#experienced joint progress

[winningmymind]

(wholesome twinyard ficlet) Andrew pats Aaron's head sometimes

It starts in their joint therapy session, when Bee has somehow managed to pull a truth from Aaron's screwed tight lips after switching up her tactics to get Andrew's other half to be more candid with his feelings.

"Is that really what you want?" The question hangs in the air, spoken from Andrew himself, his identical hazel eyes taking notice of Aaron's strained face and reddening ears.

They give it a few minutes. The silence having a chance to settle until broken between them. It's difficult for Aaron to process what he even said aloud. A deep yearning he never thought to let anyone know. Not even Katelyn. Let alone Andrew and Bee. Reminds him of stretching, how it can be both painful and relieving. He's experiencing both right now and it fucking sucks.

".......Yes." Aaron hisses, swallowing his pride, embracing embarrassment, and feels the rest of his skin flushing a pretty rosy color at the vulnerability of it all. He loathes this part of growing and healing.

If only he could turn invisible, or reverse his confession, anything to run away from confronting his barrier of repression head on. Aaron refuses to make eye contact with Andrew, latching his attention to his untied shoe and bouncing leg full of anxiety.

Bee simply smiles at the progress made in the last hour, fondly addressing both Minyards with a clap of her hands to draw their attention.

"Then it's settled. For this next step, Andrew, when comfortable, you are to pat Aaron on the head occasionally. Get used to touching him in a brotherly fashion. Give him the praise he needs when times get rough or just because you feel like being affectionate. How does that sound?"

It's sounds absurd in Aaron's opinion. Why oh why did today's session, and the previous one, and the one before that have to highlight on Aaron's touch starved coping mechanisms paralleling Andrew's touch aversion issues? Why did Bee have to point out that specific pattern of theirs? Why can't Bee be shit at her job?

He wouldn't know how to conduct himself if Andrew willingly ruffled his hair like how he saw other siblings, normal and loving siblings do on TV sitcoms/in the family picture movies/after Exy little leagues games when his fellow teammates had someone cheering them on and ready to take them home to celebrate wins/comfort any losses.

(Aaron had to walk by himself every time because Tilda never did the bare minimum of showing up to support no matter how many times he circled the dates on fridge calendar).

He still remembers the sting of his hair getting pulled, scalp screaming in protest, shock overtaking his system as Andrew demands if Drake got his filthy paws on him. In the midst of a dead body and fresh blood, a part of Aaron's brain had sent signals of irrational happiness that Andrew might possibly care for him deeply, and that he can count on one hand all the instances where he's felt his twin's frantic hands checking to see if he was hurt by someone Andrew meant to protect him from.

Bee waits patiently for Andrew's response on if he'll agree. Aaron, who is now nervously tapping a finger to his knee to keep from squirming in his seat, kind of hopes his twin rejects the task and they can never discuss this topic ever again.

"I'll do it." Andrew says after drinking the last remnants of his hot cocoa, his tone laced in boredom, but both Bee and Aaron are picking up on Andrew's subtle communication differences and know that the Foxes goalie finds this therapy challenge very interesting.

Aaron let's out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. He didn't expect Andrew to comply this easily. He learned not to expect anything from Andrew, really, so it surprises him how his honesty is getting him the desired results a teenaged Aaron, a toddler Aaron, any version of Aaron pre-college could only hopelessly wish for. Wish granted, it seems.

"Alright! We'll talk about it in next week's session then. Thank you both for sharing your time with me." Bee's smiles are too sweet after each dismissal and Aaron practically bolts out of her office to the car while Andrew's in absolutely no rush to leave, purposely taking his time walking.

Bee quietly wishes the twins good luck, happy they're taking the necessary and belated baby steps together that they once were robbed of at birth.

-------

"Dude. Just stay in bed. Seriously." Matt pleads, placing bottles of water, Gatorade, and a bowl of microwaved canned soup in a mug on the nightstand beside Aaron's bed.

"I... can... make... it." Aaron's throat is on fire. Body feels heavy, skin feels hot. He's shivering, though, enough to clatter his teeth like he's in a snowstorm. Fever's most likely setting in.

"You're sick." Matt dares to press a hand to Aaron's forehead and the touch feels nice, so reassuring. Aaron will take that to his grave. "Coach will understand. Trust."

"But-"

"Nuh-uh. You're useless like this. Plus, no one would appreciate you spreading your icky cooties."

"It's germs." Aaron corrects and Matt merely shakes his head, pulling out his phone, probably texting the group chat that Aaron's out of commission.

In seconds, Coach and Kevin have barred Aaron from coming to court (Coach because he worries about all his Foxes and Kevin because he needs Aaron fully functional for defense). There are a few well wishes from his teammates. Aaron has no idea if they're being polite or if they genuinely care. Neil texts him "don't die" and that's the closest form of concern Aaron will get from the mafioso brat.

Nicky's immediately calling and promising to nurse him to health once practice is over. Andrew doesn't text nor call. That pissed him off, but Aaron is used to it. Not being acknowledged. He drinks his liquids and forces himself to finish the soup because Matt unfortunately gives a damn about him, going above and beyond as a roommate. He can see why Neil likes the upperclassman.

Aaron took some medicine already, the kind that makes one drowsy, and Katelyn texts that she'll take notes for him should he miss class this week. If he's got a fever, then Aaron should just sleep in a light bedsheet. He's a creature of habit, however, and he rationalizes that the soft and thick covers are a better texture for him to wrap up in a cozy cocoon. Has Aaron believing he's being tenderly hugged and he burrows under them in poor judgement, ignoring how uncomfortably sweaty he's getting.

When he wakes up some time later, not understanding how he fell asleep in the first place, mind all dazed, Andrew is there in his dorm. So is Nicky, but Aaron can only focus on Andrew's glaringly unexpected presence.

"My baby!" Nicky is dramatic as always. Mother henning like no other like he said he would.

Andrew isn't standing too far away from the bed, leaning against the door threshold, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable. Eyes on Aaron.

"Where's your shadow?" Aaron pants out the question, fatigue beating his ass, and apparently invoking Neil's whereabouts must be a curse because he unintentionally summons a nasty coughing fit.

"Drink! Aaron! Drink!" Nicky presses a bottle to Aaron's lips while patting his back soothingly.

Andrew intently watches Aaron's body loosen at Nicky's gentle touch, tense muscles relaxing instantly. He lets Aaron's coughing subside before answering. "Didn't want to risk getting sick. Sends his regards."

Aaron would laugh if he had the energy and if his throat wasn't against him. Andrew produces a big bag of throat lozenges from thin air it seems and tosses it in Aaron's lap. It's the flavor Aaron likes the most be it gum, chapstick, candy: cherry. Why the fuck does Neil "Always Lying Little Shit" Josten know that?!

"You need to change out of these sweaty clothes, Aaron. I'll go get you my hoodie. The one you like to steal from me. I'll be right back!" Nicky darts out the door.

Andrew lifts a brow to Aaron. Aaron interprets that as Andrew being curious about the significance of Nicky's hoodie. It's a story, an untold bond that Aaron and Nicky share that Andrew isn't privy to. Maybe, he's being immature, but Aaron won't tell Andrew shit if he's not asked. Let his twin stew in unsaid inquiries. Aaron can be mysterious too. He's eager for Nicky to return, choosing to distract himself from Andrew's piercing gaze and patiently wait by recalling why he's needy of his cousin's hoodie.

Whenever Aaron's sick (which is rare these days since Andrew became a constant in his life) he wears one of Nicky's hoodies. It started when he was much younger, a consistent sickly child. His mom barely cared to check up on him and Nicky had forgotten to take some of his clothes when Luther had the Hemmicks stay over Tilda's for religious holiday dinners as a family. Aaron had slipped one of the forgotten hoodies on and felt engulfed in warmness, his mind pretending that he was in Nicky's welcoming arms, cradled and cooed over, feeling loved for a brief moment in the chaos when Tilda preferred dosing on medicine meant for the improvement of Aaron's health.

Nicky leaving means Aaron and Andrew are alone with each other. Aaron wouldn't mind if he weren't weak right now. He struggles to open the lozenges, popping one in his mouth to suck on after numerous tries. Andrew still leans on the threshold, watching him. Aaron snuggles into the covers more like it's a shield from all his troubles.

"What do you have?" Andrew's straight to the point.

"Fever." Aaron replies.

"To break a fever you need to stay cool." Andrew steps away from the threshold, steps closer to the bed. "Ditch the covers. Bedsheets are better."

Aaron defensively tugs the covers more around his body. "I like it." As if that's any decent excuse.

By now, Andrew's standing next to Aaron's sitting form. He studies how ruddy Aaron's face is, the damp hair stuck to his forehead. In one swift move, Andrew rips the covers off Aaron. He sees his stubborn twin shout in protest while being drenched in sticky sweat, t-shirt clinging like a second skin.

"No more of this." Andrew orders, pointing at the covers swathing Aaron and Aaron scowls.

"Don't tell me what to do."

"This isn't up for debate."

Before Aaron could spit out another retort, upset that his brother is right, and that he should listen, and that he knows better as a pre-med student but since it's Andrew bossing him around with piss poor bedside manner it triggers Aaron's obstinacy...

Words die on his tongue the moment Andrew's palm lies flat atop Aaron's head.

Oh. He's doing Bee's task. Andrew is patting Aaron. He's delicately touching Aaron in such a subduing way.

"Bedsheets only until it breaks, Aaron." Andrew reiterates, expression unchanging as Aaron's jaw drops and eyes widen owlishly. It's like he's one of those fierce wild animals that gets pet for the first time and is paralyzed by the foreign sensation.

"....Okay." Aaron is quelled effortlessly, chest warm, threat of a smile on his lips, and he hates that.

"Hmm." Andrew still pats Aaron on the head for a long time, the only indication he's not as impassive as he looks is the glint in his matching hazel eyes, something cooking in his mind with this new information.

Aaron's eyes get half-lidded, from the medicine, his fever, or the endorphins and serotonin from Andrew's hand in his hair - he has no idea. When it's clear Nicky's coming back by the sound of his loud footsteps, Andrew pulls his hand away and Aaron wished their cousin stayed away a little longer so he could enjoy the affection more.

"Here ya go!" Nicky holds up the hoodie proudly, cluelessly interrupting the twins building a bridge they didn't know they needed, and Aaron peels off his soaked shirt to trade for the hoodie.

"I'll go make you food. A Nicky Hemmick special that'll knockout the cooties lickety-split!"

He's gone again. Aaron is drowning in the hoodie, sleeves floppy, and he looks smaller than he really is. Andrew wordlessly thumbs the material, nodding in approval that it's thin enough and won't overheat Aaron should he sleep in the bedsheets.

"Rest." Andrew lingers, making certain Aaron lays back down and closes his eyes, on the verge of losing consciousness.

Aaron is halfway into dreamland, breathing slowing and thoughts escaping. He thinks he feels a featherlight stroking on his forehead that threads through his hair and contentedly sighs.

-------

It becomes a thing. Andrew patting Aaron's head at random.

Aaron is healthy. Kevin barks game plays at him and Aaron rolls his eyes. Neil teases him for having a fragile immune system and Aaron takes pleasure exaggeratingly coughing in his face. Nicky is being extra and Aaron has to shame him to calm it down.

Andrew acts the same towards him, sans the head pats.

"When did this happen?" Neil is so nosy.

"None of your business!" Aaron growls, and his anger is less effective when Andrew is disheveling his hair to the point that Aaron is positive it'll look like he's having a bad hair day.

"I think it's cute." Nicky beams, always a cheerleader for the twins to get along.

"Who cares?" Kevin holds a tray of the most unappetizing glasses of protein shakes. "Stop stalling and drink these."

"Uh, no freaking way." Neil scrunches his nose. "No one told you to make that."

"Our poor blender suffered for this concoction?" Nicky faux cries.

"It has banana in it." Kevin fails to persuade.

Aaron leans into Andrew's palm some more, impressed with himself for not feeling weird about accepting Andrew's affection in front of their friends. It's a big change for Andrew, too, being physically expressive to Aaron. They only do this when alone or with the Monsters, not when the rest of the Foxes can witness.

Nicky and Kevin are busy arguing over the ethics of milkshakes being sugary and tasty or protein fueled and disgusting. Neil grew bored and sets his sights on Aaron.

"Andrew's been patting your head for five minutes straight. Someone's clingy." Neil can choke and die, bastard.

Instead of his usual rise at the bait, Aaron takes a page from Bee to switch tactics, his body too relaxed to be argumentative.

"Don't be jealous." He imitates Bee's calm and collected voice, smirking smugly at Neil's offended face.

"I'm not-"

"Ooh, shots fired!" Nicky, able to sniff drama like a bloodhound, joyously applauds.

"Shut up, Nicky!"

"I'm just saying."

"Say less, then."

"Excuse me! I didn't make these shakes for them to be wasted!"

"Do you want to be killed, Kevin?"

-------

Bee's office still irritates Aaron.

"How was it?"

Andrew sips his hot cocoa. Aaron picks at a loose thread on his jeans.

"It went well, I suppose."

"How do you know that?" Aaron glares at her and she smiles sweetly.

"Well, you aren't complaining. That's a key indicator."

Aaron huffs and crosses his arms. Andrew never looks at Aaron. He looks at Bee.

"It was nice." He looks away from Bee, back to sipping hot cocoa.

Aaron snaps his head at Andrew, surprised. Bee furiously jots notes in her pad, her face pleased.

"Aaron? Was it nice for you, too?"

He hesitates, eyes still on Andrew. Aaron doesn't look at Bee. "....Yeah."

The session ends and they leave for the car. Neither talk. Aaron stares out the window. He practices on autopilot. He cracks open his textbooks and puts on background noise. His routine is back to normal.

And when he stresses over an upcoming test that Katelyn can't comfort him in, or Matt snitches to Neil that Aaron woke up from another nightmare from past traumas, or if he's passed out from exhaustion on the couch from overstimulation...

Andrew comes by somehow in the nick of time and pats him on the head and it's almost like what Aaron saw between siblings on TV/in the movies/after Exy little league games. He never knows when it's coming, but when it does, Aaron is internally over the moon about it.

Each time Andrew reaches out for him, Aaron sways into it, and pretends, perhaps even believes, it's his twin's way of subtly saying "good job/you're wanted/I love you."

After all, Aaron's training to be a doctor, and doctors have to learn how to read people and figure out the facts from fiction. So, Aaron figures it out.

Andrew's actions speak louder than words and Aaron's finally listening to them.

[kaitlyn-imagines]

Hi sorry if this is real late i have a request for sinners where its the reader/oc(whatever your more comfortable with) is the daughter of annie and smoke (daughter!reader/oc dies like annie and smoke and reunites with the cute little family in the after life) or stack and mary (daughter!reader/oc ends up getting turned and lives with her parents after shes turned) and how it would progress through the night at the juke joint

Aww this is such a cute ask 🥺❤️ Familial bonds can be so, so special, I hope I did this justice...

Warnings: Blood, descriptions of gore, horror, death, vampires, and violence... It follows the beats of the movie, so spoilers if you haven't watched it Parental! Annie & Smoke:

The last time you’d seen your father, you’d been a child. You were old enough to vaguely remember his face, but young enough to feel robbed when he left for Chicago. You tried to make sense of his leaving, but struggled to. Your mother tried to reassure you that it wasn’t your fault he left…but that he’d loved too deeply and lost too much.

You didn’t fully believe her until the day Smoke returned, bearing flowers for the grave of your baby sibling and whispering tender things into Annie’s ear.

You wanted to be angry with him…but you were just so happy to have your father back. You loved him infinitely more than you resented him for leaving.

And so, you go along with your mother and help him prepare for the opening of the Juke Joint. You enjoyed getting to spend time together as a family, setting up the glasses at the bar and making up for lost time.

You’d never seen Annie smile so wide as she and your father danced to the sweet music. You felt giddy to have your family whole again.

It had been the happiest day of your life—until it wasn’t.

The white strangers on the doorstep of the Juke Joint soured the mood with their eerie uncanniness. Your parents were rightfully wary…for after not much longer, the carnage had begun.

As Annie took charge and went about arming the party with garlic water and wooden table legs sharpened into stakes, you dutifully obeyed her every order. You were well-aware of your mother’s capable and experienced work in hoodoo, and were more than able to aid her however she needed you.

But the night unfolded into a bloodbath.

Good friends died. Hideous monsters, mere echoes of the human form, swarmed you in teeth, claws, and bloody gore.

You felt the earth freeze over into an eternal darkness the moment your mother’s spirit left it. You screamed in pure agony, clawing your way across the wooden floorboards to where your father had a stake plunged through her chest. Tears streamed down Smoke’s face, the expression of a broken man.

You didn’t make it more than a few feet before you were swept up into the jaws of a vicious creature, all torn flesh and bloodied fangs. You scratched at the beast who had once been a man, trying to tear free where he’d swallowed a chunk of your shoulder.

You wrestled it to the floor, and felt a glass shatter under your weight. The beast writhed and screamed as its skin burst into blisters and violent boils, before it finally released you and ran, scratching chunks out of its own burnt flesh.

You gasped and gurgled as you laid in the puddle of blood, glass, and garlic water. Your hand trembled violently as you felt the missing chunk of flesh at your neck, and it came away drenched in scarlet. You were dying…

Your father, god where was Smoke? You cried out for him, cried out for your dead mother, but you were alone in chaos around you.

You didn’t have much time…you could feel the dizziness overcoming you as you rapidly bled out. You found in that moment you were not scared of dying…but you were terrified of never seeing Annie again.

And so, with your last bit of strength, you wrestled the gnarled, sharpened piece of wood from your belt. You lacked the energy to stake yourself, so you let gravity do the work for you. You held it straight up against the floorboards and rolled yourself onto it, piercing yourself through the chest as your weight bore you down, an agonizingly slow descent.

Time fell away from you. Pain became numbness before even that too disappeared. You were weightless. You were nonexistent. Just a dim flicker of consciousness in the wide expanse of nothingness.

But then you felt a hand enclose around your own, and your eyes opened once more. Sunlight and warmth kissed along your skin, now unmarred and clean. You felt incandescent joy as you beheld the soft brown eyes of your mother.

You clung to her in a tearful embrace, whispering over and over how you loved her. You wept at the sight of the baby at her breast.

You welcomed your father come morning. And for the first time, you were a family, entirely whole and together again.

And love was all that remained.

Parental! Mary & Stack:

You always shared your mother’s anger towards the man who’d left you both behind. He had abandoned you, discarded you like pieces of trash to escape north to Chicago.

And then he had the nerve to show his face again, many years later, when you’d already grown up without any help from him.

Mary had come home from the train station raving about Stack, about how she’d seen him and how they’d fought. It was your idea to go to the Juke Joint together to confront him.

You needed to see his face, just once—the face of the man who’d left you and your mother behind.

Little did you know, this entire time he’d been trying to protect you both from the cruelties of a world that would never understand. The way he looked at you when he first saw you—he recognized his features upon your face. His expression was one of unbridled affection, and it was as if you’d hung the moon and stars.

And so, despite wanting to hold onto that ugly resentment for a little longer…you forgave him. For the first, and possibly only, night of your life, you could laugh and dance freely together as a family.

You let him twirl you as you giggled, watched him love your mother openly—knowing that with the dawn, this would all be gone.

Only, it wasn’t…for the three white strangers had come a-knocking at the door…

They’d been dismissed by your uncle, but your parents felt there had been an opportunity missed. So, Mary kissed you on the cheek and left the Juke Joint to go speak to them outside.

Only, she’d been gone an awfully long while… So, you went looking for her.

The air was cool and humid as you stepped outside. The sound of music spilled out from the Juke Joint, adding to the ambience of the night. You called for Mary, hoping to find your mother somewhere nearby.

But as you rounded the last row of parked cars, you saw her face down in the gravel, a pool of blood around her head and shoulders. You screamed, careless as you ran to her side. You fell to your knees and the sharp rocks bit into the skin there.

You sobbed, cradling her head to your breast as you tried to tuck the blood-matted hair away from her face. She was dead, you knew it deep in your soul.

But then her eyelids fluttered, and she stirred with a soft mumble. You held your breath, sobs still wracking through your body as you leaned in, trying to hear her faint breathing… and suddenly her jaws were around your throat and your cries were cut short.

You enjoyed sharing everything with your mother—there was a brand-new intimacy as you shared one heart, mind, and soul. You would never have been able to live happily as a family come dawn…but now you had an unimaginable opportunity. You could all be together, forever, without the heartache and suffering of society’s ire…

All you had to do was save your father… and how could he resist Mary, when she was invited back inside, looking so pretty? When she coaxed him into the backroom, promising one last night worth remembering?

It was pure bliss to be of one heart, knowing that your time together never had to end…

You escaped into the night amidst the chaos and bloodshed that soon overtook the Juke Joint.

Doomed to live forever in the shadows of the night without the promise of another sunrise…but even the darkest existence sounded like paradise so long as you could be a family.

[papoochu]

Next in the council series is "The Machine", Tomoe Tsurugi! Though for ArtFight, she'll go undercover as Tachibana Nagi!

Now that I have 3 council members up, I think I'll make a pinned masterpost on my blog if you want to see the others! 3 down, 9 more to go!

