#sns-compliments

[caliphoria17]

Aaliyah Amrohi being a vision under the rays of the sun 🌅

[caliburn-not-calculator]

This is your sign to talk about the blorbos. Pop off

Okay I was yapping about mechanite gender today so imma transfer some of those yaps here to inflict on tumblr

So to me mechanites don’t have any cultural understanding of gender beyond what has been picked up from societies existing around them. Like a mechanite raised in a non mechanite society will probably have more typical “binary” view on it but someone from a more classical Mechanus society is more like, we just Exist and present as we please, no more to it than that. Machines don’t have a gender, they have no biological reasons to have conceptual ideas of sex or hence gender differences based of norms around that. They just exist and likely have demographics based off other factors for different things.

Canon Maxim is agender to me for this reason, if I’m picking a label for it. I feel like Maxim would have used neutral pronouns all through living in Mechanus but get he/himed upon going to the material plane because he presents in a typically masculine way through sheer coincidence, and going, yeah sure that works. He doesn’t really care enough to say otherwise and it fits fine for him. It’s nice and clear and doesn’t cause any confusion. Efficient, which is all that matters. Like, does a machine sit there and worry about what it presents to the world as? Does it care for gender? Does the unflinching and unified power of Mechanus ascribe to such ideas? No. Hence, neither does he. He doesn’t have much of a concept of gender for himself, it is a thing that exists outside of him I think

Also, despite physically and vocally sounding masculine Maxim’s clothing choice a teeny bit less stereotypically masc. In aus I’m like, yeah that guy lives in a suit probably, but in canon I physically cannot see him wearing that. Pants? No. Exists exclusively in long heavy mage robes. Which is indeed all he’s ever described to wear in canon (unlike VR-LA but we’ll get to that). It’s not like a dress but it’s a very neutral sort sort of garb by your stereotypical standards.

Then, onto VR-LA, who I have some fun thoughts about. Having been from Candlekeep has a more human/oid like view on gender. Not to say they were strict on having a binary but like, they actually have concepts of male and female unlike a purely mechanite society. He goes with being a guy because he was raised in that sort of slot, and that way he doesn’t have to overthink it. Like sure he doesn’t have any complaints and this is a role he can fit into just fine. But there’s a vague disconnect there that he’s not really acknowledging. He probably has that view of himself shaken up by spending more time around mechanites and yes this is my way to give the robot a mild identity crisis.

I will make that robot gender queer you can’t stop me

He pointedly ignore the little sparky feeling of euphoria he gets from long swishy wizard robes,. He doesn’t have a problem with masc clothes but he’s never really explored beyond it and is finding out hey, I like this?? Which is also one thing to note which is very minor but VR-LA like. Wears pants, which idk to me feels weird for a robot but it’s clearly a fashion/comfort choice he’s made. Even when wearing wizard robes he did his time showing thigh in season one and now they’re gone lol. He just leans a little into that more stereotypically masc look.

Anyway yeah I think VR-LA should get to experiment with gender presentation a little, as a treat <3

I also have thoughts about the other mechanites (Mainly E-DN being more gender neutral, AS-TR is she/they to me and very femme, Astro on discord pointed out C-RA being most strongly aligned to her gender in being feminine and yes I agree I love that). But anyway I have shit to do that I’m seriously procrastinating so that’s for another time

[padfoot-lupin77]

Lily Evans is half Greek btw, because I’m Greek and I said so 😌 Her mom spoke Greek to her so she knows it as well as English.

Sirius was taught Greek as part of the “proper pureblood education”. When he and Lily want to piss off James, they chat in Greek and he gets so upset because he can’t understand a single word

But, since Sirius was taught by tutors, he doesn’t know slang and curse words. Lily refuses to teach him, but she’s taught Marlene who won’t shut up about it, so soon enough the entire friend group is cursing each other in Greek

[girlspecimen]

Today’s outfit feels so sakura matou tbh

[xinganhao]

not for sale 💳 mingyu x reader. (3)

celebrity!mingyu and small business owner!reader. check out 🛒 not for sale's masterlist.

You can’t bring yourself to end the call. 

Your phone is overheating. You’re below the acceptable battery threshold of twenty percent. And the dark-haired boy on the other end of the screen looks more asleep than awake. 

You should end this call, but you can’t. 

Mingyu doesn’t seem keen on ending it either. His eyes are drooping and his head has begun to loll every so often. He’d spent the first couple minutes of the call talking about his day— the seemingly endless rotation of engagements that came with being a celebrity. 

Sometimes, it still strikes you as odd that this is the life you now lead. Being on FaceTime with somebody that hundreds, maybe thousands of people fawned over. 

But you were friends… right? And friends called each other. Friends texted. 

This is friendly, a small voice in the back of your head tries to convince you. So very, very friendly. 

The conversation has since mellowed out. Mingyu makes good on his word; he falls quiet, observing your work like it’s some form of entertainment for him. At one point, you even forget he’s watching. 

It’s why you’re a bit jolted when he absentmindedly mumbles, “You have nice hands.” 

You pause in the middle of bubble wrapping an order. One cursory glance at your screen, and you see that Mingyu is absolutely fighting for his life to stay awake. The sight almost makes you smile. 

“You should head to bed soon,” you say instead of addressing his compliment. “We’ve been on call for— what? Two hours, I think.” 

Mingyu says something too low for you to catch. You give a noncommittal hum of ‘hmm?’, prompting him to repeat what he’d said. 

And maybe he’s just tired enough to decide fuck it. Maybe it’s past midnight and that makes everything fair game. 

Because Mingyu breathes out a quiet “not enough,” and you swear something screeches to a halt in your brain. Two hours. Not enough. 

You swallow. He’s out of it, you think to yourself, your fingers quivering a bit as you cut, tape, seal. He’s sleep-deprived and talking out of his ass. 

That’s what gives you the audacity to ask what’s been on your mind for days now. 

“Mingyu,” you ask, “why do you want to be an ambassador for Bittersweet?” 

A beat. One that stretches long enough for you to wonder if Mingyu had finally succumbed to his exhaustion. 

But then, his voice— quiet, but not any less sincere— rings over the line. “Because I like your jewelry.” 

Plain and simple. You’re not sure why you expected more. 

He goes on, his tone a little softer, slower. “I like what you’ve done with the business. I like… how hard you work. Your passion. All that.”

Mingyu pauses to yawn. You glance over to see him smiling into his phone, his half-lidded gaze trained on your hands moving over your workbench. It makes his next words a one-two punch on your poor heart. 

“Your brand may be called ‘Bittersweet’,” he says, “but you’re as sweet as they come.” 

EXCERPTS FROM "MINGYU opens up on being named Rising Star of the Year"

Q: Earlier this year, the Internet fell in love with you for being an ‘advocate for small businesses.’ You’ve seemed to take it a step further, though. 

MINGYU: [laughs] Is that what they’ve been saying? I had no idea. But, yes— the pieces I have on right now are from a small business. It’s called Bittersweet Jewelry, and it’s something I found one day while scrolling through SNS. 

Q: You didn’t know the seller prior to purchasing? 

MINGYU: No, not at all. They didn’t even know it was me. I used an alias for a while. 

Q: I see. A lot of people believe your support has been reflective of your personality. Being caring, considerate. 

MINGYU: That’s very nice. I appreciate that. Although, if I’m being honest, I’m just a guy who likes good jewelry. I admire consistency, quality. [holds up his rings] These have it in spades. 

Q: That’s why you keep coming back to brands like Bittersweet. 

MINGYU: Sure. We could say that.  

[...]

THE TOP FIVE SONGS MINGYU HAS BEEN PLAYING ON REPEAT LATELY

Love Me Like That by Sam Kim

Linger by The Cranberries

Tadhana by Up Dharma Down

If You Do by GOT7

LMLY by Jackson Wang

[...]

Q: What do you look for in a partner? 

MINGYU: Now, Minghao… [laughs] 

Q: Sorry. The readers want to know. 

MINGYU: I’m never going to escape this question, am I? Give me a minute to think about it. 

Q: Sure. 

MINGYU: [after a moment] I’d like somebody dedicated and passionate. Someone sweet. And… 

Q: And? 

MINGYU: Someone with nice hands, I guess. [smiles] 

› scroll through all my work ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ my masterlist | @xinganhao

[evtrained]

I'm finally gonna have to learn Bow, aren't I.

@damnwyverngems

[badathumanemotions]

Hi! How are you? If you're taking requests, I have one: Emily Prentiss × female! Oc. It's a dirty request, where I want Emily Prentiss to be submissive and the female! Oc/SN to be dominant. A context behind it, so it's not just sex, is after the "Honor Among Thieves" case, from the second season, more specifically after a dinner between the two with Elizabeth Prentiss (Emily's mother) that managed to push the female! Oc/SN to the limit. That's it, thank you :)

The Weight of Expectations

Emily Prentiss x Reader MDNI Masterlist CW: Angst With a Happy Ending, Smut, Sub Emily, Dom Reader, Praise Kink, Oral Sex, Tribbing/ Scissoring, SubSpace, Love Bites, Aftercare. WC: 12,503

(Not Proof Read)

The house was as immaculate as you had expected, but somehow more sterile than you had imagined. Not cold exactly, but curated in a way that made the warmth feel artificial. The expensive fixtures gleamed, the lighting was soft and carefully arranged, and every piece of furniture looked like it had been placed by a designer rather than lived with. Nothing here felt touched.

You noticed the way Emily paused just inside the doorway, like stepping into this space required her to become someone she had worked hard to leave behind. Her hand found yours for a brief moment, her grip firm before she let go to slip out of her coat, her expression already composed.

Elizabeth greeted you both with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, air-kissing Emily’s cheek before offering you a polite nod. She was perfectly dressed, perfectly poised, and already perfectly condescending without saying a word. Her tone was smooth and measured as she led you into the dining room, offering a compliment on your outfit that sounded more like a subtle appraisal.

The moment you stepped inside, Elizabeth announced that dinner was just being served, her tone brisk like she had timed it perfectly on purpose. There was no chance to settle in, no invitation to get comfortable. Coats were taken, pleasantries were thin, and within minutes you were seated at the long, gleaming dining table.

The table was set like something out of a lifestyle magazine, all gleaming silver and delicate crystal, arranged with such precision it felt like a performance. You had always known Emily grew up in an affluent, high-society world, but seeing her placed back inside it felt strange. It made the version of her you knew, with her feet on the coffee table, hair tied back, laughing with a beer in hand, feel even more like the real one.

The food was plated with delicate precision, the kind of meal that looked more like it should be in an art exhibit than in front of someone planning to eat it. Emily sat across from you, already holding her wine glass, her posture stiff and practiced. She hadn't said much yet, and neither had Elizabeth, but something in the quiet tension between them was already pressing in. Like a storm waiting for the right comment to crack the sky open.

Elizabeth settled at the head of the table as if it were a throne. She commented on how nice it was to finally meet you, then added that Emily had taken her time bringing someone home.

“You know, Emily,” Elizabeth said lightly, as if commenting on the weather, “I still don’t understand why you didn’t pursue something more… sustainable.”

Emily didn’t look up. “Define sustainable.”

“Something with long-term vision,” Elizabeth continued, resting her fork on the edge of her plate. “Something that builds toward something greater. The Bureau is fine for now, I suppose, but don’t you ever think about the future?”

You glanced toward Emily, watching her expression flatten just a little more. She drank again, deeper this time, before placing her glass down too carefully.

“She is thinking about the future,” you said, tone calm. “She’s doing something that matters.”

Elizabeth gave a small smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course. I didn’t mean to belittle what she’s doing. I just worry sometimes. There’s no real longevity in chasing serial killers.”

Emily’s fork hit her plate a little harder than necessary.

Elizabeth’s tone didn’t change. “But I had always hoped for more stability. Prestige. And I did try to give you every advantage. Boarding schools, language programs, summer internships with real potential. I thought I was opening doors, not watching you walk right past them.”

Emily set her wine glass down with deliberate care.

“You did open doors,” she said, voice clipped. “I just didn’t want what was behind them.”

Elizabeth turned her attention back to her plate, cutting another precise bite, then dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

You held your fork a little too tightly, trying not to react. It wasn’t your place, not here. Not now. Emily hadn’t asked you to bite your tongue, but you could feel the ask in the set of her shoulders, in the calm she was forcing herself to wear like armour. So you stayed silent, even as the urge to defend her curled hot in your chest.

Elizabeth went on. “You know, I still get asked about you. People wonder what you’ve been doing with yourself. They remember your potential. That time you spoke at the youth diplomacy summit, people were certain you’d end up in Geneva or Strasbourg, maybe even the UN.”

Emily gave a dry smile, no amusement in it. “I guess I disappointed a lot of people.”

Her mother didn’t deny it. “Well. There’s still time.”

Emily reached for her wine again, the movement slow, measured. She didn’t drink this time. Just held the glass.

Elizabeth looked at her daughter as though she were something to be gently corrected, not understood. “You were meant for more than this.”

Emily’s voice was quiet. “Maybe this is more.”

Elizabeth didn’t speak, but her silence echoed louder than any dismissal.

Elizabeth lifted her wine glass again, studying the colour with polite interest, then took a slow sip. She hadn't touched most of her food, but that didn’t seem to matter. The meal was theatre, not sustenance. A stage, like the furniture and the lighting and the immaculate arrangement of the table.

“You were always too quick to run from discomfort,” she said after a moment, her gaze still directed at Emily. “Never liked criticism. You’ve always called it pressure, but that’s such a dramatic word, don’t you think? I gave you opportunity. Structure. The kind of environment where excellence could flourish.”

Across the table, Emily sat with her fingers loosely curled around the stem of her glass. She wasn’t drinking anymore. Just holding it, like a weight she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to put down or throw. Her expression hadn’t changed, not really, but there was something brittle in it now. A crack under the surface.

Elizabeth set her glass down. “Other children would have been grateful. Most parents don’t know how to navigate diplomatic circles or secure elite internships for their daughters before they’re even out of school.”

You didn’t speak. You could feel the way Emily had gone still across from you, the silence she was holding like a shield. It wasn’t your place to break it, not yet.

“I gave you everything,” Elizabeth continued, as if speaking to herself, though her voice was deliberately pitched to carry. “And somehow you always managed to choose exactly the wrong thing.”

Emily’s voice came then, low and careful. “Wrong by your standards.”

Elizabeth’s expression didn’t shift. “My standards aren’t arbitrary, Emily. They’re based on results. On outcomes. And I’m sorry, but I fail to see how sprinting after violent men across the country for barely passable federal pay qualifies as a sound return on investment.”

“Then stop thinking of me as one,” Emily said, her voice sharp now, the words precise.

Elizabeth blinked once, slowly. “You’re being emotional.”

“I wonder why,” Emily said flatly.

There was another silence. One of many that had stretched across the table since the night began. But this one was heavier. Elizabeth’s knife moved against her plate with soft precision, rearranging rather than eating. She brought her napkin to her lips, dabbed once, then folded it again in her lap.

“You always had an eye for chaos,” she said lightly. “Even as a girl. You were drawn to it. You liked mess, like it proved something. Even your friends. There was always someone troubled. Someone in need of saving. I assumed you would grow out of it eventually.”

Emily didn’t move. She didn’t speak.

Elizabeth looked across the table at her daughter, then at you. “But now you’ve built a life around it. You must be tired. All that travel. All that emotional residue. It’s a job that ages you quickly.”

Emily’s jaw tightened. Her hand flexed around the glass.

“I mean, really,” Elizabeth went on, tone smooth and unbothered. “You’re not getting any younger. These are the years where you should be consolidating, not chasing. Do you even think about what comes next?”

“Constantly,” Emily replied, clipped and firm.

“Then perhaps it’s time to make some adjustments,” Elizabeth said, sitting straighter. “I don’t mean to imply that you’ve wasted your time. But you haven’t exactly positioned yourself well. No lasting relationship, no children, a job that doesn’t translate into anything beyond fieldwork…”

Her glance toward you was brief. Not cruel, just clinical. Observing rather than attacking.

You saw the way Emily’s throat moved as she swallowed hard, still not drinking from the glass she held.

“I have a partner,” she said, so quietly it almost didn’t register as defiant.

Elizabeth gave a faint smile, too polished to be kind. “For now.”

Her tone carried the kind of passive dismissal that didn’t require correction. The implication was clear. You weren’t real. Not in the terms Elizabeth had defined as acceptable.

Emily’s chair shifted suddenly, the legs scraping against the floor with a sound too loud in the curated quiet of the room. She stood, pushing the wine glass away as she did. She hadn’t touched her plate. Her posture was sharp, upright, too rigid to be calm.

“I’m not doing this.”

“Emily,” Elizabeth said, feigning surprise, “honestly, this is—”

“A waste of time,” Emily cut in, voice low but clear. “I came here trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought maybe, if I just played along for one night, it would be different. But it’s not. You haven’t changed. You’ll never see anything I do as enough, and I’m tired of trying to make you proud when you’re not capable of being proud of anyone who doesn’t live by your rulebook.”

She moved toward the doorway without looking back.

Elizabeth gave a soft, incredulous laugh. “My god, Emily. Do you ever stop performing? You could at least have the decency to sit through dinner like an adult.”

Emily didn’t respond. The doorframe swallowed her, heels hitting the polished floor with measured, furious steps until they faded into the hall.

Elizabeth turned to you with a cool sort of exhale, shaking her head like this was all some exhausting display. “She’s always had a flair for scenes. One little comment and the whole evening unravels.”

You didn’t stand right away. You met her gaze across the flickering candle light and spoke in a voice that was quiet but crisp. “It wasn’t one little comment. It was a series of calculated insults, framed as concern, dressed up just enough to maintain plausible deniability. But I imagine you’re used to doing that.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression stayed composed. “Excuse me?”

You stood then, slow and unhurried, pushing your chair back with less care than Emily had. “You didn’t want dinner. You wanted confirmation that she still orbits your approval. And when she didn’t, you did what you always do. You punished her for it.”

Elizabeth stared at you, still holding her wine glass. “That’s an unfair interpretation.”

“No,” you said simply. "It's the truth, you've just always counted on others being too polite to point out."

Elizabeth didn’t respond, but the flicker in her eyes said she heard it for exactly what it was.

You stood there a moment longer, the stillness sharpening around you like glass. Every instinct screamed to tear into her, to say everything Emily never got to. But you held it, kept it coiled tight in your chest where it burned clean and cold.

“She’s extraordinary,” you said, each word precise. “Brilliant. Stronger than you’ll ever give her credit for.”

Then, after a breath, quieter, darker:

“And if you can’t see that, that’s not her failure. It’s yours.”

You didn’t wait for her to answer. You just turned and walked out, not bothering to shut the door gently behind you. Letting the silence speak for everything you didn’t say.

