& ( )

— 𝐍𝐄𝐓𝐅𝐋𝐈𝐗 & 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋 (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬)

cast: enha hyung line x f!reader

genres: fluff!﹒feel-good﹒romantic﹒a tiny bit angsty

warnings: mature language, spoilers!!, suggestive themes (tkb, abmm), noah flynn!sunghoon x elle evans!reader, best friend’s brother trope, peter kavinsky!heeseung x lara jean covey!reader, fake dating trope, hinode kento!jay x sasaki miyo/muge!reader, tbh idk what trope awa is, sasha tran!jake x marcus kim!reader, childhood lovers to strangers to lovers trope, sorry if all of that was confusing basically reader is in her main character era 😻, more warnings per individual fic

status: coming soon!

started: tba

— i’m a hopeless romantic. most people who read fanfiction on tumblr are hopeless romantics. so what’s better than a series of fics based off of netflix original movies, featuring the enhypen hyung line, to satisfy the longing? <3

playlist

Top Picks for You

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 (coming soon!)

He was always around. Growing up, it was as your best friend’s bully of an older brother. In high school, it was as the biggest secret of your life.

Cast: Park Sunghoon x f!reader

𝐓𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐈’𝐯𝐞 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 (coming soon!)

Five love letters had been hidden in the depths of your closet, unsent for reasons only you knew. That is, until your little sister mails them all.

Cast: Lee Heeseung x f!reader

𝐀 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐲 (coming soon!)

To gain the attention of your crush, you transform into a cat. However, there’s always a price to pay in these kinds of situations.

Cast: Park Jay x f!reader

𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐁𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 (coming soon!)

When you and your childhood sweetheart cross paths after years of no communication, you find that the sparks are still there. But you can never seem to get the timing right.

Cast: Sim Jake x f!reader

© yeonjunszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

aries,,i need to know ur thoughts on sneaking into a supply closet w aki while there are literal devils outside trying to break down the door …

sin supplier | hayakawa aki

PAIRING.  aki x fem!reader

LENGTH.  3.6k words

NOTES.  this is just. so horny laksdlk im sorry

SYNOPSIS.  aki knows he shouldn’t, but he just can’t help himself. 

CONTENT.  pwp, power imbalance (aki is the reader’s superior, but the reader has the upper hand for most of the fic), switchy dynamics (reader initiates and instructs), foreplay + teasing, dubcon (reader has persuasion/mind control abilities through a contract with a corruption devil), intoxication (aki’s state of mind is influenced by the reader’s abilities), slight corruption (m rec), blowjob, deep throating, cum swallowing, handjob, overstim (m rec), multiple orgasms (m + f), thigh fucking, cumshot, cum as lube, creampie, (unintentional) manhandling, ripping clothes, spit, biting (f rec), reader is insatiable and just generally insufferable

DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS WORK IF YOU ARE A MINOR. BY CLICKING THE READMORE, YOU CONSENT TO VIEWING THE CONTENT STATED IN THE WARNINGS.

Aki knows he shouldn’t. 

He shouldn’t be condoning this, not when there are dozens of little Devils scratching at the door, bloodthirsty and desperate to get in—the same Devils the two of you were sent to this decaying old school to take care of. The same Devils the two of you were right in the middle of hunting down, when you’d pulled him into this crowded supply closet and kicked the heavy door closed behind you.

In the end, the Devils had been the ones to hunt the two of you down instead, and now they’re all congregated right outside the door to the supply closet. Attracted by the scent of his unease, if he had to guess. Or maybe another, more devilish, instinct that lies beneath it.

Aki shouldn’t be alone in small, dark rooms with any of his subordinates. Especially not you.

You: the Corruption Devil’s human consort—Division 6’s problem before the transfer made you Aki’s problem. And there’s no question that you are a problem; that much had become clear when he’d discovered exactly what ability your contract gives you.

You call it Persuasion; he’d call it Mind Control: an uncanny knack for getting exactly what you want, especially when it comes to things that shouldn’t be done. More specifically, your contract with the Corruption Devil—one of your many contracts with many dubious Devils, and arguably the most dodgy one of them all—grants you a certain, near-irresistible allure: you make people want to give you exactly what you want.

Near-irresistible. Not impossible to resist. There has to be some natural element of attraction present for Persuasion to really work. That’s what Aki knows from what he read in the paperwork, at least. 

