Oh My Gosh, I’m Absolutely Melting! This Is So Sweet & I Really Enjoy How Soft The Entire Piece Is.

actually the funniest fucking tags i’ve seen in a while. thank you nerd tumblr

After that conversation on your blog about Astarion smelling like "warm meat" and his in-game line about wearing rosemary and bergamot perfume, I have been struck by the thought of him and Drow going to a slightly fancier inn than usual on their travels, and being served pork roasted with rosemary and lemon, and Drow getting ALL kinds of weird about it.

(he's probably even more weird about having it cold in sandwiches the next day)

If by "weird" you mean full of cannibal rizz.

the things i would do to hold these hands

Barbatos’ soft hands

Some of the responses to my last post have made me realize that maybe Bakugo's trauma isn't as well understood as some of the other characters', and, because I have free time today, I figured I might as well break it down in chronological order and work from there (warning you now: this will be long).

To begin with, there's a lot of obvious things about the Sludge villain incident that would be traumatizing for basically anyone. And as much as Bakugo tried to shove off the after-effects, we know he was scared:

But there are a lot of Bakugo-specific reasons why the Sludge villain really fucked with his confidence and sense of self-worth. For one thing, while we see Midoriya getting attacked, he's rescued by All Might almost instantly. He barely has time to realize he's suffocating before he's free. Bakugo? Not so much. It's unclear how long, exactly, the Sludge villain holds him hostage, but it's at least a few minutes. Which doesn't sound very long until you remember that Bakugo was fourteen, couldn't breathe, and, because he isn't stupid, was completely aware that multiple pro heroes were basically standing around watching him be brutalized and doing absolutely nothing to help.

The only person who did help was Deku. The only person. The only person who gave enough of a shit about Bakugo to try and save him was the person he has the most complicated relationship with: his rival, his victim, his childhood friend, the person he feels both the safest and most exposed with. The person he measures himself against constantly, and internally finds himself lacking. So not only is all of this happening, but Deku—who just hours earlier Bakugo was mocking for being weak—is the one person strong enough to try and do something, and gets front row seats to Bakugo's own weakness.

Then All Might shows up and saves Bakugo from what is, at that point, the most humiliating, terrifying thing that has ever happened to him. But of course Bakugo isn't happy about it; he never wanted to be saved by All Might, and meeting his hero for the first time the way he did? What Bakugo wanted, desperately, was to prove himself to All Might, and instead he's just another dumb kid that got saved from a villain attack by the greatest pro hero who ever lived.

Not only that, but this was in public. It was televized. Bakugo was made so famous for it, people recognized him years later on the street based solely on his face. And while theoretically that's great exposure for him, imagine if the worst, most degrading moment of your entire life was broadcast on live, national television, and constantly brought up like some funny anecdote by people who don't even know you. He was fourteen years old being physically assaulted and strangled in front of the entire country and unable to do anything about it. Not only did that damage his pride, but it really fucked with him mentally. Look at what Midoriya even says about him:

That's not even to begin talking about how much pressure he puts himself under to be the best, no exceptions. He has a full-on panic attack when he loses in Deku vs. Kacchan 1 because he ties his self-worth so completely to winning he thinks of himself and worthless without it. Look how deeply it affects him:

That's not just bruised pride, that's Bakugo dealing with every single one of his insecurities being laid bare in public again. It's gonna just keep happening, too. And sure, like with this fight, sometimes he brings it on himself, but. Holy shit, this poor kid.

Then, of course, we have the kidnapping.

Despite their misapplication of their information, the LoV actually understands Bakugo pretty well. By that I mean, they figured out what affects Bakugo the most and capitalize on it to try and win him over to their side. They attack his image as a hero. Which seems kind of lame and generic, except it really hits home. Why?

Because that's his biggest insecurity, his deep, dark shame: Bakugo doesn't think of himself as heroic.

He's an excellent fighter and strategist, he's fearless, able to work well under pressure, adaptable, quick-thinking, and extremely powerful. All incredible traits for a hero. What he doesn't have is an instinct to save others. Deku does; he'll reach his hand out to anyone, without thought, no matter the cost to his safety/happiness. But Bakugo consistently struggles with this aspect of being a true hero. He's very aware of how important it is—every time he talks about Deku looking down on him, the thing he was laughing at Bakugo for? Yeah, this is it—and how very much he lacks it. And the LoV rubs his face in the fact that not only do a bunch of villains see him as being villainous, but the public he's supposed to be well on his way to protecting do, too. Yeah Aizawa defends him, but of course that whole experience negatively affects Bakugo. Especially because of what comes after.