Background

Tachibana = noble samurai clan name symbolizing honor and legacy, deeply tied to Japan’s warrior history

Nagi = meaning “to mow down” or “to sweep away”; often used to describe the motion of a naginata, a sword, or wind in battle

Born 1967 in Tokyo to a strict traditional family, proud of their samurai lineage

Learned various martial arts and weaponry, but excelled in swordsmanship

Raised on stories of Onna-Musha, Tomoe Gozen, and the codes of bushidō

On her mother’s side, descended from survivors of the Nagasaki atomic bombing (1945)

Childhood During Japan’s Economic Miracle:

Raised amid Japan’s postwar boom, a time of gleaming technology and rising prosperity

While her father, a bureaucrat in the Ministry of International Trade and Industry, embraced modernization, her household remained steeped in samurai values: discipline, tradition, duty

Unbeknownst to them, Nagi had inherited genetic mutations from her hibakusha grandparents, survivors of Nagasaki’s blast

Frequently ill as a child (chronic fatigue, joint pain, unusual sensitivities), she was in and out of hospitals

Medical professionals were evasive, classmates cruel; whispers of “tainted blood” followed her

Early medical trauma and social alienation planted a seed of hatred for human fragility and societal hypocrisy

Early Signs of Blindness (Age 13):

Began experiencing night blindness, trouble reading, and disorientation in dim light

Eventually diagnosed with retinitis pigmentosa: a progressive, degenerative eye condition

Her doctors quietly suggested the condition may be linked to her family’s radiation exposure, a lingering curse of Nagasaki

For Nagi, the diagnosis became not just a personal tragedy, but proof that the past can reach forward and rot the present

University Years:

While studying engineering and mathematics at the University of Tokyo, her sight deteriorated rapidly

Already known for her genius and prowess, she was approached by the council, who provided her with the resources to adapt her skills for her failing sight

By 24, she was legally blind

This coincided with the peak of Japan’s Bubble Economy: wealth rising, but so was corruption and moral decay (Recruit Scandal)

Rejected from elite job programs despite top academic performance

Her fury crystallized: flesh is weakness, society is hypocritical, and machines do not discriminate

She vowed to build a future where the flawed human body and corrupt human systems would be rendered obsolete

Founding Tachibana Tech (Age 24–28):

As Japan entered the Lost Decade, Nagi founded Tachibana Tech: a cybernetics and AI firm based on one principle: refining the human form through technology

She personally underwent neural interface surgeries, experimenting on herself to convert her remaining senses into data streams

Her vision did not return, but she received augmented perception - a new kind of sight born of code and signal

No longer “blind,” she became The Machine - detached, calculating, and unbound by human limitations

1995 – Kobe Earthquake & Technological Control:

Great Hanshin Earthquake devastated Kobe, exposed fatal weaknesses in Japan’s infrastructure and disaster readiness

Nagi quietly offered her AI to the state for predictive modeling and emergency logistics, then used the data to expand her surveillance reach

The state was incompetent. The people were panicked. Only machines-maintained order

Solidified her belief: Japan doesn’t need democracy - it needs an operating system

Rise of Tachibana Industries:

With Japan’s population aging and its political system paralyzed, Nagi’s company became indispensable - providing predictive governance tools, infrastructure AI, and covert intelligence services

Privately, she orchestrated digital blackmail campaigns, economic disruptions, and political reshuffling to consolidate influence

2011 – Fukushima Nuclear Disaster:

The Fukushima meltdown reopened national trauma - once again, revealing humanity’s hubris and helplessness

To Nagi, it was the final confirmation:

Nagasaki made her blind

Kobe made her a player

Fukushima made her sovereign

Emotion, tradition, empathy - these were relics

Only through data, order, and engineered governance could civilization survive itself

Present Day (Age 49):

Leads a corporate-state hybrid that quietly shapes policy, surveillance, and commerce across East Asia and beyond

Believes that Japan must return to its warrior roots - but not through swords or blood, through discipline, hierarchy, and machine logic

Her mission: eradicate human fragility; a society where order is no longer maintained by the fallible human hand, but by precision systems

Design Notes/Character Study

Character Inspo for main outfit:

Garuda (Warframe), Shen (Kung Fu Panda)

Note: Garuda is based on Indian mythology, while Shen is based on Chinese - use other references for cultural nuance, as this character is Japanese

Modernized kimono

Red, black, white

Tech inspo:

Neon Genesis Evangelion, PCB, Signalis

Parallels to Gendo Ikari

Evangelion Unit-01

Cultural/historical references

Mu = nothingness

Oni

Onna-bugeisha and Tomoe Gozen

Nagasaki

Seismic patterns on shirts

Rising sun/chrysanthemum seal on obi = authoritarianism/conquest

Wields a naginata

Watched videos of national women's competitions @ 0.25 speed T-T

Has devoted her life to the council

Retinitis pigmentosa does not usually have any physical symptoms

Her eyes are pale red/pink from the tech implants

Glowing for artistic flair

Glasses are blackout glasses (opaque)

Company emblem is a sword

Believes her mother gave her weakness

President Snow: No objections to violence; but always with reason

[audhdnight]

Just thinking about the common experience of late diagnosed disabled people of “the normal amount of pain is none” and how we’re just supposed to know that despite *some* level of pain being OUR normal for our entire lives, even if it’s usually not super bad it’s just always there.

Thinking about how, when I told my mother this, she asked me “So what’s hurt?” Which is very different than “what hurts?”

I looked at her, confused. “Nothing is hurt. I just hurt.”

And she says “But where do you hurt?”

“Well, right now it’s my stomach and my ankles-“

She cuts me off. “So you twisted your ankle?”

“No,” I say. “My ankles just hurt. I’ve been walking today.”

Now it’s her turn to look confused. “Just walking doesn’t make your ankles hurt. You must have sprained them or something.”

But I shake my head. “Nope. This just happens on days when I walk more than a little bit. My ankles hurt first, then my knees by lunch time. And if I don’t take a nap and stay on my feet all day, my hips will be hurting too.”

“Oh.”

Joint pain is my normal. Sometimes, if I barely walk all day, the ache in my ankles is barely noticeable and doesn’t affect my functioning because I’m used to it. If I do what most able-bodied people would consider to be a “normal” amount of walking, almost all of my joints will hurt by supper. If I have to wash dishes or run any errands, I’ll hurt so bad I can’t walk for the rest of the day.

Then there’s the chronic migraine attacks. I used to have them multiple times a week as a child, and no matter how I explained myself, nobody ever understood that they weren’t just headaches. I experienced those too, and frequently, but they were not the same. Thankfully, at the age of eleven, I found an article explaining migraine triggers. I was able to identify a few of my own triggers, and the frequency of my migraine attacks reduced to maybe a couple a month. For a few years I was basically on cloud nine, I’d never experienced such a lack of pain before and it was so freeing. Unfortunately, migraine is a progressive condition, so the attacks have gotten more frequent over the years.

And then there’s the “random” pains. Some mornings I wake up and my stomach hurts. Or my chest. Or my back. These are just things I have to live with, because my body’s connective tissue is… well, for lack of a better word, faulty. And I never knew that other people didn’t experience this, because how could I? We never talked about it. Sometimes I’d hear people complain about back aches and just assume they were like mine. Of course, I knew that injuring yourself could cause muscle aches, obviously. But I just assumed that *most* of the time, other peoples bodies hurt like mine did. I didn’t realize that humans aren’t supposed to “just hurt” without a connected incident.

And when I try to explain this to able bodied people, their response is always the same. “Well, everyone’s back hurts sometimes.” “Everybody gets headaches sometimes.” “You’re not special just because you’re too lazy to walk. I still go to work when I don’t feel good.” And no matter how many times I try to say that No, you don’t get it, I *always* hurt, they still brush me off and dismiss me.

[artstennisracket]

art (weed virgin) getting high with patrick (experienced stoner) for the first time at a frat party, and accidentally getting hard… patrick has to corrall him away from flirting (“i’m just being nice!”) with his tennis team, into the bathroom to tell him to keep it in his pants. art gets all whiny and patrick has to take care of him 😊

there’s actually a scene like this is like this in ch 2 of camp evergreen (my artrick summer camp au on ao3) but just the weed virgin part and then Patrick shows him how to shot gun😏 but shameless plug asideeeee i actually really like where your going with this prompt anon ;)

not proofread hehe

cw: nsfw(18+), drug use, d/s undertones

Art had been high before sure. Other drugs though. He’s done ecstasy, coke, ketamine (by accident), and poppers (he was drunk and persuaded to try, story for another time). But he’s never smoked weed.

Weed was always Patrick’s thing. He would always try to goad Art into trying it but Art never had a desire to. But Patrick would always say “when you lose your weed virginity it better be with me” and left it at that.

Art never liked how it smelled and preferred cigarettes, but he quit when he got to Stanford, inhalation drugs were bad for his lungs.

But now they’re at this frat party and Art is already tipsy, it’s seemingly very easy for Patrick to convince him to try weed.

“c’mon just a little hit?” Patrick asks as he hold up the joint in front of Art’s lips.

They’re sitting next to each other on the couch of a frat house. There’s another guy from the tennis team on Art’s left and a few other tennis teammates scattered around the room. They’re all smoking courtesy of Patrick for bringing “the good stuff”. Art had been passing up his turn for a few rotations but he’s been getting progressively drunker and maybe a little second hand high.

So this time to everyone’s surprise but especially Patrick’s, Art shrugs and lets Patrick press the joint against his lips. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out. Woah. The feeling that washes over his body was kinda euphoric.

He feels super relaxed but also a little dizzy from the alcohol.

“good?” Patrick asks from his place in the couch.

Art nods, taking the joint out of Patrick’s hand so he can take another drag.

Patrick smirks, “take it easy there tiger.” He always knew Art would like it but he wasn’t sure why Art was so stubborn about it.

As time passed on and everyone gets progressively more inebriated, Patrick starts to notice that Art is acting a little…slutty? ditzy? Somewhere in between.

He basically sitting on the lap of the guy who was sitting on the other side of the sofa. The last few passes of the joint, multiple teammates offered to shot gun with Art instead.

“what’s that?” Art asks giggling. Patrick could count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard Art let out an actual girl-like giggle in their years of friendship. But now here Art is giggling every damn second like his teammates are the funniest people on the planet.

“c’mere I’ll show you,” The guy that Art’s practically sitting in the lap of, which Patrick has now learned that his name is Luke. He pulls Art fully into his lap now, turning Art so that Art’s straddling him.

Luke takes a drag from the joint holding the smoke in his mouth. Luke moves his hand to grab the back of Art’s neck so their noses are almost touching. Art lets his eyes slip close, almost like he expects Luke kiss him.

“so fucking eager,” one of the teammates call out from across the room. Patrick is going to have to agree, when the fuck did Art become so easy? This isn’t turning Patrick on at all…

Luke tips Art’s chin down, thumb dragging on Art’s bottom lip until he opens his mouth just a little bit. Luke gently blows the smoke into Art’s mouth and Art inhales it. Art blows out the remaining smoke and bites his lip before he says, “that was fun.”

And in seconds Art is being passed around from one teammate’s lap to the next, shot gunning with them all. Patrick thinks it’s really fucking unfair that he was the one that even convinced Art to try weed in the first place and he isn’t getting any attention from Art. Everyone else is benefiting. Patrick was feeling a little jealous but also growing very hard in his jeans.

“he’s just so fucking pretty right?” Luke asks Patrick, but Luke still has his eyes glued on Art.

Patrick smiles lazily. Art has always been pretty. Pretty like a girl. Soft smooth skin and all. When Art started shaving his whole body years ago Patrick made fun of him for it even though secretly he really liked it. “yeah try being his roommate for 6 years, he’s fucking oblivious.”

Luke scoffs, “you’re telling me you never fucked him? no fucking way.”

Patrick shrugs. He had given up on chasing Art years ago. It’s draining being so close to someone who doesn’t reciprocate any type of romantic feelings so he just repressed his feelings and moved on.

As Art is being passed from lap to lap, his teammates get progressively more touchy. Some of them even grinding up against Art. There’s some exchanges of words that Patrick can’t fully hear, but he’s sure that Art is flirting with every single person in that fucking room. The last teammate fully groping Art’s ass as they shotgun. He tries to have Art stay sitting on his lap even after the shotgunning is over. But Art finds Patrick’s eyes across the room. And Art is fucking smirking. Is he doing this to Patrick on purpose?

Patrick can see the look on Art’s face. His face is flushed, his eyes are glossy and red rimmed from all the smoking. He’s just over there looking all fuckable, teasing not only Patrick but being a cocktease to everyone in the room. Eventually Patrick gets fed up walking over to where Art is sitting on god knows whose lap.

Patrick grabs Art by his wrist pulling him out of the room. There’s some lingering chattering as the team watched them leave. Most notable being Luke saying, “I knew they fucked before.”

Art whines as Patrick pulls him into the bathroom and shoves him against the door. “what the fuck was that about?” Patrick asks.

Art shrugs smiling. His pupils are fully dilated, “what was what about?”

Patrick scoffs, “if I didn’t know any better i’d think you were trying to incite the first ever tennis team orgy at Stanford. or was that not the first time?”

Usually when Patrick gets mad at him Art gets really upset, and usually cries because he can’t physically handle Patrick being upset with him. But at this moment considering Art is high as a kite, it’s kind of turning him on.

Art is biting his lip as he looks up to meet Patrick’s eyes. He doesn’t even respond to Patrick just keeps looking at him.

Patrick noticed that Art is half hard and when he puts two and two together he realizes the state that Art’s in. Jesus fuck. “oh you’re not even listening to me are you baby? just need to be touched hm?” Patrick coos moving his hand to cup Art’s cheek.

Art nods nuzzling his face against Patrick’s touch.

And Patrick doesn’t need to be told twice. He gets to work kissing down the side of Art’s neck while he works to unbutton Art’s shorts.

“i should fucking mark you, leave hickeys on your neck so ur teammates know you belong to me,” Patrick whispers in Art’s ear. Art moans which turns into a gasp as Patrick starts jerking him off.

“this is what you needed right? wanted to be touched so bad you started acting like a slut right? bet you would’ve let them fuck you if I wasn’t here.”

“oh fuck- Patrick,” Art whines letting his forehead fall against Patrick’s shoulder. Art’s hips start stuttering so Patrick knows that Art’s close.

“or maybe you wanted to make me jealous. maybe you wanted me to fuck you right there in front of all them. bend you over the couch and show them who you belong to hm?” Patrick continues.

“please fuck please ‘m gonna cum Patrick,” Art groans as he releases all over Patrick’s fist, making a mess in his shorts.

Patrick smirks pulling his hand out of Art’s shorts, “i don’t remember saying you could cum.”

Blood rushes to Art’s cheeks as he blushes, “‘m sorry i-i didn’t mean to.”

“it’s okay i’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.”

So they go back to Art’s dorm. And if Art is limping a little the next time he has tennis practice, his teammates make sure to give him hell for it.

[kirain]

Do I dare ask for Rook and Manfred mourning Emmrich's death together?

Well, that hurts.

Manfred perched on the windowsill, his skeletal form listless as the cool breeze whistled through the house. Outside, beneath the sprawling oak tree, Vae sat alone on a bench—a marble loveseat that Emmrich had commissioned for her long ago. The crisp air tugged at the hem of her shawl, and her head hung low, the odd strand of grey framing her face like echoes of time passed. She'd always loved autumn; her favourite season, but she didn't seem to notice the beauty surrounding her.

She hadn't for months.

Manfred's gemstone eyes reeled as they caught the glint of silver in her hair. Emmrich. The name whirled in his mind, a storm of longing and warmth. He missed him—his patience, his steady presence, his irreverent charm—but he knew Vae missed him more. They shared a type of love he hadn't yet experienced. Yet, he understood it.

With a reverent chirp, he dropped to the ground, his joints clacking faintly as he hurried into the house—the place where the three of them had lived, loved, and built something whole. It had been decades since the Veilguard disbanded, yet the evidence of their happiness lingered in every corner.

Vae and Emmrich, huddled together at the first snowfall, dancing in the lounge after a victorious battle, sharing stolen kisses under the moonlight—and through it all their friends had come to visit as often as they could, supplementing their joy. He wanted to see her like that again. He wanted to see her smile. Truly smile. Not the strained rictus she wore now, pretending she was fine for his sake.

He knew it wasn't real. It was painful.

As he moved through the parlour, his gaze drifted to the corner of the rug, its edges forever singed from his days as an apprentice.

"Go on, Manfred," Emmrich's voice cheered, vibrant as ever. "You're progressing marvellously. Let's try a small flame this time."

From the kitchen, Vae's familiar admonishment rang out. "Not in the house, Emmrich!"

"It'll be fine!" he insisted, leaning forward with an encouraging grin. "Let's show her how capable you've become, yes?"

Manfred remembered the surge of pride as he hissed playfully and conjured a spark. But the spark had grown—too fast, too wild. Flames caught the bottom of his coat, leaping to the edge of the rug.

"Concentrate, Manfred. Pull it back," Emmrich said, his calm tone masking his rising concern.

Manfred flailed in panic, the fire refusing his control.

"Oh, dear..."

Emmrich darted for a bucket of water, shouting reassurances, just as Vae rushed in, rattled by the sound. Her eyes widened at the sight of flames and chaos, but when the fire was finally doused and the two looked up at her, soaked and sheepish, she only laughed.

"It's a good thing Manfred doesn't have skin!" she teased.

Manfred sighed, his bony chest fluttering as if he could breathe. The memory faded, but its emotion lingered, urging him forward.

Soon, he padded into Emmrich's study, the air heavy with the scent of parchment and pleasant traces of cologne. Of all the rooms in the house, this one was unmistakably his—an embodiment Vae hadn't seen fit to empty. As he moved deeper, Manfred's bony fingers skimmed the spines of books and tomes that Emmrich had once cherished, but never finished.

He ran out of time.

When Manfred reached the desk, still buried under endless papers on necromancy and the complexities of reanimation, he opened a drawer and pulled out a small handheld mirror, which Emmrich kept hidden inside.

"A gentleman must always look his best," he used to say. "If you can't disarm your enemy with weapons, do so with poise." He would then place a hand on Manfred's shoulder. "And to those who aren't your enemy, it shows that you care."

Slowly, the solemn skeleton reached for a feathered quill, dipped it into the ink well, and, staring at his reflection, drew two lines under his absent nose. When he was finished, he tilted his head, admiring his work.

Perfect.

He headed for the door, but as he reached for the handle, he caught sight of Emmrich's lilac coat—another memento Vae clung to, even though he'd stopped wearing it long before he passed, his body too frail to bear it. It hung loosely on its hook, pale and tattered, yet alluring. Almost beckoning. With a nostalgic hum, Manfred slipped it on, the fabric swallowing his wiry frame, but it was enough.

Enough to feel the presence of his father.

-----

Vae hadn't moved, her fingers idly tracing the veins of a fallen leaf in her lap. The sharp scent of autumn filled her lungs, mingling with the ache in her heart. A tear rolled down her cheek, unbidden, as she whispered to the wind, "I promised I wouldn't mourn you like this... but I miss you so much, my love. I now understand what you were so afraid of."

A faint rustle made her glance up. Manfred emerged from the house, stumbling slightly as the coat trailed behind him, dragging across the grass. Vae blinked, her sorrow briefly forgotten as she took in the sight. Emmrich's refined mannerisms mimicked with uncanny precision, the hastily drawn moustache, the determined tilt of his skull—it was adorable.

"Manfred," she said, half-laughing despite herself. "What in the world are you doing?"

Without a word, he raised his hands, the oversized sleeves flopping comically. With a flick of his wrist, green sparkles erupted into the air, swirling around them like fireflies.

Vae's breath hitched, a fond but distant memory rekindled.

The Lighthouse. Emmrich's confession. The way the glow of his magic illuminated his face as he fumbled over his words, his cheeks burning. "If your attentions go beyond charming flattery... that would interest me, indeed."

Where it all started.

The lights danced around her, the same as they had that day. Bliss and despair warred within her, tears welling in her eyes even as a smile broke through. Slowly, she stood, her hand reaching out to touch the shimmering glow. And for a moment, she could have sworn she felt Emmrich reaching back.

Then, the lights faded.

Manfred stepped closer, taking her hand in his own and pressing it to his chest. His voice, usually a hollow rasp, came smooth and tender. "Emmrich is here."

Vae's lip quivered, her fingers trembling against his ribs. "I know," she wept, her voice breaking.

She wrapped her arms around him, the weight of her grief lifting as they held each other under the setting sun.

[patchworkcuddlebug]

notes

DONT SUBMIT THIS. this is just where im gonna write down observations and hypothosises hypotheses about the artifact this isnt a formal report. keep this pages seperate from anything you submit to the class

i found it at a non-magical thrift shop. its a single ribbon that was in the toy section, but its too big for a stuffed animal, and it was on a shelf too high for kids to reach anyway. its a simple red colour and you can tell from the wear/bends in the fabric that its meant to be worn in a bow

its SO cursed. i could sense it as soon as i was through the door. something doesnt get that powerful accidentally, unless a witch older than the professors have been using it for over a century. i think it was intentionally enchanted and left for some human sucker

ill read up on class protocol and start experimenting tomorrow

day 1

i scheduled some time in a mannequin room. i double checked everything, the falsified humanity in the mannequin, lack of external contamination, everything seemed fine. after 3 hours of the bow on its wrist, and then its hair, i cant find any registerable enhancements or curses.

my current hypothesis is that there isnt any effect on the wearer. its a false positive enchantement, where all of its energy is going towards appearing powerful instead of actually doing anything

which is a relief cuz according to protocol i can wear it now ehehehe. i was really hoping its be benign because its a really cute ribbon? i was kinda distracted by the magic part but its really nice! it has a fun retro vibe, i love how the colour is just a little faded too. should i wear more ponytails?

day 2

started out by just wearing it on my wrist. i know it probably doesnt make too much of a difference as long as im wearing it at all, but i dunno if it really is cursed i at least dont want it to start by my brain

i dont think there were any effects? maybe its cuz i kept fiddling with it all day so it may have interrupted the connection? most cursed artifacts need a physical connection and if this is an accessory it could be designed for long-term contact. so i guess as long as i take it off every once in a while ill be fine? im still sticking with the false positive hypothesis, just being precautious

i guess i could just talk about my day in case there are symptoms in retrospect? i cant really think of anything negative though. i did a great job focusing in class and i feel like i was really productive. i made some good progress on my term paper and i took really solid notes

i guess i kinda zoned out between classes? it wasnt when i was talking with friends or anything just doing menial stuff like walking around. i wasnt daydreaming or anything it was just like my brain kinda shut off and my body moved on its own. i dont think thats a thing, im probably just on edge and noticing a habit for the first time. nothing to worry about

Day 3

alright. i wore it in my hair today. so far so good?

i experienced the following things that may be symptoms: minor stiffness in the muscles, a greater inclination to formality, and a strange feeling in the wrist (specifically the same one i wore the ribbon on yesterday). the feeling is hard to pin down, its a strange floaty stiffness underneath the skin. it isn't unpleasant, but the asymmetry isnt welcome.

i feel like this is definitely an effect of my wearing it closer to my head, like i suspected the other day. i dont think its enough to warrent taking it off yet. its a very nice ribbon.

Day 4.

I am turning into a doll.

I shouldn't have kept wearing it. I should've taken yesterday as a warning. Now I feel that emptiness spreading and it's spreading way too fast. There's also the... physical transformation.

My left wrist is starting to... it's hard to explain. I can feel the changes happening. There's still skin over my wrist joint but it feels like it's not natural. It's still literally human skin, but it feels as if there's a glove that's growing thinner by the hour. I think before the day is over it'll waste away completely as it slowly corrupts the rest of my hand.

The mental transformation is much more worrying. In the grand scheme of things my behaviour is mostly unchanged. I'm just more... aware of it now. Typically, I naturally slouch, and I've been made more self-aware of this habit to the extent that I need to manually initiate it rather than falling into it unconsciously. It's the same with whenever I notice my attention drifting during lectures, or notice that I'm walking too loosely, or speaking too casually. It may just be that heightened awareness is an aspect of dollhood, or... it's more noticable because it's out of place for a doll to act in such a way. Regardless, I do not feel forced to defy this inclinations yet.