He also knows that, as your superior, there’s no way in hell he should be letting you back him up against the supply shelf behind him—but the metal’s already digging into his back, and your fingers are pulling at the knot of his tie, working it loose. 

The insistent scratching at the door grows louder, and Aki manages a strained What the hell do you think you’re doing? 

“Depends, boss,” you offer sweetly, moving closer until your tits are pressed up against him. “What is it that you want me to do?” 

“This is…”

Inappropriate? Untimely? Fucking insane? Something like that; but his head’s cloudy and getting cloudier, and he loses the words as soon as you get on your tiptoes to press your lips to his throat, scattering hot kisses there as you undo the buttons of his shirt. 

He shudders, bringing a hesitant hand up to squeeze at the back of your neck—encouragement that he shouldn’t be giving, but the feeling of your tongue on his neck sends blood rushing between his thighs, and the space between the two of you so small that his stiffening cock is aching as it strains against your body. 

He knows this is risky in more ways than one: that the noises outside this tiny room keep getting louder, that the door won’t hold, that this shouldn’t be happening; but all these little things that he knows don’t mean a single thing when you’re murmuring up to him—Oh, you’re so hard. You know, I can help you out, Captain. 

Whatever misgivings he might have don’t stand a chance when you’re rubbing his cock through his slacks, and he can feel the grip of that allure—Persuasion—tightening the closer you get. Desire shoots through his veins like a drug, heightening into an insatiable craving for you, you, you—tunnel vision that narrows, senses that sharpen until all he can see, smell, hear is you. It’s a desire so intense that just the smell of you hits him with the dizzying urge for more.

And something else: an ache to please—the irresistible imperative to give you exactly what you want, whatever you want.

By now, Aki understands something that wasn’t in the paperwork: that your ability must grow stronger with proximity—and if it’s a concentrated, airborne vapor that somehow emanates from your skin like he thinks, he must be right in the thick of it. But he’s past the point of caring about which desires are natural and which aren’t; he’s already feeling you—one hand still wrapped around the back of your neck, the other slipping down the small of your back to squeeze your ass. 

And he shouldn’t, it’s not like him, but all he cares about is one thing.

It’s definitely not the banging at the door, which he only registers dully, managing the weakest of protests—They’re right there—as you sink down to your knees in front of him.

You look up with an insincere pout, retort with an equally insincere, “What’s right there, Captain?”

“The fucking Devils,” he slurs, “they’re—”

But you’re running your tongue over the stiff bulge in his slacks, and the heat of your mouth is hitting his dick through the fabric, and he’s cutting himself off with a groan.

“Are you really that worried about it?” you tease up to him. “I never thought a guy like you would stress over small fry like that. Plus, don’t you have some…” —you pause, squeezing his cock through his slacks, sending precum oozing down his thigh— “...bigger problems?” 

Another slam against the door. He wants you so badly he can barely even bring himself to say, This isn’t—I should really—

And even then, it doesn’t sound that convincing.

“Should really what?” you muse, pulling his zipper free.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what he should do; he only knows that he wants you to keep going, that you’re tugging his slacks down to pull his cock out, and it feels so good when you grip the throbbing shaft that he’s oozing precum all over your fingers and moaning before you even start to jerk it. 

“You should really take care of those Devils, right?” you laugh, leaning forward to spit messily on the tip of his dick, smiling up at him when he inhales sharply through his teeth. “Go do something about them, then,” you say—spit coating the length of his cock as you stroke it, spit glistening on your upturned lips in the half-dark—it’s a dare.

In those truth-or-dare games as a kid, Aki would always choose truth; he’s come to terms with the truth of this situation—that he should take care of the things beyond this room, but all he cares about is what’s happening inside of it. 

He’s too far gone, too hooked on the feeling of your mouth as you swallow up his dick. All the way, until the tip of your nose hits his pelvis and he’s twitching in your throat, leaking hot precum balls-deep in your mouth. You pull back when you have to gag, then swallow it again—bobbing your head over and over, leaving him covered in spit and moaning from the soft, wet flesh of your cheeks and your tongue on his cock. It’s so good; you fuck him with your mouth until he’s one swallow away from cumming down your throat.

He holds it, tries to pull out, slurring, God, I’m gonna—, but you ball your hands up in the fabric of his shirt to pull him forward, sucking him in to the base again; and he’s knotting his hands up in your hair, groaning—You wanna swallow my cum? 