Deku vs. Kacchan 2 is probably the closest Horikoshi comes to stabbing the audience through the brain with a knife labeled "Bakugo's trauma".

The whole fight is just Bakugo baring his soul in the most raw, heart-wrenching way possible. Look at what he asks Deku:

None of these lines should be ignored. This is Bakugo admitting that he is terrified that every bit of praise he's ever received is meaningless in the face of reality, which has proven that he is not worthy. All Might didn't think so, otherwise why wouldn't he have picked Bakugo to be his successor? Every ounce of skill, all the effort Bakugo has poured into his dream, it all means nothing. Why? Because Deku is inherently heroic, and Bakugo is not. Bakugo knows it, Midoriya knows it (why else would he be laughing in Bakugo's face if he wasn't intimately aware of his failures?), All Might knows it—hell, the whole world knows it. And because Bakugo is his own worst critic, he's gutted that someone like him, someone unworthy, destroyed the Symbol of Peace. His hero.

Does this not look like trauma? Does this not look like a kid poorly dealing with PTSD who's lashing out and trying to punish himself? And trying to purge his emotions the only way he knows how, through fighting? Who is desperately seeking some kind of compassion and connection in Deku, because he is losing his mind and can't keep going? He's a kid who's been given basically zero support, who's been expected to deal with not only being kidnapped and psychologically tortured, but also being the direct cause of Japan's sudden criminal uprising. That is so much pressure to put on a child. Any single bit of Bakugo's experience would be traumatizing by itself, but put together? It's like a personalized hell for him.

And then we have the Moment. The my body just moved on its own moment. Bakugo is so afraid for Deku leading up to this:

And afterward? It really affects him.

He's scared for Deku. He's beating himself up for not supporting him better, for not getting over himself and taking Deku's hand. He thought his closest person was going to die in front of his eyes, and then that person ran away. Of course that traumatized Bakugo.

Now, the reason Bakugo's trauma often gets overlooked (both in canon and in the fandom space) is, in my opinion, because he doesn't express his trauma in a way that's easy to romanticize. It often comes out as anger and violence, loud and obnoxious and toxic. His trauma responses hurt other people, specifically Deku. And in a character that isn't going for poor little meow meow bloodthirsty vengeance-based criminal or abused child with terrible social skills but a heart of gold, it's hard for people to wrap their heads around the fact that Bakugo isn't really a bad kid so much as he's a kid who has had a lot of crap dumped on him and hasn't been given any tools to heal. He doesn't know how to express his feelings easily or clearly when he isn't in the middle of a fight, and he has very few coping skills to help him deal with his crippling self-loathing and inferiority complex. So when he reaches his mental limit, he—pun intended—explodes.

That isn't to say that Bakugo isn't responsible for his trauma responses, the same way every other character is. He absolutely deserves to be taken to task over them, and the narrative has done a good job of giving him one consequence after the other. But at the same time, he really is just a child who is doing his best in a fucked up situation. And while his actions definitely have hurt other people, the amount of mental torment Bakugo finds himself in on a regular basis deserves more sympathy than I think he sometimes gets.

I understand why characters like Shoto get more of the poor baby treatment, because he's the perfect victim: faultless, and his anger is almost 100% directed at the perpetrator, his father. Comparatively, Bakugo's trauma is messy and overflowing and directed at all the wrong people. But that's neither unrealistic nor even all that surprising, given what we know about him. And part of that is because his trauma isn't nearly as straight-forward, since it's so wrapped up in his own self-esteem issues that he blames himself, and then tries to refocus his hurt and anger on Deku to mitigate his own pain.

It's a big part of why I like Bakugo so much; he represents the unappealing side of trauma responses that are so common, but so often get overlooked because they're unappealing. He's a victim who doesn't act the way we want a victim to act, but rather the way they usually do, and for that I applaud Horikoshi on his realism.

please tell me your thoughts bc i really want to know

so, we all know how the first person to get a quirk in the BNHA universe pretty much just lights up their body. when i looked them up, the gender was unconfirmed. so what i’m hearing is, it is hypothetically possible for the first person with a quirk to have a dick that can light up like a lightsaber? because i’m pretty sure that's it. does it make a sound? like the- fwoom

has someone already talked abut this??? please gimme any links i just wanna know

Harveston 🍎

[guy who has handled two conversations well in a row] I think I might be the most emotionally stable person on the planet of earth

IM GONNA SCREAM CRY SHAKE THROW UP THIS IS SOOOOO CUTE I LOVE LUKE’S DESIGN 😭😭😭 i’m a wolf and cat appreciator which is so funny thinking about having lucifer, satan, and luke on one island

animal crossing x obey me // cross-posted on my twitter !! ✨

who would you want on your island?