The car was dark except for the soft glow of the dashboard, and Emily hadn’t said a word since pulling out of the driveway. Her grip on the wheel hadn’t loosened, her posture too straight, like she hadn’t let herself exhale yet. You didn’t try to fill the silence. You could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her jaw kept tightening and loosening, how her eyes stayed fixed ahead but weren’t really focused on the road. She was somewhere else entirely, playing every second of the evening back through a filter of self-doubt and barely buried resentment. You knew she was tearing herself apart from the inside, turning her mother’s words over again and again, wondering if she should’ve said more or less or nothing at all. But you also knew she didn’t want to talk. Not yet. She just wanted to drive, to put space between herself and that house, and maybe to sit with someone who wouldn’t ask her to explain why. So you sat there beside her, quiet, solid, and close, letting the silence do what it needed to.

Emily dropped her keys into the bowl by the door like they weighed more than they should. She didn't say anything, just moved through the space like someone performing muscle memory. Shoes off, coat hung, lights flicked on with fingers that trembled just slightly before steadying. She didn’t look at you once. Not because she was upset with you. Just the opposite. She was trying too hard not to fall apart.

She moved to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, stared into it like something inside might offer her a script. When nothing did, she closed it again. The fridge was next, the door hanging open for a long moment as she stood there with one hand on the handle and the other pressed flat to the counter like she needed grounding. She wasn’t hungry. She didn’t want anything in there. She just didn’t know what to do with herself.

You stayed in the doorway, watching the quiet unravelling in real time. Her movements were too careful, her breathing too even, like she was afraid to make a sound that might betray her. You saw the way her jaw was set, the way her eyes didn’t focus on anything, just moved restlessly from one spot to the next, as if trying to outpace whatever was crawling up the back of her mind.

When she finally shut the fridge, her hand lingered against the stainless steel, head bowed slightly. You could see it. The tight coil in her spine, the way she was holding herself so still it ached to look at. The silence stretched on.

She needed something. She wouldn’t ask. She never did. There was too much pride in her, too many years of being taught that needing was weakness. But she was exhausted, pulled thin, the weight of the night pressing down on her with nowhere to go.

So you stepped forward without a word. Closed the distance slowly, deliberately, until you were just behind her.

You didn’t touch her right away.

She was still standing there with her back to you, one hand pressed to the fridge door like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Her shoulders were rigid, arms locked in that military-trained kind of stillness, the kind that tried too hard to look in control. But you knew better. You saw the way her throat moved when she swallowed, the small falter in her breath. The way she hadn’t said a word since unlocking the door. She wasn’t standing still because she was composed. She was standing still because she was barely holding together.

“Close the fridge,” you said quietly.

There was a pause, just a second too long. But then she did, without a word.

“Turn around.”

This time, she hesitated. You could feel the pride dragging at her, the instinct to resist, to prove she didn’t need anything from anyone. But her body betrayed her. She shifted, slow and stiff, until she was facing you, her hands now crossed in front of her like a shield.

You stepped closer, slow and measured. Your voice stayed calm. Grounded. The opposite of how she was feeling.

“Put your hands on the counter.”

Her eyes flicked up to yours for the first time. Something sharp and defensive moved behind them, but underneath it was what you’d been waiting for. That flicker of want. Not desire. Not yet. Just the aching need to not be in charge for once. The need to stop thinking.

She opened her mouth like she might object. Like she might joke it off or pretend she was fine. But she didn’t say anything. Just turned and placed both hands on the counter, fingers spreading slightly over the cool surface.

You came up behind her, close but not touching.

“Stay there,” you said.

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Didn’t try to regain control. And that silence from her, so rare and so loaded, told you everything you needed to know.

She was ready. She needed this. Even if she’d never ask for it.

You watched her shoulders rise with a breath she didn’t seem to notice taking. She was holding tension everywhere, even in the way her hands pressed into the counter. Like she was bracing herself against something unnamed.

You stepped in behind her and let your palm skim slowly up her spine, not soft, not teasing. Just steady. Her body gave the faintest response, a shift in weight, a flicker of something deeper grounding into her heels.

“You’re doing fine,” you said, voice low and even. “Exactly like that.”

She didn’t speak, didn’t nod, but the way her hands settled told you she heard it. The way her breath caught at the top before sliding out again. You trailed your fingers back down, slow, ending at her hips, then tightened your grip just enough to anchor her there.

“Don’t move unless I tell you.”

A pause. Then, a barely-there whisper. “Okay.”

It wasn’t surrender, not yet. But it wasn’t resistance either. You could feel her pulling inward, slipping out of her head by inches, letting your words do the thinking for her.

You leaned in, mouth at the curve where her neck met her shoulder, not kissing her, just letting her feel your breath.

“Take off your shirt.”

Her hands moved. Not perfectly. One caught on the hem, like her body was still catching up to the instruction. But she got there, arms lifting, the fabric peeling away. You waited, letting the silence stretch until she was still again, bare and quiet in front of you.

You ran a hand up her arm, over the muscle, the tension, the effort she didn’t know she was making just to stay still.

“Good,” you murmured, and her fingers curled slightly against the counter. That one word did more than anything else.

You reached up and gathered her hair loosely in your hand, not pulling, just holding.

“You’re going to do exactly what I tell you,” you said, voice calm, certain.

Another breath from her, this one slower. She nodded.

“No,” you said gently, “use your words.”

“…Yes.”

You smiled. Not smug. Just sure.

“Good girl.”

You saw it in the way her shoulders softened, the barest shift in her weight. That phrase wrapped around her like something she hadn’t realized she missed until it landed. It stripped a layer of defence clean off her.

Her breathing was deeper now, but not rushed. She wasn’t waiting for pleasure. She was waiting for direction. For purpose. For the next instruction that would let her be useful. That would give her something she could get right.

You let your hand move down, smoothing over the curve of her ass, not teasing, not testing, just reminding her that you were here. That she wasn’t carrying herself alone anymore.

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured, and her fingers curled again against the counter. A soft shiver passed through her.

You leaned in, not touching with your body, just letting your mouth brush the edge of her ear. “Tell me you’re ready.”

A pause. One breath. Then, quietly, “I’m ready.”

You didn’t answer right away. You stepped in behind her instead, close enough that the warmth of your body brushed hers without contact. Her breathing had gone shallow again, ribcage shifting in small, measured pulls. You let your hands trail up the curve of her back, over her shoulder blades, fingers tracing the straps of her bra. She didn’t flinch, didn’t tense, but you felt the smallest tremble run under her skin. Not fear. Restraint.

You reached for the clasp.

It came undone with a soft click, the straps loosening at once. You didn’t pull them away right away. Let them linger, trailing down the backs of her arms until they slipped free and dropped to the floor without a sound.

“Drop it.”

She let it fall from her hands. You watched it hit the tile beside her feet, a soft little heap of fabric.

You didn’t speak. Just laid your palms on her now-bare back, dragging them down the length of her spine. She was so warm. All soft skin and carved tension. Your fingers traced the line of her ribs, the curve of her waist. She wasn’t breathing deeply anymore. Just short, stilling inhales, like anything more would draw too much attention to herself.

You palmed over her hipbones, thumbs brushing the tender skin there, then smoothed down again, barely grazing the backs of her thighs.

You didn’t tell her she looked beautiful. Didn’t need to.

Every second of stillness from her, every quiet shiver and obedient shift, told you she knew she was being seen. Known. Claimed.

“Skirt next.”

She moved immediately. No hesitation. Hooked her thumbs into the waistband and eased the fabric down her hips, past the swell of her ass, over her thighs. You stayed quiet, watching her hands. She stepped out of it slowly, folding just slightly to keep her balance. The way she moved told you everything—how deeply she was inside herself now, how focused. No pretense. No attempt to pose. Just bare skin and compliance.

Then came the last piece.

She didn’t wait for the instruction this time. Just reached for the band of her underwear and drew them down too, letting them slide all the way to her ankles. Another careful step out. She was fully nude now. Not posed. Not guarded. Just standing there in your kitchen, spine straight, hands loose at her sides.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. Just looked at her. Her bare back, the curve of her thighs, the little dip at the base of her spine, all held under the quietest thread of tension. She was trembling again. Not from cold. From restraint. From being seen this way, this fully. From being allowed nothing to hide behind.

“Perfect.”

She let out a breath, long and quiet. Like that one word had pulled something loose.

You stepped in again and laid your hands on her hips. Ran your palms slowly over her ass, down the backs of her thighs, then back up again, slower. The weight of your hands was steady, deliberate, not teasing, not tentative. She didn’t make a sound, but her body shifted under your touch. Like she was trying not to lean into it too hard. Like she didn’t trust her own restraint.

“Bend.”

Her hands came up, planting firmly on the counter. She leaned forward, folding at the waist with that quiet, composed grace she carried even now. Her hair slid over one shoulder, baring the long line of her back. Her ass was exposed fully now, parted slightly from the way she was standing. Vulnerable. Waiting. Her weight settled into her heels again, body straining to hold still.

You watched her a moment longer. Then you brought your hands back, running your fingers over the full, bare curve of her again. You cupped her. Squeezed. Felt the tension spike, then fade. You gave her one short, firm smack on the side and felt the way she tensed, then let go.

“Good girl.”

She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just took it.

You stepped back, slowly, peeling your own clothes off one by one. Not rushed. Not showy. The rustle of fabric, the soft drag of it against your skin, the shift of your weight on the tile. You let the silence build again. Let her feel it. Let her stew in it, naked and still and waiting.

You let her wait like that. Bent, silent, exposed. Her breath had settled into something slower, deeper. Not quite relaxed, but muted. Stripped down. Every part of her still, held there by choice.

“Kneel.”

The word dropped into the space between you like a stone in still water.

She moved without question. Hands left the counter. She lowered herself with that same controlled elegance, her knees touching the tile, bare and unprotected. Her back straightened as she settled, arms loose at her sides, her chin tilted just enough to suggest pride that hadn’t fully left her yet. But everything else had quieted.

You stepped forward, filling the space where she’d stood. You climbed up onto the edge of the counter, right where her palms had pressed down moments ago. The surface was faintly warm. She’d left part of herself there.

Your knees parted slightly in front of her. She didn’t look up. Just stayed perfectly still, bare skin flushed, breathing soft and even, the tile beneath her knees unforgiving. The pose was simple, but nothing about her looked casual. Her body was a held breath.

You reached down and touched her face, brushing your thumb lightly across her cheekbone, then over the slope of her jaw. She leaned into it, just slightly.

“Perfect,” you said.

You let your fingers trail down from her cheek to her chin. Tilted her face up, just enough to bring her focus where it belonged. Her lips were parted, breath warm against your skin, eyes lowered like she already knew what was coming.

You held her there for a moment, not forceful, just firm.

“Use your mouth.”

She didn’t hesitate. Her hands stayed right where they were, resting on her thighs, steady and obedient. Her mouth moved first, lips brushing against the inside of your knee in a kiss so soft you almost wouldn’t have felt it if you weren’t watching her. Then another. Higher. She mapped a path up your inner thigh, her pace slow but deliberate, reverent in the way she offered herself.

You didn’t move. You let her work for it. Let her earn every inch.

When she reached the heat of you, she paused. Not from doubt, not from nerves. Just a breath, a single beat before she gave herself over fully. Then her mouth opened, tongue sliding between your folds, gentle and sure, like she already knew exactly how to take you apart.

You inhaled through your nose, fingers finding her hair without pulling. She moaned softly the moment you touched her, the sound vibrating straight through you. But her hands didn’t move. She kept them still, exactly where you’d left them, needing no more instruction than what your voice had already given.

She licked you again, slower this time, like she wanted to feel every part of you against her tongue. Her breath came fast now, warm against your skin, but her rhythm didn’t falter. She chased your taste with something close to hunger, her mouth messy, greedy, but careful too, like she knew just how much pressure to give.

You parted your knees a little wider. That was all it took. She leaned in closer, tongue flattening against you, dragging slow and deep from the bottom up. Her lips closed around your clit at the top, suckling gently, then harder, just once, before pulling back and starting over.

“You're doing so well,” you murmured, fingers sliding a little deeper into her hair.

Her whole body responded. A slight shiver ran through her, her back straightening just a touch, like your praise had pulled something from her spine. She made a sound then, low and aching, buried against your cunt. Her hips rocked subtly where she knelt, but still, her hands didn’t move.

“Keep going,” you said.

She obeyed instantly, mouth wet and eager, licking you like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. Her cheeks were flushed, her face slick, her tongue tireless. You felt her moan again, and this time she pressed in deeper, the angle firmer, her nose nudging your pubic hair as she mouthed at you like she couldn’t get close enough.

She wasn’t trying to be good for the sake of it. She needed to be. Needed to make you come, needed to feel it, needed to hear you say she’d done it right. Everything about her body said so. The way her mouth worked harder each time you let your breath catch, the way her fingers curled slightly against her thighs, fighting the urge to touch you.

But she didn’t.

She stayed still, devoted and desperate and waiting for your permission, even as she lost herself between your thighs.

You could feel everything.

Every flick of her tongue sent sparks running up your spine, sharp at first, then melting into something warm and unbearable. The deeper she pressed, the more the heat in your belly tightened, thick and slow and crawling outward like molasses. Her mouth was relentless. She moved like she was memorizing you, like she needed to earn every sound you made with the drag of her tongue and the soft pull of her lips.

Your thighs trembled a little where they framed her shoulders. Not from weakness, not yet. From the steady build of it. The pressure she worked up in you was precise and consuming. It didn’t peak all at once. It climbed. Grew. It curled through you in waves that made you press your heels tighter against the counter, needing to stay grounded.

She circled your clit with her tongue, slow and unhurried, again and again until your hips started to roll against her mouth, small and instinctive. She didn’t change her pace. She kept licking you like that was exactly what she’d wanted. Like she’d drawn it out of you on purpose. Her tongue flattened, then lifted, then flattened again, always returning to the same rhythm, the same spot, until the ache between your legs deepened into something slick and hot and endless.

You let your head tip back as your fingers curled tighter in her hair.

“Just like that,” you said, voice rough with it now. “Don’t stop.”

Her moan was immediate, hungry and eager, the vibrations pressed right up against you. She was chasing it too. Not her own pleasure—yours. The way she licked you, the way she sucked your clit back into her mouth and rolled her tongue over it like she wanted to wring it out of you, it was all for that.

The pressure inside you twisted, sharp and deep. Your stomach clenched, hips rocking into her mouth now without hesitation. You could feel how soaked you were, how slick her chin must be, how messy you’d made her, and she didn’t care. She wanted it. She stayed buried in you, lips parted and mouth open, drinking it in like she was desperate to taste every part of you.

You gasped, quiet but broken. The coil inside you pulled tighter, so tight it was starting to burn. Her pace stayed steady, exactly the same rhythm, exactly where you needed it, like she’d found the perfect way to unravel you and was clinging to it.

Your thighs twitched. Your breath caught.

Then you said her name, low and wrecked, and everything inside you started to give way.

Your hips jerked forward into her mouth, your grip tightening in her hair. The pressure inside you didn’t unravel slowly. It tore itself loose, raw and overwhelming, dragging your body with it. Your moan came sharp and low, punched out of your chest before you could catch it. Your thighs tensed, your stomach clenched, every nerve burning through the release.

And Emily didn’t stop.

She kept going just as you’d told her. Her mouth stayed locked to you, her tongue working you through it without pause or hesitation. There was no flicker of thought behind it. No hesitation. She was just doing what she was told. Completely focused. Completely yours.

The sensation stayed sharp. Wet, tender, almost too much. Your legs trembled. Your back arched. Pleasure kept pulsing through you in smaller, broken waves that left you open and twitching and soaked against her mouth. You could feel everything. Her breath. The texture of her tongue. The soft, persistent suction she never once let up.

She was still on her knees, still upright, her face buried between your legs with no concern for anything else. She didn’t need to know if she was doing it right. You’d already told her she's a good girl.

So she kept going.

Your body jerked again, sensitivity rising high into something sharp. You didn’t pull her back. She didn’t slow down. You clenched around nothing, stomach tightening again, breath caught and stuttering. It was too much and not enough all at once.

You looked down at her, hair mussed from your grip, jaw moving in steady rhythm, eyes half-closed and unfocused.

Still chasing your pleasure. Still waiting to be told what to do.

You swallowed, hand resting heavy in her hair.

“Stop.”

You kept your hand in her hair for a moment longer, fingers gently threaded through the strands, holding her close not because you needed to, but because you didn’t want to let go of the warmth still radiating from her skin. Her mouth was soft and wet, lips swollen, her breath ghosting over your thighs in shallow little exhales that made it clear just how hard she’d been working to please you. Her obedience wasn’t stiff or hesitant. It was molten. Pure heat pressed into shape.

“Good girl,” you said, voice thick with satisfaction.

Her whole body shuddered like the words struck something deep in her. She didn’t look up. Didn’t need to. She stayed where she was, perfectly still, perfectly quiet, like she was waiting for whatever came next, like that praise was enough to keep her right there on her knees.

You slid off the counter slowly, letting your feet find the tile, your muscles humming from the release she’d pulled out of you. You were still warm between your thighs, still sensitive, still open from the way her mouth had ruined you, and the moment your eyes dropped to the floor in front of her, your breath caught.

There, between her knees, were small droplets of slick catching the light. Not a mess, not a flood, just distinct beads of arousal, slipping down her inner thighs and falling to the floor beneath her. Her cunt was wet, impossibly so, her pubic hair damp and tangled, glistening with it. No part of her was hiding it. She wasn’t even trying. Her thighs were glossy with the evidence of how desperately turned on she was, how much obeying you had affected her. Her folds were flushed and visibly pulsing, slick still gathering there before another drop slid free and joined the rest.

You moaned without thinking, the sound low and wrecked. The sight of her like that—kneeling, completely exposed, dripping from being so good for you—sent another wave of heat rushing through you. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the mess between her legs, from the shine of her skin, from the way her pubic hair was wet and dark with arousal, her need painted all over her in a way that felt obscene and perfect.

“God, Emily,” you breathed, your hand tightening in her hair again. “Look at you.”

She didn’t move, didn’t reach for anything, didn’t even shift her weight. She just stayed exactly where you’d left her, soaked and waiting, ready for your next command.

You reached for her, hands slipping beneath her arms, and pulled her up in one unhesitating motion. Her body followed without resistance, pliant, bare skin pressed to yours. She barely had time to find her footing before your mouth was on hers, rough and claiming, nothing delicate about it. Your hand gripped her jaw, holding her steady as you kissed her hard, lips parting hers, your tongue pushing deep, demanding everything she had left.

She moaned into your mouth, body arching into yours, caught in it. You didn’t let her settle. Your hands slid down her sides, over the curves of her waist and hips, firm and grounding, keeping her close as you started walking her back, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“You’re going to be good for me,” you said against her lips, barely pulling away between kisses.

“Yes,” she whispered, breath shaky.