You gargle around it, digging your nails into his skin. So he stays where he is—one hand resting on the back of your head, his dick buried in your mouth—and lets the pleasure hit, twitching against the tight ridges of your throat with each spurt of cum he shoots into you. 

You cough, choking on it over and over, with tears pooling in your eyes. But you keep it down until he’s done, swallowing almost everything he gives you, so there’s just a little pool of thick white left on your tongue when he pulls out. The sight of his cum in your mouth sends his head spinning, sends more blood between his thighs—but he’s still hard, never went soft; he wonders, studying you through lashes weighed down by pleasure, if it’s a result of whatever you’re emanating, or if he just wants you that badly. 

He pants, tries to catch his breath, but he doesn’t even have time to do that before you wrap your fingers around his cum-coated dick. He grits his teeth, swears at the intensity, watching you tilt your head, part your lips, and adjust to take his balls in your mouth. It’s sloppy, messy: sucking him with spit dripping from the corners of your mouth and your fist slippery with cum as you jack the sensitive tip of his cock. 

It’s—ah, fuck—it’s—

It’s too much, it’s so good; something in between the two. He’s groaning, gripping the metal of the shelf behind him as another high builds, intensifying when you start to moan with your mouth full of him—a needy, muffled sound that goes straight to his head and clouds whatever coherent space might have been left with one urge: he needs to fuck you.

Something hits the door from the outside with enough impact to make the hinges groan.

Fuck, he slurs feverishly. It’s not gonna hold, c’mere, get up. 

You’re up, pulling him down by the collar and into a sloppy kiss; he tastes his cum on your tongue, feels the desire flare in his chest like he took a hit, runs his hands down your sides.

So are you gonna fuck me? you ask, pulling away to look up at him through your lashes. Or are you gonna stall until the door breaks?

His hands catch your hips; he squeezes, twists you around before pushing you forward against the metal with enough force to send supplies rattling off the sides of the shelf and crashing to the floor.

“Shit,” he says hazily, so drunk on the intensity of the want in his veins, his head so muddled with it that he’s worried maybe he hurt you. “Are you okay?”

But you’re laughing, hands tight on the metal; he dips his neck down to bury his face in your throat, to get closer. Because the closer he gets, the more intoxicating the smell of you is—the more addicting.

“Attaboy, Captain,” he hears. There’s a buzz in your voice, as if he’s hearing you through static. “To be honest, I didn’t really think you had it in you.”

He takes a deep inhale of the dizzying, up-close smell of your skin, and slurs, “Why’s that?” 

“You’re Public Safety’s good boy, aren’t you? Proper, moral, obedient. I know you play by the rules. You do whatever they tell you.”

He’s sucking at the skin of your throat, pulling blood to the surface over and over, and you’re laughing, “But look at you now. Getting your dick wet on a mission. Fucking the subordinate you’re supposed to be protecting.” 

He laughs wryly against your throat. “God,” he murmurs. “You’re such a pain in my ass, did you know that? This is all because of you.”

“You’re as depraved as they get,” —your words are shaky, disrupted by your shudders as he nips at your throat; he runs his tongue over the skin, feels an instant head high the moment he tastes you— “but I like it for you. Keep going.”

The taste of you is like an addiction; he can’t get enough, keeps licking and sucking your skin and getting himself higher.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he says without thinking, barely even in his head; his body seems to move on its own, his hand slipping down the front of your slacks to rub over your pussy through the fabric. “How long have you been wanting this?” 

There’s a series of bumps at the door as he unbuttons your slacks, pulls your zipper down, hooks his thumbs over the sides and pulls them down, bringing your panties down with them. His dick leaks precum onto the bare skin of your ass. 

“It’s been—” you say, breaths catching when he positions his cock at the apex of your thighs from behind and slides in between them, “—it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” he slurs, with his dick throbbing between your thighs—slick from your pussy, hot from your warmth, “I thought so.”

He spares a glance back at the door, watching the shadows swarming in the sliver of light beneath it; he’s running out of time, but he could spend forever nestled between your thighs, feeling the slick from your pussy dribbling out onto his dick, getting the shaft sticky and warm. He places one hand on the shelf next to yours, rests his weight there as he sucks your throat, each second at that proximity getting him drunker.