This one I found on r/funny

reblog and make a wish! this was removed from tumbrl due to “violating one or more of Tumblr’s Community Guidelines”, but since my wish came true the first time, I’m putting it back. :)

this is the kind of shit that makes me delusional. yes, i could be a bottle girl. and absolutely, a filthy rich and drop dead gorgeous man would pick me out of everyone in the clerb.

obviously.

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37) heavy dacryphilia, finger sucking, use of “good girl”, use of pet names, Sukuna is his own warning.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him.

An: I fear that I was going to explode if I didn’t write this. I’ve been in a not good headspace. Blah blah blah school sucks blah blah work sucks blah everything sucks. I’m sorry if this sucks too. Edit - I forgot to mention that this will be a multi-part fic.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

Nothing in this life comes for free.

Your father taught you from a very early age to never take handouts from anyone because they’ll always benefit the other person more. He was an immigrant to Japan, and he worked hard for every yen he made.

He instilled that same work ethic in you.

After being hurt on the job from working in a poor environment, your father became very ill. He couldn’t move around as much. Sitting up out of bed made him feel winded. He slowly withered away into a shell of the man who once raised you.

Your mom was long gone. She couldn’t help out, nor did she even want to.

All you were left with was a pile of debt and utter rage. Had your father not been taken advantage of by greedy corporate conglomerates, he would still be here today.

It inspired you to want to go to law school. Your dad should’ve received a hefty settlement check for what he endured from his workplace conditions. The money wouldn’t have solved everything, but it would’ve alleviated some of the stress your dad dealt with in his final days.

You’ll never forget how hoarse his voice sounded while he was on the phone with different agencies, trying to sue that place who forced him into an early grave.

You’ll never forgive them for stealing your dad away.

If you were more ambitious, you’d work to try to change the system entirely, but you knew that wasn’t your fight to face. You wanted to help the already disadvantaged families who were facing injustices beyond their control.

So, you started law school. You were smart enough for it. You had the heart. You just didn’t have a special last name to fund your college tuition. You were a first generation Japanese American in the family. While both your parents were born in America, you were born in Japan, but you were still an outsider.

You were never properly indoctrinated in the culture. Sure, you knew the basics. You knew proper etiquette and appropriate behaviors to live in Japan, but you didn’t understand the layers of how society operated. It was as if you were never assimilated into society as a Japanese citizen.

Your dad wasn’t born here, so he never could explain to you how your last name means everything in this town.

Despite it all, you’d become a lawyer even if you had to bury yourself into debt to do it. You’d work to put yourself through college. You’d do it and bear a smile on your face because you don’t take fucking handouts.

That lead you to becoming a bottle girl at one of the most exclusive clubs in the entertainment district: Malevolent Mass.

The manager said you had the right look, whatever that means. It didn’t matter. He hired you on the spot despite your lack of a substantial last name.

This would be fine. You’d work at night on the weekends and put yourself through school during the day, and you’d keep it a secret from your school, knowing you could lose your position in the prestigious school.

It was a perfect plan, right?

Yes, it was perfect.

Customers seemed to love your polite attitude and warm hospitality. You had quickly made a name for yourself in the few short nights you had worked there.

It was only your second weekend, and your section was full. It was almost comprised entirely of men and their gold digger wives, but you got use to the sexual comments and predatory smiles.

The environment was heavily secured. When you were hired, the managers made sure to show you where security was posted up at every dark corner. They also showed you where cameras were located and assured you that not anyone could just walk into Malevolent Mass.

However, you were well aware that the most dangerous people often worse suits and golden Rolex’s.

It was a busy Friday night. You had already shotgunned two 5 Hour Energy drinks, and you had been steadily sipping on a Monster throughout your shift. You had been in classes all day, and you were scheduled to work until close at 4am.

“Cherry, can we get another round of champagnes?” a sleazy voice pipes up, calling you by your codename. The club was so security driven that they gave all the bottle girls codenames to protect their identities.