You pushed her another step, then another, until her back hit the doorframe. You kissed her again, slower this time but no gentler, your hands exploring every inch you could reach. Her body trembled under yours, heat radiating off her in waves.

Every step made her thighs brush, made more slick trail down. You could hear it, faint and obscene. It only pushed you further.

She hit the doorframe and you didn’t stop. Your mouth stayed on hers, wet and deep, your tongue claiming every inch she offered. She kissed back like she didn’t care if she could breathe, like she was chasing whatever you gave her without thinking, just pure obedience strung tight around hunger.

Your hands didn’t leave her body. You pushed her back again and again, walking her into the room, her bare skin catching the faintest chill in the air but never pulling away from you. She moved only when you did, letting you guide her, control her, press her exactly where you wanted her.

You didn’t speak. You didn’t have to.

Her thighs hit the edge of the mattress and you didn’t give her time to catch her breath. You bent, hands sliding under her legs, lifting her with a firm grip at the backs of her thighs. Her arms flew up to brace around your shoulders, more reflex than thought, as you hoisted her up and laid her back onto the bed.

She landed softly, hair spread out over the sheets, skin flushed and marked from your mouth. Her legs stayed parted where you'd placed them, knees falling open with ease. You climbed up after her, mouth finding hers again in a hungry tangle, tongues slick, lips catching, your body stretched over hers.

Your hands roamed, palms dragging up over the sides of her ribs, fingers sweeping the curves of her waist. Her skin was hot to the touch, damp where your mouth had already been, thighs sticky where you'd felt her dripping against you. You let one hand slide lower, down the length of her stomach, dragging slow until it found the heat between her legs.

She moaned into your mouth and you swallowed it, deepening the kiss, fingers sliding through the wet mess below as your hips pressed flush to hers. Her body arched but she didn’t move away, didn’t reach for more, just lay there open, breath stuttering against your lips as you kept kissing her like you couldn’t get enough.

You shifted your weight, settling between her thighs. Her legs were already open, but you wanted more. You hooked your hands behind her knees and pulled them up, spreading her wider, guiding her exactly how you wanted her. Her breath caught as you adjusted her, her body pliant under your touch.

You kept her like that, hands gripping behind her thighs to hold her open, and lowered yourself until your hips pressed flush to hers. The first grind sent a jolt through both of you, wet heat meeting wet heat, slick against slick. Your breath caught, and hers broke into a quiet, gasping sound that barely reached your ears before you moved again.

You rocked into her, slow and deliberate, your cunt dragging over hers with each press of your hips. It was messy, hot, everything slippery and flushed, and you could feel how soaked she was, how easily you both slid together.

Emily’s thighs trembled under your grip, but she held position, just like you’d placed her. Her fingers dug into the sheets beside her, gripping tight, trying not to move even as her hips twitched with every grind of your body against hers. She was soaked, hot, the slick glide of her cunt against yours making it impossible not to gasp.

You pressed in harder, the friction more intense now, your clit catching on hers just right. Emily cried out, her breath ragged, but she didn’t shift out of place. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the sheets, muscles tensed like it was taking everything in her not to thrust up and meet you.

“You’re doing so well,” you breathed, your voice low as you moved against her again, slower this time, dragging it out. “Just like that. Let me use you.”

Her head tipped back into the pillow, mouth open in a moan. Her hips jerked up before she could stop herself, a desperate little stutter, and then she froze, chest rising in a sharp breath as she forced herself still again. You watched it all, every ripple of restraint across her body.

“You want to move,” you said, voice warm and wrecked, “don’t you?”

“Yes,” she panted, eyes fluttering open, pleading without words.

“But you won’t.”

She shook her head. “No. I’ll be good. I promise.”

You leaned in, kissed her again, deep and filthy, grinding your cunt against hers harder this time, wet and messy and perfect. Her moan vibrated against your mouth, her body straining underneath you without ever breaking the rules you set. It was obedience wrapped in need, discipline soaked in desire. And every second of it made you ache for more.

You didn’t slow down. The steady grind of your cunt against hers stayed just as deliberate, just as wet, each slick pass dragging another moan from her throat. Her body stayed where you’d left it, thighs spread, arms taut at her sides, shaking with restraint.

You sat up slightly, just enough to get your hands on her chest. Your palms slid over her breasts, thumbs brushing slowly over her nipples. They were already hard, begging for attention, and the second you touched them, Emily whimpered, her fingers clutching the sheets tighter.

You rolled one nipple between your fingers, firm but careful, then leaned down to kiss the other, mouthing at it while your hips kept moving. She gasped beneath you, hips twitching again, caught between staying still and the instinct to move with you.

Her moans were getting higher, less controlled, like each pass of your cunt against hers was chipping away at what little she had left. You dragged your tongue over her breast, then bit lightly, just enough to make her cry out. Your hands were everywhere now, squeezing, playing, pressing her deeper into the bed with every grind of your hips.

“That’s it,” you said against her skin, voice low, breath hot. “Take it. Let me feel how good you are.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Her body arched, but still she didn’t lift her hips. She just lay there, trembling, breathing hard, slick coating both of you, overwhelmed and obedient and desperate to be good.

You ran your hands over her slowly, palms gliding over the smooth expanse of her body, taking in every detail. Her skin was pale and impossibly soft, like it hadn’t been touched enough, like it had been waiting just for this. Every place your fingers passed left a faint warmth behind, but it was your mouth that truly marked her. You leaned in and kissed the swell of her breast, then scraped your teeth over it, and when she whimpered beneath you, you bit down hard enough to leave a deep flush in your wake.

The red stood out starkly against her skin, heat blooming under your tongue. You moved lower and left another. Then another. Along her ribs, her hip, the side of her stomach. You were deliberate about it, kissing first, then biting just enough to make her gasp, not cruel but undeniable, painting her with your mouth until she was dotted with proof of how much she belonged to you.

Her breath hitched every time your teeth caught. Her hands clung to your shoulders, to your arms, to anything she could reach without breaking the position you'd put her in. You felt her trying to stay still, trying to obey, her thighs trembling just slightly under yours as you rolled your hips again, slow and deep, grinding against her. Her slick was everywhere now, hot and wet and messy between you, and still she didn't chase, didn't take, just waited for whatever you gave her.

You brushed your fingers down her side, over the curve of her waist, and watched goosebumps follow in your wake. Then you leaned back just enough to take in the sight of her laid out beneath you, flushed and panting and covered in the marks you’d left behind.

“Look at you,” you said softly. “All mine.”

Emily let out a soft, desperate sound at your words, her fingers tightening against your back like she needed to hold onto something solid. Her hips rocked up instinctively, trying to follow the rhythm of your body, though she caught herself before she gave in too much. The restraint made you smile.

“Yours,” she gasped, the word slipping out between moans. “I’m yours.”

You ground down harder in response, catching the perfect drag of her soaked cunt against yours. The friction was hot and messy and perfect, every grind sending sharp bursts of pleasure through you both. Her head fell back against the mattress, exposing the long line of her throat, flushed and trembling.

You leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time but just as deep. She opened for you instantly, moaning into your mouth, her hands sliding up to your shoulders, then back down your sides, clutching, needing. Her fingers twitched like she wanted to grab your hips, wanted to pull you in and fuck up into you, but she didn’t. She kept her hands where they were, obedient even now.

You felt how close she was. Her whole body was straining for more, her thighs twitching with every roll of your hips, her breath stuttering every time you pressed in just right. And still she waited for you to give the signal, every part of her pleading without a word.

“Good girl,” you whispered into her ear, voice rough with need. “Keep taking it just like that.”

Emily was a mess beneath you, flushed and trembling, her skin damp with sweat and hot to the touch. Her fingers gripped the sheets in tight, shaking fists, knuckles white from the effort of keeping them in place. You rocked against her slowly, keeping the rhythm steady, dragging your pussy over hers in long, wet strokes. Her breath caught every time your clits aligned, hips jolting like she could barely stop herself from chasing more.

You cupped her breasts, thumbs brushing over her nipples, watching her back arch and her head tip into the pillows. Her thighs twitched around your hips. She whimpered, the sound high and helpless.

“Don’t move,” you reminded her, voice low.

She nodded quickly, breath stuttering. “I won’t. I won’t. I’ll stay still.”

Her voice was ragged, words trembling with effort, like every part of her was focused on obeying. She moaned again, louder this time, unable to stop it, her thighs slick where they pressed against yours. Her body gave everything away—how close she was, how badly she wanted more—but she didn’t beg. Didn’t buck up into you. Just lay there trembling, panting, trying so hard to be exactly what you wanted.

“Perfect for me,” you murmured, letting your fingers roll her nipples between them, watching the way her face twisted with pleasure.

That praise broke something loose in her. She cried out softly, hips flinching, her whole body straining for more. Her moans kept coming, louder now, raw and needy, each one punched out with every grind of your hips.

She didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t beg to come. She just stayed obedient, stayed open, and let you use her the way she was meant to be used.

You held her steady, firm grip on her thighs keeping her wide and open beneath you. Your hips moved with purpose, every grind deliberate and deep, your slick catching against hers in hot, soaked friction. Her skin was flushed everywhere you touched, her body pulled so taut you could feel the tremble in her legs with every press.

Emily was falling apart under you. She tried to hold herself still, tried not to buck up and chase it, but her body betrayed her with every breath. Her grip on you tightened, fingers digging into your back, anchoring herself to the one thing she couldn't ask more from. Every time you circled your hips down, her mouth opened in another moan, louder than the last, desperate and sweet.

You could see her trying. Her thighs flexed, her abdomen shuddered with the effort it took not to fuck herself up into you. She was panting now, sweat at her temples, lashes damp as her head tipped back against the pillows. “Please,” she whimpered, voice cracking. “Please, I— I need to—”

You didn’t give her the permission she thought she needed. You just kept grinding down, kept your rhythm steady, made her feel every second of it. “You can come,” you finally said, voice low and rough, right into her ear. “Be messy for me. Let me feel all of it.”

And she broke.

It ripped through her with no elegance, no composure. Her whole body arched up into yours, thighs tensing in your hands, cunt clenching hard as she cried out, loud and raw. It echoed in the room, her voice shaking with it, nothing held back anymore. Her hips jerked uncontrollably, dragging herself against you even as you kept her pinned, making her ride the wave to its edge.

She sobbed your name, not from pain but from sheer relief. Her breath came fast, catching on the sound of her own release, thighs slick and trembling, her face flushed to her chest. Her orgasm came in waves, one after the other, body wracked with it, overwhelmed by how much she’d held back until now.

You stayed with her, grinding slower, dragging her through the aftershocks, feeling every twitch of her cunt against yours. Her nails raked blindly across your back, and then her hands fisted in the sheets, clinging to anything she could. You kissed her shoulder, her throat, the corner of her jaw. You gave her your voice again.

“There you go,” you whispered against her skin. “So good. So perfect like this.”

Her mouth parted, lips trembling with the afterglow. Her eyes were glassy, unfocused, but she turned her head just enough to chase your mouth. “Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you…”

You smiled, still holding her thighs, still feeling her pulse under your touch.

“Anything for you, sweet girl” you murmured.

She was still trembling under you, her thighs twitching where your hands held them apart. Her body had gone soft and shaky, but her eyes stayed on you, glassy and reverent, mouth parted like she didn’t know how to close it again.

You didn’t stop.

Your hips kept moving, slick grinding into hers, dragging every aftershock out of her and using it for your own. She was so wet beneath you, swollen and sensitive, but she let you take what you needed. Gave you everything, again and again.

The tension in your own body had been building for so long, you hardly recognized it anymore. Your thighs were tight, muscles burning as you rocked down onto her, chasing friction, chasing release. Her skin was still hot, her breasts rising against your chest, her breath catching with every pass of your cunt over hers.

You could feel the heat coil, sharp and low. The sounds of her soft moans, still fucked out but eager, pushed you closer. Her praise. Her obedience. Her eyes on you like you were the only thing she needed. All of it built under your skin like pressure that had nowhere left to go.

Your rhythm broke for a moment, hips stuttering as the first wave caught you. A sharp gasp slipped from your mouth. Then your body locked up, muscles clenching tight as it ripped through you, sudden and overwhelming. You buried your face in her neck, moaning against her skin as your orgasm crashed down.

It hit hard, grinding slow and deep against her as you came, cunt pulsing where it met hers, slick mixing and smearing between your bodies. You barely registered the way your nails dug into her thighs or how your back arched so hard it nearly lifted you off her. You just felt.

Emily held on. Arms wrapped around you now, fingertips pressing into your back, her mouth moving in soft, breathless encouragement that you could barely hear over the blood rushing in your ears. You rode it out against her, grinding through every wave, until your body finally eased, your hips slowing, your breath catching in your throat.

You were still trembling when you sank down into her, completely spent.

You pressed a kiss to the damp curve of her shoulder. Took one breath, then another. Let your hand trail up her side, over the sharp edge of her ribcage, until your palm rested above her heart.

"You were so good for me," you murmured, your voice low and still wrecked from your own release. You lifted your head just enough to look at her. Her eyes were wide, glassy with arousal, her lips parted. You smiled, slow and fond. "You’ve earned a reward."

That made her swallow hard. She didn’t speak. Just nodded once, like she couldn’t trust her voice.

You kissed her again, softer this time, and then began easing her back onto the mattress. Your hands never left her. You guided her down until she was laid out beneath you, limbs open and pliant, chest rising fast. Her skin was flushed and slick with sweat, strands of dark hair sticking to her temples.

You trailed kisses down her throat, then lower, your mouth catching the edge of a fading bruise above her collarbone. You felt her shiver. Her thighs shifted, restless, already anticipating.

"Stay still," you said, barely above a whisper.

She did.

You kissed the valley between her breasts. Mouthed at the softness of one, then the other, your hands sliding down to hold her waist steady. You could feel how tightly she was holding herself together. Not from tension. From need. From wanting so badly to be good, to take everything you gave her and show you how much it meant.

You smiled against her skin and kissed your way lower.

"I'm going to take my time with you," you said, voice warm. "You deserve that."

You kissed her one last time, then pushed up, trailing your hands down her sides as you moved. She stayed as she was, legs still parted, hair a mess around her flushed face, her body damp with sweat and slick. She looked completely undone.

You shifted lower, moving down between her thighs, kissing a slow path down the centre of her body. Her stomach tensed under your mouth, a soft sound slipping from her as you got lower. She didn’t even try to hide it. You watched her chest rise with each breath, watched the way her hands curled into the sheets like she was holding herself together by a thread.

When you reached the curve of her hip, you slowed further. You let your lips graze over the soft skin there, let your nose brush through the damp, messy curls that covered her. Her pubic hair was still slick, glistening faintly under the low light, darkened in places where your grind had left her soaked. It wasn’t neat anymore, wasn’t styled or groomed into anything tidy. It was raw and real, the way it should be—sticky and wild from how worked up she was, from how hard you’d both gone.

You moaned softly at the sight, the scent, the sheer heat of her. She twitched, her hips barely lifting off the bed like her body was still chasing more.

“Look at you,” you whispered, voice dark with hunger. “Messy and wet. All for me.”

She whimpered, and your hands moved to her thighs, gently parting them even wider. Her folds were slick, swollen, flushed with arousal, and you didn’t rush. You leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh first, slow and indulgent, then the other, letting her feel your breath against her without giving her what she craved just yet.

You kissed the crease between her thigh and her cunt, and she whimpered. Her hands fisted the sheets again, her hips twitching just slightly before she stilled herself.

You looked up at her, watched her chest rise in short bursts.

“Keep still for me,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She nodded quickly, eyes wide, mouth parted, completely focused on you.

You brushed your thumbs across the edges of her folds, spreading her slowly. Her slick glistened in the low light, gliding easily over your skin. You bent lower, kissed along the seam of her, then flattened your tongue and licked her fully, slow and deliberate, from bottom to top.

Her cry was instant, high and breathless.

You stayed with it, licking her again and again, never rushing. She tasted rich and hot, her arousal thick on your tongue. Her hips tried to move, but she caught herself, holding still like you’d asked. It made you groan against her.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

You brought one hand higher, fingers pushing gently down on the slick hair over her mound to hold it out of the way while you focused on her clit. The pressure made her moan, hips arching, body straining for more.

You circled her clit slowly with your tongue, letting her feel every careful movement. You sucked it into your mouth, then let go, only to do it again, firmer this time. She gasped, legs shaking around you.

“Please,” she whispered, voice tight. “Please don’t stop.”

You didn’t. You locked your arms under her thighs, holding her in place, and worked her steadily with your mouth. The muscles in her stomach fluttered. Her moans turned higher, messier, louder. She was unravelling, coming apart from the inside out, but still trying so hard to stay still.

You pulled back just a fraction, breath brushing her soaked skin. “You’re being perfect for me,” you whispered. “Let go. I’ve got you.”

That was all it took. She cried out, a ragged, desperate sound that tore through her as her body seized under your mouth. Her thighs trembled violently, toes curling, and her hips jerked up into your face before falling back down, overwhelmed. You didn’t let go. You stayed with her through all of it, licking her gently as she came, then softer, slower, easing her down when she couldn’t take more. Her body jerked once more under your mouth, a final twitch of overstimulation, before she went utterly still.

You kissed her inner thigh, then again, higher, then trailed your way up the soft planes of her stomach. Her skin was flushed and damp, trembling faintly under each kiss. You moved slowly, taking your time, worshipful even now. She tasted like sweat and the heady sweetness you’d left all over her. You brushed your cheek against the inside of her leg, held it there a second longer, then finally climbed back up over her.

Her scent clung to your skin, her slick drying on your thighs, every inch of her marked by the way you’d taken her apart. You smoothed a hand over her hip, then up her side, anchoring yourself in the quiet rhythm of her body. Her pulse was still racing under her skin, but she didn’t flinch when you settled over her again. She just let you come back to her. Let you hold her close.

Your breath was still uneven, your pulse still loud in your ears, but the moment you felt her body shift beneath yours, you refocused. She was limp but not unconscious, her arms loosely curled at her sides, eyes fluttering open then drifting closed again. Her mouth was parted, lips still kiss-swollen, a flush still high on her cheeks. You didn’t move away right away. You stayed pressed to her, skin against skin, one arm cradling the back of her neck as you murmured against her hair.

“You did so well for me.”

She let out the smallest sound in response, almost a whimper. You kissed her temple.

“I mean it. You were incredible. So good.”

You were both a mess. Sweat clung to your skin. The slick heat between your legs had left a wet sheen against her inner thighs, and your own had started to cool. Her breasts were flushed and marked, love bites standing out against pale skin, and her hair was wild with sweat and motion, sticking to her cheek.

Your hand moved slowly, tracing the damp strands of her hair away from her face. She was still far down, her expression soft, vulnerable, too hazy to form words but still trying to stay connected to you. You could feel her wanting to stay close to something solid, something safe. You kissed her again and gently pulled back, just enough to shift beside her.