“Don’t act like you haven’t wanted it, too,” he hears you say through the fog in his head, each sentence punctuated by a gasp. “Just because you never acted on it doesn’t mean you didn’t want to. My Devil shows me how easy someone would be to Persuade. I know exactly how much attraction is already there. I barely even had to do anything and look at you—I could give you any command in the world and you’d do it.” 

His free hand is on your tits now, squeezing, kneading. “So why don’t you?” he murmurs.

You laugh a little. “Okay.” And then comes the command: “Touch me.” 

The urge surges in his chest—the imperative so compelling that he forgets all about the buttons on your shirt and instead balls his fist up in the fabric right where it is and pulls, tearing your shirt open. Your buttons go flying: some to the shelf, some to the floor; but he doesn’t apologize this time, just slips his hand through the opening in your shirt to pull down your bra and knead your tits. They’re warm in his palm, soft enough to make his dick pulse against your ass.

“And what else do you want?” he murmurs.

“Move,” you instruct. “Don’t make me wait.”

You were right; he is obedient, he does follow instructions—especially when you’re the one giving them, especially right now, with the fog in his head and that control of yours overwhelming him. He does just what you ask—moves: licks the fingers of his free hand and brings them to your clit to circle it as he fucks the slippery space between your thighs, sliding his dick back and forth until he’s coated in your sticky, hot mess.

“I’ve got the most morally upstanding guy in Public Safety,” you laugh shakily, squeezing your legs around his dick, “and he’s right between my thighs.” 

“Can you blame me?” he says hazily against your ear, overtaken by the desire for more instruction, another opportunity to please. “I just wanna give you everything you want.” 

There’s a cracking sound at the door: wood splintering, maybe, but he doesn’t care about that when you’re saying, I want you to put it in, I want to feel your cock stretching me out. 

That little half-gasp, half-moan when he pushes past your tight entrance; the feeling of you clenching on his dick, your gooey walls sucking him deeper as he eases into you—it’s overwhelming. It’s almost as addicting as the smell of you, as the sounds you make when he fucks you up against the shelf, nipping at your ear and asking—Is this what you wanted from me? 

Yeah, you gasp, now fuck it deeper.

And he does; he buries his cock all the way in you over and over, slurring, Spoiled brat, you always get exactly what you want, don’t you?

Always.

And what do you want now, huh—do you want me to make you cum?

You slur an affirmative with his fingers rubbing your clit, so he fucks you harder—hitting some spot that makes you moan Right there. A few more deep strokes in the same place and then you’re cumming: walls pulsing around his dick, gasping and moaning and squirming, pressed up between him and the shelves; it takes everything in him not to pump you full while he fucks you through it. 

He pulls out when it’s over, but you whine for more: Put it back in, I want you to fuck me until you cum. 

So he pulls you over to the little desk sitting beside the shelf, pushes the things on it to the floor in the same second that he bends you feverishly over the surface. You’re laid out over it, hand gripping the opposite edge, and he watches it tighten as he nudges your hips up and eases back into you.

Whatever you want, baby. 

He buries it deep, feels your sensitive walls tense up as he leans over you—one fist balled up on the desk, the other gripping your hip. There’s a crash at the door, another loud crack; but you’re turning your head to him and he’s tilting his, slipping his tongue into your mouth to swallow up your moans as he fucks you from behind. 

And when he pulls away to nip at your lips you’re slurring instructions: fuck me deeper, fuck me harder, give it to me. Each little command makes his head spin; the grip you have on him is so strong, and your pussy is eating him up so greedily—how could he not give it to you exactly how you want it? How could he not fuck you deeper, harder, give it to you until your thighs are shaking, until everything’s so wet and tight and your moans are turning into pleas? 

It feels so good fucking into you that when you tell him to shoot his cum all over your pussy it only takes one more thrust before he’s ready to give it to you; and then he’s pulling out, breaths catching, jerking his fist over his cock until the tension snaps. His cum spurts out onto you—coats your puffy, glistening lips and stretched hole in a sticky white mess.

He leans over you: fucked out, head hazy, his dick still twitching in his palm—still hard as he watches his cum dribble down the outside of your pussy. And when you tell him to fuck you again—put it back in, I want more, make me cum again—he drags the sensitive tip through his own cum, smears it over your hole, and pushes it back into you while it’s still hot. 