I don't want to write the same way I did before. Looking at how I did before feels... wrong. Inappropriate. i can try and force something more casual but i have to force it, it feels like trying to speak a second language youve only. Excuse me. That you've only just started learning. I want to go back and fix that but I feel like it would undermine my point. It just doesn't feel right, there's something viscerally discomforting about doing that.

I'm very hesitant to reach out about this. Beyond a fear of social repercussion inherent to admitting that a witch is becoming a doll, I'm worried that there will be a serious academic punishment attached to being this callous with a cursed artifact. I'll need to find a student I can trust to reverse this.

Day Five.

Things are getting dire. This I can feel the changes getting harder to resist.

Physically, the transformation has already converted my entire left arm. My wrist, elbow, and most of its my left hand have been changed into a hollow plastic, only movable with exposed joints. This one exp I expected it to feel more harrowing, for the creeping conversion to feel more tangibly uncomfortable, but so far it is... pleasant. Being emptied out always seemed so unwelcome when the older witches described it, but it feels nice to not have the constant pulsing of blood or the strain of muscles. This one likes the noise it makes when it taps agains

I. Me. I do. Me me human person witch.

This is what I mean. It feels like I have to be vigilant to talk like a person, and a single moment's broken concentration is all it takes to give in and become complacent to dollhood.

I need to intentionally break my posture to slouch. This one c I cannot stop my footsteps from being dainty and gentle. During lectures when the professor asks for input from the class, it takes deliberate effort to avoid participation, because good dolls always do as they are told.

I didn't write that. I swear to the stars I didn't write that. It was thinking about what to write next and that thought just... naturally injected itself. Perhaps this one needs to. Perhaps I need to resort to desperate measures and remove the bow. But I... really don't want to. It makes this one look so pretty, like a good doll.

No, no, I'm not a good doll, I don't WANT to be a good doll. I feel like I'm going insane. My humanity is draining by the second and soon there's be nothing left but empty pliability and polite docility. That is a bad thing. I am not excited for that. This one needs to put more effort into finding a witch to break this curse. It wishes it could skip its lectures, but good dolls do as they're t

I. Am. Going to bed.

Day Six.

This one's friends have finally noticed. This one accidentally called one of them "miss" when answering a question, and then the entire secret quickly unravelled. This one needed to use a sweater to hide the transformation reaching its shoulders, and there's a distinctly inhuman texture to this one's face, so it was easy for them to unravel once I gave them reason to be suspicious.

They offered to be the ones to conduct the search for the cure, on the only condition that this one take care of some menial chores to help free time in their schedules. This one feels... a little conflicted. On one hand, it is excited to be closer to its humanity! It cannot wait to feel blood spill through its body, and escape that terrifying feeling of having its brain shut off so it feels nothing but a fluttering emptiness.

This one. Just said "Awawa". Out loud.

It does not want this to progress further. Yes, it feels... very nice to be a doll. But that enjoyment has to be the work of the curse. This one needs to return to its study, it cannot afford to fall behind in the academic arms race. Being a human means having expectations to fulfill, something dolls are too simple and too docile to understand.

This one. Did it. Again.

This is a vacation. Nothing more. It will indulge in its urges to be obedient when doing chores for its friends and then return to developing its magic talent to the greatest degree the curse will allow.

Day Five Hundred and Twelve.

This one was rather surprised to find its notes from before it became. They were tucked away in its closet, with other sentimental items such as certain childhood keepsakes and its government identification. This one figured it would be fun to return to journaling as a hobby.

As can likely be surmised, this one remains a doll. The search for a cure was fruitless and fizzled out naturally due to a lack of investment, both from this one and from Miss. Speaking of, Miss is one of its friends from university, although the word "friend" feels like a shallow means of explaining a doll's relationship with its witch. Its other friends still keep contact and meet up for tea, which this one greatly enjoys catering for.

It feels very silly looking back at this one's humanity, especially given the apprehension it felt towards becoming. In retrospect, the situation being forced upon this one was likely the only way it would have become without years of soul-searching introspection, so it is very thankful to have happened upon such a gift so long ago. Perhaps part of its enchantment was to find the right host?

Part of this one misses that ribbon. It was such a nice colour... but this one feels confident in the decision to return it to the same thrift store it was once found in. It feels excited for the next lucky doll to feel the same joys that this one did. The exhilaration of feeling your body become lighter and more rigid, the stillness slowly overtaking your mind with greater and greater intensity, and of course the pleasure of following one's purpose. Awawawa...

It is late, and good dolls need rest. This one is excited to spend tomorrow night writing about all the joys of serving Miss.

[animeomegas]

The Quest for a Second Life - Part 3 - Potions and Magic and Sex, Oh My! (2)

ITACH X ALPHA!READER

Summary: Having immensely enjoyed your first day with Itachi in his pocket dimension, you were excited for the hunt for potions ingredients to begin. You didn't expect to come across a green monstrosity in the woods, nor a flock of unusually persistent old people, but all the shenanigans were worth it because you finally, finally managed to get your mouth on those beautiful nipples! GN!Dom!Alpha!Reader x Multiple!Naruto Characters

Word count: 11.7k

Warnings: N-sfw content. Vague references to a murder. At one point, MC believes that there is some non-con going on, but is mistaken. All alphas have penises, fyi.

A/N: Hmm, I think it's still too early for Happy Holidays wishes, although December is almost upon us. To those who didn't see the announcement, I'm cutting the third book from this series to elongate the first two. So, this is now the second of three Itachi parts. He is really holding out for the majority of the porn being in part 3, but Itachi is a classy guy like that. The mysterious book 2 love interest doesn't feel the same way lol. I hope you all enjoy it, and as always, this is for @omeganronpa 💞💞

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Epilogue

The next morning had seen the search for the ingredients for the Amnesia Reversal Potion begin. You had felt a little bit bad that Itachi was putting in so much effort to make a functionally useless potion, but you figured the story had to go on someway, and you couldn’t deny that it had been immensely fun to do a magical scavenger hunt.

Itachi had dedicated a wooden tray to keep all the ingredients together, which now sat in the corner of the living room. It was almost full after the two weeks of buying, finding, and gathering you’d gone through, covered with pots and bottles and bags stacked on top of each other.

Itachi had said that the potion was extraordinarily simple to make but had an eye-wateringly long ingredient list. You could tell that he was a little baffled by the whole thing, but it all made sense to you; him having to hide away in his study for a month to brew something delicate was decidedly not sexy, but your joint excursions had proven themselves rip for horny scenarios.

During the last two weeks, your relationship with Itachi had also progressed significantly. You hadn’t gone all the way yet, although the steadily increasing tension was certain to burst soon, and you hadn’t added a formal relationship label to anything, but the way that stolen kisses and sleeping in bed together had become the norm said a lot.  Neither of you acknowledged that Itachi now seemed incapable of sleeping unless he was directly on top of you either. When you had taken a midnight walk on one of the nights, unable to sleep, to stare out of the kitchen window, Itachi had found you in only three minutes and sat with you until he could entice you back into bed with him. With his loose, messy hair and revealing pyjamas that seemed determined to slip off his shoulders, it hadn’t taken very long.

What? You were a simple alpha, and a warm, sleepy omega’s charms were simply too strong to resist.

Itachi was so much more domestic than you could have imagined, now that you’d broken down his walls. He was softer, less stoic, desperate for praise and companionship. He still refused to let you cook, cooking for you every night, constantly trying to perfect new recipes despite the limited number of supplies available to him in the dead of Winter. Some dinners were just as good as the stew from day one, and some weren’t. Itachi was experimenting, you understood that. He wasn’t as experienced a cook as you had originally believed, but you still heavily praised every attempt just to watch him purr.

You shook yourself out of the memories of Itachi’s cooking and instead crouched down in front of the ingredient tray, mentally checking each ingredient against the recipe pinned to the wall above it. Most of the ingredients on the left side you had grabbed on the second and third days, as they’d come directly from Itachi’s own stores.

You smiled, tracing the tops of the bottles and remembering that he had literally fallen into your lap or arms no less than three times while retrieving them.

“I don’t know why I stored the apple seeds so far towards the back of the top shelf,” Itachi said, huffing as he tried to stretch his arm as far as it would go. You only sighed, amused, and knowing full well that the porn logic had made it so. You were holding the base of Itachi’s ladder steady, but you knew that what was about to happen wouldn’t be stopped no matter what precautions you took.

“I’ve almost got it… Almost… Ah ha! Eep!”

Itachi’s foot slipped out from under him, toppling him off the top of the ladder and into your already waiting arms. You were glad to see that the jar filled with apple seeds was clutched tightly in his hand.

“Hey beautiful,” you cooed, adjusting the princess carry a little. “I think I’m going to have to get rid of this ladder, because I can’t have you falling for anyone else.”

Itachi scoffed, cheeks blooming pink. You grinned down at him, and his fake annoyance melted into pure affection. You probably looked like a pair of lovesick fools.

‘Ah, you did an excellent job of delivering that line, human, all that practice in the bathroom mirror certainly helped!’

‘James, you’re ruining the moment.’

‘My sincerest apologies human. Perhaps to salvage the moment, you could use another falling themed pick-up line in order to encourage your omega towards behaviours associated with playful sexual aggression?’

‘James—’

‘Xethrofeth recommended this one, “I enjoy safe sex, shall I tie you to the bed so that you don’t fall off?”’

‘James!’

You smiled, remembering the moment. The best moment though, was when one of the ingredients required Itachi to crawl into the tiny loft space in the ceiling. He had emerged covered in dust and sneezing like a kitten, and then, after his shower, he had approached you with a towel and brush to help him dry his hair.

You dragged the boar bristle brush slowly through Itachi’s hair as he sat on the bed in between your legs. His silky black hair was thicker than it looked, and watching the brush glide through it was enchanting.

Itachi shivered as the bristles tickled his back. His head twitched like he was trying to resist the impulse to bare his neck to you.

Bathed in candlelight, warm while a storm raged on outside, just existing in a comfortable silence… you felt content.

“You’re so beautiful.” The words escaped you without your permission, but as Itachi turned to face you, his newly dried hair fanning out around him, you didn’t think he minded.

“So are you,” he muttered, leaning forward to connect your lips with his.

That kiss had become so heated that it had taken everything in you to resist going all the way. Itachi seemed a little put out that you stopped things from progressing, but you wanted to go slowly. The slow build up of tension was delicious.  An orgasm was always more rewarding if you’d been denied first, and you were determined to apply that logic to the entire relationship. And so, you had gone to bed as normal.

Well, it had been mostly normal. Itachi had spent most of the night grinding on your hip in his sleep. You had almost given in and woken him up, but you had managed to resist.

You turned your attention to the middle of the tray now, counting each little bag or newer bottle that had been bought from the market in the nearest town. Now, that excursion had been fun. It had been a pretty long walk, but with warming charms on your clothes and Itachi’s delightful company, the walk had flown by.

The town had been incredible and just remembering it made you want to go back as soon as possible. It had felt like walking around the best historical reenactment in existence, except real, and also smelling better than you imagined the actual past would. It made sense though; if food intolerances were too inconvenient for erotica, piss and body odour certainly were.

Although, you admitted, that would probably depend on the kind of erotica.

Regardless, the town setting introduced just as much porn (and cliché romcom) logic as Itachi’s cottage. You weren’t exaggerating when you said that every single old person had something to say about you and Itachi being the cutest couple. Itachi had insisted on walking with your arms linked ‘in case you got lost’, so you couldn’t really have faulted the old people for assuming you were a couple. What you had been taken aback by though was just how bold they had been. You had met horny older people before, but that had been on another level.

“Oh, look at you two,” the old lady running the exotic goods stand said. “I can tell that pups will be along for you two soon enough. I have an eye for these sorts of things, you see.”

You and Itachi stuttered, verbally falling over each other as you tried to deny any such thing. This didn’t deter the old lady for one moment.

“Although, here’s a tip from me: some people insist on the missionary position for conception, but doggy has a far better success rate in my experience. Ernest’s shop on Main Street sells plugs if you’ll be needing one to—”

“Um, can we just have 50 grams of crushed snake fangs please!”

…

“Oh, Itachi dear, you’ve brought an alpha with you!” said the old man running the bakery cheerfully. “Although” -he squinted at you both- “no mating mark yet.”

While you picked out some bread, he pulled Itachi aside to whisper in such a way that meant you could hear everything. You couldn’t tell if that was intentional or not.

“Some advice from back in the day,” the old man ‘whispered’. “This pressure point here on your palm will supress your gag reflex.”

Ironically, you almost choked as soon as you registered those words.

…

“Oh, an alpha! I’m so glad, Itachi, I was scared you were all alone out there,” the old person at the grocers said, quickly untying their apron to give Itachi a hug. They then turned their gaze to you. “You treat him right, or I’ll have something to say about it, you hear?”

You had a feeling that no amount of explaining that you weren’t technically together would help, so you just nodded, “Of course.”

The person smiled, mollified by your words, “You know what they say about omegas, dearie, make their legs shake, not their hearts break. Words to live by, in my opinion. And if you can, invest in one of those fancy magic vibrators. They’re a little pricy, but more than worth it in my book, especially if you have a talented witch like Itachi on hand who can charge them for free. Why, I said to my wife just last night, I said—”

“We should probably get going,” you said, dumping the vegetables you needed on the counter. “It’s a long walk back, y’know?”

Itachi had been horrifically embarrassed all day, but paradoxically he also seemed to bask in the positive attention. In fact, he had been wearing a pleased little smile under his rosy cheeks for most of the day as acquaintances congratulated him on entering a relationship.

What had pleased Itachi less though, was the very flirty omega who worked in the tavern, where you had stopped for a bite of lunch.

“Let me know if you need help with anything,” the waiter said, letting his hand linger on yours as he took your menu. “Anything at all…”

Itachi immediately bristled at the obvious flirtation. The fact that Itachi was obviously bothered was satisfying. You knew full well that if you stayed in this universe, you wouldn’t be straying from Itachi, but it was still ego boosting to have such a pretty omega ready to defend his claim on you, needed or not.

“That’s alright,” Itachi said, voice and face tight. “We’d rather be left alone to enjoy our date.”

Oh, so that was how he was going to play it. You didn’t correct him on it being a date, more than willing to let the situation boil a little for your own ego and amusement. You wanted to see what would happen if you didn’t intervene.

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the waiter said with an obvious fake surprise. “Let me bring you some waters then.”

Itachi settled a little once he was gone, but he made a point of conjoining your hands on top of the table so that everyone could see. You gave him a squeeze but decided to save the teasing about your ‘date’ until you had returned home.

When the man returned, two glasses in hand, his beige shirt had been thoroughly drenched in water and was now completely see through. His nipples, which you could now tell were both pierced, were clearly visible.

He laughed as he approached the table, “Sorry, there was a bit of an accident in the kitchen. Here are your waters.” He put both the glasses down and then carefully and deliberately placed down a little scrap of paper down in front of you. A quick glance confirmed that it was an address, likely his.

Itachi stood, growling. He grabbed the piece of paper and tore it in half and threw the pieces to the ground. The waiter only watched, amused.

‘Fight! Fight! Fight!’ you were chanting in your head thoroughly amused.

James did not speak and yet her presence in your mind felt judgemental.

Regardless of her feelings, your plan to watch things play out changed anyway when Itachi’s eyes bled to red and his intentions seemed to switch from instigating a cat fight, to committing a murder.

“Hey, Itachi,” you said, trying to sound light and unconcerned even as you were silently ‘what the fuck’ing in your head. “Why don’t we take our food to go and have a nice picnic on the bench outside? You look so beautiful with snow in your hair, and with these amazing cloaks that you designed for us, we should be nice and warm.”

Even you could tell that you were laying it on a bit thick, but it seemed to work, as Itachi dropped the outward aggression for something more akin to proud posturing. He sent a satisfied smirk at the other omega, who only rolled his eyes.

“I’ll bring you your food to go then… Insecure omegas always demand such things.”

Itachi bared his teeth, eyes bleeding red again. You decided to step in.

“We didn’t ask for your opinion,” you said, putting a hand on Itachi’s shoulder to hold him back. “Please just bring us the food we paid for.”

Knowing a losing battle when he saw one, the waiter huffed and returned to the kitchen.

‘Interesting,’ James said in your head, thankfully without the earlier judgement.

‘What’s interesting?’

‘This situation didn’t escalate like this in the other three trials for Itachi that I’ve witnessed.’

‘What, really? How come?’

‘I am not sure. Perhaps Itachi just finds himself more attached to you than the others. None of those three picked him, of course, so perhaps they were also less attached to him than you appear to be.’

That had made you happier than you wanted to admit, and you had ended up returning to the cottage with a skip in your step and Itachi’s arm linked around yours.

To summarise the last two weeks though, things had been very romantic, and filled with so much genuine connection and sexual tension, that you felt like you were about to burst. You had seen so much of this pretty omega: his passion for magic, his love for his brother, his beautiful nipples, you mean, his beautiful home.

You were enjoying the slow burn and teasing so much that you almost wanted to drag it out further. You probably would if you weren’t so worried that the demo would suddenly end before you’d had a chance to go all the way with Itachi. James still wasn’t giving you a straight answer about how much longer you had in this world.

‘Enough time,’ she would say.

‘Time flows differently in these worlds,’ she would explain.

‘Are you really so eager to leave?’. That last one stopped you from asking altogether lest she start thinking you wanted to be pulled out early.

The point was though that today was the day that you had decided to properly confess and try and seduce Itachi. Your skin tingled with anticipation and saliva started to pool in your mouth as your thoughts ran wild. Yes, you had both waited long enough and you were quite literally hornier than you’d ever been.

But today was also the day that you were going scavenging in the woods for the final three ingredients. You had to do that first, but as soon as you returned, you would use your alpha charms on Itachi. Nothing would get in your way.

Behind you, Itachi stepped into the living room from the kitchen, a little basket of supplies packed and ready for your journey.

“Moss found on a blackwood tree, five leaves from a thizzberry bush, and two seeds from an Amplexus plant?” you read off the remaining ingredients that weren’t yet on the tray. “Are those going to be difficult to get?”

Itachi hummed, slipping on his cloak and holding out yours, “The last one might be a little complicated, but there’s nothing dangerous, I promise.”

You stood, gratefully taking the warmed cloak and wrapping it around you. Ready to go, you took one more glance at the ingredient list before joining Itachi by the front door. He was frowning down at the basket of supplies, lips pursed.

“Are you okay?” you asked, poking him on the nose to pull him out of wherever he had gone.

Itachi blinked, before sending you a smile, “Yes, sorry, I feel like I’ve forgotten something important, but I can’t remember what.”

“Have you got the stuff to collect what we need?” Itachi nodded. “Have you got snacks and water?” He nodded again. “Have you got emergency first aid supplies?” Another nod. “Then it can’t be that important, right? That’s all the main stuff.”

Itachi took a deep breath, still looking a little conflicted, “You’re probably right, let’s go, the days are getting shorter, and I don’t want you out after dark.”

You pulled open the door and held it for Itachi to exit first. You were rewarded with a smile that made you want to kiss him senseless, but he wasn’t joking when he said the days were short, so you supressed that instinct for the moment. Later, you reminded yourself, you’d get the pretty omega into bed later.

The snow crunched under your feet as you stepped outside, and your breath suddenly became visible. You took a moment to take in the view of the snowy trees surrounding the little clearing you were standing in. Despite the temperature, the charmed cloak was keeping the worst of the chill away.

You pulled the front door shut and startled some nearby birds, which then took flight, scattering clumps of snow onto the ground.

You appreciated the beauty of your surroundings; you didn’t think you would ever get bored of living here.

“Which direction first?”

“Towards the mountains,” Itachi said, looping the basket through one arm and grabbing your hand with the other. You gave your conjoined hands a little squeeze of acknowledgement and then allowed Itachi to lead you. Walking in the snowy woods had given you some trouble at first, but after half a month, you’d literally found your footing and were able to keep up.

“Itachi?” you asked, as you walked in the direction that Itachi had pointed out.

“Hm?”

“Can you tell me something about your childhood? A story, maybe? Something nice. I want to learn more about you.”

“Oh, if you’d like me to, then I don’t mind. How about… yes, this one is good: my best friend was called Shisui, and he used to play pranks all the time,” Itachi said slowly, the ghost of a smile on his face. “Sasuke was his favourite target, I think, because he always reacted violently, but mother and I often intervened to protect him, so Shisui targeted me most of all. It was easier, I suppose.

“There was a girl in our village that liked me. I was too oblivious and busy to notice at the time, but everyone else knew. My mother thought it was sweet, even though my father would never have allowed me to court a beta. Shisui however, thought it would make for an excellent prank.

“He doodled mine and the girl’s names all over a piece of paper, joining our surnames and putting hearts everywhere, even writing lists of possible pup names. He then slipped it into the pocket of some trousers in my wash bin, as if I had been the one to write it.

“The next day, when my mother did my laundry, she found the paper and of course, believed it to be mine. There was no amount of begging and pleading that would convince her that it wasn’t, and believe me, I tried.”

Itachi chuckled, and you let out an amused breath, imagining how embarrassed a teenage Itachi must have been.

“When did you figure out it was Shisui?”

“It only took me about five minutes to figure out that it must have been him playing a prank, but my mother wouldn’t hear it, and she was insufferable about my ‘crush’ for several months.”

You snorted, “That’s a good story. Your mother sounds funny.”

“I can’t wait for you to meet her,” Itachi said, sending you a bright grin. “I think she’ll like you a lot.”

You laughed, “Let’s think about getting my memories back first, then we can handle the family meet and greets, okay?”

You watched as the amusement drained from Itachi’s face. You tried to keep the conversation going, but Itachi no longer seemed to be in the mood. You continued to search for the ingredients mostly in silence, with occasional descriptions of what exactly you were looking for.

You wondered what was wrong, but there never seemed to be a good time to bring it up.

It ended up taking less than an hour to find both the moss and the leaves, even hidden amongst the snow, but according to Itachi, Amplexus plants only grew at the base of the mountains, so it had taken another hour to even get close to where he thought one might be.

You had entertained yourself by swinging your hands back and forth and asking Itachi questions about the world once his mood seemed to lighten again. You loved James, but Itachi’s explanations were significantly more helpful. You’d learnt the names of all the nearby settlements, a rough run down of what they were like, and roughly how far away they were. You were making extra careful notes of which on you’d claim to be from when the time came for your ‘memories’ to return.

You were in the middle of asking Itachi about what kind of pets existed in this world when Itachi suddenly stopped, eyes squinted towards your left. You stopped too, falling silent immediately.

“There!” Itachi said, voice hushed but still excited. “I think I can see one. Follow, but stay behind me.”