“Yes sir,” you respond with an entirely fake bright smile. Your buzzed customers couldn’t tell the difference especially with the low lighting and bass boosted music.

As you walked over towards the bar, your eyes fall onto another table. A man was leaned back with his hands behind his head. He looked entirely relaxed as a girl was bent over your lap.

A crease formed between your eyebrows. They couldn’t be serious, right? Malevolent Mass had a whole downstairs portion dedicated to public sexual acts and other deviant kinks. Why the fuck were they doing that in the normal club area?

As you took a step further, ready to confront them, you realized that the girl was positioned oddly. She wasn’t angled towards his crotch, instead she was hovering over his thigh.

That’s when you noticed she had a rolled up 10,000 yen note, and she was snorting a white powdery substance off the man’s thigh.

Holy fuck, you were in over your head.

Stumbling back towards the bar, you felt your head start to spin a little. It was probably due to fact you’d only consumed energy drinks in the past 12 hours.

“Girl. You don’t look too good,” the bartender, Yorozu, said as she guided you to take a seat. “Are you okay?” she asked cautiously. Compared to the other bottle girls and dancers, Yorozu was the closest thing you had to a friend in this establishment.

“I’m fine,” you quietly replied, shaking your head. It was just drugs. You needed to take a chill pill. It’s not like people go to clubs like this just for some liquid courage.

Yorozu put a glass of water in front of you anyways, not quite believing your words. “Here. I promise you get used to it all,” she offered with a kind smile.

You gave her an appreciative smile as you took a sip of the water. Your hand was trembling, and you realized you had been sweating.

The water felt nice, and you inwardly warded off energy drinks for the rest of the night. It wasn’t worth feeling like a panicky mess.

“I need another bottle of Dom Prignon for booth 12,” you said as you looked back up towards Yorozu. She nodded and walked towards the back to retrieve the bottle of too expensive champagne.

While she was gone, you took a deep breath and looked around towards the security posts. It felt like a small safety blanket in a place like this. Finishing your glass of water, you felt infinitely better as she returned with the bottle.

“Here you are! Let me know if you need anything else, and seriously, don’t feel bad for reacting that way. It’s a bit of a culture shock for everyone during their first few nights,” she assured you as she handed you the bottle.

“Thanks, I appreciate you,” you replied with a genuine smile. Yorozu had a nice energy to her like you felt like you could get close to her one day. A girl friend would be nice to have in a place like this.

As you walked back over to your section, your lips curled into a frown as empty seats filled your eyes. Had they gotten tired of waiting and abandoned your section?

You felt disappointed as you looked around for your customers. They were nowhere to be found, but one silhouette remained in the very back corner.

“Did you bring that bottle for me? How sweet. Too bad I don’t drink,” a deep gravely voice spoke up with a hint of condescension and pure predatory prowess.

You hesitate as it feels like the air in the club shifts simply from this man’s presence alone.

“You don’t drink..?” your voice is uneasy. You feel off balance while interacting with the man tucked away in a dark corner.

“No,” the stranger replied, and he leaned forward a bit, propping his elbows on his knees as his eyes were staring straight at you. “Don’t be shy, girl. Come closer. I won’t bite…” the condescension in his voice tells you otherwise.

You swallow thickly before slowly taking a few steps closer. As you approached him, you were able to see him in all of his glory. The breath is completely sucked from your lungs as you’re able to finally get a good look at him.

He wore a white button-up top with black slacks that really didn’t leave much for the imagination. His sleeves weee rolled up to his elbows, showing off tattoos on his arms.

His face was hauntingly alluring. His tattoos also went up to his face. He had intricate lines under his cheeks that stretched down to his chin. His hair was a natural light rosy color that was pushed up from his forehead. It looked effortless and messy, unlike most business men who rely way too heavily on hair gel.

His eyes were a soft crimson color that looked like blood that had been spilled. A jarring scar slashed over his left eye, but it wasn’t ugly by any means. No, this man held a god-like status when it came to looks. However, his energy felt nothing short of daunting and corrupt.

“Who comes to a club to not drink?” you ask nervously, having to fill the eerie silence with something. It felt like you were suffocating in this man’s presence.

A rugged chuckle leaves his lips, and he tilts his head back slightly. It feels like his laugh sticks to you, making you relax and tense back up all at the same time. You can feel every yen he’s worth with each chuckle.

“If you must know, I come here for a… different sort of entertainment,” he says as his lips curled into a smirk. His eyes unabashedly roam your body — twice before he meets your gaze again.