Hot and—God, it’s wet, he’s groaning; it’s wet and tight and so slick in you, so lubed up with your juices and all of the cum he pushed back inside that the thick white liquid smears back onto his cock with each stroke, gathering all over the shaft and the base. He grips your ass, spreads you out, watches the rest of his cum drip down your skin, watches his cock disappear into your pussy with his teeth gritted against the sensitivity; it’s too much, but he’s so feverish with the urge to give you what you want that he’ll take it. 

He’s panting from the overstimulation, but by the time you tell him you’re close—bent over the desk with your fingers on your clit and your back arching—the pleasure’s building up again for him too, another knot tightening in his stomach. 

So when you gasp I’m cumming, and he feels the waves of another orgasm hitting you—your cum-slick walls contracting on his cock over and over—he’s right there. He’s already on the edge when you slur, Cum inside me, fill me up. 

Yeah, baby, yeah—he digs his teeth into your shoulder, and the tension snaps; with a shudder, he shoves his cock in deep and lets your convulsing walls milk him while you cum, pumping you full of the rest of it as he rides the same wave that’s making you squirm under him.

There’s a pause: just a few moments of respite.

His breaths slow as he listens to you catch yours, and for a second even the Devils are quiet.

And then there’s a deafening crash and another loud splintering sound—the door’s going to give. He’s still breathing hard as he disentangles himself from you; then he’s pulling up his slacks, buttoning his shirt and crossing the room to swipe his sword off the floor. 

“They’re about to break through,” he says, looking your way to find you reclining lazily on top of the desk. “You should get ready.”

He fixes his face with a stern expression, but for a split second he wonders about this feeling he has: the grip, the imperative—the Persuasion—is gone, but the desire lingers. 

“Can’t you take care of those Devils for me, Captain?” you smile crookedly, gesturing to your tattered shirt. “I can’t really work like this. Wouldn’t be professional.” 

Aki clenches his jaw. “You make this job even harder than it already is. You know that?”

“How so?” 

“Slovenly. Insolent. Lazy. Not to mention—”

“Gee,” you interrupt. “No wonder you like me so much.”

“Can’t stand you, actually,” he mutters, glancing at the door, which is rocking in its frame from repeated impact on the other side.

“My Devil doesn’t lie to me,” you say, studying your nails. “You’ve wanted me since the moment I joined your Division.”

“God, you’re a pain,” he says wearily as another deafening crash puts a massive crack in the door. “I’m this close to killing you instead of them.” 

“You could’ve killed them already if you weren’t wasting all your time flirting with me.”

You laugh when he rolls his eyes, then twist your face into an exaggerated pout. “Won’t you protect me, Captain?”

“Fine. I’ll take care of it by myself. Not like you’re giving me a choice.”

“Perfect.”

“But when I’m done,” he says, pulling his sword from its holster, “I think it’s time I taught you some manners.”

You smile widely.

“Yes, sir.”

LUPITA NYONG’O witnessing HISTORY at the 94th Annual Academy Awards (March 27th, 2022)

after seeing more and more blogs follow my mutuals and i without an age in their pinned post or bio, this felt necessary to make. as nsfw content creators, it is important that we uphold these standards (to keep minors safe, especially!)

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒

stay vigilant against minors following you and do not encourage those under 18 to interact with your nsfw fics!!! if there is no age in their bio, block them <3 remember that you will not be held liable if the person were to lie about their age and then accuse you of sharing/talking about inappropriate material with them.

𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒

the following links explain the long-term outcomes of early exposure to pornography and mature content. take a look and see what you’re getting yourself into:

how pornography affects young people

the effects of early exposure to sexual content

early sexualization and pornography exposure

how pornography harms minors

just like visual porn, the way sex is represented in stories can be unrealistic. if you read these kind of stories, it may give you a distorted view of what sex and relationships are like. reading explicit stories or smut can become addictive too, so it's detrimental for you to reflect on whether it's affecting your life.

𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒

at the end of the day, you are minors. it doesn’t matter if you think you’re mature or not. warnings are established for a reason. nsfw writers on this site are uncomfortable with minors interacting with them + talking sexual. want to know why? it’s mf weird.

also, even if reading smut doesn’t hurt you, it's dangerous and gross for you and an adult to interact with each other around nsfw. please abide by these rules: our works will be here when you are 18+!