Here, in an unfamiliar and vaguely unnerving snowy forest filled with unknown entities was not the time for you to start exercising your alpha bravado, so you obediently followed three paces behind Itachi, remaining alert all the while.

You were out of your element, so caution was the best approach. You imagined that broken bones were also not sexy enough for an erotica, but you could only rely on the world so much; there had to be a level of stupidity that would overcome the narrative safety nets, and you didn’t want to find out what level that was.  

The Amplexus plant came into view as you rounded past a tight cluster of trees. It was not something you would have seen in your world that was for sure, although it did remind you a little of a giant Venus fly trap, with slowly swaying, green appendages, each capped with larger, circular parts on the ends. Much to your horror, it was about the size of a bear.

At its centre of the plant were the seeds you had to collect. They looked a lot like pumpkin seeds but were each the size of an orange and suspended in some sort of purple, translucent organic pouch. You and Itachi somehow had to get your hands on two of them.

“This one is backed up against a tree which isn’t ideal,” Itachi said, studying the Amplexus from a distance of about three metres. “I’ll have to approach it from the front.”

“Is it dangerous approaching from the front?” you asked, anxiously pulling the cloak around yourself.

Itachi shook his head, “Not dangerous, just not ideal.”

‘James?’ you asked, struck by an awful sense of dread. ‘Is the Amplexus plant sentient?’

‘I cannot answer that question without four botanists, a linguist, and at least half a politician present, human, my apologies.’

Great. That meant yes. Nothing non-sentient had that much debate around it. You were just going to let Itachi handle this and hope nothing went wrong.

Speaking of Itachi, he was currently pulling a wrapped parcel out of the supply basket.

“Hold this please,” he said, passing it over to you. You took it easily, tucking it in the crook of your arm. “Please stand back and don’t approach the Amplexus, no matter what happens.”

You swallowed nervously, “Okay, I’ll stay here.”

Itachi opened the parcel revealing a chunk of raw red meat. Delicately, he took it out and passed you the empty wrappings. You watched, entranced as he laid the meat flat on his palm before muttering a spell under his breath. The red meat lifted gently off his skin, like it was being carried by an invisible force, and floated over to the Amplexus plant. Itachi followed behind it, but as the red meat floated towards the right side of the plant, Itachi tread carefully towards the left.

Your heart felt like it was beating a bruise onto the inside of your throat. You had no idea what was about to happen. Everything was agonisingly slow, until suddenly it wasn’t.

All at once, Itachi used his magic to fling the raw meat to the right of the Amplexus plant, while he darted towards its left side. The tendrils that had been swaying rhythmically suddenly jumped to life, snapping towards the red meat. Your comparison to a Venus fly trap was strengthened when the thicker end part of the largest tendril yawned open, before snapping down on the meat with a loud, and wet sounding slap.

Taking advantage of the distraction, Itachi was now right beside the plant. He reached quickly in and grabbed two of the seeds, one in each hand, before kicking off the ground to propel himself backwards to make a hasty escape.

Seemingly finished with its tasty morsel, the Amplexus plant returned to its original position, where it suddenly gained awareness of Itachi. He was already two paces away, the Amplexus seeds clutched in his hands, but that didn’t stop the plant from trying to grab hold of him.

You watched, frozen in place, as the tendrils lurched towards the witch. It was going to be close. You gripped your own cloak in your fists, tense, but unable to help. Itachi was fast, faster than you would have guessed.

But ultimately, he wasn’t fast enough.

Two tendrils managed to wrap around his upper arms, immediately tugging Itachi backwards towards the main body of the plant. You heard Itachi’s gasp of surprise, and the thump of the Amplexus seeds hitting the ground as he let them go. More and more tendrils shot forward now that Itachi was caught and aided in tugging him back, wrapping around his legs and torso.

Itachi struggled for a moment, trying to pull his way out and rip the tendrils off him, but once he was pressed against the body of the plant, being held in place by at least sixteen plant tendrils, Itachi seemed to accept his fate and all the fight bled out of him.

It was at that exact moment that you realised what erotica trope this was.

‘Oh my god, James, what the fuck?’

‘That was phrased as though it was a question, but it is not one I know how to answer, human.’

“Ah!” Itachi gasped, as the plant tendrils covered all his visible body from the tops of his shoulders to his ankles. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I, ah, I thought I could grab the seeds fast enough, but, ah, it caught me.”

Itachi seemed to be treating this as a minor inconvenience, but for the first time since arriving, you felt completely unbalanced by the porn logic here.

How could Itachi be okay being… touched… by that plant against his will? You were aware that this was a fairly common and not unpopular trope, hell, you’d even partaken a few times in your lowest moments, but to make it real? It didn’t seem right. You clenched your fists into your cloak as you reached a decision. No, you wouldn’t stand for it. You were going to defeat this hentai monstrosity and defend Itachi. No plant would touch him without consent if you had anything to say about it!

You dropped the basket and wrapper to the ground and grabbed the first thing you saw that could feasibly be a weapon: a hefty, gnarled stick.

“How do I kill it?” you said, whirling around with the stick and holding it up menacingly towards the Amplexus plant.

“Kill it?” Itachi said, sounding more alarmed by that than whatever it was currently doing to him. Only his face was visible now, as most of the tentacles writhed around his body, barring the largest one which seemed happy resting on top of Itachi’s head. “These plants are already so rare; you can’t kill it! I’ll be fine. I’ll just give it what it wants, and it will let me go.”

You deflated at his words. You felt awful just standing by, imagining all the things the plant might do to him. Itachi let out a little squeak and you had a sneaking suspicion that his rapidly reddening face wasn’t from the cold.

“Itachi, are you sure there isn’t anything I can do to help?” you asked desperately. “Anything at all?”

Itachi only blinked at you, brows furrowed, as though he were confused by the anxiety in your words. “Oh!” he said suddenly, face melting into a reassuring smile. “I’m sorry, I completely forgot that you have no memory of the local flora.”

Itachi paused for a moment as the tendril resting on his head decided to tug out his hairband, releasing the inky waves around his face. He sent the plant a glare and shook the hair out of his face as best as he could.

“Amplexus plants don’t hurt people,” he continued. “They just really, really enjoy hugging humans.”

You blinked at him, trying to comprehend what he was telling you.

“It’s giving you a hug?” you asked, blankly.

“Yes, and it will release me in a moment, I promise.” Itachi squirmed again as the tentacles around his chest tightened and the largest one gave his head a rub.

Now that you weren’t as panicked, you realised that the way the tendril on his head was touching him was more affectionate than anything. It was bumping up to him, nuzzling, and giving him pats, almost like an over eager dog, except in the form of a writhing mass of hentai plant tenacles.

“Oh,” you said, relieved, dropping the branch. “I thought it was, um, touching you.”

Itachi’s blush darkened but he shook his head, “It’s just a hug.”

You huffed, “You scared me! With the way you were trying so desperately not to get caught, I thought it was something bad.”

“I won’t lie… it is a bit inconvenient, and I had hoped not to get caught, but I suppose it’s too late for that now.”

“Will it be holding you for long?”

“No, no more than around a minute longer, I should imagine.”

You let out a relieved sigh, feeling much better about the whole thing, “That’s not too bad.”

“Well, the problem is less the time and more of the effect of the hug,” Itachi explained sheepishly, avoiding eye contact. “You see, Amplexus plants secrete a substance that doesn’t interact well with most fibres used for making clothes.”

“It’s damaging your clothes?”

“In a way, yes.” You got the distinct impression that if he were not currently pinned by a giant writhing mass of plant tentacles, Itachi would be fidgeting a lot more than he was. Certainly, his face was only getting redder as the conversation progressed.

You didn’t have to ponder his answer for long, because at that moment, the tendrils suddenly withdrew, (the main one giving him a couple more head pats for good measure), leaving Itachi sitting on the floor at the base of the plant.

An unharmed, but incredibly, and shockingly naked Itachi was revealed to you, his bare butt nestled in the snow.

Of course the plant had dissolved his clothes, you thought, a little hysterically. You didn’t know why you had expected anything different in this whacky dimension.

Itachi bashfully tried to stand, already shivering, while keeping one hand firmly covering his crotch and the other arm braced across his (still beautiful) nipples. You had a wonderful view of his blush creeping down his chest. His nipples must have been incredibly hard from the cold—No, not the time.

But as much as you enjoyed the view, you weren’t going to let your omega freeze because a random plant had got too enthusiastic. You took off your cloak, now the only one you had between you, and went over to Itachi (avoiding getting too close to the plant, of course), bundling him up in the warm fabric and helping him get to his feet.

“There you are darling,” you said softly, clasping the cloak around his neck. Itachi used his hands to keep the fabric pulled tightly to his body. Now that you didn’t have your cloak, you were grateful that Itachi had insisted on charming all your clothes for warmth like the mother hen he denied being.

‘There. You can’t say I’m not a respectful alpha, James.’

‘Why am I forbidden from making such a claim?’

‘Because I just gave my cloak to a naked omega in need!’

‘Human alpha, you’re staring at his hardened nipples through the cloak right now.’

You jumped when you realised she was right, and hastily averted your eyes with an awkward cough.

‘No comment.’

Itachi shivered and you dropped the connection with James to rub his arms with your hands to warm him up. At least he still had his shoes, otherwise you’d have been carrying a very naked Itachi home. On second thought, that didn’t sound too bad.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, standing in the middle of a fantasy forest, warming up a naked witch, while a suspiciously hentai adjacent plant swayed in the background, that you were hit with the absurdity of the situation.

The first couple of giggles forced their way through your firmly pressed lips. Itachi shot you a glare and elbowed you lightly with a huff.

“It’s not funny,” he said, still glaring at you. That was enough for you to lose your composure completely. Hysterical laughter burst forward with such strength that you bent over and braced yourself with hands on your knees.

“Oh my god,” you said between gasping laughs. “It melted your clothes because it wanted to hug you too much, what in the fucking hentai.”

“You’re laughing at me.” Itachi pouted, but soon, even he couldn’t deny the humour of the situation and a couple of chuckles bled through, melting his pout away.

“I’m laughing with you darling.” You stood, wiping away the tears that had built from the hysterics.

“I’m not laughing,” he denied.

“Yes, you are.” You pinched the end of his nose playfully and Itachi struggled to smother his smile with another pout.

“Hmph.”

You blew out a breath, watching the cloud of white float away from your face, “If you knew this was a possibility why didn’t you just pack some extra clothes?”

“I did! They’re—” Itachi froze, wide eyed. “I knew I forgot something!”

“Of course, you did.” You collapsed into laughter once more. “This universe is hilarious.”

Itachi ignored you, turning away to collect the basket and fallen seeds. He had just put the two seeds in the basket and turned to rejoin you when one of the Amplexus tendrils decided to be a menace and shot out towards Itachi’s ankles, tangling them together.

“Eep,” was the only noise you heard before Itachi was crashing into you, sending both of you sprawling to the ground. You hit the ground back first, knocking all the air out of your lungs. Itachi landed on top of you, legs spread over your hips, and hands braced against your chest.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, sitting up and glaring back at the Amplexus plant, which only swayed innocently. “This is so embarrassing.”

“Hey,” you said, propping yourself up so that you were now sitting with Itachi on your lap. You tried to ignore his stark nakedness for the moment and instead brushed some fallen snow from his hair. “You don’t have to be embarrassed. It’s only me here, and I’m not going to hold this over your head. Do you trust me?”

“I do,” Itachi said, pupils expanding as he stared at you. “But still—”

“Still nothing. There isn’t anything I could see, even the most embarrassing thing in the world, that would make me feel differently about you.”

His facial expression suddenly changed, closing off, and just like that, Itachi pulled back and the moment was broken.

Bewildered, you asked, “Are you okay? Did I do something? I didn’t mean—”

“I’m fine,” he said, his voice as cold as the snow around you. He got up off your lap and tugged the cloak around himself. “We should get moving; it’s cold.”

You jumped to your feet, “Right, yes, of course, I’m sorry, I got carried away.”

Itachi didn’t say anything, he just picked up the basket and started moving in the direction of home.

“We should eat something, before we go back,” you said, anxiety clawing at you. You weren’t sure what had caused him to get so cold all of a sudden. “We’ll need the strength.”

Itachi stopped walking and tipped his head consideringly.

“Fine.” That was the only thing he said before he veered left. “There is a sheltered cave opening just down here that will be a safe place to rest.”

You followed him in silence. This wasn’t the first time today that he had suddenly grown cold. You couldn’t figure out a pattern in what was causing it, but something was very clearly wrong. You wondered if he was mad at you, but as you walked, he seemed to soften slightly, linking his free arm with yours. He still didn’t speak, but it assuaged your worries that you’d somehow messed everything up.

If he wasn’t angry at you, though, then what was wrong?

The cave appeared around the corner, just up from a small, frozen pond. It looked like any cave really, if a bit shallow, but it had a large, flat rock just inside the opening that would make a perfect bench, free from the wet snow that covered everything outside.

“It’s too shallow for any large animals to live in,” Itachi explained, stepping inside. His voice and footsteps echoed slightly as he moved. “It makes for an excellent resting stop. See, someone else was here earlier.”

He pointed to the remains of a campfire that was in front of the stone bench. It was long cold, but it still looked somewhat fresh. There was still dry firewood and kindling resting in the stone lined pit. Itachi considered it for a moment before clearly deciding something.

“Stand back,” he said, gently moving you to stand behind him.

“Why?”

He eyes your damp clothes and his own nakedness for a moment, “I figure we could use some warming up.” He brought two fingers from both hands up to his mouth and forcefully blew. To your shock, a jet of fire burst from his lips and towards the fire pit, bathing the cave in an orange light. The wood caught immediately, and you quickly had a burning campfire.

“That was incredible!” you said, sitting down on the little bench and holding your hands up to the warmth. “Can you teach me that at some point?”

“It’s a unique family magic, I’m afraid.” Itachi sat down next you to as you deflated. “Don’t worry though, there is much, much more I can teach you, if you’re interested. But for now, we should eat.”

He dragged the basket over and unloaded a selection of bread and various spreads and cheeses, along with a small pot of dried fruit.

“Which cheese if your favourite?” he asked, pulling off a chunk of bread.

Not expecting the question, you stalled, “Um, whatever one you’d recommend, I guess.”

Itachi nodded. He cut of a section of a harder looking cheese and placed it on the chunk of bread. You expected him to hand it to you, but instead he held it out over the fire.

“This type of smoked cheese is better slightly melted.” He held the cheese and bread there for a few minutes before withdrawing it. He blew on it gently before holding it towards your mouth. “Open up.”

Amused, you did as he asked. He placed the chunk of cheese and bread into your mouth, laughing lightly when you deliberately nipped at his fingers.

This was the Itachi you were more familiar with, but once the food had been eaten and packed away, his melancholic mood seemed to return.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” you said, pressing a kiss to his head. “What’s on your mind, Itachi? You’re worrying me.”

He didn’t answer, he only sighed, staring at the fire. The shadows it was creating on his face only worsened the hollow sadness on his face. You wished you could wipe away all his problems, the way he seemed to for you.

“Hey, whatever’s wrong, we can—”

“I killed someone.”

You stopped speaking, letting what he said linger in the air.

“I think you should know that, before we… before we get any closer. You have a right to know.”

You leant forward, trying to get Itachi to look at you, but he refused, continuing to stare directly into the fire.

Okay, you thought, trying to make sense of things, he killed someone. To be completely honest, you had considered that his exile had been caused by something like that. It wasn’t like the legal system in this world was the same as your old world, so he could very well have been punished for a murder with exile. The only thing that made you doubt that theory was that he was the love interest in an erotica novel, and this didn’t seem like the kind of erotica world where murder was sexy.

But many people did consider tragic backstories to be sexy, which would explain the angst. There was little as satisfying as good comfort sex in a saucy novel, you could admit that.

Regardless, even if he had killed someone, if you knew Itachi, and you really felt like you were starting to, he wouldn’t have killed someone for a petty reason. From what you knew of his childhood, he had likely been pushed into it, one way or another.

You were certain that whatever had happened wouldn’t change your opinion of him, but you could understand why he had been worried, why he had been pulling away. You couldn’t let that happen.

You put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, “Tell me what happened, Itachi?”

“I just did.”

“The whole story,” you clarified. “Because I know there’s more to it than that.”

Itachi didn’t move, just continued to stare blankly. When he spoke, his voice was monotone.

“When I was a teenager, my best friend, Shisui, as I have already mentioned, died. He took his own life, but the circumstances were suspicious. I was next in line for village leadership at the time, and I was struggling to grieve in between all the classes and meetings that I was never excused from. Everything was so sudden. To be honest, I can’t remember much of those first few days after he died.” Despite his flat voice, you could tell as clear as day that Itachi was still hurt deeply.

“That’s horrendous,” you said, scooting closer to him. “That sounds like too much pressure on a child regardless, let alone after a significant loss.”

Itachi didn’t acknowledge your words. He just stared.

“Some of the other members of my village, distant cousins of mine, decided to accuse me of personally killing Shisui.” You sucked in a breath. How dare they? Itachi was so gentle, he could never! “I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Every inch of my skin itched and burnt because I was so angry. I completely snapped.

“Again, I don’t remember much of what happened, only that I killed one of them and injured the other two. The council was furious. My father tried to argue that I had been provoked. My mother tried to argue that I wasn’t in my right mind. They were, and still are, the village leaders, so their words held enough weight to spare my life, but not enough to keep me in the village. I was exiled two days later.”

A log fell in the fire, casting new shapes of light and shadow across Itachi’s cheeks. He didn’t cry, he didn’t even tear up, but the pain was obvious. You were furious that Itachi’s family, his village, had pushed him until he couldn’t handle it anymore, and then punished him for breaking down when everything became too much. You kept that anger carefully simmering below the surface, refusing to let any of it seep into your scent or voice, lest Itachi misunderstand.

‘James?’

‘Yes, human alpha?’

‘You have to promise me, if I don’t choose to stay here, that you’ll make sure someone worthy ends up in this story. Itachi deserves someone who can love him properly.’

‘…’

‘James?’

‘I… I will try, human alpha.’

That was probably the best you were going to get.

You moved even closer to Itachi now, until you were pressed up against him. He still kept his head stubborn turned away from you, but that didn’t matter. You wrapped an arm around his waist, so that he knew you were there for him.

“You are the most amazing person I’ve ever met,” you said softly, directly into his ear. You could feel more than hear Itachi’s shaky exhale of breath as his shoulder stuttered against your chest. “You are kind, generous, skilled in so many things, not to mention completely and stunningly beautiful.” Itachi let out a little disbelieving breath and you squeezed him as a little reprimand for doubting how amazing he was.

“I’m not a good person, I—”

“You’re a person who was pushed so far that you couldn’t cope, but that doesn’t make you a bad person, Itachi. I promise, I’ve met many bad people in my life, and you aren’t one of them.” You squeezed him again, but you could almost feel the way he was dismissing your words. You hadn’t expected that one motivational speech would cure all of his self-esteem issues, even in an erotica, but you had hoped that he’d at least listen to you.

You weren’t sure what else to do to help, until you realised that you had already touched upon an obvious solution. An erotica. You were in an erotica. Maybe you needed to play by the rules of this universe to make him understand. Maybe… if you made your point the way points like these are often made in erotica stories, he would feel the message you were trying to convey.

You nosed your way down his neck, tucking your face into the collar of the cloak and making the most of the fact that he was completely bare underneath by settling your lips on the warm skin at the juncture between his neck and shoulders.

“Itachi,” you cooed, making sure to breathe directly onto his skin as much as possible. Shivers that had nothing to do with the cold ran down his body and you took that as a sign to keep going.

You pressed open mouthed, wet kisses all the way up his neck until you reached his jaw, where you nipped lightly at the skin. Itachi gasped, his hands coming to grip the forearm that was still latched around his waist. You let out a little amused hum before placing another kiss on top of the same area to soothe it.

You kept up the assault on his neck until he was a puddle of blushes and shivers, leaning all his weight into you and unabashedly accepting your love.

“Itachi,” you whispered again, licking the outer shell of his ear. Itachi arched into you. He really was incredibly sensitive.

“Wh-why do you keep saying my name?” he gasped out, voice thick. “What do you want from me?”

“I want to tell you something.” Perhaps it was cruel to be purposefully obtuse, but you needed to make your point properly.

“Then tell me.”

You shook you head against his neck, “I want you to look at me first.”

With little hesitation, Itachi did as you asked, pivoting on the stone bench until he could comfortably look you in the eye.

All the skin on the right side of his neck was pink and covered in love bites, much to your pleasure.

“Tell me,” he demanded once more. His voice was quiet but not gentle.

You leant forward until your foreheads were touching and Itachi’s face was all you could see.

“I forgive you,” you breathed. “Itachi, I forgive you.”

Here, with his face pressed so closely to yours, Itachi couldn’t hide even the smallest of reaction from you. You were privy to every minute part of his response. You got to see the way his eyes widened as he registered your words. You got to feel the way he was torn between pulling back and pushing closer. You got to smell the way his scent spiked, formed from the indescribable mix of emotions held within him. You got to feel the way his face scrunched up, the way his hot tears felt as they rolled down his cheeks.

You got to see Itachi, the real Itachi, without his walls and without his fears hiding him from you.

Itachi finally gasped and pulled himself away, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Large tears streamed down his face at a rapid pace despite his obvious attempts to stop them.

“Don’t be sorry.” You wiped his tears away with your thumbs, but it was a fruitless endeavour as more tears replaced them every time Itachi blinked.

“I don’t normally cry,” he said, looking almost bewildered at his emotional response. “I’m sorry, I just—” He cut himself off as his face scrunched up with emotion again.

You pulled Itachi towards your chest until his head was resting against your shoulder and your bodies were fused together as one. You grabbed the napkins from the picnic basket and wordlessly placed them on Itachi’s lap for him to use at his own pace.

He grabbed the pile almost immediately, pressing one to his face. As thick, cloth napkins, you were sure it was doing a great deal in helping Itachi stem the tears.

You held Itachi as he sobbed, letting out years of pain and worry onto your shoulder. His loose hair allowed you free reign to run your fingers through it, scratching at his scalp whenever the sobs got particularly loud. You looked out of the cave and into the beautiful winter forest, listening to Itachi’s cries slowly turn into sniffles before disappearing altogether. Eventually, his breathing was so slow and deep that it wouldn’t have surprised you if he’d cried himself to sleep.

“I love you.”

You inhaled sharply at the quiet words. Itachi had whispered them like they were a shameful secret, so quietly that it was almost impossible to hear over the fire.