You leaned in, kissed her slowly, and whispered, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

She blinked up at you with a tiny nod, not yet fully back but still trying. Her hand brushed yours in a quiet plea not to go too far. You kissed her again, slower this time, then slipped from the bed.

The bathroom light was soft and gold. You dampened a fresh cloth with warm water, then another. You added a little soap to the second one and worked it in gently. A clean towel rested over your arm. When you returned, Emily was still lying where you left her, limbs heavy, eyes open but dazed with the edges of subspace.

You climbed onto the bed and leaned over her, pressing a light kiss to her forehead.

“I’ve got you.”

She barely nodded. Her skin was flushed and glowing, strands of hair stuck to her temple, chest rising slowly, still marked with love bites and the faint red prints of your hands.

You started with her face. The warm cloth passed gently over her forehead, then her cheeks, wiping away the thin sheen of sweat that clung to her skin. She sighed, soft and nearly soundless, and tilted her face into your touch. You traced the cloth under her jaw, along her throat, and down the centre of her chest.

Her skin there was damp too, flushed from exertion, her sternum catching the light. You were slow and careful around her breasts, letting the cloth smooth over the soft curves, tender with the parts you’d grabbed and kissed. Your free hand anchored her, fingers spread low across her ribs as you cleaned her down to her stomach. She breathed deeply through it, like the sensation was easing her back into her body piece by piece.

“There we go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

Only once her upper body was fresh and dry did you shift lower, the other cloth now in your hand. You kissed her thigh first, the soft inner curve, before gently nudging her legs apart.

“You’re alright,” you whispered, cupping the side of her knee. “I’m just going to clean you up now.”

She nodded again, and you moved with quiet care, wiping away the remnants of her release with slow, reverent strokes. Her folds were flushed and sensitive, slick still glistening where it had pooled, her skin tacky with the heat that had passed between you.

She flinched once from the oversensitivity and let out a tiny gasp. You stopped and soothed her with a hand to her hip, then kissed her thigh again.

“You did so well,” you said softly. “Let me take care of you.”

She exhaled shakily but didn’t pull away. You resumed with the same slow rhythm, cleaning every inch with warm, steady hands, watching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her body stayed relaxed, open and trusting.

Once she was clean, you took the towel and patted her dry from her inner thighs upward, then down the line of her hips and legs. You worked with patience, never rushing, never speaking louder than a murmur. You set the towel aside, then wiped your own body down quickly, cleaning away the sweat and slick that clung to your inner thighs, your chest, the curve of your back. Her eyes never left you, even half-lidded and heavy.

When you were done, you returned to her fully and reached out.

“Come here.”

She came into your arms like she belonged there, face buried against your neck, her breath warm where it landed. You pulled the blanket over both of you and cradled her close, hand drifting up and down her back.

“You’re alright,” you whispered. “You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, one arm slipping around your waist like she couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. Her body was warm, still faintly trembling. You adjusted the blanket higher, tucking it beneath her shoulders, and kept your touch steady, smoothing over her spine in long, even strokes.

Every so often, you whispered something. Simple, grounding things.

“You’re with me.”

“You’re safe.”

“You’re doing so well.”

Each one seemed to sink into her, easing the tension from her shoulders bit by bit. Her breathing started to slow, the edge of her trembling softening. You kissed her temple, then behind her ear, lips barely brushing her skin.

She didn’t say anything, just curled tighter against you, her breath warm against your collarbone, one hand gently gripping at your side. Her body was still lax, pliant from the weight of it all, but you could feel the soft flutter of her pulse beginning to steady again. You adjusted the blanket up around her shoulders and rested your cheek against the crown of her head, letting her feel the shape of your breathing.

Neither of you rushed it. There was no need. The room was quiet, save for the soft sound of her inhaling against your chest and the occasional shift of the blanket. You kept one hand gliding over her spine, slow and reassuring, the other wrapped securely around her middle.

“You’re alright,” you whispered again, just to anchor her a little more. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

It took a few minutes before you moved. Gently, so gently, you eased her back onto the pillows just enough to slip your arm out from beneath her. Her brow knit slightly, but you murmured, “I’m not going anywhere,” and she stilled again.

You leaned toward the nightstand and opened the lower cabinet. The small stash you kept for times like this was right where you’d left it. A fresh bottle of water, stored there intentionally for when neither of you had the energy to make it to the kitchen. You twisted off the cap and reached for her again, nudging her carefully into the cradle of your arm.

“Here,” you said softly, bringing the bottle to her lips. “Small sips.”

She didn’t resist. Her fingers curled loosely around your wrist and she drank, slow and obedient, her throat moving with each swallow. You watched her closely, brushing a thumb across her temple when she paused for breath.

“There you go,” you murmured. “Just like that.”

When she’d had enough, you lowered the bottle and set it back on the nightstand. Her head fell softly against your shoulder. You kissed her hair, lips lingering there as your arms folded back around her.

There was no tension in her body now. Only that slow return to herself. You could feel the shift in her breath each time your hand moved, the way her chest rose more deeply, like she was reclaiming the shape of it. You stayed quiet, letting your presence fill the space she might not know how to ask for.

“You don’t have to prove anything,” you whispered, your mouth brushing her hair. “Not to me. Not to anyone.”

She shifted, not pulling away, just adjusting, her nose brushing your neck. You didn’t know if she could hear every word. That wasn’t what mattered. You just needed her to feel them, in your voice, in your arms, in the way you kept holding her without expectation.

Your hand came up to her face again, thumb stroking her cheekbone.

“You are so much more than enough,” you said quietly. “Exactly like this.”

Her breath hitched, just once. She buried her face further into your skin and you felt the faintest tremor move through her. You didn’t pull back. You didn’t ask if she was alright. You just held her. Like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like nothing about her needed to be reined in, reshaped, or corrected.

You kissed her forehead once, then again, slower, and pressed your cheek to her hair.

“You should be proud,” you whispered. “You were incredible.”

There was a small, almost inaudible sound in her throat. Not quite a sob. Not quite a breath. You closed your eyes and held her through it, your hands steady, your body quiet and present, giving her all the room she needed to come back gently.

“You’re safe,” you said again, your lips close to her ear now. “You’re safe with me.”

Eventually, her breathing settled into something soft and even. Each inhale slower than the last, exhale brushing your collarbone like a secret. She hadn’t let go of you. One arm still curled around your waist, her leg hooked loosely over yours, like if she just stayed close enough, the rest of the world could wait a little longer.

You didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything left to say, not in words. Just this quiet, unhurried peace between you. You let your palm drift in slow, grounding circles over the middle of her back, tracing the soft line of her spine like it was familiar and sacred both. She felt warm and weightless in your arms, but there was something else there too, something settling under her skin. Not just relief. Something steadier.

When her eyes blinked open again, they were clearer than before. The vulnerability was still there, but so was a flicker of something new. A softness, yes, but something firmer beneath it. You held her gaze until she dipped her head, burying it into the crook of your neck like she was shy about being seen.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you both and kissed the top of her head. Your hand stayed in her hair, smoothing it gently, and your other hand rested low on her back, keeping her close.

“I'm proud of you.”

Her breath caught, not a sob, not quite, but something raw enough to make your own throat tighten. She didn’t speak, only nodded slowly against your skin. Eventually she exhaled, soft and deep, like those four words reached someplace she didn’t have language for yet. You felt her fingers twitch against your skin. Her mouth brushed your collarbone as she breathed again, slower this time. There was still a trembling at the edges of her, but it was the kind that came after release. After surrender.

You watched the faint rise and fall of her body, felt her toes brush your ankle. Her presence felt so immediate, so here, and yet somehow delicate too, like a thread you didn’t dare tug too sharply. You could feel how close she was to drifting off, but still right on the edge, hovering in that quiet space that comes after giving so much of yourself away.

She had given you everything tonight. Let you in completely. Not only to her body, but to all the quiet, careful parts of herself she usually kept buried. The parts she was still learning to trust in someone else’s hands. You held her a little tighter, not because she needed it, but because you wanted her to feel it, to know it was real.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again, not because she needed reminding, but because you needed her to know it wasn’t just for tonight. It was a promise. One you meant to keep.

There’d be time later to talk. To untangle the rest. But this, this was enough.

And somewhere deep in that quiet, something else was blooming. Not just peace, but something stronger. You saw it in the way her breath evened out. In the way she stayed close instead of retreating. She was starting to believe in herself again. Not in the way others demanded, but in a way she chose.

Her breathing had evened out against your skin, her body loose and heavy with the kind of tired that didn’t just sit in the muscles but deep in the bones. You weren’t far behind. Every part of you ached, used and spent, but it was the best kind of ache. Earned. Shared.

You shifted only to tuck the blanket higher over her shoulders. She mumbled something too quiet to catch, but her hand slid across your side like she was making sure you were still there. You answered by pulling her in a little closer, tucking your chin above her head.

Her leg curled tighter around yours. Your fingers stayed at the small of her back, moving slow, lazy strokes that barely counted as motion. The air between you was warm and quiet, filled only with breath and the weight of everything you didn’t need to say.

Eventually, her body went still. Sleep found her first. You felt it in the way her hold loosened just enough to be unconscious but not enough to let go.

You didn’t bother fighting the pull of sleep when it came. Not with her still wrapped around you, her breathing deep and steady against your skin, your arms full of her warmth. You just let go, the weight of the night fading, and drifted with her into a soft peaceful sleep.

[stariez-artz]

Hello there couldn’t help but see on everywhere there is the The gaslight district stuff yet soooooo….tickle HCS for the characters?

I have some for Breadhead and Mud but Mel and Kevin are still in the works. So that’ll hopefully do for now.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

🚬🃏Mud🃏🚬

lee: 40% ler: 60%

Lee:

“Me? Ticklish? Pfft-! Y’right mate..” (He’s a lying dick)

WILL deny he’s ticklish with his entire undead being

Curses his lee out when he gets tickled

Worst spots are his underarms, waist and backs of the knees

“STAHAHAHAHAP! NAHAT THE- NOT THE KNEHEHEHEHEES-!!”

Mainly gets tickled by Mel for fun, Kevin to get him to shut up, and Breadhead because.. well, it’s Breadhead, what do we expect?

The type of guy to flip you off once you stop tickling him

Doesn’t necessarily hate being tickled, but he doesn’t like it either

His laughs is very wheezy (sometimes he’ll snort depending on the spot)

If caught off guard, he’ll shriek a bit

Will hold onto you the whole time if he trusts you well enough (but he’ll keep hitting his fist against your back)

“I CAHAHAN’T-!” “Can’t what, huh?” “SHUT UHUHUHUP!” “Whatever you say, Muddie!” “DOHON’T CALL ME THAHAHAT!!”

Pushes at you without really intending to move you

Poking up and down his sides FLOORS him

Ler:

The type of guy to anticipate you before tickling you

“Whaaaaat? I’m not doin’ nothin’!”

Usually likes tickling someone just to hear any squeals or snorts from them

Would most definitely tickle Kevin back in the day since he’s older

“What? Not here, eh? Then how ‘bout here? Maybe here? Or even here!” While constantly switching between spots

The type to use teases like “tktktktktktk!!” Or “I’m gonna getcha! Oh, I’m gonna getcha!!” To be a bastard

If someone takes something from him and keeps it out of his reach, he goes for their worst spot to get them to drop it (his hat or wallet for example)

“C’mon then, mate! Hand it over! I can keep this up as long as I have to”

Cheer up tickles are only reserved for people he genuinely cares about

Doesn’t use nibbling or raspberries cuz he doesn’t want the person he’s tickling to get uncomfortable

Dusts himself off after tickling someone as if he hasn’t been soaked in blood before

“Ah, fun, innit?” While the person he just tickled is glaring at him

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

🍞Breadhead🍞

lee: 80% ler: 20% Lee:

It takes him a moment to register the fact that he’s being tickled before slowly reacting with soft laughs

He doesn’t wanna hurt the person he’s getting tickled by, so instead of pushing them away, he scrunches up or curls up (depends if he’s sitting or standing)

His laugh is really low and soft, almost rumbly (+ the occasional hiccup)

“Hehehehe…! *hic* Nohohoho!”

Hides his face in his hands due to embarrassment when he gets tickled

Lives being complimented on little things like his laugh or something like that

“Aww, your laugh is so cute!” “Thahank yohohohou..!”

Gets tickled by Mel sometimes just to see her brother laugh

His worst spots are his palms, neck and belly

Squeezing his stomach gets a small squeak out of him

If he’s sitting down, he’ll kick his feet a bit

“Nooohohoho! Stohohop!” “You can always push me away if you don’t want me to continue, wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable” “Nohohoho..! It’s fuhuhun!” “You sure..?” “Mhmhhmhmh-!”

If he’s hugging someone and they run their hand along his back, he’ll flinch and start getting all giddy

Genuinely finds tickling fun and views it as a bonding experience

His laugh sounds kinda like goofy from Mickey Mouse

Ler:

Very, VERY gentle when tickling people so he doesn’t hurt them by accident

Constantly asks if you’re okay while tickling you

“I’m not hurting you right..?” “NohoHOHOHOHO!!”

Laughs with whoever he tickles

Doesn’t tease, just compliments

“Your smile’s nice..” “Thahahanks-?”

Him and Mel DEFINITELY have tickle fights occasionally (Mel usually wins cuz she knows how to get at her brother)

Likes using tickle hugs a LOT

If he’s tickling you and you squeal, snort or hiccup his eyes dilate so much that you’ll forget his eyes are red

Uses raspberries if whoever he’s tickling his comfortable with it

Hugs his lee as aftercare

“I didn’t go overboard right..?” “Noho.. no, no, you’re okay”

He definitely purrs sometimes to calm his lee down while hugging them

[mysaintkitten]

I fully forgot I had this .. so here’s a little something for y’all lol

prompt: Jonathan calls you up after having a few drinks

WARNINGS: SMUT (18+ MDNI), mentions of alcohol/intoxication, brief mentions of suicide, subby-ish Jonathan, phone sex, come eating

*not proofread & old as hell*

you’re abruptly awoken by the phone ringing. through squinted eyes, you peak at the clock sitting on top of your nightstand.

1:03 am flashes at you. who’s calling at this hour? you drag your body out of bed and trudge your way over to the living room where your home phone resides. once there, you drop to the couch and grab the phone, putting it up to your ear.

“hello?” you groan, you hear a small snicker on the other end.

“hiii babyyy!” they respond, clearly a little tipsy, you immediately recognize the voice.

it’s jonathan, your close friend, who had recently got placed into a psyche ward after attempting to kill himself. you hadn’t heard from him since he had told you the news. now here he is, ringing your phone at 1 am, while simultaneously dropping a “baby” bomb on you.

“jonathan?” you blurted, feeling yourself become a bit more awake, “what are you doing? why are you up? how do you even have access to a phone right now?”

he sighs into the phone, “me and toby sn- toby’s m’pal .. by the way .. we snuck out ‘n had a few drinks ..” his mumbles, “now ‘m allllll alone ..” he whines, dragging out the all to emphasize his loneliness, “oh ‘n about the phone .. since i’ve been so good they gave me a landline, cordless too, i mean they couldn’t give me a cord ‘cause i might wrap it around my neck, but it’s nifty!”

you roll your eyes. of course he’d do some shit like this. if it was any other friend, you would’ve told them bluntly that you’re not in the mood to talk, but jonathan was an exception right now. he was in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people, and his comment about wrapping the cord around his neck grounded you back into reality. you decided to chat with him for a while.

“is that so?” you reply, “how’d the night go?”

“fun!” he bubbled, “oh m’god .. me and toby .. my friend .. we saw this piss drunk guy fall in the street!” he giggles while recounting the incident. you giggle with him, not so much at the story, but at the fact that he felt the need to reiterate that he has a friend named toby.

“that sound very funny, jon, but shouldn’t you be getting some sleep?”

he whines, “‘m not tired! plus i’ve been thinking about you .. that’s why i called .. wanted to hear your voice ..”

oh?

“why’d you wanna hear my voice? you miss me that much?” you joke, relaxing more into the couch. he hums, “jus’ like how it sounds ..”

“well. you woke me up, and i don’t think i’ll be able to go back to sleep, so you’re welcome to listen to my voice for a while.” you chuckle softly, not thinking too heavily about his intentions. he’s drunk, after all.

“hmm ..” he mumbles in approval, “can you jus’ talk? tell me about your day, love ..”

your brows furrow a bit at the request, but you oblige.

“i didn’t do too much .. just showered .. picked up a bit .. it was nice though.”

he groans quietly at you mentioning showering.

“mmh .. wards got no nice soaps .. i like how your soaps smell. always smellin’ so good ..” he murmurs, through the phone you can hear some minor rustling, but you assume it’s just jonathan drunkenly tossing and turning.

you laugh at his odd compliment, “you think i smell nice?”

“oh, i think a lot of you s’nice, darling.” he assures, his breathing becoming heavier

“what else about me is nice, jonathan?” you ask, thinking he’ll say something corny like your humour or your personality.

“that face f’yours .. gorgeous ..” he giggles and huffs, “‘n that body .. maybe it’s ’cause ‘m all alone .. ‘n a bit tipsy .. but i can’t stop thinkin’ about touchin’ you ..”

oh.

you’re not too sure what to say. you’ve been friends with jonathan for years, you would have never assumed that he wanted you that way. jonathan was very attractive, and you’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him in a sexual way before.

“jonathan ..” you reply calmly, “i think you’re just drunk and confused, how about we talk more tomorrow? you can call me when-“

he whines, “no, baby, ‘m sorry .. i’ve just wanted you .. for so long ..” he hums as his breathing becomes louder, “‘n now .. just your voice got me s’hard ..”

you pause, listening to jonathan, you still hear the shuffling and his breathing. occasionally he whines a few times, is he touching himself?

“jon, are you .. getting off right now?”

he chuckles, “s’hard .. mmh .. thought i might faint.”

you hate to admit it, but hearing jonathan’s neediness got you a little worked up. knowing he was hard just from your voice ignited some interesting feelings from within you.

as your mind is racing, jonathan speaks, “if i w’s there .. would y’touch me?”

your heart begins to pound, his words have become more direct. he’s not just rambling about how he feels, he wants to know how you feel. you slip one of your hands into your panties, feeling how slick you’ve become from jonathan’s words. you might as well get yourself off as well.

instead of answering, you flip the question. “i’m wondering what you’d do if i was there.” you laugh breathily as you gently rub your clit. jonathan whines into the phone, “god, baby, s’filthy. y’don’t even wanna know ..”

“tell me. i want to hear it.” you pry as you become more aroused, hearing jonathan moan weakly at his own thoughts.

“mmh .. wanna eat your cunt .. make y’come at least once on m’face ..” he groans, “wanna fuck you. raw. make y’shake ‘n cry from my cock. wanna make that cunt feel so so good.”

jesus. really didn’t take much convincing for him to spill his thoughts. you bite your lip at his words, hearing his fantasies made you blush embarrassingly hard.