୨ someday ୧

— shinichiro x fem reader

— domestic drabble ft tiny mikey. you and shin go to mikey's school for a parent-teacher conference

— 1.7k words

୨ notes ୧

there is a character who expresses hateful language and judgement towards teen mothers so proceed with caution !! reader is a girlboss and shuts it down immediately though.

veiny arms snake around your waist as you check your reflection in the hallway mirror and smack your lips after touching up your lip gloss. "mm you look so hot in a suit, i almost wish your workplace had a uniform" shinichiro mumbles into your shoulder. he lifts his head to make eye contact with your reflection and tries to bite your ear but you raise an arm to squish his cheeks into a pout. "well, at least one of us had to dress the part," you teasingly crinkle your nose at his ripped jeans and t-shirt. one side of his mouth lifts in a half smile and he retorts, "i'm okay with them thinking i'm the bum dad if it means i get to see my girl like this. ooh, when we get home can we pretend you're my boss and you caught me slacking off so you took me to your office to discipline me?" he winks saucily and the two of you burst into laughter.

"mr. and mrs. sano?" a stern-faced woman with her hair in a tight bun steps into the hallway and you lightly smack shinichiro's arms so he frees your waist and you can click your heels over to shake her hand. "yes - hi, that's us. where is manjiro?" you smile brightly, but she is staring at shinichiro with clear distaste evident in the way her gaze hardens. you inwardly groan. so you were going to have to go through this again. "excuse me? where did you want to have the conference?" you step into her line of sight with your now-hardened smile and she is taken aback.

"yes, please follow me. manjiro is actually in the principal's office. you see, there was a slight ... incident this morning." she fumbles and starts leading you down the hall. at this, shinichiro's brows knit together and the two of you share a glance. you squeeze his hand in reassurance; mikey knows how to stand up for himself so he will definitely be okay. it was probably that spelling sheet where he thought it would be funny to write bad words instead of his vocabulary, you think to yourself and roll your eyes. you had told shinichiro to help him with the correct answers after you left their house, but based on the way he threw his head back and laughed, that may have been an unreasonable request on your part.

when the three of you enter the principal's office, you are taken aback at the small crowd present. mikey is slouched on a chair with a small pout adorning his normally relaxed features, a middle-aged couple and their child who appears mikey's age both stand off to the side, and the balding principal is standing behind his desk with a manufactured smile. "mr. and mrs. sano! so glad you could make it." mikey's principal reaches over to shake your hand as well as shinichiro's. out of the corner of your eye, you see mikey quietly gasp and sit up, bouncing in his seat. he moves to come hug your legs but shinichiro subtly lifts his hand. let's see what this is about first, yeah? he motions to mikey, who slumps back down.

"hi principal..." you glance at his name plate, "...ito. thanks for giving us a call. what's going on? i thought we were here for manjiro's parent-teacher conference." mikey begins to kick his legs against the principal's desk and the stern lady from before shoots him a glare but he shows no indication of stopping. you raise an eyebrow at this behavior but turn to principal ito as he informs you, "there was a complaint about manjiro fighting with a student in his class." your eyes go wide, and you are sure shinichiro's do as well, but for completely different reasons as his first instinct is to mouth praises and flash a thumbs up at mikey. "would you stop that?" you hiss at him and pinch his arm, to which mikey giggles. the other adults (well, the ones that know how to act their age) stare at shinichiro, completely appalled. the mother of mikey's classmate speaks up with a haughty tone, "see, principal? it's no wonder the child grew up like that when this is the kind of environment he is exposed to at home." she raises her chin and sniffs at you, and you see red.

"excuse me? is there something you are trying to imply about myself and my husband? or even my son for that matter?" you look her in the eyes with the sweetest smile - almost, just almost fooling her into thinking she will get her apology and reparations and be on her merry way. but god, these venomous housewife types never know when to quit, do they? she tilts her head and thinks out loud, "if your kid is in elementary school, that means you got knocked up as a teen, probably by that delinquent-looking husband of yours, but maybe not. who knows, maybe this is your second or third man and you finally got lucky enough to find one that doesn't mi-" you raise your hand and slap her in the face.

it makes no difference whether any of her words are true or not but to insinuate that you and shin have done anything short of give mikey the best upbringing possible is something you will not tolerate. in your own rage, you didn't notice that shinichiro is frozen with rage and you take a moment to squeeze his hand before releasing it and stepping forward to make sure every gaping face in the room can hear you clearly when you speak in your iciest tone.

