the group, high fiving one another as she spoke up. "HEY!"

One of the immature boys chuckled sorry but no wet dogs are allowed in the caffateria. Were only following School rules. "pets airn't allowed in the building so scram." The other one sneered.

"You guys are jerks does your dorm leader know you act like this. you'll be kicked out what he finds out you did this!." Sakura bearked out as she growled a little. All three of the classmen walked away ignoring her words. Sakura however was getting drenced by rain as her pink locks stuck to her cheeks.

Just... Great.. the rain was cold. she didnt have a unbrella her breakfast was ruined. being hard headed as she was the female half demon student decided to rush back home. she ran as puddles of water began to splsh around her feet.

She finally arrived to her dorm after a hours of so of walking and running, when suddenly she reached into her pocket and realized her keys were missing.. "My keys.. d-did I leave them in the cafaterra.... wait." her teeth chattered as she thought about it for a moment.

she happend to reacall the taller boy out of the rude bunch was olding somthing in his hand.silve with a gold tag.. Did those jerks steal her keys too.??! No no no this wasn't good, she was shivering cold, man this day really was getting worse. She set her food down only to bang on the door. "Grim open up it's me!"

"...." ..."..."

there was silence as Sakura shivered. "G-Grim!" Suddenly Sakura started to feel a little dizzy as she found herself sneezing. "Achooo.." 2 hours passed by trying to figure out to get into the house. The next thing she knew the door suddenly opeend up , there stood Grim with a half opened can of fish in his hand.

"Whoa what happened to you.... Sakura... hey earth to Sakura..!" the cat found the Mc laying on the couch for a moment her face red as she shivering and huffing. "Oh boy.. you dont looks so good.. hey can you hear me?" Grim called out again only to realize he needed to get help as she wasn't responding to him.

Quickly Grim did what he knew best and ran to the classroom where he found one of the guys and began asking for help. "So I know this is a little unannouced and all, but.. the kid needs help.. so .. gahh just follow me." with this Grim had every intent to take the classmen to the dorm to help his housemate.

#M!A #Sakura is sick #door rude classmates.#<3 #had fun writing this

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