“hm .. yeah?” you moan into the phone, rubbing your clit at a quicker pace

“‘n i wanna eat you again after my cocks been ‘nside you .. lick up our come ..” jonathan gasps, through the phone you can hear him fisting his now slick cock. “then i wanna kiss you when m’done ..” he adds, chuckling a bit.

“god ..” you sigh, “you are filthy.”

you’re finding it difficult to hold back your moans, you almost want jonathan to hear them at this point.

“you .. you got me all wet, jon ..” you admit a bit awkwardly, you’ve never had phone sex before, but you don’t think jonathan will notice.

he whimpers “are y’touching yourself, baby?”

“yeah .. yeah i am ..” you purr, sliding a finger inside yourself and moaning softly as you plunge it in and out.

“jesus, fuck ..” he huffs, “you rubbin’ your clit? or fingering yourself?”

“i’m doing both .. switchin’ every now and then ..” you coo, adding a second finger inside. you hiss slightly at the change, but your cunt quickly adapts and accepts the second finger.

“mmh!” jonathan moans, “s’hot, knowing you’ve got y’fingers all over that pussy .. you sensitive, baby?”

he’s really into calling you baby. although it feels foreign, you’re not opposed to it at all.

“yeah .. a bit ..” you chuckle breathlessly as you remove your slick fingers out and bring them back to your clit.

“oh, fuck ..” he whimpers loudly, “baby, baby, ‘m not gonna last- m’sorry ..”

you could tell from jonathan’s tone and desperate little whimpers that he was close, he didn’t need to tell you, but it’s kind of nice that he at least let you know.

“that’s okay, come jon. show me how good it feels.” you purr. he can’t physically show you, but he can verbalize it, and he does.

“mmf- fuck, baby, ‘m comin’-“ he moans loudly, you’re worried other people in the ward might hear him.

“that’s it, come on yourself jon, good boy.” you encourage, you’re almost surprised that you called him a good boy, you never expected that to slip out.

his moans dwindle into small little whimpers as he rides out the orgasm, huffing quietly once he’s come down.

“‘m all messy, baby ..” he giggles,

“poor thing, you gonna clean yourself up?” you hum to tease.

“mhm .. nice ‘n clean ..” he mumbles as you hear him making small sucking and licking noises,

“jon, are you licking up your come?” you nearly chuckle at him,

“well no one’s ‘ere to do it for me ..” he whines, continuing to lick away his come.

“jesus. dirty, dirty boy.” you scold playfully, toying with your clit again.

“‘m a dirty boy ..” he repeats while yawning, “dirty boy.”

“you tired?” you ask softly,

“mmh, yeah, little bit ..” he mumbles,

“how about you get some sleep and we talk more tomorrow, all right?”

“mmh.. but i wanna talk ..” he groans,

you laugh weakly at his determination, “i’ll be here tomorrow. trust me. get some sleep. we can talk when you’re more awake and sober.”

“fine .. g’night baby. sweet dreams.” he gives in, yawning again

“sleep well, jonathan.” you close before hanging up. as you place the phone down, you’re left with silence and your thoughts. you decide you might as well get yourself off, and you do, you come in your pants to the thought of jonathan’s whimpers and moans. then, you clean yourself off before heading back to bed.

—

Not to jinx myself … but I am currently writing. Send me good energy yall please

[pr3ttyp1nkvrse]

when you believe you are HER, everyone else has no choice but to conform love…

“she thinks she’s all that”

SO DO YOU, who am i to not serve you such a high level of confidence? what you think of me has nothing to do with me, but to perceive me on that level? i’ll take it!

💋 don’t take this projection lightly, people are observing and consuming your untouchable aura. always walk into the room like you were BEGGED to be there by dozens even though you have way better things to do.. allow yourself to be the important star

sn/

♡ carry yourself always with kindness, but that does not mean you cannot embody being the baddest bitch that exists.

♡ appreciate compliments, fix your posture, suppress the need to overshare, make people constantly crave and want more.

[gotta-winwin]

2019 debut year <> slipping into to the diamond life

word count: 2.3k TW: fatigue, one swear word, woozi being kind of mean italics are in english, bolded words are in mandarin

Cyana woke up to the sound of pots and pans clanging heavily in the kitchen. Rubbing her eyes, she got up from her spot on the bed, padding as quietly as possible past a sleeping Minghao towards the open door. She winced as she walked, her leg muscles screaming in protest and her knees aching from last night's practice.

She found that she was pleasantly surprised at how easy her transition into life with Seventeen was. The rigorous schedule was not unlike her time at Disney, and it helped that she was still shielded behind the walls of Pledis. It also helped that Seungcheol had confiscated her phone the moment she moved in, insisting that she didn't need it and looking on SNS would not help her at all. She was grateful for the little things like that that he did.

Walking into the kitchen, her eyes squinting as she adjusted to the bright lights, she could just make out a blurry figure standing at the stove. Mentally, she scolded herself for forgetting her glasses on her nightstand.

"Who's there?" She asked tentatively, hoping it was one of the members and not an intruder. She was also hoping that it wasn't Woozi, who was often absent from home but came back at odd hours.

"Dino." The blurry figure stated, and Cyana could feel his stare on her. "Breakfast?" He asked, gesturing at whatever was on the stove.

She shook her head. The staff had her on a strict diet as they prepared for her upcoming debut and comeback. "I'm going to go wash up. But thanks."

Dino grunted, clearly still half asleep as he returned his attention back on whatever he was making.

Tiptoeing back into her and Minghao's room, she quickly snatched her glasses before heading for the bathroom. She had learned pretty quickly upon arriving that it was best to wake up early, as the bathroom became messy and crowded the later it got. Splashing her face with cold water and tying her hair back, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her stylist had died her hair blonde for the comeback, insisting that it complimented her skin tone better than brown. She didn't know how to feel about that. The girl in the mirror looked more like a stranger.

"yue liang~" Minghao knocked twice on the bathroom door. "We're all leaving soon."

She blinked. Had that much time passed already? She knew it was a terrible habit of hers to zone out and realized she had been getting ready mindlessly. She cleared her throat. "I'll be out in a second!" She called, hoping she sounded normal.

Today was a big day for her. The company had organized an interview for Seventeen to promote their new comeback, and she knew the main focus of it would inevitably land on her. Shaking her shoulders, she joined the others by the front door, pulling on her shoes and jacket.

"It's still snowing today, nana." Joshua wrapped a scarf around her neck, tucking the ends into her jacket collar. "You have to be healthy for our comeback."

She gave him a grateful smile. They'd grown close over the few weeks since she'd moved in and her Korean had begun to steadily improve thanks to his help. "Thanks, shua."

Cyana didn't expect how hectic the interview set would be, as she was ushered from station to station, foreign hands touching up her hair and makeup and outfit. The set ran in an orderly fashion compared to the sets in LA and she appreciated the speed in which everything was done. Her stomach was hurting due to the nerves and she couldn't help but feel a impending sense of doom settling on her chest. Getting mic'ed up, she took her seat next to Seungcheol, frowning a bit when she realized she was sat in the middle.

"Do I have to be in the middle?" She asked, leaning slightly towards him to whisper.

He gave her an apologetic smile. "Yes. We look the most balanced that way."

She supposed he was right. She could see them through the viewfinder of one of the biggest cameras, and they looked quite symmetrical.

"You got this!" DK tapped her shoulder from behind, smiling brightly from his place to the left. "Fighting!"

She told herself to relax. They all seemed to believe in her, and she had rehearsed many times over with Joshua while Seungcheol monitored. He must've believed she could do it if they were here now. The red light on the camera blinked to life and Cyana straightened her back. She was hyperaware of the fact that Wonwoo's knees were pressed up against her back, an unfortunate result of their seating arrangement.

"Seventeen interview - You Made My Dawn, take one."

"You did great." Joshua said to her, as the red light ceased blinking and the producer called the end of the interview. "Just like we practiced." She looked up and behind her at his happy expression.

"I think I blacked out during the whole process." She confessed, truly not remember anything that had happened.

He laughed and so did Vernon, who overheard from the very end of the line. "It gets easier. I remember our first interview. No one remembered anything until we watched the video online. It was the nerves."

"You were good." Seungcheol returned to the group, having left to speak to their manager. "They let me watch a portion of it. You did well."

Cyana smiled shyly at the praise. "Thank you. I'm glad."

Raising his voice, Seungcheol addressed everyone as a whole. "We're heading back to the company since a few members from the vocal team need to rerecord some lines for Hug. Everyone else needs to practice our performance for Getting Closer. The spin isn't coordinated perfectly yet."

Murmurs of agreement came from the group as everyone got up to leave. Returning her mic pack, Cyana hurried to catch up with Joshua, looping her arm with his as they followed the group out to the cars.

"We're rerecording things?" She asked, confused. She thought they'd all sounded pretty good.

Joshua hesitated and nodded. "Woozi wants to clean up a couple parts. I won't be going though, he said he just needed you and Jeonghan."

She paled. "Can't you-" She stopped, knowing her request was selfish. Time was precious during comeback season and Joshua was needed with the rest of the group.

He sent her an understanding smile, his eyes shining with warmth. He knew she was terrified. "Jeonghan's nice." He offered.

"I know he is, I'm just-" She paused, twisting her fingers in worry. "What if I say something wrong in Korean? Or if I mess up recording."

They had arrived in front of their cars now, needing to spilt up between three separate vehicles. "They're not scary people, Ana. Even if Woozi might seem like it, he understands that people make mistakes. And you sang beautifully last session. I'm sure he probably just wants to add more adlibs or something."

Cyana nodded, a little soothed by his explanation. "Thanks, shua."

He nodded, knowing that there was much more hidden in the simple thanks. "Anytime, Ana."

The atmosphere within the recording studio was stiff and heavy. It was Cyana's seventh time recording the same verse now, finishing each time only to receive a sharp sigh from Woozi.

"Again." He'd say over the intercom, and Cyana would go again.

She was getting a bit sick of the verse, and her skin was growing hotter by the second from both the humidity of the room and her growing annoyance. She was no stranger to producing, she'd dabbled in it before, and she knew the track already sounded extremely polished. The longer Woozi dragged it out for the more she felt like he was toying with her for the sake of it.

"Jihoon ya~" Jeonghan lounged on the couch behind Woozi, bored. "She sounds great, don't you think it's enough?"

Woozi shook his head. "She sounds great. Not perfect. We need perfect this comeback."

Jeonghan signed. "People will not hear the difference-"

"I will hear the difference." Woozi snapped. He pressed the intercom and spoke into the mic. "Again."

"At least give her some direction." Jeonghan chided. "You're only making her angry."

Woozi sighed, knowing his hyung was right. He didn't really know why he was so annoyed at the girl. Her verse was great, but there was that part of it that was missing. He pressed the intercom again once Cyana was finished. A little better, he thought. "Can you try singing with more strength?" He asked, unsure how to communicate exactly what he was envisioning. "More power, but soft."

Cyana scrunched up her eyebrows in confusion, putting the headphones back on. "Okay."

He was used to directing his members who already knew how he worked and what he needed done - what he was picturing in his mind. Cyana's next try came easier, and he could tell they were almost there.

"Better, again-"

"I think that's enough." Jeonghan cut in, sensing Cyana's growing frustration and Woozi's annoyance. He didn't particularly want to be in the room if they both exploded at each other.

"I'm okay." Cyana spoke, surprising both of them. "Let's keep going. I want to get this right."

Woozi turned his chair around to face Jeonghan, a look of i told you so written across his face. "You can leave if you want, hyung. We're already finished with your verse." He could sense Jeonghan's hesitancy. Rolling his eyes, he added "I'll walk with her back to the practice room. And I promise I won't yell at her or whatever."

The older boy scoffed but still got up to leave. "I'm more worried you'll end up killing each other and we'll be 12 instead of 14."

It was Woozi's turn to scoff, as he turned back to the soundboard and cued Cyana to start again. He had to begrudgingly admit that he pleasantly surprised at her dedication and felt a little bad for being a bitch.

"That one was good." He spoke into the mic, signalling the end of the session. "You're done."

Cyana took a little bit to reset herself before exiting the booth. She paused, lingering near the doorway as Woozi watched her, confused. "Can I-" She breathed out sharply. "Can I listen? Just once."

He frowned, but sat back down and cued up the completed track for her. He watched as she gingerly sat down on the couch, hands bunched in her lap as she listened silently. He was proud of this particular track. It evoked a feeling of home and comfort that only translated well if done correctly, and he had somehow managed to pull it off.

Cyana stood up to leave once the track was over, hesitating again near the doorway.

"For god's sake. Just spit it out." Woozi grumbled, annoyed at her hesitancy.

"I-" She blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

Woozi sighed when he remembered she probably didn't understand. Joshua probably didn't go around teaching Cyana what for god's sake and spit it out was in Korean. "Just say it. Whatever you wanted to say."

She paused. "It's at 135 BPM right now." She said quietly. "I think it'll sound better at 138."

Woozi blinked. Cyana pushed open the studio door and dashed out, scared of what he might say. Rushing in the direction of their practice room, she sighed in relief when she saw Seungkwan and Hoshi's familiar back profile.

"Hi." She breathed out, still breathless from the rush over.

They both seemed surprised but happy to see her. "Hey," Seungkwan replied, handing her a pinny he had been holding with her name on it. "We were just about to go look for you. Put that on, we're filming a choreo video to send to the event people today."

She nodded, throwing it over her baggy tee. "Sorry. Recording took a bit long."

Hoshi gave her a smile. "That's Woozi for you."

"Go get some water," Seungkwan reminded, throwing an arm around both her and Hoshi's shoulders, leading them towards the practice room. "You aren't too tired, right?"

Cyana knew she was a bit worn out. She hadn't slept for long last night, having been up till the AMs worrying about the interview. Her limbs screamed with pain every time someone reminded her she still had to dance. The roll in Getting Closer was killing her. Each time she spun, her world spun, and she had to continue the routine with obscured vision as tv static overtook her view. She gave Seungkwan a bright smile. "I'm still doing great." She lied, feeling better once she saw the relief shining through his eyes. "We're going to kill this choreo." She said, trying to pump herself up.

Hoshi frowned. "Kill this choreo?" He asked, a little confused.

"Ah~ like 'we're going to do very well." Seungkwan deduced.

Hoshi, upon seeing Cyana nod in confirmation, grinned as they entered the practice room. He greeted the others with a loud "We gonna kill this choreo!" and Seungkwan clutched onto Cyana as they doubled over in laughter. Everyone else looked mildly confused, while Vernon and Joshua could only share smiles at the chaos.

Seungcheol clapped for everyones attention as they all gathered in the middle of the room, cameras and staff both ready. Cyana noticed that Woozi had somehow gotten here as well, his own pinny on and his hair covered with a beanie. "Okay. We're going to do this choreo well and with no accidents, okay?"

Collective words of encouragement and cheers filled the room at his words as everyone took their place. Cyana tried her best to ignore how unnaturally light her head was feeling and knelt beside DK.

"Three." The director counted down. Cyana sent a weak smile in DK's direction.

"Two." She ran through the moves desperately in her mind.

"One."

author's note: thank you so much for reading! i know it's kind of on a cliffhanger haha thank you to everyone who's shown this series love ~ ik woozi's kind of mean right now but i promise it will all pay off soon

[ox-imagines]

Tokyo Debunker as Romance Tropes

Feel free to ask me to write a longer imagine/oneshot for any of these!

Pt. 2 | Vagastrom

Pt. 1 | Pt. 3 | Pt. 4 | Pt. 5 | Pt. 6 | Pt. 7

Alan - Bodyguard

Almost everywhere you go, you have a detail of bodyguards, protecting you from harm and prying eyes. As such, one of them is almost always with you to ensure your safety, and it’s often your personal favorite. Alan doesn’t even realize he’s your favorite, he just thinks it’s him because he’s the strongest and most vigilant. One night while he’s standing guard outside your door, you ask him to come in your room, insisting that it’s warmer there than in the hallway and at least he could sit while watching you. Reluctantly, he agrees. He starts to sit in a chair, but you grab his hand, tugging him gently over to sit on your bed while you slept. He still isn’t aware of your feelings for him, but now he’s got some of his own that he’s not quite sure what to do with.

“This is unprofessional… are you sure this is ok? Fine, you’re the boss…”

Sho - Enemies to Lovers

At first, Sho comes off as indifferent, directionless, and a bit cold. His attitude bothers you so much, but you’re given an assignment you’re partnered for. He’ll disagree with you about almost anything, but won’t even actually fight you on it, which is honestly worse. If he doesn’t like what you want to do, why doesn’t he suggest something he wants to do? His apathy brings out the worst in you and eventually he does snap, yelling back at you about how obnoxious it is to try and work with you and he wishes you’d just finish the assignment yourself if you didn’t actually want his input. The argument somehow ends in a very heated makeout session, after which he seems at least a little more invested and agreeable about how to do your assignment.

“Why should I give a fuck? Just do it yourself if you care so much instead of getting on my case for not caring! We can’t all be perfe- …oh. Shit, what, what are you doing…?”

Leo - Fake Relationship

Leo was kind of a friend of yours; you had a family wedding coming up and had recently led your family to believe you had a boyfriend, and unfortunately your other friends were busy that weekend. You asked Leo, and first he laughed at you, but then he decided it might be a good ‘marketing ploy’ to act like your boyfriend and promote himself to all the other wedding attendees. He acts caring around others but is still merciless towards you whenever you’re alone about how ‘funny’ it is you were so desperate you had to ask him of all people. He notices though that your family doesn’t seem to like you much, giving you underhanded compliments and sideways comments all night, and you take it like it’s nothing but he notices the way your eyes waver. It resonates with some part of him he thought he’d cut himself off from, and by the end of the night he’s not teasing you anymore and his arm around your waist feels a bit more sincere.

“I know your mom didn’t like the dress you picked, but for what it’s worth, I think you look good enough to even put on my SNS. I bet my followers would go crazy if I posted you looking like this.”

[nanamineedstherapy]

Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage

F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader X Gojo Satoru X Nanami Kento

Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.

Trigger Warnings: Verbal abuse, grief, and loss, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Redemption Arc, Mild Violence, Emotional Hurt, Disassociation, Depression.

A/N: Before you start reading—Daddy Toji is here!!! Rejoice!!! Welcome to Lobotomy Kaisen: Existential Crisis Edition™! 🎭 This chapter has everything: unhinged family banter, unexpected sweetness, and emotional trauma disguised as plot development. Let’s get into it before Megumi sends the SWAT team after us! Also, I know I said this ending was supposed to be only 3 parts, but it spiraled into a huge monster, so it will be 3 more parts, but it's already written, so hopefully the updates will be consistent every 2 or 3 days. :)

Previous Chapter 6 (alt ending 1.2) - Veiled Realities (Tumblr/Ao3)

Chapter 7 (alt ending 1.3) - Sapphire Echoes

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

// Playlist

The sunlight was golden, warm, and gentle, streaming through the large windows of a house you didn’t recognize but somehow felt like home. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of laughter as you walked outside the house.