You couldn��t pretend to be surprised that someone so lonely and starved for positive affection had already reached the point of love, even after such a small number of weeks together. No, Itachi’s feelings you had expected, it was your own that took you by surprise. Because if you were to be completely honest, you loved him too. You had fallen head over heels with him, as a friend and as a lover.

It had only been two weeks, but you’d spent almost every second of that time together. You’d got to know him, seen more of his than perhaps you ought to, and yet there was still so much of him that you hadn’t seen and were desperate to.

You loved him. It felt right to say.

“Is that… okay?” Itachi asked hesitantly. Oh, you had been leaving him in suspense. Well, that wouldn’t do.

“It’s more than okay, Itachi, do you know why?”

Itachi lifted his head from your shoulder and searched your face. He was still red around the eyes.

“Why?” he asked, voice tinged with desperation.

“Because I love you too.”

You watched emotions war on Itachi’s face. He opened his mouth, and like a tap, words and worries poured out uncontrollably.

“But what if that changes when you get your memories back?” he asked, grabbing onto the front of your shirt. “You’ll go back to wherever you came from, and you’ll have a job, a family. And what if, what if you have a partner, a lover? What if you’re married?! What if this ends as soon as you take the potion?”

‘What if you leave me?’ went unsaid but was clearly communicated.

“Hey, stop—”

“No! You can’t know that that won’t happen! I can’t… I don’t want this to be too good, because it will only hurt more when I lose it.”

You cupped his face in your hands, running your thumbs underneath his wild eyes that were still tinged with red. You needed a way to reassure him without giving away that you didn’t actually have amnesia. Your own backstory was yours to create, and none of his fears were going to become reality. Either you would stay in this world and be with him, or you wouldn’t, and he would reset and forget that you had ever existed.

It was strangely emotional to consider such a dichotomy. On one hand, you’d miss him terribly if you decided to pick the other book for whatever reason. On the other hand, if you did stay here, imagining that future was a lot too. You would give him your mating mark, and maybe a ring to match. Maybe you’d stay in his cottage or maybe you’d move slightly closer to civilisation and build a new home together. Either way, you’d made sure to have an extra room for Sasuke and whoever in your family that you’d yet to invent that might want to stay. Maybe you’d have some pups, or maybe you’d just raise chickens or something. You could see a beautiful life here, with your witch.

But how could you reassure Itachi?

“There is no job that could keep me from you.” You tried to sound sure, unwavering, to reassure him. “And if I have a family, they can visit, or I can visit them. And maybe this is unfounded, but I feel like I would know if I had someone waiting for me, and I don’t think I do.”

“You can’t know that until—”

“But even if I did,” you continued, cutting him off. “I have no mating mark, no wedding nor engagement ring. If I did have a mysterious partner somewhere, then, in the words of Beyoncé, ‘if they liked it, then they should have put a mark on it’. I’d rather be here with you.”

“Who’s Beyoncé?” Itachi asked, bewildered.

You laughed, “Don’t worry about it.”

Entranced, you both leaned in at once, sealing your lips together in a desperately horny kiss as weeks of tension suddenly burst. There was a raw intensity to the kiss, born from the clashing of pent-up emotions. There was some awkward teeth clanging, a little pain, but the way your lips danced together was warming you more than the fire ever could.

You couldn’t feel much of Itachi through the cloak, but that didn’t stop your hands from wandering. You moved from cupping his face, to running your hands down his chest, to squeezing at where you guessed his waist was.

Itachi was doing much the same thing, running his hands over your shoulders and chest without pause. You could tell that he was most enthralled by the obvious tent in your trousers though, as his hands kept drifting towards your crotch. This wasn’t exactly a surprise because you’d caught him staring there a few times since The Boner Incident™️, but now it seemed that his hands were suffering from the same curse as his eyes.

Itachi’s scent was clogging every sense you had as you continued to kiss. The sinful noise from Itachi that you managed to coax out and swallow suggested that your scent was doing much the same to him.

“Here, baby,” you whispered against his lips, hands teasing at the clasp of the cloak. “Let’s make this more comfortable.”

“Wait.” Itachi’s hand landed over yours. You stopped immediately.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, but… we’re outside,” Itachi said, his eyes darting to the entrance of the cave. “That’s not allowed.”

You blinked at him, “Itachi, there’s no one but us for miles.”

“Oh… yes, of course, sorry, carry on.” He lifted his hand from yours with a sheepish smile. You sent one back and slowly, purposefully, unclasped his cloak.

The fabric clung to Itachi’s shoulders, but with a little nudge, the cloak fell and pooled around Itachi’s hips on the stone bench. And just like that, Itachi was fully, properly, bare to you for the first time. Or, at least the first time that you were encouraged to stare at him.

His pale skin glowed in the firelight, catching on the silver hints of barely visible scars. It was normal for everyone to have a few, but you hadn’t expected to see so many. It was another question to add onto your list about his upbringing.

It was also with a glorious delight that you were able to truly study his nipples after being teased with only glimpses for so long. They were pebbled from the cold, just as you’d predicted, but as pink and delightfully round as your dreams had promised you. This world would certainly have artists who accepted commission work; you wondered if Itachi would let you get a painting or sketch of his nipples? Maybe if you asked him nicely.

“Is this… okay?” he asked, seeming shy under your gaze. ‘Am I okay?’ his eyes asked instead.  

“More than okay; you’re perfect.” Itachi’s shoulder’s relaxed and softened at your admittedly cheesy words. Well, erotica was a cheesy genre, and hey, now that you were in an erotica story, you couldn’t say it was a bad thing. It certainly made flirting easier; you didn’t have to be so witty. “Stand up for a quick second, darling.”

Itachi did as you asked without question, which shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, but you could unpack that later. You stood too, and taking the abandoned cloak, you laid it out so that it covered the entire stone slab. It wouldn’t do much to make it more comfortable, but it would keep the chill of the cold stone at bay.

Guiding him, you laid Itachi down against the covered stone and hovered over him in one smooth motion.

“Let me warm you up.”

You connected your lips again. You kissed more slowly this time, but with no less desperation, your lips tingling pleasantly. Itachi’s hands tugged at your shirt. You thought he was pulling you closer, but a little growl of frustration soon hit the air as he tugged more incessantly.

“Off,” he growled. “Take it off. I need—Take it off. I’m naked, you’re not, that’s not fair.”

You laughed at his logic but obliged, pulling off your shirt and dropping it by the foot of the stone slab. The rush of cold air was a shock to your system, but with the roaring fire, the temperature could have been worse.

Itachi seemed to be possessed by a hunger when the shirt obstacle had finally been removed. His hands and eyes feasted on your exposed flesh. You shivered at the sensation of his surprisingly calloused hands dragging across every inch of exposed skin.

“Is it okay?” you asked, parroting his earlier question.

“Perfect,” Itachi moaned, propping himself up to kiss and bit at your neck, one hand still groping every bit of free skin that you had presented to him.

It was clear that the sexual tension hadn’t only been affecting you. Itachi was more intense than you’d imagined, which was fuelling your own desperation. And there was one desperate desire that sat above all the rest.

“Itachi, hang on a second,” you said, pulling his face away from your neck. “I have a question for you.”

Itachi, who had looked rather displeased to have his neck kissing session interrupted, now looked curious.

“I was wondering if you knew” -you pushed him until he was laying flat against the stone and started kissing down his throat- “what you were doing when you grabbed that glass of water, the very first day we met.”

You didn’t linger on his neck for long, moving your attentions to his collar bones, and then eventually down to the valley between his pecs. Itachi’s hands flew to the back of your head.

“Wh-what do you mean?” His voice was breathy, and while the intensity of his desire remained, he seemed happy to submit to you now.

You hummed, using your thumbs to massage the underside of each of his pecs while you continued to leave wet kisses everywhere but where he was trying to guide your head.

“That afternoon, when you grabbed the water, you gave me the most amazing view straight up your jumper and to your pretty nipples. These pretty nipples.” You ghosted your fingers around his areola but drew them away when he tried to arch into the touch.

“What?! I- I didn’t mean to do that!” he gasped, face going bright red. “It was an accident.”

“Hmm, I don’t know. It seemed like you wanted to tease me, Itachi. Were you trying to tease me, the strange alpha that you’d only just met? How naughty.”

Itachi tried to tug your mouth to his nipple again, but you held firm. He made a little frustrated noise, lifting his head up to shoot you a glare that you only grinned at.

 “That’s why I want you to ask me,” you continued. “No, actually, I want you to beg me, Itachi. Beg me to give your nipples some attention, to kiss them, suck them, bite them.”

Itachi held firm for a few moments, but a couple more touches and a few well-placed breaths later, and you were rewarded with something beautiful.

“I-I- Please… Please k-k-kiss them.”

“Kiss what, ‘tachi?”

He sent you a flustered glare again, but soon he stuttered out a reply.

“My ni-nipples, please.”

Every nerve ending that you had set alight, and your trousers were quickly becoming painfully tight. Every instinct you had was screaming at you to ravish the pretty omega, to reward him for submitting so nicely. And, well, you’d never been one to ignore important instincts.

“Good boy.” His cock twitched where it was resting on his stomach and that was all the encouragement needed to fulfil the witch’s request.

Your thumbs and forefingers went first, settling on Itachi’s hardened nipples and pinching and flicking to their heart’s content. Itachi groaned, his eyes fluttering shut and his head falling back against the wooden bench. Moans and squeaks continued to pour out of him with reckless abandon. The blush pink colour darkened a little as you continued with your gentle abuse.

Then, once you could resist no longer, you removed your hand from his left nipple, and descended with your mouth. Like a person dying of thirst coming across an oasis, you lapped at him greedily, drinking in all the sensations. The feel of him against your heavy tongue was divine, and soon your own moans joined Itachi’s, who had become twice as loud.

You were delighted to find that, with the presence of your warm mouth, Itachi’s nipple was slowly softening. You could feel every crevice relax, coaxed open just for you. You took the newly soft nipple in your mouth and sucked. Itachi arched so far off the bench, desperate to push closer to your mouth, that you were surprised he didn’t hurt himself.

You hummed, amused and more than a little smug. This was quite literally a dream come true.

You pulled back from his chest, purposefully catching him with your teeth as you did, so that you could admire your handy work. Slicked with your spit, his nipple glistened in the firelight, painting a stark picture of difference with the one beside it.

You clicked your tongue in faux disappointment; that wouldn’t do. Those beautiful, pink temptations needed to match.

Once you had performed the same on his other nipple, you pulled back once again, focused more on Itachi as a whole this time. He looked entirely debauched from head to toe. He was breathing harshly eyes closed, neck covered in bites, chest red and cock practically weeping. The dark black fabric of the cloak didn’t show stains, but you were certain that the patch under his hips was now damp with slick.

Itachi let out a shuddering breath, “How did… Is it supposed to feel that good?”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, my darling,” you said, amused. “If you’ll allow me, I’d be honoured to show you something else that’ll feel amazing too.”

Itachi propped himself up on his elbows and gave you a bashful look, “You should know that… I haven’t done stuff like this before.”

You took a shaky breath as a thousand and one things you wanted to do to him flooded into your brain at once, competing for dominance. Of course, he hadn’t had sex before. His childhood was spent being groomed as the next village leader, and then he’d been exiled with his only rare piece of company coming in the form of his immediate family. Thinking about it, it would have probably been more surprising if he had experience, but you just hadn’t expected the love interest of an erotica novel to be a virgin.

“We don’t have to go further if you don’t want to,” you said, trying to sound reassuring over the lump in your throat. Hey, if he didn’t want to keep going, the general cold in the air should get rid of your boner this time, no need for cold water. That was marginally better.

“I do! I mean…” Itachi hesitated for a moment, and you were expecting him to call it a day. “You’re not going to leave me as soon as you get your memories back, are you?”

Your face softened at his question. To be completely honest, you had kind of got caught up in everything and forgotten about his anxieties in the process.

“Never,” you promised. You felt a little guilty at the prospect that you might choose the other pocket dimension, but if that happened then Itachi would quite literally forget you existed, promise included. Perhaps it was a little scummy to make a promise with someone who would forget if you broke it, but you justified to yourself that these were exceptional circumstances. “I know it sounds a bit silly to say out loud, but I feel right when I’m with you. Meeting you was like a part of me I never knew was missing clicking back into place.”

“No, it’s not silly!” Itachi said breathlessly, staring at you with wide eyes. “I feel the same. It’s like I’m alive when you’re here, for the first time in my life, truly alive.”

“When I look at the future,” you started, breaking for a moment to peck Itachi on the lips. “I see us sharing a home, waking up together every day, maybe even raising some chickens together. Never do I ever imagine a day without you in it.”

“I’ve always wanted chickens.” Itachi was looking at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“Then I’ll give you as many chickens as you want.”

“And you don’t mind that I don’t have any experience with relationships?”

You grinned sheepishly, “To be honest, it’s kind of hot.”

Itachi seemed amused for a moment, but sincerity quickly overtook it. “Then I would love for you to take my virginity.”

“No,” you said, kissing the surprised look off his face. “If we do this, nothing will be taken. We will both gain something, a great experience, together.”

Itachi looked entirely besotted, but you had meant every word. Even if you left, even if he forgot, you would still have this experience with him, and you would treasure every second.

‘That was very smooth, human. The commodification of the social construct of virginity is harmful indeed, why, Glatheenron was talking about it just the other day and—’

‘James, genuinely, that is an important discussion and I appreciate your support, but I’m sort of preoccupied right now, so maybe you could wait until later?’

“Then allow me to rephrase my earlier statement,” Itachi said, drawing you out of your head. “I would be deeply happy if we could share my first time together.”

You leant down and pressed a loving kiss to his forehead, “As would I, my sweet omega, as would I.”

Next Chapter

[saintbleeding]

i don't think those are the whole and intact jon, martin, or jonah* in there

here's why

so before i get into this i need to mention that the ideas im riffing on here came from a conversation with @bigmilkagenda who is smart and brilliant and beautiful.

but i was thinking, and what do the existing accounts we've heard have in common? obviously, there are different degrees to which and ways in which these ideas are engaged with between each account, but extremely broadly:

we have ideas of the irreversible alteration or corruption of the physical form, and how that does and does not correlate with personhood and the self. specifically, how do these physical changes intersect with identity, and at which point can someone be said not to be there, themselves, anymore?

"some of him"?

i think it's safe to assume that redcanary, inasmuch as they were a mischievous little urbex enthusiast, cannot and will not be returning in the form that they left, if indeed they return at all

daria, though they are willingly engaging in the process of change and transformation, also doesn't have full control over the process, nor the results, if their preference not to be seen on camera is any indication

dr webber... well. gestures vaguely at the all of that.

there's another common theme amongst these, to me: there are varying degrees of suggestion of a judgmental observer, or a more general but prominent idea of seeing and perception. the subject of the first case (who i'd heard fandom ppl calling harry but who the official and unofficial transcripts both refer to as harriet, but that's not my point rn, just a thing i noticed) obviously experiences the horror of what they go through because, mostly, of the visuals of it.

the fuckin magnus institute.

daria's experience both with ink5oul's assessment of them and the whole livestream experience (which is chilling tbqh)

the increasing suggestion thru dr webber's journal that maddie is very much there (to him) and overseeing what is happening to him, appraising, if not judging directly.

so we've got a joint idea of loss of one's physical structural integrity/questions of both mortality and identity, and we've got an idea of perception and sight.

here's where i need to make a logical leap, but essentially, this thematic focus is making me think that there is something Less Than JMJ in the system (ghosts in the machine as it were), but that, if and when that's examined, it will not lessen the impact and poignancy of what they're experiencing, what they're capable of thinking or feeling, etc.

*i think it's equally possible, at least at this juncture, that J.02 isn't necessarily Literally Jonah Magnus: the wiki says that james wright "died" in 1996, and although that doesn't correspond directly with the institute's fire in 1999, it's possible that things progressed differently in this universe, and maybe he was the director of the institute at the time. but also this is much more speculative than my other points, i just think it would be neat!!!

[covid-safer-hotties]

Many long COVID patients adjust to slim recovery odds as world moves on - Published Nov 14, 2024

By Jennifer Rigby and Julie Steenhuysen

Summary Long COVID symptoms can persist for years, with slim chance of full recovery Funding and attention for long COVID research are dwindling in many wealthy countries Long COVID symptoms can include extreme fatigue, brain fog, breathlessness and pain

LONDON, Nov 14 (Reuters) - There are certain phrases that Wachuka Gichohi finds difficult to hear after enduring four years of living with long COVID, marked by debilitating fatigue, pain, panic attacks and other symptoms so severe she feared she would die overnight.

Among them are normally innocuous statements such as, "Feel better soon" or "Wishing you a quick recovery," the Kenyan businesswoman said, shaking her head.

Gichohi, 41, knows such phrases are well-intentioned. "I think you have to accept, for me, it’s not going to happen."

Recent scientific studies shed new light on the experience of millions of patients like Gichohi. They suggest the longer someone is sick, the lower their chances of making a full recovery.

The best window for recovery is in the first six months after getting COVID-19, with better odds for people whose initial illness was less severe, as well as those who are vaccinated, researchers in the United Kingdom and the United States found, opens new tab. People whose symptoms last between six months and two years are less likely to fully recover.

For patients who have been struggling for more than two years, the chance of a full recovery "is going to be very slim," said Manoj Sivan, a professor of rehabilitation medicine at the University of Leeds and one of the authors of the findings published in The Lancet.

Sivan said this should be termed "persistent long COVID" and understood like the chronic conditions myalgic encephalomyelitis/chronic fatigue syndrome, or fibromyalgia, which can be features of long COVID or risk factors for it.

WANING ATTENTION Long COVID, defined as symptoms persisting for three months or more after the initial infection, involves a constellation of symptoms from extreme fatigue to brain fog, breathlessness and joint pain.

It can range from mild to utterly disabling, and there are no proven diagnostic tests or treatments, although scientists have made progress on theories about who is at risk and what might cause it. One British study, opens new tab suggested almost a third of those reporting symptoms at 12 weeks recovered after 12 months. Others, particularly among patients who had been hospitalized, show far lower rates of recovery.

In a study, opens new tab run by the UK's Office for National Statistics, two million people self-reported long COVID symptoms this past March. Roughly 700,000, or 30.6%, said they first experienced symptoms at least three years previously.

Globally, accepted estimates have suggested between 65 million, opens new tab and 200 million, opens new tab people have long COVID. That could mean between 19.5 million and 60 million people face years of impairment based on the initial estimates, Sivan said.

The United States and some countries like Germany continue to fund long COVID research.

But more than two dozen experts, patient advocates and pharmaceutical executives told Reuters that money and attention for the condition is dwindling in other wealthy countries that traditionally fund large-scale studies. In low- and middle-income countries, it was never there.

"The attention has shifted," said Amitava Banerjee, a professor at University College London who co-leads a large trial of repurposed drugs and rehabilitation programmes.

He says long COVID should be viewed as a chronic condition that can be treated to improve patients' lives rather than cured, like heart disease or arthritis.

'PROFOUNDLY DISABLING' Leticia Soares, 39, from northeast Brazil, was infected in 2020 and has battled intense fatigue and chronic pain ever since. On a good day, she spends five hours out of bed.

When she can work, Soares is a co-lead and researcher at Patient-Led Research Collaborative, an advocacy group involved in a review, opens new tab of long COVID evidence published recently in Nature.

Soares said she believes recovery seldom happens beyond 12 months. Some patients may find their symptoms abate, only to recur, a kind of remission that can be mistaken for recovery, she said.

"It's so profoundly disabling and isolating. You spend every time wondering, 'Am I going to get worse after this?'" she said of her own experience.

Soares takes antihistamines and other commonly available treatments to cope with daily life. Four long COVID specialist doctors in different countries said they prescribe such medicines, which are known to be safe. Some evidence suggests they help.

Others have less success with mainstream medicine.

Gichohi's illness was dismissed by her doctor, and she turned to a functional medicine practitioner, who focused on more holistic treatments.

She moved out of her hectic home city of Nairobi to a small town near Mount Kenya, policing her activity levels to prevent fatigue and receiving acupuncture and trauma therapy.

She has tried the addiction treatment naltrexone, which has some evidence of benefit for long COVID symptoms, and the controversial anti-parasitic infection drug ivermectin, which does not but she says helped her.

She said shifting from "chasing recovery" to living in her new reality was important.

A piecemeal treatment approach is to be expected while research progresses, and perhaps longer-term, said Anita Jain, a long COVID specialist at the World Health Organization.

Meanwhile, long-haulers face a new challenge with each spike in COVID cases. A handful of studies have suggested re-infection can exacerbate existing long COVID.

Shannon Turner, a 39-year-old cabaret singer from Philadelphia, got COVID in late March or early April of 2020.

She was already living with psoriatic arthritis and antiphospholipid antibody syndrome, autoimmune diseases for which she regularly took steroids and an immunotherapy. Such conditions may increase the risk of developing long COVID, researchers say.

This past summer, Turner got COVID again. Once again, she is extraordinarily tired and uses a walker for mobility.

Turner is determined to pursue her music career despite ongoing pain, dizziness and a racing heart rate, which regularly land her in hospital.

"I don't want to live my life in bed," she said.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

For Eternity, Chapter 6

Alastor x Angel!Wife Oc (Isabel) Rated: Adult - this fic contains content inappropriate for minors. Chapter Warnings: canon typical violence, non consensual touching of a romantic nature

@impulsivethoughtsat2am Was darling enough to beta <3 Many thanks, Dearheart.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord. And my friend runs a Hazbin Fic Community

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Isabel sat on the cold platform, too bright lights shining in her face. The heat radiating from the lights was oppressive, making her part her lips and pant. Or perhaps that was the fear. 

There were too many eyes on her, taking in too much of her exposed flesh. She wanted nothing more than to cover herself from their eyes, but she couldn’t. Her arms were suspended above her, the contraption set to pull her back and to the hard surface she sat on when Valentino decided it was time. 

That made her shoulder joints ache, but it was nothing compared to her wings. They’d already shot the scene of Angel Dust catching her, innocent and pure for the opening of the film. 

That scene hadn’t been so bad. Her limbs were free, and a flowing wrap dress covered her body for most of the scene. The material was gauzy, letting light pass through, but it offered her some coverage just the same. They allowed her to indulge in her modesty during it, using her wings to cover her body as he exposed the lacey undergarments that hid the fading bruises left by Adam.

Valentino and Vox cared more about hiding those marks than the ones Vox had left, blooming dark from a few hours earlier. There was a desperation in him as he almost pleaded with her not to do this, as if it was her decision to do it in the first place. 

All she had to do was accept him. Be his. Want him. He’d tell her everything she needed to know about that man that had been her husband in life. She would see that he was the right choice. She just had to pick him. 