“Oh, that’s downstairs,” you reply as you feel relieved. This man was just in the wrong section. Surely, you’d guide him to where he needed to go, and you’d be free from whatever kind of verbal hostage situation this was.

“I’m content with where I’m at,” he says with a sort of finality that leaves little room for argument. “Come closer, doll.”

His arm props up on the back of the curved booth, and his legs part into that sort of manspread position where he takes up a good portion of the booth with his massive size.

“I-“

The man pulls a clip of money from his suit, and he makes a show out of flipping through the money before he lays six 10,000 yen notes on the table.

What the hell.

“60,000 yen for you to shut up and come closer,” he says in a voice that lacks the faux kindness he was putting on earlier.

Every survival instinct in your body was telling you to run, but your brain was telling you that 60,000 yen was enough to cover your student housing and for a train pass for a month.

You slowly inch closer, your heels not even lifting from the ground.

The man gives you an amused look as he raises an eyebrow at you. “How much for you to sit on my lap?”

“I-I’m not a dancer..” you reply sheepishly, wondering if he thought you were one of the performers for the club.

“Good thing I’m not asking you to dance, doll. I’m asking you to sit in my lap,” His lips curl into a feline grin. He’s enjoying toying with you like this. “So, I’ll ask only one more time. How much?”

Your heart is pounding against the confines of your ribcage. It felt like you had a little angel on your shoulder telling you that selling this man your time will only further escalate, but the little devil on your other shoulder was telling you to milk him for whatever he was willing to give.

You stayed silent for a few minutes, calculating what a whole month’s expenses would cost you along with the 60,000 yen you already made.

“90,000 yen,” you sheepishly murmur, bracing yourself for him to yell at you for even suggesting such a high number.

There was a beat of silence before the sound of more money being unfolded was heard. He chuckled as he placed down nine more 10,000 yen notes.

“Look at you being all cute while asking for money from me,” he teased, resting his back against the back of the booth. His hand patted his thigh, signaling for you to take a seat.

“I’m not asking— You offered!” you protested, feeling a bit defensive that he would suggest that you just asked him for money.

“Don’t take such a whiny tone with me, doll. I’m only teasing you,” he says as he gestures to his lap yet again. “Sit.”

You bite your bottom lip as you look down towards his lap. You were really about to sit on this stranger’s lap for money… If your dad could see you now, he’d probably disown you.

Good thing he isn’t here.

You slowly walked over towards him, and you carefully take a seat on one of his thighs, planting your feet firmly on the ground so you’re slightly hovering. You need to be able to get away from him at a moment’s notice.

A strong hand slowly snaked up your back, towards your hair, and you tensed up quickly. The stranger wrapped his hand around the back of your neck.

“If I have to tell you again, I’m taking back my money. Sit,” he viciously growled in your ear.

You were already this far in. You should see this through. This club is safe. You were sure of it.

As you slowly allowed yourself to prop your full weight across his lap, your eyes scan around the club, looking at the security points. None of the men would even glance in your direction as if they were purposefully ignoring your section.

What did you just get yourself into?

“See? Was that so hard?” he taunted as his hand slowly dropped down to clasp around your hip. “Why is an angel like you in a club like this?”

Everything in you told you not to answer that question. As soon as he knew your weakness, he’d definitely use it to his advantage, but he probably already knew money was a good motivator for you.

“I didn’t know there was a no angel policy,” you say, trying to remain casual as you flash him a small smile.

A deep chuckle erupts from his chest. He appreciates you trying to use humor to deflect. Clever girl.

“I suppose you’re right,” he rolls his head to the side, cracking his neck from both sides. The sound of bones popping causes a shudder to go through your body. This man was good at giving a false sense of security. “But angels don’t last long in a place like this. It would be a pity to see you be ruined.”

His other hand firmly rested against your thigh, right above your knee. He gives your leg a light squeeze. “Tell me your name, doll.”

“Cherry,” You respond without missing a beat, giving your code name instead of your real name.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” he asks, allowing his fingertips to glide against the exposed skin of your thigh. Your breath picks up in speed, noticing he’s getting more bold with touching you.

“Am I suppose to?” you ask, genuinely curious if this man was some big shot that you were suppose to know.

You very rarely kept up with politics, only knowing major crime names from your law classes, and you definitely didn’t keep up with conglomerates. This man wouldn’t be the first millionaire to walk through the doors of Malevolent Mass, and he wouldn’t be the last.