“Alright, gremlins,” Gojo announced, spinning on his heel. “Today, Daddy is going to teach you how to fight. It’s all about flair and finesse.”

Nanami, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, let out a long, suffering sigh. “You’re not their only father, and they don’t need flair. They need discipline and control.”

Gojo turned, gasping like Nanami had just insulted his very existence. “Discipline? Control? What are we, accountants?”

“I wasn’t an accountant; I was an investment broker. There’s a difference; I wouldn’t expect your non-college graduate ass to understand,” Nanami deadpanned, adjusting his glasses.

“Exactly my point!” Gojo shot back, pointing a finger at him. “That’s why they need me. To balance out your boring lectures.”

“Balance?” Nanami arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never balanced anything in your life, including your own emotions.”

Their nine-year-old daughter, golden-haired and mischievous, stood between them, bouncing on her toes with excitement. “Daddy, can I use Ratio to mess with people? Like... cut the hair of the boy I like?”

Gojo’s grin widened, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “Now that’s my girl. Even I didn’t think of that!”

Nanami pinched the bridge of his nose. “No. You cannot use cursed techniques for petty pranks. It will get you suspended or arrested.”

“But what if it’s a really good prank?” She countered, her hazel eyes sparkling with mischief.

Gojo crouched down beside her, whispering loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t listen to him. Petty pranks are the best kind.”

“Absolutely not,” Nanami snapped, his tone sharper now. “You’re already too much like him.”

The girl beamed, taking it as a compliment. “Thanks, Dada!”

You, standing off to the side, covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “You have given birth to female Gojo, Ken. She’s your little chaos gremlin. Just accept it.”

“She’s your chaos gremlin too,” he muttered, shooting you a look that said he blamed you for this. Gojo was very smug about the fact, not even attempting to hide it.

Meanwhile, their son stood off to the side, arms crossed and a perpetual frown etched onto his face. His white hair fell into his blue eyes, which were narrowed in quiet judgment.

“This is stupid,” he muttered, his voice carrying all the weight of some adult who thought he knew better than everyone else.

Nanami turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “What’s ridiculous?”

“All of it,” the boy replied, gesturing vaguely at his sister and Gojo, who were now snickering about the ethical implications of using ratio to cheat at board games. “They’re wasting time.”

Gojo overheard and gasped. “Wasting time? I’m teaching valuable life skills here!”

The boy didn’t even blink. “You’re teaching her how to be annoying.”

“Exactly!” Gojo said, throwing his arms wide. “And what’s more important than that?”

“Literally everything,” the boy replied flatly, his tone so deadpan that even Nanami’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Alright, enough talk,” Gojo declared, clapping his hands together. “Let’s spar. Chaos Gremlin versus Mr. Rainy Day.”

Their daughter lit up, bouncing on her toes. “Yes! I’m gonna crush you!”

The boy sighed, stepping into position. “You’re going to lose.”

“Over my dead body,” she shot back, her energy already crackling around her.

Nanami and Gojo stood on opposite sides of the field, both offering advice at the same time.

“Focus on control!” Nanami called out.

“Forget control! Style is everything!” Gojo yelled.

You stood between them, arms crossed. “How about we let them figure it out without shouting conflicting advice?”

Both men glared at each other but stayed quiet—for about five seconds.

The sparring began, their cursed techniques clashing in a brilliant display. The boy moved with focus, his infinity stretching around him. His sister, on the other hand, darted around unpredictably, her movements wild but effective, her ratio blades slicing through the air like a scalpel.

“Don’t just stand there, Emo Kid!” Gojo hollered. “Go for the win!”

“Precision,” Nanami muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on his son. “Wait for her to make a mistake.”

“She doesn’t make mistakes,” Gojo countered. “She’s perfect.”

“You’re impossible,” Nanami replied, his voice flat.

//

When the sparring ended, both kids were panting but grinning, their energy buzzing in the air around them.

“You did great,” you said, taking both their hands. “Both of you.”

“Better than great,” Gojo added, ruffling his son’s hair. “You’re unstoppable.”

Nanami knelt beside his daughter, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’ve improved. But don’t get cocky.”

“Too late,” she replied, grinning up at him.

Letting go of your hands, the children ran ahead, their laughter blending with the rustling leaves as they played with their blobfish plushies.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a warm glow over the scene as it settled into something softer, something whole.

You watched them with awe, your heart full to bursting. “They are beautiful.”

Gojo winked at you. “Of course they are. Look at their parents.”

Nanami glanced at you, his hazel eyes warm. “You’ve done well.”

The sun was now setting, casting the world in hues of orange and pink.

Gojo slid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “See? Told you we’d make a great team.”

Nanami stood on your other side, his presence grounding. “You should sit,” he said softly, gesturing to a bench beneath a blooming cherry blossom tree.

You sat, watching the children play as the two men sat beside you, their presence comforting and familiar.

The boy turned, his bright blue eyes locking onto yours. “Mama, are you happy?” he asked, his voice carrying an innocence that made your chest tighten.

Tears pricked your eyes as you nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. I’m very happy.”

The world shifted abruptly. The warmth of the sun faded, replaced by the cold gray light of dawn filtering through your bedroom curtains.

You opened your eyes slowly, the weight of the dream pressing against your chest like a heavy stone.

Your cheeks were damp, but as you raised a trembling hand to touch them, you realized your eyes were dry. No tears fell. You were too numb for that now.

The laughter, the warmth, the love—it had all been a cruel illusion. The reality of your empty arms and silent home was suffocating.

Sukuna’s voice broke the silence from the doorway. “Another bad night?”

You didn’t answer, your gaze fixed on the sea outside the window. The waves rolled endlessly, a reflection of the ache in your chest.

“They’re still yours,” his words a faint echo of something he’d said before.

But they weren’t.

And they never would be.

---

// Playlist

Few years ago

The streets glistened with rain, neon signs shimmering in puddles as the faint hum of late-night activity drifted through the cool air. You walked at an easy pace, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. The buzz of alcohol warmed your veins. Tonight, the world seemed softer, its edges blurred, though your mind remained sharp, processing everything around you with clarity.

Gojo Satoru leaned lazily against the post, his white hair catching the glow like freshly fallen snow. Beside him, Nanami Kento stood with his frown deepened by the chill in the air.

“She’s late,” Gojo said in Japanese, glancing at his phone. His voice carried a teasing lilt, though his gaze lingered on the street, betraying his anticipation.

“She doesn’t strike me as someone who cancels plans without notice,” Nanami replied evenly, though his hands tightened slightly in his coat pockets.

Gojo smirked. “Oh? Nanamin’s been paying attention.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Before their banter could escalate, you turned the corner, your long coat swaying with your stride. Your hair, tousled by the breeze, framed a face softened by warmth and openness, an unusual sight for someone as composed as you.

Gojo’s eyes lit up as he nudged Nanami, practically bouncing on his feet. “Nanamin! It’s her! Pretty hoodie lady!” He exclaimed in English, pointing at you like a kid spotting their favorite toy in a store.

Nanami groaned audibly, pressing his palm to his face. “Could you not yell across the street like a lunatic?”

But Gojo wasn’t listening. He was already halfway to you, his enthusiasm cutting through the chill like a warm gust of wind.

“Hey! Pretty hoodie lady!” Gojo’s voice rang out.

“Gojo,” Nanami called after him as he followed. “Don’t run off—”

But you didn't hear and turned in the direction Nanami was coming from.

You suddenly collided with your nose smushing into something firm and expensive-smelling.

“Watch where you're going, you...”

“Careful there,” Nanami’s voice came, smooth and tinged with dry amusement.

Gojo skidded to a halt, his grin growing impossibly wider.

You took a step back, studying them with a raised brow. Recognition flickered as you met their gazes. “Oh, it’s you two.”

“You remember us!” Gojo exclaimed, his English broken but still managing to convey his excitement. However, it was better than the last time. Had he been practicing?! His voice carried a note of pride, as if he’d accomplished something monumental by being memorable.

“Oh, it’s mysterious hoodie lady,” Gojo added, adjusting his sunglasses.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Nanami said, his tone measured, though his eyes flicked over you briefly, assessing and ensuring you were unharmed.

“Gentlemen,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Fancy bumping into me.” The alcohol humming through your veins lent a teasing edge to your voice. “But I’m not mad—unless you’re boring. Then we’ll have problems.”

Gojo tilted his head, squinting in confusion. “What she say?”

Nanami sighed, his patience thinning. “She’s challenging you not to be boring.”

“Ohhh!” Gojo’s grin widened, his excitement bubbling over. “I am never boring!”

Nanami questioned. “We didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“You’re not disturbing me,” you replied, your voice warm but measured. “Though, I didn’t expect to see you two again.”

Gojo grinned, his English fumbling but earnest. “We... walking! Saw you!”

Nanami raised an eyebrow, muttering under his breath, “Walking, my ass.”

You chuckled softly, your eyes briefly catching Nanami’s. Without the hood obstructing your vision, you saw warmth and intensity, like the first rays of sunlight breaking through winter’s chill. His gaze wrapped around you, offering solace in a chaotic world, igniting a warmth within you that spread like a soft glow. In that fleeting moment, it felt as if he had touched your soul, awakening a longing for something deeper, something beautifully profound.

Your gaze shifted to Gojo, his eyes peeking over dark sunglasses—a brilliant blue that seemed to hold entire galaxies within them. Time stood still, the world around you fading into a soft blur. You had never seen such eyes—vivid and alive, sparkling with mischief and depth, as if they could read the very essence of your soul. They were the kind of eyes poets raved about, capable of igniting a fire in your heart and weaving a spell

You quickly looked away from the radioactive orbs in the name of eyes he had; it seemed the alcohol was getting to you.

Nanami cleared his throat. “Can we walk you home? It’s late.” His tone even but laced with genuine concern

You nodded your head, your smile softening.

Unbeknownst to you, the men were nearly high-fiving behind you—at least they would have if Nanami weren’t busy trying to engrave your face into his memory. It had taken Gojo standing atop the tallest building to find you. They were supposed to leave the night they met you at the convention, but Yaga had yelled at them to come back every hour since. Yet, they still didn’t know your full name or anything else about you.

“He’s like a Samoyed in human form,” you mused aloud, tilting your head as you studied Gojo.

Gojo almost froze, blinking rapidly. “Samo... what?”

“A Samoyed,” you repeated, grinning. “You know, the big fluffy white dogs that are always happy and smiling?”

Gojo’s jaw dropped. “You think I’m fluffy?”

“Fluffy and cheerful,” you clarified.

Nanami snorted softly, but you turned to him before he could speak. “And you,” you said, gesturing toward him, “you’re... a grumpy Akita Inu. Specifically Hachikō.”

Gojo immediately burst into laughter, clutching his stomach. “Grumpy Akita! Nanamin, that’s so you!”

Nanami’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing as he shot Gojo a sharp look. “Stop laughing.”

“But she’s right!” Gojo wheezed, wiping at his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You’re dependable and serious, waiting around like some tragic hero.” He spoke half the words in Japanese.

Nanami ignored him, his attention shifting to you instead, expression unreadable. “Hachikō, the dog known for its loyalty?”

You nodded, your tone softening. “Yeah. Always dependable, always waiting, even when people don’t deserve it. That being said, I wouldn’t wish Hachikō’s fate on you.”

For a moment, his expression flickered—something thoughtful, maybe even vulnerable, passing through his eyes before he nodded. “I see.”

Gojo, however, was still basking in the revelation. “Fluffy and adorable. That’s me!” he declared.

“Adorable is debatable,” Nanami muttered under his breath, earning another laugh from you.

Before Gojo could respond, you added, “Speaking of dogs, have you heard of Etah ?”

Both men’s curiosity piqued.

“Etah was the first dog to reach the South Pole,” you began. “She led Roald Amundsen’s expedition in 1911, surviving the harshest conditions imaginable. A Samoyed, of course—happy, dependable, and heroic. Out of 52 dogs on the expedition, only 12 survived tragically.”

Nanami was live translating for you and Gojo.

Gojo’s grin faltered, replaced by an expression of awe. “Wait, a dog did that? Like, first to the South Pole?”

You nodded, your gaze steady on him. “Exactly. She led the way, braved the cold, and ensured the expedition’s success. And after all that, she lived out her life as a cherished companion to royalty.”

Nanami’s brows rose slightly, his stoicism softening as he murmured, “A testament to loyalty and resilience.”

“Exactly,” you agreed, your excitement bubbling beneath the surface. “She’s a symbol of courage and adaptability. Like Hachikō, but with a touch of adventure.”

Gojo leaned closer, his sunglasses slipping down his nose. “So, you’re saying I’m like Etah? A heroic, adventurous dog with a happy ending?”

You smirked, tilting your head. “Sure, if you can brave the cold and not get distracted by every snowflake.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile. “I think you’d get lost in the snow, Gojo.”

“Hey!” Gojo shot back, his grin unwavering. “That’s what I’d have you for, Nanamin. My loyal Akita, leading the way.”

Nanami sighed heavily, but the faint flush creeping up his neck didn’t escape your notice.

“Of course you’d need him,” you teased, your tone light but cutting. “Not every hero dog gets to live out their life with royalty.”

Gojo’s grin turned thoughtful, a rare flicker of sincerity breaking through his usual bravado as he spoke in half English, half Japanese. “Well, if you’re the royalty, I’m in.”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, his gaze flickering to you for a moment longer than necessary. For all the absurdity of Gojo’s antics, he wasn’t entirely immune to the pull of your presence.

“So, you both are sorcerers?” You asked, walking ahead. You were curious about their techniques. Otherwise, you would have ignored them as Megumi had advised.

Both men froze for a moment. Then Nanami cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. It seems your friend told you about us.”

“All good things, I hope!” Gojo chimed in.

You glanced at him, amused. “Something like that. If it’s okay, could you explain your techniques to me?” You asked, still looking ahead, your expression serene.

Gojo leaned toward Nanami. “What’s she saying now?”

“She wants us to explain our techniques,” Nanami replied in Japanese, his voice deadpan.

Gojo blinked, clearly delighted. “Oh! You want to know my power?”

“Yes,” you said, your tone calm but your eyes sharp.

Both men noted your reluctance to discuss the man with the sea urchin hair, but Nanami was feeling unusually chatty, so he began explaining while Gojo confused you the entire time and interrupted every few seconds with exaggerated gestures and broken English, insisting that his “Infinity is best!”

As the conversation continued, you noticed how Gojo’s childlike enthusiasm and Nanami’s quiet attentiveness complemented each other. There was something grounding about their presence, something that made the world feel a little less chaotic.

“I’m starting to see why you two balance each other out,” you said, your lips twitching with amusement.

Nanami’s gaze flicked to you, a faint softness in his eyes. “Balance isn’t the word I’d use.”

Gojo, oblivious to the subtleties, beamed. “She thinks we team!”

Both men were observing your wit.

“She’s interesting,” Nanami said lowly to Gojo in Japanese, his tone understated but firm.

Gojo grinned, his gaze lingering on the back of your head a few steps ahead. “Interesting doesn’t even cover it.”

//

They hadn't planned for this. The warm glow of overhead lights reflected off the rain-slick streets outside, adding a cozy intimacy to the atmosphere. You, Nanami, and Gojo were tucked into a booth near the window, the warmth seeping into your hands as you warmed them on the small portable heater near the table.

Nanami sat across from you while Gojo had wedged himself into the seat beside you, his energy a contrast to the café ’s tranquil ambiance.

“You seem... relaxed tonight,” Nanami observed, his voice calm but tinged with curiosity. His gaze flicked briefly to your flushed cheeks before settling back on your eyes.

“I’m in a good mood,” you replied, the mischief in your tone evident as you leaned back against the booth. “A productive day, good company, and now, a surprise reunion.”

Gojo perked up, resting his chin on his hand as he leaned in closer. “You like surprises?”

“Depends on the surprise,” you replied, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you met his gaze. “This one isn’t bad.”

Nanami cleared his throat, steering the conversation. “You mentioned good company earlier. Were you out with friends?”

“My CHRO,” you said casually, taking a sip of your drink.

Gojo frowned, his brows knitting together. “CH... R... O?”

Nanami sighed, his tone weary but patient. “Chief Human Resources Officer.”

“Oh!” Gojo’s face lit up like he’d just solved a riddle. “Office talk!”

You chuckled softly, your smile enigmatic. “Something like that. But enough about me. What about you two? What brings you out tonight?”

Gojo tilted his head toward Nanami, grinning. “Fate!”

Nanami groaned under his breath. “Don’t mind him. We were... exploring the city.”

Your raised eyebrow and faint smile told them you weren’t convinced, but you let it slide.

The server approached, her eyes lingering on Nanami and Gojo a moment too long as asking them, ignoring you. “What can I get you all tonight?”

You grinned, too tipsy to notice the slight snub. “Surprise me.”

Gojo continued looking at your smile subtly—which wasn’t very subtle to Nanami—his voice rude. “Same for me.” The server’s pettyness had not escaped his six eyes.

Nanami ordered black coffee, his tone clipped as usual. He wasn’t trying to be rude; people often misinterpreted his demeanor as arrogance or indifference. Well, the indifference part was true.

You stared at him in mock disbelief. “Black coffee? At this hour? You’re the most boring person I’ve ever met.” You didn’t really mind; hell, you chugged black coffee by the gallon on work nights; you just wanted to see how he’d react to teasing.

Nanami arched an eyebrow, his lips curving ever so slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

Damn, he was smooth.

Your laugh rang out, light and melodic, catching Gojo’s attention. His grin softened as he glanced at Nanami, something unspoken passing between them.

//

After some time, the three of you stood near the counter. The waitress smiled and handed over the bill with a smile directed solely at Nanami and Gojo. You, however, were laser-focused on the receipt, your eyes narrowing as you reached into your coat pocket.

“I’ve got this,” you said firmly, already pulling out your wallet. It’s not like you didn’t let people pay for you. Paying for you was a privilege they hadn’t earned yet. Men had a way of starting to expect things after spending even a little money, and you had learned that the hard way.

“Absolutely not,” Nanami countered, already pulling out his own wallet. His tone was calm, but the sharpness in his eyes screamed ‘ chivalry or death .’

“Wait, wait, wait!” Gojo interjected, his sunglasses slipping as he reached into his coat. “I got this! Sugar mommy powers activated!”

You blinked at him, momentarily thrown. “Gojo, you can’t be a sugar mommy. You’re a sugar baby at best.”

Gojo gasped, clutching his chest as if you’d mortally wounded him. “I’m offended! I’m both!”

Before you could respond, Nanami stepped between you two, his wallet already open. “Enough. This isn’t up for debate. I’ll handle it.”