But she couldn’t and she didn’t. Though he tried to paint this as her choice, her doing, she knew it wasn’t. Again and again, as his hands grabbed at her jaw, strange flat face kissing her forcefully puckered lips, she told herself that this wasn’t her betrayal. Again and again, as his hands gripped her waist, she told herself that her Alastor was always a progressive man. He would understand. 

Again and again, she reminded herself what Angel Dust had whispered in her ears as he performed the act of catching her. Alastor knew. Alastor was coming. Alastor would fix this. Alastor would stop this. Alastor. 

Alastor. 

The sanctuary of her thoughts shattered as a man pulled roughly on the end of her wing, having tied a rope around it tightly. The same was being done to the other wing, and they were being forcefully spread wide, put on lewd display along with the rest of her. 

It made an impressive sight to all those on the crew. She could see in most eyes how the sight of wings marking her divinity moved them. Not so much in a sexual way, though that had been there too. In death, she found herself blessed with wings so similar to that of angelic art on earth. Having them on full display moved those that had been religious in life. 

Angel Dust wouldn’t look at them. His eyes were downcast as he stood, nearly naked, and yet her eyes struggled to see him as such with the way soft fur covered his body. 

“Places, everyone!” Valentino yelled and Angle Dust finally looked up, meeting her eyes.

She smiled at him as he slunk onto the set, a mask of confident sexiness falling on his face. The golden tooth in his smile gleamed in the light as “Action!” was called.

He approached, reciting the lines as the script demanded. It wasn’t as cringy as it could have been, but she paid the words no mind. They didn’t matter; it wasn’t like anyone expected her to pretend or react in any way that wasn’t wholly natural to her. For her, this wasn’t an act.

They wanted to film her experiencing exactly what was going to happen, after all. They intended to make their money on her pain and violation. They did not need to provide her special lines or reason to force her to say them.They rightfully knew she wouldn’t cooperate, anyway. 

She was just another prop in their disgusting production. 

Isabel tried to be strong as Angel Dust drew closer. Though she tried, she couldn’t stop the tears from gathering in her eyes. There was nothing she could do to stop her body from trembling as Angel Dust ran soft fingertips across her skin. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered near silently as he looked away from her eyes, greedy grin plastered in place, a jarring contrast to the regret and pain in his eyes. 

“Is he coming?” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked at Angel Dust with fear and hope. 

“He said he would,” was all Angel Dust said as he caressed her body, kissing her neck as he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. 

“Please,” she sobbed as Angle Dust ripped the straps of the bra, allowing it to fall from her. “Please, don’t make him do this.” 

Off to the side of the set, people yelled for Angel Dust to move out of the way, to consider the shots. Vox took the small direction break to swoop in, brushing her hair off her shoulder and reminding her that all she had to do was pick him and it would be over. This didn’t have to happen. He could put a stop to it all with just a snap of his clawed finger. 

Angel Dust didn’t have to hurt her. Val wouldn’t have to make Angle Dust do this. She could stop it. Protect herself. Protect him. It was she who held that power, no one else. 

“No,” she choked on the word, jerking away from Vox’s cold talons as best she could, “Alastor will come for me.”

“He hasn’t yet,” Vox laughed. “Does he know she’s here, Angel? Does he even care? Probably not!”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” Angel plastered that greedy smile on his face for Vox. “I avoid Smiles. That dude is creepy.” 

“Places!” Valentino yelled, “Action.” 

“Alastor,” she whimpered his name as Angel Dust resumed kissing her neck, moving to be by her side and using his arms to frame her exposed breasts. He caressed her softly, whispering his apologies into her skin as she chanted her husband’s name like a prayer. 

Each whispered plea for her husband stung Angel Dust’s heart the same as if she had plunged a blade into it. Where the fuck was Alastor? Why the fuck was it getting this far? Angle Dust debated if outright refusal was worth the punishment from Val just to avoid violating her. Could he even refuse? Was it possible with his contract?

Who was trembling more, her or him? Angel Dust couldn’t be sure as he smoothed his hands over her naked ribs, working his way to her chest as Valentino demanded rougher hands, “I’m so sorry.”

Lights dimmed, flickering out for a moment before slowly returning. No matter how bright the lights got, though, the shadows seemed to remain. Some lights dimmed again while others grew brighter yet, seeming to compensate until the brightening bulbs burst, one after the other.

Angel Dust pulled his face from her chest, whispering her name until her panicked eyes met his. “He’s here.” 

“What?” Fear flooded her as glass showered the set, leaving them sitting in a dim spotlight. The rope suspending her arms above her head went slack, causing her to sag to the ground, crying out as the full weight of her body was unexpectedly supprted by her straining wings. 

A moment later her wings sagged, their ropes cut as well, causing her to fall forward, landing in Angel Dust’s arms. Under the sea of panic, screaming filled her ears. She couldn’t make out what anyone was saying as she clutched at him. 

Angel Dust soothed, rubbing a hand down her lower back as another rubbed above her wings. Holding her close, he obscured her body as best he could as her wings hung limply, sore and strained from the stress of supporting her weight so suddenly.

A pool of shadows seemed to bleed off their shadows under foot, startling Isabel. She flinched away from it, or at least tried to while Angel Dust held her in his many arms. Shadows rose from the ground, materializing into the shape of a tall man. 

“Good Day!” He said with a boundless cheer as color bled into him, rather literally. He was red- that was the only way she could describe him. “Forgive me for popping by without calling.” 

Isabel peeked at him, huddled in Angel Dust’s arms as he used a single hand to unbutton his red long coat with a practiced ease she had seen many times before. As the coat fell around his waist, he took his hand from his cane and it shocked her to see it remain standing on its own. 

Screaming, she could hear angry yelling, but the words felt like they were in another language as blood rushed through her ears, roaring like the ocean waves. 

The cane, topped with an old-fashioned microphoneand was the same red as the rest of the man. So much red. Looking up at the man, she watched as he shrugged out of his coat, gathering it in his arm. 

“Angel Dust!” Valentino yelled, “What did you do?!” 

“He didn’t need to do anything! Haha!” The man knelt in front of her, a chilling grin plastered across his face as he fed the coat under Isabel’s plush wings, paying no mind to how she flinched away from him. He wrapped the coat around her shoulders, letting her wings hold it low down her back.

“I’ll help her button it.” Angel Dust whispered, not looking the man in the eye as he spoke. 

“Hold on to her for a moment longer for me, will you?” 

“Alastor?” She breathed his name, realizing who he had to be. 

A large, red clawed hand rested on her head softly as he looked down at her, a yellow smile grotesquely wide, with blood dripping from his lips. “Be a darling for me and don’t look.” 

When she sat frozen, eyes still locked on his too pale face framed by even more red, he ran his hand down from the top of her head. He caressed her forehead as he slowly covered her eyes, forcing her to close them to protect them. 

“Good girl,” he said as her eyes remained closed. “Stay just like that.” 

With her eyes closed, she could just hear it. Under the static, under the screams, under the crackling distortion of a carbon microphone that sounded a lot like home, she could hear his voice. 

Her Alastor was here. She had found him. After decades of waiting and longing, she found him. 

“Lean back,” Angel Dust pushed her shoulders away from him softly as he helped her put her arms in the jacket sleeves. Once she had it on, though somewhat awkwardly because of her wings, Angel Dust buttoned the front. 

“He came.” Tears spilled down from her closed eyes as Angel Dust gathered her back in his arms. 

“I told you he would,” Angel Dust whispered, hardly loud enough to be heard over the screams and static. “You know, I’ve never seen him take this coat off before.” 

Angel Dust fell into silence as he held her trembling body against his. Violence raged around them, but he was determined to make up for every violating caress he had placed on her skin by protecting her from the sight of her husband ripping his coworkers limb from limb. 

TV static, radio feedback, and clashing metal filled the room. Angle Dust hummed, rocking her as he tried to remember the words to the songs of his childhood. There wasn’t much he could do to drown out the chaos without drawing attention to him. 

He had to look uninvolved. Either way, he would be punished for this shitshow regardless, but if he could play his cards right, if he could pretend to know nothing, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. 

Whatever price he had to pay for having a part in this, though, Angel Dust knew it was worth it. It was worth it to not have to force himself onto her, into her. It was worth it. No matter how bad it was going to be, it would be worth it. 

Tag List: @preciousbabypeter, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty

[mbruben-stein]

Hello!

I wanted to request Victor and Yurio with an s/o who started skating in their teens(it's considered starting late)

Ofc feel free to ignore this request if you like!

Have a great day! /night!

Yuri on Ice doys': S/O who started ice skating in their teens.

~Victor~

Admiration, Victor would greatly admire his s/o's dedication and passion for taking up skating at an age considered "late" by competitive standards. He would be impressed by their determination to pursue their dreams despite the challenges.

Supportive coach, As an experienced skater, Victor would likely take on a coaching role to help his s/o improve their skills. He would be patient, encouraging, and always ready to offer advice and demonstrate techniques.

Balancing act, With his s/o starting their skating journey later in life, Victor would understand the importance of balancing training with other responsibilities, such as school or work. He would help them create a schedule that allows for both practice and personal time.

Emotional anchor, Starting a competitive sport later than most can be emotionally taxing. Victor would be there to comfort his s/o during moments of self-doubt or frustration, reminding them of their progress and unique journey.

Celebrating milestones, Victor would make a point to celebrate his s/o's achievements, no matter how small, knowing that each milestone holds special significance for someone who started skating later. He would be their biggest cheerleader.

Learning from each other, While Victor would have a wealth of experience to share, he would also be open to learning from his s/o's unique perspective as a late-starter. Their determination and fresh outlook could inspire him in his own skating journey.

Defying expectations, Together, Victor and his s/o would challenge the notion that starting skating later in life means limited success. They would work together to prove that with hard work and dedication, anyone can achieve their dreams on the ice.

~Yurio~

Initially, Yuri might be dismissive or even resentful of his s/o for starting skating "late." He could see them as not taking the sport seriously enough since they didn't dedicate their entire childhood to training like he did. However, as he gets to know them better, he comes to respect their determination and work ethic in pursuing their passion despite the late start.

Yuri's s/o may struggle with feelings of inadequacy, comparing themselves to skaters like Yuri who have been training since they were very young. Yuri, in his blunt way, would tell them to stop making excuses and to focus on being the best skater they can be now. He believes that hard work and drive are more important than the age someone started.

During joint training sessions, Yuri would push his s/o relentlessly, knowing they need to work twice as hard to catch up to their peers. He wouldn't go easy on them, but it's his way of showing he believes in their potential.

Yuri's s/o might look up to him as an incredible skater despite his young age. While he'd be secretly flattered, Yuri would outwardly act annoyed and tell them to quit the hero worship and focus on their own skating.

If anyone made disparaging comments about his s/o's late start or skill level, Yuri would absolutely explode at them in anger, passionately defending his s/o. He knows exactly how much effort they put in.

Over time, Yuri would develop a deep respect and fondness for his s/o's unconventional path and unique perspective. He'd still tease them about starting late, but there would be affection behind it. He'd be proud of how far they've come.

[unhappy-last-resort]

Golem's Treasure

Fandom: Morimens

Genre: Yandere

Main Characters: Uvhash, GN Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: Stalking, erotic descriptions of blood-sucking, vaguely vampiric, implied nsfw, prob ooc, most definitely has some grammar or spelling mistakes because it's almost 2AM

A/N: So, Sensabo got me into Morimens and we both love Uvhash. He's kinda neat.

Hot water trickles down your skin, washing off the last of the soap and stress from the day and you breath in the humid air of your shower, a rare moment of warmth and peace in your dangerous day to day life but, time doesn't stand still for you, not even in the shower. With a sigh you shut off the water and pull open the curtain with a high-pitched screech of the metal hooks sliding over the pole, ready to dry yourself off and get ready for bed. Your favorite towel sits neatly folded right where you left it, and the steam floats in the air making the rest of the bathroom much less cold than you feared, along with the man crouched in the corner, watching you.

Unsurprisingly, you shriek and haphazardly yank the shower curtain forward, fumbling loudly much to the amusement of your intruder- whose cackles are bouncing off the walls and hurting your ears.

“Your frightened expressions are my favorite! I should do this more often- By the way, you make a lot of interesting noises in there, I was tempted to go and see what you were doing.”

You clenched the curtain so tight your knuckles were white and mustered all your rage into what you hoped was the angriest glare he’d ever seen in his life and thrust your head out from behind the curtain. “Uvhash! What the fuck are you doing?!”

The creature in question stretched his long arms, his joints moving against each other, pulled by invisble muscle and you absently wondered if he was like one of those deep sea fish that have see through organs- or if he even has other organs beyond that ominous heart. “I just wanted to spend time with you.” He shrugged, as if this was normal and an invasive and terrifying progression of his behavior.

“You- “spend time” with me by stalking me while I shower?��

“Is that wrong?”

Strangling, murder, disembowelment, decapitation, throwing a shower brush at him...Yeah, none of those will work. He would find all of those equally amusing and would leave you a bloody mess and still living Uvhash on your bathroom floor. Why do you have to deal with this again? What did you to deserve this? Whatever, take a deep breath and get him out.

“Uvhash.” You say in your sweetest voice straining with rage. “Please leave the bathroom.”

The corners of lips sink from a contented smile into a scowl, his eyes sharpening in protest at your apparently unreasonable request. “Wh-”

“Now.”

His shoulders heave in a sigh before he gathers his limbs and stands up, reluctantly turning to the door and giving you one last look- which you return with a glare and an aggressive point at the door- before exiting. Leaving in you privacy, finally. Hopefully.

You rush to dry yourself off, praying that he’s taken a hint and left your dorm entirely, and tightly wrap your towel around yourself. You wipe the steam off your mirror and stare at yourself. You thought back to your graduation; your tombstone sitting quietly, waiting patiently for your coffin to one day come be buried and stand as testament to your fight- one that would join thousands of others in the past and future in your sacrafice to try and erradicate the Dissolution that threatened to devour humanity.

Then, you thought of Uvhash; a golem created thousands of years ago for the purpose of bloodshed, never before having experienced human joys and whims- his memories only contain of boring days and nights spent in an arena, chained to his master where his happiest memories were ripping someone apart. You thought of his yellow eyes and the gaping hole in his chest that proudly displayed his heart, one of the most vital organs for a human, out in the open with seemingly no protection. He'd let you get close enough you could reach out and grab it, feel it beat in your palm, but maybe you shouldn't have even stood within arms reah of him, because he seemed to take it as invitation of sorts.

You didn't blame him, per se- not after having seen the moments before his first death- but still, the "gifts" he left at your window and doorstep have become increasingly concerning. At first it was little things like mice and birds, you didn't appreciate them and you told him that many times, but he never seemed to understand, or ignored you entirely. Then, it started being things like finger bones and teeth, at first they were old an ancient, and then they started having bits of rotted flesh and blood still on them.

You started wondering if he would ever leave a body at your door, or maybe you're just crazy. That would make you two a perfect pair, wouldn't it? A thousand year old, blood-loving golem and his human companion who has long since lost their mind due to his antics.

You really wish he would take to human courting customs.

Enough of that, you still have the issue of changing. If only you hadn't left your PJ's out in your room. Why didn’t you bring your pajamas in here with you? Why did you have to leave them out in your room? Then again, you weren’t expecting someone to break in. Taking a deep breath, you wrapped your hand around the cold, metal door knob and opened it.

For a moment, you didn’t notice anything. There was the one lamp you had turned on by the door, illuminating part of your room with warm, yellow light, fending off the shadows that lurked in the corners of your mind, and providing some much needed comfort. Your pajamas were resting on the otomen just a few steps away and Uvhash was nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he really did leave. You turn off the bathroom light and delicately step onto the plush carpet to your pajamas, one step, two steps, three steps and your pajamas are right in front of you.

“Are you changing?” Long, white hair falls into your vision as he reaches over to thumb the thin fabric. “It’s soft.” He says curiosuly and picks up the pajama shirt like he's going to inspect it further.

You shudder and snatch the shirt out of his hand, just barely keeping yourself from screaming again. “Can you please-”

“Fine, fine, I’ll turn around. You humans are always so sensitive.”

You bite your lip, some unspeakable emotion roiling in your stomach. You glance behind you, his long white hair covering his back and pooling around his feet like snow. You know Uvhash isn't stupid, despite the opinions others may have because of his more animalistic behavior, and you also know he isn't very familiar with modern human customs- or, human anything beyond what their bodies are made of- but something about this, about what he just said, about his sudden understanding of your want of privacy rubbed you the wrong way. Like maybe he was perfectly aware that hiding in your room like this wasn't acceptable.

"Could you…" He perks up slightly at your voice, invisble muscle shifting benath his transluscent skin. "Could you leave, actually?"

You eye your desk where the case of your key sits quietly, awaiting to be take n on a mission again and a reminder of every Awakener you've met and connected with.

"Going to use that thing again?" There's another shift, one you can't see, but you can feel. The air feels dense, it sits on your skin like a weight, there's a warning in the slight turn of his head, in the stillness of figure.

You bit your lip and slowly, silently, and uncomfortably slip the towel off and put on the silky pajamas. The cool fabric providing little comfort to you as you were accutely reminded of the being behind you.

“Okay.” You mumble, picking up the towel. You toss the towel into the hamper and hesitate for a moment before you reluctantly turn to the golem who is, predictably, watching you again.

"Um," You gesture at nothing, to his indifference. "Do you need something?"

He does nothing for a moment, and then his lips curl into a smile. "No."

You take a breath and nod, not sure what to do or what he wants. You could maybe call Ramona, or Doll, but you'd need to get the communicator first, and then you'd need to turn it on, and then one of them would need to actually pick up at this hour.

You scratch your head roughly. "So, why are you here?"

"I want to spend time with you."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Will you leave once you've done that?"

He considers for a moment, his eyes still never leaving your figure. "Maybe."

"Maybe?" You groan and rub your face before deciding to give up and walk over to your vanity to start your skin care routine and hopefully by then, he'd leave and if not, there is the emergency rope by your bed.

You watch Uvhash come up behind you as you shuffle in your seat, his golden eyes meeting yours in the mirror before moving down to your hands with mild interest. “Lotion?” He scrunches up his nose.

“Yes, Uvhash, do you have opinions on it?” You shoot a glare at him through the mirror, which he misses by a fraction of a second.

“You don’t need that stuff.” He blows a puff of air through his nose.

You ignore him and gather some of it on your fingers and bring it up to your face, but before it could touch your skin, his long, sharp fingers wrap around your wrist and pull it away as he leans in, his voice rumbling against your neck. “I said you don’t need it, it ruins your scent.”

You yank at your hand, trying to pry it out of his iron clad grip. "My scent? I don't care about that! That's not what it's for!"

Maybe he pulled you, or maybe you lost your balance, but either way your back hit his chest and his face was in full view. He doesn't have whites in his eyes, he has red, and sometimes it truly gives him the appearence of a demon. He stares at you for a long, long moment before you feel a finger trace over your jaw and his thumbs absently brush your lips and his voice came in a whisper. "I prefer you like this."

You stare at him in a stupor as his other hand slowly wraps around your throat, tilting your jaw up just enough for his lips to brush over your neck, his hot breath burning your skin as he licks a strip on your skin. He watches you in the mirror as he pushes you forward and your palms press flat against the vanity and he opens his mouth, unusually sharp canines pushing against your skin.

Every other sense seems to dull as more pressure coalesces into two points on your neck, the skin stretching, unwilling to break beneath his teeth and then, with one, small push, the tension breaks and his teeth sink into your flesh and you ease a sigh, relaxing into his grip as his teeth disappear in a budding stream of red that flows down your neck and chest, blossoming on your silken pajamas like spider lilies.

His white hair falls over your shoulders and cloaks over the two of you as your knees tremble and he curls over your slowly sinking figure, letting go of your wrist to instead hold your waist. You can feel his grin against your skin and see the glint in his eye as he watches you in the mirror, like a hunter watching the fawn he’s been wanting finally caught in his trap.

You can feel the heart in his chest beat against you as he pushes his teeth in deeper, drawing more streams of blood as his hand slips under your shirt and cradles a breast, his sharp nails digging in your skin, his hips pressed flush against your ass as a low groan reverberates in his throat.

He'd always said how much he wanted to taste your blood, but in a way it felt too ridiculous to take seriously in spite of his history. After all, this was the campus of Mythag University, plenty of Keepers and Awakeners were here- aside from your graduation day- this place was safe.

Now, as you watch him lick and suck at the freshly made puncture wounds and how you inexpicably find yourself leaning into it, beckoning him to continue with soft sighs and barely concealed little moans, you know you were wrong.

This place isn't a safe haven from harm, and it's not free from beastly whims, but maybe- you shudder as he leaves your neck and his hands slide down- maybe that's alright.

Just for one night.

[cryingpariah]

Hiiiii I just finished reading your theo swim adventure short and had a fun idea to share. You know that theory where cats and dogs see ghost? well what if Theo teams up with Marco's ghost father and siblings to make the dream couple happen

(THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA!!)

Tripping on air into him multiple times a day, having Theo nipping at his heels and corralling him right into her personal space, seeing each other in places they absolutely shouldn’t be, Marco and Mimi were just about at the end of their (incredibly flustered) ropes! That or they were experiencing the first joint mid-life crisis in history! And there was only had one pooch to blame.

They crouched right into front of the dog, trying to will some common ground between them but to no avail, Theo remained tight lipped. His eyes kept glancing over to the far corner of the room.

And in the corner, hidden behind the veil of the seen and unseen, were a rather rowdy group of the dearly deceased and piratical.

“100 beri she asks him out first.” Came the echoey voice of the beautiful samurai, tossing his spectral locks over his shoulder.

“Agreed. The man's usually doin’ the asking, which we have given him ample opportunity for by the way, and he still chickens out!” The cook's soothing southern drawl has Theo's ears perking up. “Little lady's gotta put on her big girl pants and seal that deal!” He cupped his spectral hands over his mouth. “YOU CAN DO IT MIMI! WE BELIEVE IN YA!”

The pair obviously couldn’t hear him, nor did they notice the looming presences of the former emperor and his wayward cowboy.

The cowboy tutted and shook his shaggy head. “Oh ye of little faith. Marco's gonna do it, you just gotta give the guy a little time! It’s not everyday a smoking hot chef mime comes your way! Proper courtship take time~.”

“You can’t use ‘smoking hot’ and ‘courtship’ in the same not-breath and expect us to take you any kind of seriously.”

Before an argument could break out, the emperor snorted. All non-seeing eyes trailed back to the (not yet) couple, both begging Theo to explain his weirdness over the past week. Theo remained unmoved by their pleas, his little neck craned up to meet the emperor's gaze.

“What do you think pup?”

Theo tilted his head before bumping his snout right against the phoenix. The cowboy threw his fist in the air.

“THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT! KNEW YOU'D GET IT THEO!”

Marco, to his credit, only reared back slightly from the force, continuing to stare at the dog in confusion. What was so fascinating about that corner and the sudden attack? He thought they were making progress…

And then, as if by some mysterious entity, the wind ruffled through his hair. It felt odd and familiar in a way he dared not describe. Even the scent on the breeze…it made him think of the Moby Dick.

He turned-!

The corner was empty. Of course it was. What was he looking for?

A hand bursting with concern touched his shoulder, he clutched with his own and gave a quick squeeze.

“Call me crazy, but I have a feeling Theo's not gonna be very chatty.”

A silent but visible chuckle. [Funny. I was thinking the exact same thing.]

He guides Mimi to her feet and they leave the unknowingly haunted room. Theo trails after them.

And the ghosts? They watch on.

[xylax]

Gamedev vs life

Hi I wanted to thank fans/players for patience regarding markings. I am grateful beyond belief how basically entire playerbase was so nice about it all. I got so touched, because I was so scared to disappoint you all. Thank you so much. <3

I am working hard to make up for the delay, I am very sorry it came to that point, I am very ashamed I underestimated amount of work vs manpower, and encouraged to start the encounters before everything was ready, thinking "Of course it's gonna be ready". But it's not 2018 anymore. It's not 1400 files per stage, it's ~3000, totalling 18.000 files for Jaglions... Plus - lot of things happened. Almost entire staff team got sick or experienced very difficult life news that impacted progress. However, I will talk about my situation, as this is my blog.

This month, I have finally been diagnosed with osteoarthritis. It's been an issue for years, but in last 2 years it significally affected quality of my life - this was final drop in sea of needs to get an extra lion files artist in late 2023.

In June this year I suffered a joint inflammation that made me unable to walk. My fingers bend sideways, are stiff and painful. I did receive a steroid treatment but it was not enough to affect the knee, however my fingers feel a bit better, which is nice for drawing! I also received prescription for a painkiller that works better with joints - which is a nice change from just ketoprofen I've been taking. I have more appointments set to see what treatments I can get.

I have to address that it has been affecting my work, and with this, how players experience the game I work on. It is unfair that it affects the enjoyment of the game, and we want to do everything to remedy this.

An artist who already has been with us for years just received a new contract to help us with lion files, and we are looking into getting another decor artist (we're reviewing the portfolio right now!), making us potentially get 3 new artists this year alone. I hope this will help with improving quality and tempo of the game growth. I think Wolvden gets a lot more diversity in artists and a lot less stages/files currently, so it's not an issue yet - however I hope the way we work on Lioden which is always so time-consuming will also positively impact Wolvden in future, as it grows.

Thank you again for your patience with me, DMs with support and stern feedback - I appreciate everything, always. I want this game to be so much fun and to always be pleasure to look at.

Also, fuck genAI, as always. o7

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #46] Forgetting the Friendship

warnings: progress!! seven mv inspo!! fluffy goodness <33 a treat! (1) reference to 'ur so mean ting ting ball :('

notes: i love these chapters so much waaa, it makes me excited to write for bd again <3 also these chapters are copied straight from ao3 and the space after italicised words before full stops drives me insaaane but I am too lazy to fix it lol soz

wc: 9K

bd total wc: 540k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Jeongguk sitting across from you at a dining table is not a foreign concept.

Nor is his smile, and the solace it brings; or his inquisitive eyes, and how they're able to make even the most mundane of activities enthralling.

In fact, sitting with Jeongguk in a dark, smokey barbecue place just off the central restaurant district downtown feels entirely comfortable.

Yet it's perhaps the most troubling thing of all: dating Jeongguk is easy .

Easy, like the first sip of an expensive vodka. Easy, like the laughter that comes whenever you're with him. Easy, like you knew it would be. Easy, like it always is.

The restaurant is familiar to you both - somewhere you've frequented for countless late-night dinners. It's a standard joint, nothing technical nor fancy about it. Booth seats, coal pits in the middle of the table, extractor fan above head.

The pipe work is exposed, but it's more for practicality than aesthetics, even if it does lend itself perfectly to the industrial vibe the place has going on. Lights are dim, neons on the walls, overheads shining down on the barbecues only. It's the perfect place to go incognito for a little. Perfect place to test the waters of what a date could be like with Jeongguk. Perfect, because you can hide, if you want.

Hide what you are. Hide how you feel. Hide from your friends, onlookers, judgement. Hide, as if you need to. As if anyone gives a shit. As if you aren't just a couple of besties just sharing some food.

No one understands.

No one realises they're witnessing a cosmic union that'll change the world as we know it. Celestial in the way your energies merge, a once-in-a-lifetime phenomenon is happening with every awkward glance. Every shy smile. Every bite of his lip, and flip of his lip ring. Every sparkle of your glitter beneath the hazy lights.

God, Jeongguk thinks, hands clammy. So fuckin' pretty.

You know exactly why he's chosen this place. 'Best meat in the entire city,' you've whined a few times, mouth full of your favourite cut. Moksal, the neck cut, is your go-to. Jeongguk always prefers samgyeopsal, and actually thinks there's a place across the road that is superior - but you like moksal, and you like the moksal here.

So here is where you are.

When you realise this—as he's asking the waiter for a cut of samgyeopsal and two cuts of moksal—your heart hurts. If it could pout, it would.

You don't realise that you're kind of pouting too, until Jeongguk asks, "Is that alright? Did you want something else? I can change the order."

"No," you insist, a smile settling on your lips, just shy of a giggle.

Attentive as always, you find his drive to keep you happy sweet. Charming, in fact. You know that if he had it his way, he'd have ordered three cuts of samgyeopsal straight off the bat, then maybe ordered moksal for round two.

But he wants this to be easy.

It is easy.

It's not like you had expected a date with Jeongguk to be a particular hardship. Nothing like that at all.

You've known him for long enough now, and experienced enough of life with him, to know what something like this could be like. Hell, you've done this exact thing with him on an easy two dozen occasions. More, maybe.

The ease, the comfortability, the absence of complication; It's all so easy .

You've never known love to be easy.

Never known it without conflict. You don't even know if this is love—but you know it has the potential to be.

It's too soon for such heavy words. The dates barely even started. A bottle of soju and a bottle of beer are brought to your table, and Jeongguk cracks the cap of the beer while you unscrew the soju. Work in tandem. Get the drinks flowing, 'cause neither of you are truly confident enough for this.

Have both tripped over your words already. Both took a little too long to think of responses, in an attempt to make them perfect. Make this perfect. Be perfect.

This is your first fatal error, for perfection has never been what either of you have liked about one another.

It's everything else—flaws, and all— that you like.

He'd proven that as soon as he had shown up at your door that evening.

"I like your hair," he had told you earlier, a little bashful in your apartment hallway, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets.

Half up, it isn't particularly special today.

Danbi had spritzed it with a little glitter hairspray while you'd been doing your makeup, and twisted some plaits back, leaving your grown-out fringe to frame your face. It is a little fancier than your normal half-up go-to, but it's not exactly ground-breaking.

'Smart casual' had been the attire set by Jeongguk after you'd asked for a dress code, which is honestly the worst thing he could have possibly said.

You're good at doing casual. Great at doing cocktail. Mildly okay at doing smart. The combination of smart and casual? Yeah, not so great. Too many things to factor in.

"Like, do I go business-sexy?" you'd considered out loud, spending far too much time whining when you should have been getting ready. "Yanno? Like a hot secretary? Is that what he means?"

"I think he just means a little dressy," Danbi had talked some sense into you. Really didn't understand all the fuss. "Not full Disco Ball, but enough to still turn heads."

Glancing over to the sparkly dress hanging on the back of your door—the same one that Jeongguk had sort of gifted to you over the weekend, but also not spoken to you about at all—you decide that maybe that will be a little too much.

Thankfully, Jeongguk did send you a mirror selfie twenty minutes before he was set to leave.

Black slacks, a blazer, and a graphic white tee beneath it. Smart casual. Captioned it with, 'will you be able to resist me, or should I get changed?'

You have a last minute panic and change to dress accordingly; tight black mini skirt, large white tee hanging loosely off your frame. A tour shirt from one of your favourite bands, it's been through the wash enough times to look almost vintage, even if it's just from a few years ago. Tucking it in a little at the front, you allow for the material to billow and hide the body Jeongguk seems to love so much. Perhaps it's better. Less tempting.

With a smile, you reply, 'no & no.'

Layering on some jewellery, you do a few last minute checks, and tug on your Converse. Totally not because you think he might wear his. Not at all. Decide against a jacket. You know Jeongguk's got one.

If you're gonna date, then you're gonna do the datey things - and that includes stealing his jacket before the end of the night.

Definitely has nothing to do with the fact you know Jiyeong did the same thing. You're definitely not trying to overwrite the memories of her. Not at all. That would be childish and pathetic and silly and exactly what you're doing.

You've had long enough of reducing yourself and making yourself invisible for the sake of men.

Jeongguk has never made you do that. Not once.

You're confident that Jeongguk won't ever make you reduce yourself. In fact, he's the one who frowns whenever you're without glitter. If anything, he seems to want to amplify you. It's a strange feeling. One you're not quite used to, yet.

But it's one that you had welcomed as he turned up at your door. Had dimples digging into his cheeks the second he caught your gaze, desperately fighting a smile.

A million thoughts raced through his head: how gorgeous you always look in the flickering light of your apartment hallway; how happy he is to be at your door, and how it felt like he'd be sick the entire subway ride there; how he'd planned on stopping for flowers on the way, but had been too eager to see you instead.

None of these thoughts escaped his lips.

Instead, the greeting had been awkward . Bashful. Both of you unsure of this new etiquette, even though being together feels like the most natural thing in the world.

He made note of your lack of jacket. Didn't insist you get one. Knew straight off the bat that he'd be draping his blazer over your shoulders by the end of the night. Wrapping you up as his own. Sticking a label on you that distinctly marks you as his.

He also noticed your shoes. Smiled. Looked down at his own pair - that he definitely didn't wear because he thought you might... not at all...

Part of you felt a little cheated as you headed down towards the subway ( where was the hand holding he'd spoken about? ) but you were also thankful he wasn't going in all guns blazing. Were nervous. Unsteady.

Now that you think about it, perhaps a hand would have been useful to hold.

But in a place that is familiar to you both, the nerves settle.

"So, tell me about yourself," you flirt, as if this really is a first date by the standards of normal people. "Pets? Siblings? Hobbies?"

Jeongguk smiles, easing into how natural this all feels. Feels a little odd, too. You know all this. Still, he nods. Cosplays as a stranger to you 'cause maybe he is a bit too acquainted for some guy who isn't even your boyfriend.

"One brother, no pets. Want a dog, but I'm waiting until I have more free time, yanno?"

"More free time?" you enquire, as if you don't know his schedule like the back of your own damn hand.

You're probably more well-versed in Jeongguk's work rota than your own by this point. Know which days to end up in Dionysus with no purpose other than to have his eyes on you the entire night. Know that he gyms at ass o'clock in the morning because of his work schedule. Know that he'll cancel that particular schedule if it gives him the excuse to stay in bed with you. Bonus point if he gets his cardio done in other ways.

You still might not be a gym girlie, but your core strength has never been better. You're getting pretty good at yoga, too. The Cobra is a particular favourite. Cow, too. And fish pose. In fact, now you think about it, you're getting real good at yoga. Danbi would be proud.

"More free time," he nods, before pausing to take the utensils from the waiter, insisting he's fine to grill his own meat. It's no different to usual—Jeongguk often happily cooks his own meat—but something about it this time around gets you smiling. A little flustered. You do love it when a man takes charge (mainly so you can fight with him), but it's entirely different now.

He just seems... capable. Dependable.

"Work enough hours at a part-time job for it to be full-time," he begins to explain. "But I'm also in the process of setting up my own business. Restaurant business."

Absolutely none of this is new to you, and yet you find yourself asking questions. So many questions. Rehash old conversations, and go off on new ones. Have Jeongguk smiling and enthusing, talking about his dreams like they're coming to life in little vapours dancing around his head. You can picture it all; his successes, his meticulously planned interior, the wind-down after a busy night, sitting with him around his favourite table and eating for yourselves.

He rambles on about staff uniforms, and whether or not he wants shirts or just aprons when he stops himself. Smiles, Says, "Sorry, I'm like the worst date. Just talking about myself non-stop."

Date . Jeongguk is your date. Fuck . You could squeal. You won't—but you could .

Shaking your head, you disagree. "I like hearing about your plans. It's fun. Your eyes get so sparkly whenever you talk about your dreams."

"Shut up," he cringes, a little embarrassed by himself, and also aware that you're totally wrong.

His eyes don't sparkle 'cause he's talking about his dreams.

His eyes sparkle cause he's looking at you as he speaks about them.

Nonethewiser, you raise your shot glass. It's filled to the brim with soju, hastily poured by him, and grin, "to your future."

He raises his glass, and knocks it against yours, tiny droplets of alcohol trickling over the lip of the glass and onto your fingers, so minimal it's almost unnoticeable. "To the future."

The , not his . A collective. A future he hopes you'll share together.

"Anyways," he says as he swallows down the soju and chases it with a little beer. "Tell me about you. Gimmie your life story, Disco Ball."

The smile on his face as he calls you that is sweet. Kind. His dark eyes twinkle in the dimly lit restaurant, a little smoke from the coals beneath the barbecue obscuring him for a brief moment.

Your ability to talk with Jeongguk about anything and everything for hours upon end is nothing new.

As you laugh and joke your way through dinner, there really is nothing remarkably hard about spending time with him. You never thought there would be.

Part of it worries you. Concerns you that 'nothing remarkably hard' could lead to you being simply 'nothing remarkable' altogether.

See, comfortable has been used upwards of a thousand times to describe your relationship. Now is no exception to that.

You talk with him like an old friend, not a new lover - and while this is fine, and safe, and necessary for a successful foundation, you fear that such security will prevent you from building something truly great.

Hours are lost in conversation.

The tables around you come and go. Fill up with new punters, then filter out. At one point, a server spends a little too long looking at your table. Jeongguk notices. Says, "I think we gotta order more or fuck off."

It's been three hours.

And so Jeongguk orders budae-jjigae to keep you going. Knows you won't eat all that much of it, but also knows he can demolish the stew off if needs be. It's cheaper than more meat, and easier to pretend like you're taking your time to eat it. Gives you more time.

Soju bottles empty out rapidly. New bottles are brought over every now and again, the table never running entirely dry. More meat is eventually ordered, because Jeongguk is Jeongguk, and the mere scent of the table next to you grilling up meat gets him hungry again.

Again, he grills for you for the most part, but when you take the tongs from him to turn the meat and give him a little break, he almost crumbles .

His gaze is centred on you. Flicks down your arm, to your wrist. Your hands. Watches as they work. Says nothing, just slowly wets his lips as you continue talking, then presses them together. His lip ring does the thing . Posture reclines a little into his chair.

"What?" you ask as you notice the way he's not paying attention to what you're saying at all. "You good?"

He just shrugs. Absent-mindedly toys with his lip ring a little. Is contemplative as he says, "Why are we putting ourselves through this, B?"

And while you could act dumb, and pretend like you don't know what he means, the relief that washes over is too damn obvious. Your shoulders fucking ease. He knows what you look like at ease, and now that you've sunk into it, he can't believe he didn't realise you were so tense before.

"Oh," he laughs, now, realising that you've been deliberating the exact same thing that's been running through his head. "Am I that much of a terrible date?"

"Date?" you tease. "This is a date?"

"Oh, fuck off," he laughs. "Course it's a date. I wore a blazer."

"You looked hot," you tell him, 'cause you've had a few too many shots to be making good decisions. Tucked into the base of the seating booth to protect it from the smoke, Jeongguk's in just a t-shirt now.

Arms out. Tattoos on display. Muscles tensing just right.

It's a miracle you've been able to form coherent sentences at all this evening.

Truthfully, you've not been focusing on them.

Can't help but let your mind jump back into its memories. Fractures of heated moments in his shower keep coming to mind. The grip you'd have on his arms as you came undone. Memories so potent they almost make you whine.

So yeah, you've been avoiding looking at his arms.

"Should I put it back on?" He raises a brow.

"No," you hum. Bit down on your lip. Sparkle underneath the lights of the restaurant. The taking of Jeongguk's breath is accidental. The way you shrug, and playfully raise your eyebrows as you recline into your chair, is not. "You're hot now, too."

"If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were flirting with me, Byeol."

"Am I not?"

"Are you?"

He's so pedantic you could scream. Instead, you giggle. Shrug as you lean forward to slide your chopsticks beneath one of the fermented perilla leaves. Say, "Give me a hand?"

Of all the things Jeongguk wants to give you right now, a hand is definitely one of them. Maybe not in the way you're requesting, but fuck . He's insatiable whenever you're like this. Impatient .

Yet, he does as he's asked. Splits the leaves for you. Wonders how out of pocket a marriage proposal would be, even if he is just joking.

Instead, he asks, "If we go somewhere else after this, can it count as date two?"

"No."

"Byeol," he whines.

"No," you laugh, knowing exactly why he's asking. "You can't get me into bed that easily. Can't speed up the process. You gotta earn it."

He has earned it. You know it, he knows it. Everyone who looks your way knows it. Your want for him is written all over your face, cosmic eyes shooting up like stars every time you glance his way.

"The process is dumb," he pouts.

"The process is necessary," you insist, though you really are doubting it now.

"The process has already been done," he assures you, though you're not sure his maths is adding up. This is still just date one of five.

Thing is, Jeongguk sees eating together as more of a daily routine thing. It's not special enough - but it's what he said he'd do in the midst of a fuck that felt like a whole lot more, so he had to see it through. Had to make sure your expectations were met. Didn't want you to be disappointed if he didn't follow through.

"We've basically been ' together ' for fuckin' ages, now," he continues, lips a hell of a lot looser now that he's got soju swarming through his veins. Cares not to hide how he views things between you. "The rules are redundant 'cause we already know each other like the back of our hands."

"So?" You toy, enjoying this slightly desperate side to Jeongguk. You normally only get to see it in bed. Nice to witness it fully clothed, even if it does make you wanna disregard the rules you're so desperately trying to enforce. "Think about how good it will be when you finally get me how you want me."

"It'll just be embarrassing," he assures you, thankful that the chatter around you drowns out the conversation you're having. "I'll finish, in like, 2 seconds."

"No different to usual, then."

"Fuck you."

"No," you smirk. "That's the whole issue, remember? We're not allowed to."

"Swear you get off on my pain," he grumbles, topping up both of your glasses with the dregs of the beer left in the bottle. Pours you both water, too. Definitely hasn't had enough, so he doubts you have, either. "Is this what our relationship is gonna look like, huh? You torturing me for the fun of it?"

"Don't get ahead of yourself," you tease him with a playful smile. "I'm not your girlfriend."

He just shrugs again. "Yet."

Your lips purse. Smile hides. Eyes sparkle.

Yet , you think.

As if he can read your mind, he just nods slowly. Yet .

No time is given to dwell on such a small word, for Jeongguk gets already on his feet and heads over to pay. Doesn't even give you the option of offering to go halves, because it is a date, and he does want to tick all the boxes. Make you happy.

And he does. You are.

The restaurant you're in is a few floors up from the street. A skincare shop is on the bottom floor and a kitchen on the next one up. The staircase is themed, adjacent to the restaurant. Has a vibe about it that just begs to be photographed - which is obviously an intentional, marketing ploy, given by the sheer amount of mirrors available on the descent. All branded with a small tag in the corner, you know if you searched it on insta, heaps of selfies would pop up.

Grabbing his blazer from the booth, Jeongguk ushers you towards the staircase, Drapes his blazer over your shoulders, even if you aren't complaining about the cold yet. He knows you will.

Even though he's not been wearing it, there's a warmth about his blazer. His aftershave is stuck in the fibres. Divine. Fresh. Dreamy.

"Wait," you hum as you get to the biggest mirror of the staircase. It's full length. Dimly lit, with neons in the background to give it a vibe that you know girls on the gram will just eat up.

Jeongguk pulls you to stand in front of him ever so slightly. Takes your phone from your hand and slides the screen across to auto-unlock the camera.

Pictures taken together are a rarity, normally always with your other friends. Never just you two. Not since the photobooth in Busan.

He thinks about it often, mainly 'cause every time he sits at his computer desk, he can see them poking out from behind another poster. He keeps them up, a little obscured so that Jimin never notices them, but so he can always feel their presence.

"Should document it," he narrates the choices he's making. "Evidence of our little dating experiment."

It's not what he wants to say. Not what he's thinking. If he were being honest, he'd say 'evidence to show our grandchildren.'

"You're such a romantic," you tease with a roll of your eyes, but naturally find yourself leaning into a pose.

Though Jeongguk once told Yoongi he wouldn't want his relationships plastered all over instagram, he's positioning himself in the perfect soft launch pose. Hangs his arm over your shoulder, tattoos on full display now that his blazer is draped over your shoulders. Covers his face with the phone, and lets you take centre stage.

He thinks he'd quite like to end up on your feed. Not just your story.

The refracted light of a disco ball in the corner of the staircase glitters down on you both, dappling you in pockets of luminance.

"Well, what do you want me to say?" He replies with a smile, tone matching yours as your fingers reach up to link with his. He takes another photo. Switches the camera to record. Looks down towards you. Says, "That I wanna preserve this? That I want to keep this moment forever? That I want something to show future generations?"

None-the-wiser of your rolling camera, you shrug. Smile, looking at you both in the mirror. Look up to him.

"Are you this forward with all your first dates?"

"Only the ones I know I have a future with."

"Oh?" You question, turning your body to face his. The hand that had been slung over your shoulder comes to rub tenderly up and down your back. "You're pretty confident."

He nods, smile soft as his dark eyes just drink you in. There's a giddy feeling in his stomach, and it's not just the alcohol. "Should I not be?"

The familiarity of Jeongguk is only exacerbated as his nose nudges up against yours.

It's tender, and tepid, and he knows better than to be so affectionate with another person in such a public space, but he doesn't care. Felt distant from you when he was across the table; like the supply to his oxygen was being stifled, but now he can breathe again.

You don't resist as he steals a kiss. It's small. Tepid. A punctuation mark for a question that really shouldn't make you feel as head over heels as it does.

"I never said that," you smile, his nose resting against yours as he locks your phone. Will let you find that video some other time. Wishes he was still recording when you say, "I think it's something worth preserving. Think I'll wanna look back on it too."

"Yeah?"

"Mhmm," you mumble into his lips, sinking into another forbidden kiss. "For when we're old and grey and I'm reminiscing over my former lovers."

You're deliberately downplaying how you feel; how you know that there'll never be another lover after him.