"you need to keep my family's name the fuck out of your mouth. i'm not going to stand here and tolerate you talking to me in that tone, nor do i care to debate the truth behind the assumptions you made. i have more productive things to do with my life, such as spending time with my husband and son - something i suggest you three also do if you're so miserable that you need to derive entertainment from gossip and speculations about people who don't know or care who you are." everyone in the room is staring at you, and the woman clutches her red cheek. principal ito is the first to recover and he forces a smile and pulls out a chair for you. "mrs. sano, please have a seat and let's sort this out calmly." you look at him as if he sprouted a third head because did he even hear what that bitch said? but shinichiro speaks up this time, his ability to think rationally in times of emotional duress being something you love so much about him.

he speaks quietly but the glint in his eyes and his cold tone are not lost on the parents "manjiro never hits anyone unless they agreed to fight or they disrespected him. that was the first thing i taught him. so i would suggest asking your kid what really went down." you turn to the couple as well to add something that just came to mind but you had been thinking about earlier. "i wasn't going to mention it, but is your child's name haruto by any chance?" the boy's mother seems to have entered a state of shock ever since the slap but her husband meekly nods. you fill your words with as much poison as you can and tilt your head at him, "then i just think it's really funny how you expect me to listen to your wife go on about the way we bring up manjiro when the only delinquent here seems to be your own son. manjiro has been complaining about a haruto in his class always taking his snacks and denying it. do you not feed your son enough? or do you not teach him basic morals? fix yourself and your household before even looking at us ever again." you finally approach mikey and pick him up, feeling your heartstrings soften as he immediately buries his head in your neck.

but there is one thing left to be done. shinichiro turns to principal ito one final time, who hastily closens his mouth and straightens out his suit lapels. "we'll be in contact about manjiro's withdrawal. we don't feel comfortable having manjiro attend a school where he and his family will continue to be disrespected. to be honest, i'm kinda ashamed in you for allowing these people to speak to my wife like that." he places a hand on the small of your back and the three of you leave the room.

once outside, mikey looks at you with sleepy eyes and pokes your nose. "big sis said a bad word" but there is a naughty smile on his face. you roll your eyes but are secretly thankful for the way he diffused the tension. even shinichiro cracks a smile at that and squeezes your butt. "mrs. sano was so cool, wasn't she mikey?" mikey just blows a raspberry and turns to you with wide eyes, "is it too late for you to marry me instead? you can still be mrs. sano if you like the name. i really don't know why you're going out with idiot shin", to which shinichiro exclaims and tries to pinch his cheek, making you stifle a laugh and console your pouting boyfriend.

"but for real, baby, that was great of you. i'm glad we have you in our life. i guess it's hard to imagine life without you now. i mean, i don't know." you coo and make kissy faces at your boyfriend being sappy while mikey pretends to gag. you ruffle mikey's hair but spot shinichiro digging in his pockets next to you.

"shinichiro sano, you better not be about to actually propose to me in the middle of mikey's school parking lot." you deadpan at him and he blushes crimson and grabs your hand, "no! no babe, what do you take me for? you best believe you're gonna have the sweetest proposal of all time, just wait." he finally seems to find what he was looking for and it's a coupon for a free popsicle at the local supermarket. you roll your eyes and motion for him to lead the way as mikey jumps up and tries to snatch it from him.

yeah, you really couldn't imagine your small family any other way.

— firstdivision

— do not repost

If you’re a real human person still using the default tumblr avatar, consider changing it.

why should you change it?

When you guys pop up in our notifications, most seasoned tumblr users will suspect you’re a bot and block on sight.

why do we block immediately?

tumblr has a history of bots trying to infiltrate and establish a connection to a valid, existing blog in order to populate google searches. Simply liking or reblogging a post, not just adding a scam link to it, establishes this connection. Tumblr users don’t want this to happen, especially if it’s a scammy p*rn bot. So, we often block on sight.

So now I have to reblog stuff AND change my pfp?

Well, of course that’s up to you! I just want to explain why you may have been already blocked by an artist/blogger you may have discovered recently, and how you can avoid it in the future.

Reblogging does help creators more than likes because your reblogs will show up on the dash of those that may follow you. Plus, reblogging puts that post on your own blog, and in case the original gets deleted or edited by the OP, it’ll be on your blog like that–forever (or until you delete your blog). Nice.

Here are some free icons created by catalyststuff on freepik. Highly recommend their art for a simple replacement!