You weren’t having it. “You think I can’t pay?” You challenged, stepping closer to Nanami like you were about to square up.

Nanami blinked, caught off guard. “This isn’t about capability. It’s about manners.”

“Oh, hell no , Nanami,” you snapped, whipping out your American Express Centurion Card like a weapon. The black card gleamed under the café lights as you waved it in his face. “You think I can’t pay? Watch me!”

Gojo, delighted, leaned toward Nanami and whispered in Japanese, “She’s challenging your honor, man.”

Nanami shot him a glare before turning back to you. “It’s courtesy.”

A mischievous grin tugged at your lips. “Then courteously let me pay.”

Gojo, now leaning dramatically over the counter, held up his own card—a flashy platinum piece that looked like it had seen better days. “Mine’s shinier!”

“Shut up, Gojo!” Both you and Nanami barked simultaneously.

Nanami placed his card on the counter, only for you to slap it away with a quick flick of your wrist. “Denied!”

Gojo cackled, tossing his card onto the counter like it was a poker chip. “Bet you can’t top this!”

You scoffed, “Oh, you wanna play? I brought backups.” Pulling your wallet open wider, revealing the JP Morgan Reserve Card, the Dubai First Royale MasterCard, and the Coutts World Silk Card nestled inside. 

Gojo’s jaw dropped, his English breaking. “You... you have... many shinies !”

Nanami’s eye twitched as he reached for his card again, but you weren’t having it. “Stay in your lane, Mr. Black Coffee!”

“Don’t push me,” Nanami warned.

“I’ll will,” you shot back, your grin unhinged.

Finally, Gojo stepped back, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, you win,” he said, nodding toward your Centurion Card. “Black card... scary.”

You smirked, triumphant. “Damn right.”

Nanami glared at Gojo and asked him in Japanese, “Don’t you have that card too?”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and answered, “I do, but I forgot it in Japan.”

Nanami, however, was far from relenting. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, placing his Rakuten Bank Super Premium Card on top of yours with the quiet determination of a man who had never lost a battle of principles.

“Nanami,” you said, leaning closer, your tone deceptively sweet, eyelashes fluttering up at him, like you were asking for a puppy and not his honour, “are you really going to do this?”

“Yes,” he deadpaned.

“Fine.” You whispered in his ear, slightly closer, with your villainous energy directed at the wrong man. “But I will win.”

If Nanami was a weaker man, his resolve would have cracked.

Gojo, watching the scene unfold with stars in his eyes, clapped his hands together and yelled in Japanese. “This is the best date ever.”

Nanami was too busy not to get a hard on in public to glare at Gojo.

The poor cashier, overwhelmed, finally chose your card just to end the madness. You released Nanami with a victorious grin; your card already swiped.

“I told you,” you said smugly, slipping your wallet back into your coat pocket. Then took out your pen to sign.

Nanami sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re impossible.”

You laughed. “Don’t worry, Nanami. Next time, you can fight me for it. Winner pays.”

Gojo whispered loudly in Japanese. “She’s rich, Nanamin! Like, sugar mommy rich!” All his dreams of finding a fractos mother were coming true even though he was already rich.

Nanami groaned, his chivalry bruised but intact, ears red.

Gojo ignored him, turning to you with a wide grin. “You... pay for my snacks forever?”

You tilted your head, amused. “Why? Can’t you afford them?”

Nanami, sensing an opportunity, leaned toward Gojo and said in Japanese, “She asked if you’d like to pay her back by taking her trash out.”

Gojo’s grin faltered. “Trash?” he echoed, confused.

You chuckled, sensing the exchange but choosing not to pry. “Don’t worry, Gojo. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

Gojo’s grin returned in full force. “I love you!”

Nanami was grateful Gojo didn’t know English for ‘I love you’ yet, or you’d get a restraining order.

As the transaction completed, the two men subtly—or not so subtly—took stock of your outfit to try and assess how rich you were in order to conclude what you did for a living.

“Shoes,” Nanami whispered to Gojo in Japanese.

“Designer,” Gojo answered after a glance.

“Coat?”

“Custom.” Gojo replied, then asked, “Watch?”

“Limited edition.”

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as you turned back. “You... very stylish!” he declared in his adorable English, giving you a thumbs-up.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Thank you, Gojo. You’re very observant.”

Nanami sighed. “You’re enabling him.”

“I think it’s endearing,” you replied with a soft laugh, your gaze briefly meeting Nanami’s. “Besides, you two are fun. And rare.”

Gojo turned to Nanami, grinning. “She said we’re rare! Like Pokémon!”

Nanami muttered something under his breath, but his ears were bright red now.

As the three of you stepped back into the rain-kissed streets, Gojo bounded ahead, clearly pleased with the outcome of the evening, while Nanami lingered at your side, his mind still piecing together the puzzle of who you really were.

“You’re quite mysterious,” Nanami remarked finally, his voice low enough that Gojo couldn’t hear.

You smiled knowingly. “And you’re quite perceptive.”

Nanami’s lips twitched into the faintest smile as Gojo spun around, his arms outstretched. The conversation shifted as the three of you continued walking, your strides falling into an easy rhythm.

You briefly caught Nanami’s gaze before glancing up at the night sky. “It’s a nice night, isn’t it? You can even see a few stars despite the city lights.”

Nanami followed your gaze. “Surprising, given the light pollution.”

Gojo squinted at the sky, then at you. “They pretty like you.”

Nanami’s eyes widened.

You laughed; the sound light and melodic. “Not quite; you are the star.” You paused, thinking, then continued. “Like our sun—bright, strong, impossible to miss. You keep things alive, but you burn so intensely that it’s hard for people to get close enough to truly understand you.”

Gojo’s grin faltered, something unreadable flickering in his expression. “Sun... me?”

You nodded, turning to Nanami. “And you... you’re like a lighthouse. Constant, steady, always guiding. People only notice when they need you, but you’re always there, no matter what.”

Nanami stiffened, his stoicism betraying a hint of vulnerability. “You have a way with metaphors.”

You smiled, shrugging. “Maybe I’m drunk. Or maybe I’m just observant.”

Gojo perked up. “You ultraviolet rays.”

You looked at him, speechless.

Nanami smacked his head. “That’s rude.”

Gojo rubbed the back of his head and explained in Japanese, “What? It provides vitamin D synthesis, photosynthesis, and regulation of biological rhythms. She is smart and strong. Tell her in English.”

Nanami sighed and translated as you blushed, glancing at Gojo, who looked particularly proud of himself.

But Nanami wouldn’t back down easily. “I think you are like the North Star; you provide direction and clarity to those around you. Constant in the night sky, you are reliable. Most people might not notice you for your worth, but your influence is profound, much like how your contributions, though sometimes invisible, are vital and impactful.”

You hid your face in your collar, turning away as you walked, your blush deepening.

“So,” you asked, breaking the awkward silence after a beat, “what’s your favorite food?”

“He likes sandwiches, and I love sweets!” Gojo exclaimed immediately, his enthusiasm palpable.

You grinned. “Me too. In reasonable quantities.”

Nanami exhaled faintly. "Oh, thank God.”

You ignored his quip, focusing back on Gojo. “Do you like dark chocolate?”

Gojo nodded fervently. “Yes! With... strawberries!” Nanami hummed in agreement as well.

“Good taste,” you said approvingly. “But since you like sweets, I think you’d enjoy something from my country. It’s warm, soft, and melts in your mouth. Perfect for a night like this.”

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “I want! You make?”

Nanami tensed at Gojo’s words. “Please forgive him; he’s too enthusiastic.”

You tilted your head, studying Gojo while waving away Nanami's concerns with your hand. “Maybe. But first, lower your Infinity.” Then turned to Nanami and added, “And your ratio thing.”

Nanami’s brows shot up. “That’s a strange request.”

Gojo hesitated, glancing between you and Nanami. “Why?”

You shrugged, a teasing glint in your eyes. “Because I asked nicely.”

Gojo huffed, muttering something in Japanese that sounded suspiciously like “fine,” before lowering his Infinity.

Without warning, you lunged, fingers digging into his sides as you tickled him mercilessly. Halfway through, you felt his hard muscles—he looked built, like a well-defined wall.

“W-what?!” Gojo shrieked, laughter bubbling uncontrollably as he tried to fend you off. “Stop! Evil lady!”

You stepped back, smirking. “I wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily. You trusted me so adorably—I couldn’t resist. Consider this a free lession.” You laughed, then your tone softened. “But really, I wanted to touch your hand. I wanted to know how your skin feels.”

Gojo blinked, his laughter fading as his cheeks flush. Nanami was trying to hide his face.

You extended your hand to both men. “Come on. If you’re interested, I’ll make you that sweet. It’s worth the walk.”

Nanami sighed. “Are you sure? We don’t want to impose; it’s pretty late.”

You smiled and nodded.

Both men immediately offered their hands to you.

These two would go to war for you—just for your smile, no hesitation.

//

By the time you reached your place, the warmth of the alcohol had faded, leaving you pleasantly sleepy.

“You two are coming in,” you declared, unlocking the door.

Nanami frowned. “That’s not necessary—”

“It’s cold,” you interrupted, pushing the door open. “And I’m making sweets. Come in or stay out, your choice.”

Gojo practically dragged Nanami inside, kicking off his shoes with a grin.

The warmth of your penthouse greeted you as you led them inside, shedding your coat. The men had noticed the extreme security while entering your building, and your place looked expensive, leading them to deduce you were more than averagely wealthy.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” you said, heading toward the kitchen.

Gojo immediately flopped onto your couch, poking at the cushions, while Nanami stood awkwardly near the door, his posture still composed.

“Do you always invite strangers into your home?” Nanami asked, his tone laced with mild disapproval.

“Only the ones who lower their Infinity and that cutting thing for me,” you replied with a grin.

Nanami sighed but his lips twitched, hinting at a smile. “It’s called ratio blades.”

You nodded, washed your hands and began preparing the syrup and dough.

As you worked, Gojo wandered around your living room, poking at your figurines—most of them from your own company’s games—and photos. “Cats! So many cats!”

“I like cats,” you said simply, rolling the dough into perfect spheres.

Nanami joined Gojo, his gaze landing on a framed self-portrait you had taken a long time ago. “Did you take all these?”

You nodded. “Photography’s my thing. Cats are my favorite subjects.”

Their attention shifted to a large portrait of you and Megumi from an event. He stood stiffly looking at you while you smiled at the camera, his parents in the background. Gojo scowled at Toji’s face.

The smell of caramelized sugar filled the air as you carried a tray of warm, syrup-soaked sweets to the table, and Gojo immediately forgot about Toji.

"Careful, it’s hot,” you warned, placing the tray on the coffee table. The men took a seat on the couch opposite you.

Gojo’s eyes sparkled as he picked one up, blowing on it before taking his first bite. A soft hum of delight escaped him. “This is heaven. Marry me!” He exclaimed in Japanese.

Still Nanami choked, shooting Gojo a glare. He took his time with his dessert, his expression softening with each bite. “You weren’t exaggerating. This is excellent; he likes it too.”

You leaned back with one for yourself, watching them with a small smile as you chewed your own. “Glad you like it.”

The three of you sat in companionable silence, the warmth of the room and the dessert lulling you into a state of drowsy contentment.

Without much thought, you curled up on the couch across from them, yawning and closing your eyes, unintentionally dozing off with two strangers in your house.

“She’s like a cat,” Gojo murmured in Japanese, his voice softer than usual.

Nanami studied you. “A very drunk cat.”

“But she can hold her liquor.”

“Except for turning into a frat bro dying to fight people.” Nanami deadpaned, making Gojo chuckle.

They sat in silence for a while, the only sound being the soft hum of the heater as you completely dozed off.

Gojo broke the silence first, still speaking softly in Japanese. “Hey, Nanamin. Think she likes us?”

Nanami glanced at him. “Us?”

Gojo shrugged, his grin a little softer. “You know. Like... us us.”

Nanami sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I didn’t plan for this.”

“Neither did I,” Gojo admitted. “But... I don’t hate it.”

Nanami glanced at Gojo, then back at you. “Neither do I.”

“Let’s see where this goes,” Gojo said softly.

Nanami nodded, his usual frown easing.

Just then, your phone rang loudly, startling you awake. You apologized to the men, "Sorry, I dozed off. It’s been a long day.” They smiled, still shoving sweets into their mouths occasionally—well, mostly Gojo.

You fished your phone from your pocket, accidentally cutting the call. Rubbing your eyes, you opened it to find:

Gumi: I thought I told you to stay away from those two?!

Gumi: Why did you invite them to your place?!

Gumi: I’m coming over, and if I find them there, I’ll kill them!

Gumi: Why the fuck are you cutting my calls?!

Gumi: I swear I’m beheading them.

You immediately stood up, startled. “You need to go!”

The men looked at you, confused.

“I can’t explain! Just please go right now!” Panic surged through you, serious enough to pull you out of your drunken sleepy haze. They put the sweets down and got up to leave, but you yelled again, “Not from the front door!”

Nanami groaned as you practically pushed him and Gojo through the back door and slammed the door into their faces.

Just then they realized something.

They still didn't really know anything about you except that you were observant, made them sweets and would fight to pay for others.

//

The silence that followed after you slammed the back door was short-lived. You took a deep breath, your heart pounding, as you tried to regain your composure. The faint sound of the heater humming did little to ease the tension building in the room.

A knock on the front door shattered the calm. It wasn’t a polite knock—it was authoritative, demanding.

You sighed, muttering under your breath, “God help me...”

You barely had time to brace yourself before the door swung open with a force that sent it rebounding slightly on its hinges.

Megumi stood in the doorway, his tailored suit pristine, but his face was anything but composed. His piercing blue eyes scanned the room like a predator assessing its territory, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore you heard his teeth grinding.

His gaze landed on you first, narrowing as he took in the faint flush on your cheeks and the slightly disheveled state of your hair. “You’ve been drinking,” he said flatly, the accusation sharp.

His gaze swept the room like a hawk, narrowing when he spotted the faint remnants of the sweets you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

You crossed your arms, meeting his glare with a raised eyebrow. “Good evening to you too, Megumi.”

“Don’t start,” he snapped, stepping into your living room. The air seemed to chill slightly as he moved closer, his presence both imposing and familiar.

The faint scent of alcohol clearly irritated him further. “You smell like a distillery. And there are cursed energy signatures everywhere. They were here, weren’t they?”

Your stomach twisted as his words hung in the air. He wasn’t asking; he was stating a fact.

“I drank earlier, but not with them. And yes, they were here,” you admitted, leaning casually against the back of the couch. “And they left.”

Megumi’s eyes darkened, his frame tense as he stalked further into the room. His presence felt heavier than usual, the weight of his restrained fury palpable. “I told you to stay away from them,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

“You did,” you replied calmly, meeting his glare without flinching. “But I don’t recall signing a contract.”

His voice was quieter now but no less intense. “What were they doing here?”

“Eating sweets,” you replied simply as if his looming figure didn’t faze you.

Megumi’s jaw tightened. “You’re joking.”

“Not at all. They’re big fans of dessert,” you said with a faint smirk, your nonchalance clearly irritating him further.

“Do you have any idea who they are?” He demanded, his voice rising slightly.

“Two sorcerers who are surprisingly bad at hiding their curiosity,” you replied, your tone calm.

Megumi’s lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze swept the room. Without warning, he moved past you, scanning every corner with the precision of someone who missed nothing.

“Gumi,” you said, following him as he moved toward the kitchen. “They’re gone. I’m fine.”

He ignored you, his eyes scanning the area as if expecting to find Gojo or Nanami hiding behind the fridge.

When he turned back to you, his expression was a mix of frustration and something deeper—something protective. “You don’t understand what they’re capable of,” he said, his tone clipped. “You’re not a sorcerer. You can’t handle this.”

“I’m not helpless,” you countered, crossing your arms. “And I don’t need you babysitting me.”

His fists clenched at his sides, his shoulders taut with barely restrained anger. “You think this is about babysitting? You’re the only person I care about besides Mom,” he bit out, his voice cracking slightly. “Do you know how easy it would be for them to hurt you?”

“They’re not going to hurt me, Megumi,” you said, your voice softening.

He scoffed, his frustration spilling over. “You don’t know that. They’re sorcerers. They live in a world where people like you—people without cursed energy—are collateral damage.”

You stepped closer, your tone steady but firm. “And your father lived in a world where he killed innocent people, Megumi. Including that girl.”

The words hit like thunder, and for a moment, the room was silent. Megumi’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with a mix of pain and anger.

“That doesn’t mean that white-haired freak gets a free pass,” he said finally, his voice low.

“No, it doesn’t,” you agreed, your gaze unwavering. “But it also doesn’t mean you get to project your anger onto me.”

“They’re dangerous,” he hissed, taking another step forward. “Especially him.”

You tilted your head, your gaze steady. “Gojo? He seems harmless enough when he’s not shoving sweets into his mouth.”

Megumi’s fists clenched at his sides. “Harmless? He killed my father.”

You flinched at the reminder, guilt creeping into your chest.

Megumi’s hands flexed at his sides; he calmed down his breathing immediately, eyes softening. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice rough. “I can’t lose you too.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” you said gently, placing a hand on his arm.

He stiffened at the contact, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes. For a moment, his anger seemed to waver, replaced by something raw and vulnerable.

“I can’t protect you if you won’t listen to me,” he said, his tone quieter now but no less intense.

“You’ve always protected me, Gumi,” you said softly. “But I need you to trust me too.”

He let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re overbearing,” you replied with a small smile.

After another tense moment, Megumi’s posture relaxed slightly. He looked around the room one last time, his eyes lingering on the remnants of the desserts you’d shared with Gojo and Nanami.

“They’re idiots,” he muttered.

You chuckled. “Agreed.”

“I’m increasing security around your building,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest. “Fine. But only if I still get to pet your shikigamis.”

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through his frustration. “Deal.”

“Next time, call me first.”

“Noted.”

"Come, mom asked you to stay over for the weekend; let’s go.” He said, extending his arm with a faint twitch of a smile on his lips.

“Oh great. I haven’t seen her in a few weeks.” You followed him.

Before closing the door, Megumi looked directly at a particular window in your penthouse.

//

As you both left, the tension in the room finally eased.

From the shadows outside, Gojo and Nanami peeked around the corner, their expressions a mix of curiosity and disbelief.

“He’s scary,” Gojo whispered in Japanese.

“He knew we were here; he could have fought.” Nanami thought out loud.

Gojo then added sagely. “But also... she’s kind of hot?”

Nanami sighed.

“Do you think she’s single?” Gojo mused as Nanami dragged him away.

---

Many Years Ago

It was a warm afternoon, the kind where the sunlight filtered through the trees and painted the grass in dappled patterns. You sat on a park bench, your knees pulled to your chest as you tried to block out the world. The faint sound of children laughing reached your ears, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another reality.

“Hey.”