Another deep raspy chuckle escapes him. “No, I actually find it quite cute you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

His hand slithered up your back once again, and this time he grabbed a fistful of your head, tugging your head back to look up at him. A gasp slips past your lips as your eyes meet his crimson ones.

“Tell me a secret, cherry,” he hisses your codename like it’s disgraceful on his tongue. “Do you belong here?”

You think to try to get up from his lap, but his other arm has worked to secure you to him tightly. The security men aren’t even glancing in your direction. No one would hear you over the music blasting if you tried to scream, and if this man was as important as his inflated ego suggested, no one would likely even help you.

You’ve done everything thus far to get out from underneath the rich man’s thumb, but it feels like every time you take one step forward, something pushed two steps back.

Do you belong anywhere? No where feels like home after your dad passed. Tears stung into your eyes. Why were you thinking of him at a time like this? He can’t save you now.

The man’s lips twitched into a smirk as he saw the tears building in your eyes. That alone was confirmation enough. You didn’t belong here at all.

His other hand reaches up to your face, and he gently strokes your cheek — a contrast to how tightly he was holding your hair. “Such a pretty crier,” he deep gravely voice coos to you.

You can’t even help it at this point. You try to blink the water away from your eyes, but the tears slip down your cheeks anyway. You just silently cursed yourself for ruining your own makeup.

“You’re a crybaby, aren’t you?” he asked as his fingers brush against your pouty lips, and he grabs your chin carefully. “Open.”

Accepting defeat, your lips part ever so slightly for him, and you can feel the way his heart races in his chest from the sight. He narrowly eyes you as two of his fingers slip past your lips.

You’re momentarily stunned from his thick fingers filling your mouth. You feel a thrum between your thighs, but you try to ignore it. Surely, your body was just betraying you, and his body was betraying him. You were able to feel every inch of his hard on through his slacks. The sight of your tears only served to spur him on further.

When you give his fingers a light suckle, he purrs a praise for you. Leisurely, he thrusts his digits in and out from your mouth. He admires the way you accept them in without a single complaint.

“Such a good girl for me. Try a little harder,” his voice darkly instructs you as he slides his fingers deeper past your tongue, hitting your inexperienced throat.

Your throat involuntarily constricts, causing you to gag and cry more. You hum around his fingers as you whimper. He merely laughs at your pitiful display.

“We’ll have to train your cute little throat to take more, won’t we?” he asked, making a dull ache settle in your lower stomach. You had never done anything like this, and the way he was treating all this so casually filled you with some sort of… excitement.

His words also struck you with fear as you realized this meant he was likely far from being done with his antics.

His fingers continue until you’ve coated them in a thin sheen of saliva. When he pulled from you, you were panting even though he hadn’t taken away your ability to breathe.

He smirked as he gazed at you as if he can tell that your cunt is clenching around nothing right now. It’s like he knows every perverse desire you’ve fantasized about in your alone time.

“You’re a vision, doll. I’m going to have so much fun breaking you,”

Before you could even think to inquire what he meant by that, an unfamiliar male voice spoke up to your side, causing you to flinch slightly. The other man was dressed in basic business attire, but he had a scrappier look to him.

“Sir?”

The stranger tensed, and you could practically see all the playful taunting energy in his face melt away. He stared daggers into the newcomer’s soul. “Speak.”

“Members of the Gojo clan were spotted near Dante’s 7th circle,”

“Dammit, what a pest,” the pink-haired male growled. He clearly didn’t fancy being interrupted.

You perked up a little from the mention of the infamous Gojo clan. You had heard plenty of whispers about the clan fluttering about on campus, and the clan had been brought up momentarily in your organized gangs class before the professor quickly shut down the conversation.

Yakuza clans were talked about in school, but the professors were very careful about what they chose to say, knowing that members were everywhere amongst them.

The stranger carefully moved you from his lap, and he stood up, gathering himself before turning to you. “You behave. I have to go tend to something, but I’ll be back for you,” he said as he reached into his coat, and he casually tossed a whole clip of yen onto the table.

Your eyes widened at the stack of money sitting on the table, and your heart began to race. It felt like the last two hours had been a complete blur, but now, you were face with a thick stack of money — probably enough to cover you for at least three months… and you weren’t even done with your shift yet.

Your excitement was quickly overshadowed by fear. He was coming back for you. How intertwined had you gotten yourself into this mess?

taglist: @theuniversesnepobaby