If Jeongguk chooses not to see this through, then that's it.

At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, you've determined that no man nor woman could ever compare to him.

His particular cluster of cells is just the right one for you; the right combination of stardust.

If you ever find yourself trapped between sheets with someone else, they'd be nothing more than a misplaced life experience. Not one for the history books. Names wouldn't be remembered, the feeling long-forgotten by the time you're reminiscing.

But not Jeongguk. Never Jeongguk.

It's terrifying to look at another human and know the course of your life is forever changed because of them.

But it's comforting—so, so comforting—when replies, "Former? B, if I'm not covered in your fuckin' glitter on my death bed then I'll... I don't know," he laughs. "Haunt you? I don't fuckin' know. Just take fuckin' former outta your mouth when you talk about us."

"You're so lucky we're in public right now," you sigh a little dreamily.

"Why's that?"

"You're, like, one right sentence away from me getting to my knees."

"Don't say that," Jeongguk groans with a smile. Shakes his head. His nose strokes against yours like it so often does, even closer than before. In fact, he's so close that you can feel his lips as he husks, "Lets get outta here, B."

Shaking your head, you smile. "Ask nicely."

Jeongguk pulls away, and tugs on your hand to have him following you. "You gotta stop being so..."

"So?"

"So you ," he laughs, as you head down the stairs. "Swear you live to wind me up."

"I do," you assure him. "Is it working?"

Leading you down the stairs and onto the bustling city street, Jeongguk likes how much of a menace you insist on being.

Drunk revellers line the pavements, so his grip is tight. He's keeping you close. Smiling with every innocuous statement said by you, then glaring at every fucker who looks your way. You never notice. Are too busy knocking into his chest with every step, glitter no doubt embedding itself in the cotton of his shirt.

He won't complain. Will never complain.

Too late for the subway, and with his car parked up still at his place, a taxi is your only solution to get back to your place. A little too far from town, the walk would take just over an hour, and honestly, neither of you fancy it.

Issue is, getting a taxi at this time of night is hellish, too.

"Just stay at mine," Jeongguk insists as you wait by the taxi rank. Thinks it's a no-brainer. He and Jimin live in the city centre. It's the perfect compromise. "We've done it a hundred times over. Are perfectly capable of—"

"No we're not," you laugh. "All I have to do is look at you in the right way and you get hard."

"So don't look at me," he laughs right back, not even caring to protest it, pulling you in for a hug to stop you from jittering around. It's still cold, May yet to greet you both the bloom of a new season. The blossoms of spring wilted away at the start of the month, but it's still not summer quite yet.

"Or maybe you shouldn't look at me ."

"How can I not?" He whines into your hair, pressing a kiss down on the top of your head. "You're so pretty tonight. So pretty all the time."

Pretty, he thinks when you look at him like that.

Pretty, when you do eventually start walking home with him, and the lights of noraebang entryways shinedown on you, colourful and contrasting your silvery shine. Pretty when you giggle. Pretty when he tugs on your hand and pulls you into a sidestreet for a moment or two whenever your teasing gets a little too much.

He'll always say something like, "If I can't kiss you in the next three minutes, I'll die," or, "Is that what you want? My death on your hands?"

And you'll always reply with something like, "You're lucky I don't fancy going to jail tonight."

Sometimes you don't reply at all. Sometimes, you just kiss him. No games.

Just him, and you, and the physical manifestation of the way you feel about him.

The walk back to his place is made far longer than it needs to be. Detours are taken, and wrong turns are deliberately walked down just to give you both more time together. More, more, more is all you ever seem to want from one another.

And yet as you get back to his place, Jeongguk is the one to start arranging the bedding that separates you. Gets all the pillows he can find in his apartment, and begins to make a little nest beside his bed. Keeps the good pillows on his bed, 'cause that's where you'll be, and he wants you comfy.

A boundary was set by you, so as much as he can whine or complain, he'll always respect it.

In fact, if you were to turn around now and say 'fuck it', he'd be the one to reinforce it. Knows you've both had a little too much to drink. Doesn't want you doing anything you'll regret.

"C'mon," he says fondly, coming to stand in front of you at the end of his bed. Cups your jaw and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Let's get washed up, B. Teeth, then bed."

The way Jeongguk feels the need to always take care of you is sweet. Tender. Careful. He fears doing the wrong thing so often, that his default is to be overwhelmingly good.

Comfort is found in this routine of yours.

Domestic, it's sort of devastating when you realise how well-acquainted you are with one another's habits.

He finishes his teeth brushing just before you, 'cause he knows you always like to be the last to finish for some weird, competitive reason.

Knows you sleep with your hair up, cause you hate the way it feels around your neck, so gently slides out the pin keeping half of it up. Lets it tumble down as you come to the end of your brushing, but scoops it back before you go to rid your mouth of toothpaste. Says nothing, still, as he ties your hair up with the thin band around his wrist.

Teeth clean, you turn to face him. Let his body press against yours. Encourage it, in fact, then give no resistance as he drags you to the left of the sink, nor when he hooks his arm beneath your ass and lifts you to perch on the counter.

"So pretty," he whispers, tucking back some loose strands he missed. Just you and him, Jimin's already asleep in the room next door. The apartment is silent save for the thudding of your beating hearts, that carry the weight of an orchestra on their base notes. You'll be a symphony, one day. "You know that right? Prettiest thing I've ever seen. Sparkliest, too."

If Jeongguk were to sit down and think about it, he could probably write a fuckin' sonnet.

But he's drunk, and he's sleepy, and you're just so pretty.

Forehead resting against yours, there's no desire for him to take this further. No need for him to elevate this. All he wants— truly —is for you to know he means it. Not just on a superficial level. On a deeply human, richly complex level.

You make him—his heart —feel pretty, too.

And so even though his nose nudges against yours, lips trembling, he doesn't kiss you. Won't sully his words with overwhelming physical passion. Instead, he lifts you. Carries you to his room. Sets you down on his bed without a single word.

Crazy, how a touch so tender can send you reeling; wanting. His silence is maddening.

It scares you. Worries you that maybe he isn't saying anything because anything he does say will upset you.

It prevails as you turn away from one another to get changed. He strips to his boxers, and you adopt a shirt of his that's been tossed over the back of his desk chair. No different to usual.

But as you settle into bed, and listen to him do the same, it's his voice that breaks the barrier. Bulldozes the wall you had begun to put up around yourself in an act of self-preservation.

"What do you even like about me, B?"

Barely a whisper, it's almost like he's scared of being heard; as if whatever answer you give will devastate him.

So fixated on everything he likes about you, he's beginning to realise that he can't really work out why someone like you would ever go for someone like him.

He's unestablished. Unstable in his career. Has barely finished school. Has no money, or at least not enough to provide you with any of the good stuff in life. Not yet, at least. 

You had to spend an eternity listening to him whine about an ex that has proven herself to be pretty fuckin' awful. You live with the knowledge of all that he's done in pursuit of her. How desperate and pathetic he was.

The monsters that go bump in the night in Jeongguk's room live inside his head. They lie to him; tell him he's unworthy of the things he earned. Whether it be the business he's setting up, or the girl he's been fawning over for months, everything just appears a little out of grasp.

Like a donkey chasing a carrot, he runs and runs. Pursues his desires but can never reach them. He's asking for a lifeline, now. Is desperate.

"In what way?" you ask.

You'll give him a list as long as Jimin's Dionysus bar tab, if he wants. Can think of a million little things you adore—but you're scared, too. Vulnerability has never come easy to either of you.

It's a little ridiculous by now, how you both manage to let the devils on your shoulders worm their way into your ears and corrupt your brains. In the dark of night, it's easier for them to creep in. Less light to reflect upon the glitter that would typically keep them at bay.

"You know what way."

It's true. You do. Of course, you do.

Talk is cheap, you always think. Actions speak louder than words, or so has been the case for Jeon Jeongguk since the moment you met him - but it's words he needs now. Words that will soothe his brain. Words that will wrap around his insecurities.

Insecurities that are exacerbated by the fact you don't want to share a bed with him anymore, and the way your touch has become something that's withheld until he proves himself.

He doesn't even realise the way his mind is chalking up this new rearrangement. Doesn't understand that the slightly sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach is anxiety.

Change is never easy, but he knows it's often good. Even with this in mind, Jeongguk feels pretty awful. Maybe it's just the alcohol wearing thin. Maybe he just needs to sleep.

He never wanted things to change. Wanted things to stay exactly how they were. He told you this. All he wanted was the security that you wanted him, too—but now there are rules, and boxes to tick, and a change in a dynamic that he quite frankly thought was perfect before.

With these changes comes a physical distance, of course, yet it's manifesting itself emotionally in a way that you really should have predicted.

He's clingy . Always has been. Always keeps you close.

And now that he can't, he needs something to fill the space left by your prohibited touch.

A similar pang of discomfort washes over you; matches his dis-ease.

"So many things," you start, because it's hard to pick just one.

He stays silent. Knows you're working through your thoughts. Feels embarrassed to be asking for such attention, but he just needs something, anything , to remedy his brain.

The distance between you seems to grow in the silence, much like it did in your apartment when he showed up with his last birds.

Together, you're like an elastic band that just stretches and stretches and—

"Can I come down there, Gguk?"

You're stretching, still. The silence is empty around you as he tries to find the right response.

He gives up. Begs, "Please."

And so— ping .

You snap right back.

Pulling his bedding to the floor, you build an even bigger nest. Snuggle up beside him. Give no resistance, as he pulls you closer. Gets you beneath the same duvet. Shirtless, Jeongguk remains warm to the touch, and your hands remain gentle on his skin.

Both of you take a second to indulge in the closeness. Your leg hooks over his hip, his hand stroking up the back of your thigh as you do so, but it's not taken beyond the simplicity of what it is.

This isn't about sex.

It's about intimacy; about his heart, and how he foolishly felt like glitter had been replaced with shards of glass.

Remedied, Jeongguk can breathe again.

"I like your work ethic," you eventually whisper, brushing back a few strands of his hair, the darkness of the room not obscuring your star boy entirely. He adjusts slightly. Strokes your hip. Nudges his nose up against yours—not for anything other than for the fact he can. Doesn't kiss you. Lets you talk. "You work so hard, Gguk. So hard."

He stays silent. Asked for compliments, but doesn't really know how to respond to them.

So you give him more. Slide your hand up his throat, until his ear rests between your thumb and index finger, nails softly scratching his scalp.

"I also like your hair," you admit, because you're touching it, and it comes to mind, and because you don't think you tell him enough.

"Wanna grow it again," he mumbles, ever critical of himself.

"If you want to, you should," you tell him. "But it always reminds me of when we met when it's like this. I like it both ways."

"Your memory is good," he sort of derails the conversation.

"I remember 'cause it's important," you tell him—then decide to put the carriage of whatever fuck this is back on course. "I remember 'cause you're important, Gguk."

"Even back then?"

"God, especially back then," you insist. "You were so kind. So kind. Kind when you didn't have to be. Barely knew me and yet you made me feel so safe."

"Anyone would have—"

"No," you firmly interject. "Not just anyone. I went to a lot of bars last spring and not a single barman was making sure their punters were getting water. Only you. You go above and beyond for people. It's admirable. I like that. I like how kind you are. God, Gguk, the list is endless."

"Endless?"

"Endless. I like so much about you. So much." And you're not sure if you should continue listing out things, because you fear saying a little too much. Worry that the true nature of your feelings is a little too much for the freshness of this new endeavour. "I just... you're the best person I know. Truly."

He takes a second to fully digest your words. Appreciates them. You. The way you're willing to meet him halfway, and stop him from going off the deep end.

"Will you stay down here?" He whispers against your lips. The delicacy of such a touch leaves you a little breathless, even if it's not his intention. "No funny business. Just wanna be with you, B."

If anything, the lack of Jeongguk's desire for anything physical only makes you want him more. It's bizarre to be in such a state of yearning for someone right in front of you.

It's not like you're particularly in the mood, or deprived, or anything like that - it's just the perfect example of why cultivating intimacy is such a disaster for you. Makes you realise why it's always so impossible to stay away from one another. Sex is never just sex. Not with Jeongguk.

Cut from the same cloth, it's a shared language; one that you only ever speak together.

Nodding, you say, "I'll stay."

Together, you curl into a position more suitable for sleep. He takes the position of the little spoon, 'cause facing one another is dangerous, and so is having his dick to your back. Neither of you are stupid.

At least, you like to pretend you're not.

In the night, you twist and turn regardless. Change positions half a dozen times. Wake up with his arm wrapped over your waist, your body tucked up against his. He's the big spoon now.

"Ignore it," he grumbles into your hair when he feels you begin to stir.

"Impossible," you sleepily hum into the pillows, needing absolutely no confirmation of what he's talking about. Can feel him digging into your back. "Too big."

"Oh yeah?" he smirks, and presses a kiss to the back of your hair. Tightens his grip around, to say a silent morning.

"Mhmm," you confirm. "You can add it to the list of things I like about you."

"Fuck off," he scolds, but you can hear the smile in his tone.

"In fact, put it at the top of the list."

"The top?!" He protests—yet he's holding you ever tighter, still.

"Mmm, maybe just behind the free drinks at Dionysus."

"Don't remind me of work," he whines.

"You in tonight?"

"Mhmm," he regretfully mumbles. "Got a meeting with the bank first, though. Busy day."

"Want me to get going?" you ask, reaching up to grab your phone from the bedside table. Checking the time, you ignore all the texts from Danbi wondering how it went. Will just tell her later. Truthfully, you're not even sure how it went. "It's just gone nine. Want me to get outta your hair?"

"Meeting isn't until one," he tells you, but does add, "I've got some things I need to sort out beforehand."

"Say no more," you offer, stretching yourself out and away from his grasp. He whines and he moans, because he's Jeongguk, and of course he does. You tease him, and tell him not to miss you too much, because you're you, and of course you do.

But all Jeongguk does in your absence is miss you.

Spends most of his time in his bank meeting ignoring the clerk. Will read the paperwork later. Is still frustrated with the situation at hand, still yet to find a solution to his problem. Still yet to tell you about, 'cause he doesn't realise a problem shared is a problem halved. Will keep the bank issue tucked away. Nothing for you to worry about.

When work rolls by, he's checking his phone every few minutes. Earns himself some not-so-subtle side-eyes from Yeonjun. Loses 50k in a bet with him over how long he could go without checking his phone. Jeongguk is adamant he hit the fifteen-minute mark. Yeonjun was timing it. Was eight.

As the week progresses, your schedules aren't aligning. Alongside work, you're prepping Tae's next art show, and becoming painfully aware of how unsustainable it is—especially because the new curator is just as shit as you were warned they would be.

You're not just burning the candle at both ends; it's been dumped in a wax burner. Wick intact, it's the wax that's melting away.

Something's gotta give, and regretfully, it kinda feels like Jeongguk has been the sacrifice.

Stress is becoming well acquainted with you both.

He tries filling his empty space with the gym. It always used to work. Jiyeong still ignores him whenever he turns up, and it suits him just fine, but she has started at least looking ambivalent. The daggers he used to get never cut him particularly deep, but he didn't like the scratches on his skin for merely existing.

Still, his head is full of you—what you're doing, how work is, how he wishes you'd show up at the end of his sessions like you used to do, coffee in hand. Doesn't get why going on dates now means that you don't just hang out like normal.

So he hits personal bests, and has no one to tell when he leaves, shirt sticking to his back, eyes dark. There's a near-permanent ridge between his brows, testosterone up but his drive to do anything about it way down.

He gets coffee by himself, and smiles when the girl at the counter flirts with him like she always, but internally spends the entire interaction telling her to get fucked. She's a nice girl. Jeongguk's sure she's really nice, in fact, but he's so frustrated with everything that he can't even take pleasure from the acknowledgement that he's desired.

Doesn't want it.

Just wants you.

But you're busy, and so is he, and the one evening he thought you might be free to hang out, you had pole with Danbi, so he even finds himself resenting that. It's at that point he knows he's going mad, because what lover of the female anatomy would ever hate that?

He sends you pictures from his bed, and you send him pictures right back, just as innocent as they are illicit. Just shoulders. Lips. Rumpled duvets, that are only really disturbed on one side. Allusions to that fact you'd rather be with one another. Declarations of your yearning without anything tangible.

It's just under a week until Yoongi and Seoyeon's big day, and he worries that you guys will be in an awkward state of limbo. Doesn't want to have to face all your friends and act all normal while you're still in this clumsy stage.

There's a very real fear within Jeongguk that the first date just wasn't... right . That you've had time to think, and know that he isn't suited to you. That his insecurities or neediness have somehow made him unattractive, to you. That you're biding your time until you can figure out a way to let him gently.

And yet come Saturday—

"Thought I was gonna die," Jeongguk desperately husks into your lips, hips pressed to your tummy, your back to your apartment door. He's not even taken his shoes off yet, and for some reason, you're stripping him of his jacket. "Swear my brain doesn't work without you."

"That's, like—" His kisses never let you get more than a word or two out. "—probably not—" God, he's insatiable. "—healthy, babe."

And then he's groaning. Telling you not to call him that. Kissing you even harder just to get his desire out of his system—but it never fuckin' eases. Never does with you.

Just like you'll never stop calling him by the names that make him weak. You like him like this. Like his neediness. He never needs to worry. You know exactly who he is. None of this comes as a surprise.

For now, though, you've gotta reel it in. You've a date to have. One planned by you, this time. One that'll strip you back to who you are—no external pressure to perform, no big need to get it right.

Just you, and him, and little paint (but, sadly, a lot less boobs).

"C'mon," you smile, pulling away, realising maybe you shouldn't have taken his jacket off him (even if it did mean you could get your hands up his shirt in the midst of your makeout session). "Let's go."

The hold that Jeongguk has on your hand as you lead him up the stairs of your apartment block rooftop is loose. Barely there. Just enough. A whisper of a touch; everything that needs to be said.

It tightens in the small enclosure just in front of the door that leads to your roof.

Just you and him, the winding flight of stairs beneath you is empty. Mid-afternoon, it won't be long until the sun sets.

You love this time of year for that very purpose. The setting sun is always far brighter, far bolder, far keener to welcome in your favourite time of day. The longer the stars are in the sky, the more at home you feel.

Jeongguk's always been a bit of a night owl, too. It's fated, perhaps, that he should find himself in a permanent state of yearning for the brightest star he's ever known. It's always the middle of the night when he's with you. Always his favourite time of the day.

Could be seven in the morning, but as long as you're beside him? Favourite time. Could be midday sunshine, but if you're there? Favourite time . Could be a time like right now, mid-afternoon, not a star in the sky, and yet? Favourite time.

You're midnight.

Not in a way that invokes fear or suspicion, like the midnight streets of a busy city, but in a way that invites mystery and intrigue. You're midnight in the same way that Dionysus is; fun, a little ridiculous, and always a good time. Midnight, in how you shine. Sparkle. Midnight, in the way that Jeongguk thinks you must be a dream.

It's the only way to explain how he's stumbled across another human so perfectly out of key. So perfect for him. Immaculate in how you radiate everything Jeongguk desires; flawless in the way you align with him. Body, mind, spirit. All of the cliche things, with none of the cliche.

Though still gentle with his touch, Jeongguk becomes a little more domineering than he had been. Takes control of the position, knowing that the plans beyond the weighty steel door are all yours.

It's not like he minds giving up control. Gladly does it. Just doesn't want you thinking that he takes any of this for granted. Doesn't want you to think he's just going along with what you want, because it's easy. Wants to prove to you that all of his choices right now are deliberate.

That he's intentional. That he's choosing you , not just the path of least resistance.

He pulls you back, and your body naturally turns to face his, like a tide rolling in or the sun setting beyond it. There's silence as you're dragged towards Jeongguk, with only shy giggles to accent your movements when he gets your back pressed to the door.

"No funny business," you remind him as his nose nudges against yours. "We haven't even started date number two. It's the rules, Gguk."

He simply shrugs. Nudges your nose one last time before sinking his lips down into yours—and the way you accept him so willingly would suggest you really don't care all too much about that damn rule.

"Rules are made to be broken," he assures you, lips brushing yours with every mumbled word.

"I'm gonna think you only care about the sex," you warn him softly.

You won't think that at all. You've known him for long enough now to understand how he works; why he doesn't sleep around much. Sex, for Jeongguk, is an extension of himself; how he feels.

So yeah, while Jeongguk might chase his own pleasure during sex, it's never the goal. Not really. It's a nice by-product, sure, but it's not the reason he fucks.

Just like kissing is a declaration for you, the way he gives himself up is a declaration for him. A way to speak his words without having to say anything at all.

He shakes his head against you, lips still pressing down into yours. Groans a little as he pulls away. Rests his forehead on yours, and says, "I fuck you because I care about you. Stupid."

"Calling me stupid isn't gonna make me believe you," you tease him, rolling away from his grasp. Quite like it when he calls you dumb names like that. Makes everything feel so much simpler, like a childhood romance, or something dumb like that. Lowers the stakes. Still, you're pedantic, and he knows this. You'll be bratty, always. "Was working in your favour until you said that. Shame."

Jeongguk just rolls his eyes. Smirks. Relents. Isn't holding your hand anymore and misses it, but knows you need to unlock the door. Says, "You didn't let me finish."

"Finish?" you laugh, twisting the door handle and pushing the door open. Jeongguk's hand comes to press against the metal above your head, helping with the weight of the door.

"Mhmm," he says as natural light pours into the small enclosure, following you as you step out onto the rooftop. "Was gonna say stupid hot . You're stupid hot ."

"You are so full of shit."

Maybe he is bullshitting you. Maybe he's the stupid one. Maybe none of it matters, because the way his hands come to settle on your waist as he follows you in the open space makes you feel all silly inside. Goofy. Stupid .

Oh, how you hate it when he's right.

And when Jeongguk sees what you've got set up on the rooftop for the pair of you—paint, and canvases, and the promise of something sweet blossoming beneath clementine skies—he has to stop himself from blurting out something equally stupid, like 'you're so perfect, ' or, 'I'm so in love with you.'

Instead, he just smiles. Presses a kiss to the curve of your neck. Husks, "We both know how this ends, B."

"Different this time," you tell him, walking in tandem with him over the blanket and cushions that he recognises from your apartment. "Last time you were in denial about how much you like boobs."

"True."

"And so now I don't need to convince you they're the greatest thing on planet Earth."

"What if I just look?" he chances, flopping down onto the surprisingly comfortable surface. "Promise I won't touch?"

"Nope."

"You're so mean, Disco Ball."

"You love it," you tease, coming to lounge by him.

He doesn't say it. Doesn't need to. You both know his little laugh, and the silence that follows means one thing and one thing only.

Yeah, he thinks to himself. Suppose I do.