The voice was small, hesitant. You looked up to see a little boy with dark, spiky hair and eyes that seemed far too knowing for someone his age.

“You’re sitting here alone,” he said matter-of-factly, his head tilting slightly. “Why?”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. “I just... like the quiet.”

The boy frowned, his brows knitting together. “You’re sad.”

Before you could deny it, another voice interrupted. “Megumi, don’t bother strangers.”

You looked up to see a tall man approaching, his broad shoulders and confident stride impossible to miss. His piercing eyes softened slightly when they landed on you.

“Sorry about him,” the man said, ruffling the boy’s hair. “He’s too nosy for his own good.”

“It’s okay,” you said quietly.

The man studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering on the bruises peeking out from beneath your sleeves. His expression darkened, but his tone remained calm. “Where are your parents?”

“They’re around,” you said quietly, looking away.

The boy—Megumi—plopped down on the bench beside you, completely unfazed. “You don’t like them, do you?”

“Megumi,” the man said warningly, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you murmured. “He’s right. I don’t. They wanted a boy; I came out a girl.”

The man’s fists tightened hard enough that you heard a faint crack, then he crouched down, his gaze level with yours. “Listen, kid,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to stay in places that hurt you. You know that, right?”

Your throat tightened, and you nodded, tears stinging your eyes.

From that day on, Toji Fushiguro became a constant in your life. He didn’t say much, but he showed up when it mattered—bringing food, letting you crash on his couch when things got too rough at home, and always making sure you knew you had someone in your corner.

Megumi tagged along wherever you went and was always watching out for you in his quiet, observant way. His sharp wit and occasional bursts of kindness became a source of unexpected comfort.

You felt a sense of belonging, a family forged through shared struggles and unspoken bonds. But when you learned of Toji’s death, the loss hit you hard. It was a wound that ran deep, leaving a lasting impact on Megumi, who never truly recovered from it.

And when you cut contact with your family after a particularly horrible night at eighteen, Megumi’s mom helped you get on your feet, offering support until you could stand on your own.

For a while, it felt like you’d found a family.

---

// Playlist

Before you left to get married

This was supposed to be a moment of excitement—a new chapter—but instead, it was tainted by the look in Megumi’s eyes.

The terminal was too bright, too sterile. Every sound—footsteps, muffled announcements, the scrape of luggage wheels—echoed like a dull ache in your head. You stood by the departure gate, clutching your boarding pass, trying to steady your breathing. You had said goodbye to Megumi’s mom, but Megumi had disappeared since the day you told him you’d accepted the proposal to get married to your husbands. He didn’t pick up calls, didn’t respond to texts, and wasn’t at his office or at home. You wanted to say goodbye before you left, make amends so that he visited you for both your and his life's major occasions, or without reasons. You didn’t go out of your way to hurt him, but you hated yourself for it. He was right to have expected something of you when all those years ago his father had been nothing but kind towards you.

Then the storm came.

“Leaving just like that?”

The voice froze you in place, laced with a hurt you hadn’t anticipated. Turning slowly, you met Megumi’s gaze. His 20-something frame was taller, broader like his father, than the boy you’d met all those years ago—a sharp-edged man you’d always known he’d become. He looked disheveled, as if he had been drinking; his coat and tie were absent, his sleeves rolled up, and a few top buttons of his shirt were undone. But his eyes... his eyes still held the same piercing clarity, now clouded with betrayal.

You swallowed hard. “Megumi—”

“Don’t.” His voice cut through the distance between you, and you flinched. “Don’t start with excuses.”

“I’m not making excuses,” you said softly. “I’m doing what I have to do.”

"What do you have to do?” He laughed bitterly, running a hand through his spiky hair. “You’re leaving everything—everyone—for them. You’re marrying the man who killed my father. And the other one, who just stood by and let it all happen.”

The words hit harder than you’d expected, slicing through the fragile composure you’d been clinging to. “That’s not fair,” you tried, your voice trembling. “You know it’s not that simple.” You stepped towards him.

“Then what is it like?” he snapped, stepping away. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’ve chosen them over everything else. Over me. I thought you were better than this. I thought you cared about me.”

“You’re my best friend, Megumi. You always will be,” you insisted, your throat tightening. “I do care about you.”

“Do you? You are moving to a whole other country for them! Do you even know the language properly?” His voice cracked, and for a moment, he looked like the boy you’d met in the park all those years ago.

Tears welled in your eyes. “I’m not leaving you, Megumi.”

“Yes, you are.” His tone was flat now, his expression hardening like a wall slamming shut. “You’ve already made your choice, and it’s not me.”

“I’m not doing this to hurt you,” you said, your voice barely audible.

He scoffed, the hurt radiating off him in waves. “Doesn’t feel like it.” He sighed, looking away from you, and continued, “You’ve made your choice, and it’s not me. So, go ahead. Leave. But don’t expect me to be waiting when you come back. The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears pricked your eyes, but you forced yourself to stay composed. “I’m sorry you feel that way,” you said quietly. “But I hope one day you’ll be able to forgive me.”

He turned away sharply, his shoulders tense. “Don’t count on it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and final. You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He strode away without a backward glance.

You stood there, the sounds of the terminal fading into a dull hum, your heart splintering under the weight of his parting words.

Nanami came to you and held you close while Gojo took care of the luggage.

---

Present day

The sea stretched endlessly before you, the waves lapping softly against the shore under the dim light of a waning moon. You sat on the edge of the wooden dock, legs dangling over the side, your hands resting limply in your lap. The salt in the air clung to your skin, but you barely noticed. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, stared at the horizon, seeing nothing but the fractured pieces of a life that had slipped through your fingers.

The memory of Megumi’s words cut through the silence, a cruel echo of a bond you thought unbreakable.

"The next time I see you, it’ll be at your funeral."

You swallowed hard, the phantom weight of those words pressing against your chest. You’d believed so fiercely that he’d understand one day at the time and shared history would bridge the chasm your choices had created.

But you were wrong. He was right.

Your fingers tightened into fists as the guilt churned inside you. He had tried to warn you and begged you to stay away from the men who had dismantled your life piece by piece. And yet, you had brushed him off, convinced of your own strength and autonomy. You had taken his trust, his family’s kindness, and burned it in the fires of your hubris.

When your HQ in Japan was nearly razed and your life reduced to ashes, it wasn’t the men who betrayed you that haunted your thoughts—it was Megumi. You had been too ashamed to call him yourself, delegating the task to an employee with shaking hands. Yet, despite everything, he had come through.

His company’s security solutions had locked down your global offices in a matter of hours, protecting millions of lives. He didn’t ask for thanks, didn’t even reach out to you directly. It was as though he’d swept in like a ghost, solving the problem before vanishing back into the shadows of your shared past.

And still, you couldn’t bring yourself to reach out. What could you say? That he’d been right all along? That you missed him? That the absence of his sarcastic remarks and overprotective nature felt like a gaping hole in your already fractured soul?

You wondered if he thought about you at all. Did he have friends now? Or had he become like you—an isolated workaholic, buried under the weight of responsibility and regret?

Behind you, Sukuna sat silently on the dock, leaning back on his palms. He hadn’t said much since dragging you here, content to let the waves and the stars speak for themselves. He was steady, an immovable force in your crumbling world.

Sukuna sighed, his fingers drumming against the wood. “Still thinking about them?”

Them. Your twins. The children you’d lost.

“They are still yours,” he had told you, the words a faint echo now, lost in the cavern of your grief. They didn’t heal you, but they lingered, a reminder that some part of you had existed in them, however fleetingly.

The nightmares came every night. You didn’t tell Sukuna, but you didn’t need to. He was always there when you woke up drenched in sweat. His strong arms would pull you close, his voice steady and grounding.

“They’re gone,” he would say, the words harsh but real. “They’re not coming back. I’ll kill them if they do.”

You never asked who he meant. You didn’t care.

The therapy sessions were supposed to help. Sukuna drove you to every appointment, his presence looming in the background like a silent guardian. He never asked you how they went, never pressed for details. He just waited, scrolling through his phone or staring out the window until you returned.

But the numbness refused to leave. It clung to you like a second skin. You hadn’t spoken to Sukuna in months, not really. Your words had dwindled into hollow gestures—a nod, a faint smile, a muttered “thanks.”

He never complained. He just stayed.

Now, sitting on the dock with the sea stretching endlessly before you, Sukuna shifted closer. His knee brushed yours, a subtle reminder of his presence.

“You ever gonna talk again?” He asked, his tone light but probing.

Your lips parted, but no words came. You couldn’t bring yourself to speak, to admit that you missed someone else’s presence just as much as his.

Megumi’s face flashed in your mind—his eyes, his cutting words, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did.

Sukuna’s gaze flicked to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Who’s on your mind?”

You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time in hours. “No one,” you lied, your voice hoarse from disuse.

He didn’t push, but the slight tightening of his jaw told you he didn’t believe you.

The stars above reflected faintly in the dark water, their light distant and cold. You wondered if Megumi ever looked at the stars and thought of you, or if you were as distant to him now as they were to the earth.

A/N: And that’s the emotional rollercoaster for today, folks! 🎢 How did you guys feel about Megumi and the airport scene. Drop your votes, share your feels, and get ready for the next chapter—it’s gonna be sending y'all to therapy.

Next Chapter 8 (alt ending 1.4) - Fractured Tides (Tumblr/Ao3)

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[yestrday]

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who has his eye on you ever since you two entered college. a young, bright-eyed thing who moved from the boonies to the big city at a chance to find out more of the world beyond your farmlands and vast expanses of grass. who noted with wry amusement the pep in your step and the twinkle in your eye as you sit in the front row like a good student with an eagerness to learn.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who you approach with a stunning and naive smile. you're asking him for notes, the professor being too fast for your hands to properly take notes. he asks for your sns and sends you the pics of his note, and you eagerly thank him while unaware of the glint in his eye at this opportunity.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who scrolls through your social media and collects information about the kind of person you are. you know little about the world, but you're eager to learn more. your comments sections are full of relatives and friends congratulating you on you enrollment in the big city, and your cheery replies of thanks and acknowledgment. yuta chuckles as he sets aside his phone, eyes still trained on your back. how cute.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who continues keeping an eye on you. you keep asking him for notes because your cute lil brain just can't keep up, and he notes the waver in your smile when he shows off a little bit of his intellect. from how casual he is about his studies yet still getting high marks, the distance between you two is obvious. but there's still a spark of determination in your eyes—

— until prefinal grades come around and he sees you staring blankly at your phone. yuta angles his phone on purpose to let you get a glimpse of his, and he marvels at how bleaker your expression becomes. all your hard work... all your enthusiasm and eagerness... for nothing? have you always been this stupid? you were... you were always the brightest in your local school...

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who watches you throw yourself into your studies more than ever. you don't have that pep in your stel anymore, your eyes have become dull and beavy, and no one can strike a conversation with you because you're always asleep. yuta is your only companion, angling your head on his shoulder so that you can rest more comfortably, leveling onlookers with a stern stare as he shushes them with a finger.

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who watches your eyes lose the last of their light when midterm grades come. your fingers are trembling as you clutch your phone, and you bite your lip to avoid the tears spilling out. yuta puts a comforting hand over yours, and you slowly clutch his shirt. "i did my best, didn't i?" you ask. yuta hums, hand on your neck. "... i did, didn't i?"

COLLEGE CLASSMATE! YUTA who is your only point of contact for the rest of the finals. you don't even try. instead, you cling to yuta like he's your last chance at validation. you preen at his compliments, blush when he says he likes your outfit. the only time the light comes back to your eyes is when his attention is on you, and you feel a sugary rush in your veins whenever he smiles at you.

you, who does nothing for their schoolwork but instead focus on making yuta happy. you latch onto him like a clingy girlfriend, and he's more than happy for you to do so. while he studies for the upcoming exams, you're cuddled up on his lap, keeping him warm for the winter months. he pats your head and rubs your temple as you doze off to sleep.

sometimes when you voice the need to study, yuta shushes such needless concerns away. "you don't need to think so much," he whispers, scratching your scalp and he watches you preen. "aren't you happy right now? with me?"

you nuzzle into his touch, eyes fluttering shut under his touch. "... yeah."

"good," he hums, kissing you on the forehead. "then don't think of anything else but me."

[midmourn]

accidentally revealing your relationship

Originally posted by dazzlingkai

reposting from my old blog.

members ot7 nct dream

summary one of you accidentally reveal your relationship.

Mark. the poor boy had a picture of you and him as his homescreen. yeah, not his smartest choice. he was on vlive and was showing fans something on his phone and he completely forgot about his homescreen and clicked off. "so yeah there's the proof that haechan threatened me," he giggled, pressing his home button to get off the messages, screen still facing the camera for a second. it was just long enough that people were able to see what it was. he squinted at the comments, tilting his head, "what do you guys-- oh." he backed up slightly in shock, eyes widening at the camera before hurriedly turning off the vlive. he stared down at the floor silently before looking up at the manager behind the camera, "oops."

Renjun. so technically it wasn't his fault! literally no one told yall they would be going on vlive and so ... the boys were in their dressing room and unluckily yall happened to be right in the corner of the camera frame ... you reached up to give renjun a kiss on the cheek, and the camera managed to catch that and renjun's face but not your face!! yeah no one knew until the comments started exploding about the unknown person giving renjun a kiss and the boys knew it could only be you. and as always, screamed loudly to get your attention before turning off the live. you and renjun about almost killed them for not telling you or being more careful.

Jeno. okay so you were on your way to sm company to give him his lunch bc he was practicing alone. you texted him that you were there and were on your way up but literally before you could even get in the building, he was already opening the doors and meeting you halfway. “i told you—“ he ignored your words, pulling you in by your jacket to press a kiss on your lips. as always, there are literally fans or outsiders outside of sm’s building at all times. and of course they took pictures and videos and uploaded it to sns immediately. it wasn’t until you pulled away that he realized what he did. “oh.” “yeah, oh,” you mocked, pushing him into the building as you glared at him. “congratulations, our relationship is now public.” “sorry,” but he didn’t seem sorry at all, if the grin on his face was saying anything.

Haechan. haechan … is a very obvious person. he would only compliment you when your group was miraculously brought up(probably also by him) and only sing/rap your parts of your songs. it didn’t help the fact that fans were already suspicious because you two were seen at the same place at different times and you frequently stole some of his clothes and wore it out. BUT! it’s only when he reads a comment about you outloud(“y/n from y/g complimented your vocals!!”) and he says, “yeah, y/n is a very nice partn—“ and cuts himself off before he can finish the word, eyes wide as he stares at the camera. “they’re a very nice, nice— um, idol. i’ve got to go practice, bye!” but like i said, he’s very obvious and fans heard him say the romantic word~~ oops.

Jaemin. it’s no secret that jaemin is a huge fan of having matching couple items, like with his members and especially you— since you’re, you know, a couple and all. his personal favorite was your custom made matching necklaces, so you wore it everywhere. unfortunately, seeing as the owner had no idea of anything concerning you two, when fans asked about your necklace to buy it, he said a young man came in and had it custom ordered. fans put two and two together and … boom. rumors were made up and since it really blew up, your companies denied it despite the rumors being true. even if they denied it, fans were very convinced you two were dating. no more privacy for you anymore! sorry jaemin you should’ve said something or not had it custom made. 🥲

Chenle. you like to take pictures of you and daegal and post it on your private twitter account, so what? he had no problem with it, even being in a few of them since he knew only your members and a few friends were on your private twitter. so when you did that exact thing, he didn’t care and merely posed with daegal sitting on your chest. it’s minutes later when his phone starts getting multiple text messages and he checks it only to see messages about you posting a picture on twitter. “babe,” he inhaled, “did you post it on your private account?” you glance up at him in confusion, “the picture? yeah.” he closed his eyes, leaning his head back, “are you sure it wasn’t on your main account?” it dawns on you right then and there. “oh my god.” in one minute, the tweet is deleted but thousands of people have already seen it and screenshotted. the koreaboo article is up within twenty minutes. . I am so sorry 😀

Jisung. ah, sweet sweet jisung. he was on vlive while you were at the corner store to get snacks for your movie night. he didn’t originally plan to go in vlive but decided to have a voice only vlive because he was bored. he thought you’d be gone for a while and would be done before you got back, so he didn’t text you about it. he was reading comments when you walked in, already talking as soon as you opened the door, “hey babe, i got that ice cream you like, the one—“ when he started coughing loudly in the middle of your sentence, you looked up and saw his eyes widening as he pointed at his phone violently. it didn’t take long for you to understand once you checked your own phone and saw that you had a notification from vlive, signaling someone went live. ‘oh my god’ you mouthed at him and he coughed again to fill the silence, eyes going back to the screen to read the comments to see if anyone heard you clearly. unfortunately … they did, and they heard the petname, too. he made up an excuse to get off quickly and groaned, putting his face in his hands. needless to say, fans reposted the clip of your voice everywhere.

[httpstes]

What’s your take on a Leo 1H stellium? (ASC , mercury , Venus & north node)

Leo Mercury/Venus/NN in 1H

☽｡⋆ This is gives me immediate bright eyed excited for the world energy. Leo ascendants already take up the whole room when they walk in (whether they mean to or not; they naturally command attention) but with Venus here, there’s a certain magnetism that the already attractive and influential Leo ascendant has that amplifies their liveliness and ability to warm others up with their attitude and unwavering attention.

☽｡⋆ Leo Venus enjoys attention, it being in the first house either suggests you do get that attention effortlessly or that’s how your perceived. Meaning even if you don’t enjoy or think you don’t get that much attention others may look at you and assume based off first impressions and or appearances that you do in fact get a lot of positive attention.

☽｡⋆ Leo Venus in the first house can indicate the genuine and big hearted love that Leo naturally has in Venus is greatly expressed in your personality. You love to love and enjoy receiving compliments and giving them to others. "What you give is what you get" and you make sure your sending that positive energy to others tenfold.

☽｡⋆ Leo Mercury in the 1H allows for an individual to outwardly and confidently express their curiosity and thoughts to a wider audience. The fear of being wrong usually is not a problem here as the Leo mercury is so deeply authentic and genuine in its curiosity of the world/people/ideology around them that others can’t be mad/disappointed at whatever may come out of their mouth.

☽｡⋆ Leo Mercury in the 1H also shows a very expressive individual with a communication style that’s extremely dynamic and exciting. These are the type of people I could listen to tell stories about their lives for days just because of how entertaining they are.

☽｡⋆ Leo Mercury in the First house can also indicate being very reactive, especially when it comes to communication, you may be the type to be somewhat performative, or liking the reactions other people give you in response to how YOU react or to what you say (shock value).

☽｡⋆ Leo Mercuries in general seem quite fun, I also love Mercury in the first as in terms of how you come across to other people, others might view you as someone who has a zest for life or constantly on a quest for more knowledge. Combining the genuine and entertaining Leo with the intellectual and communicative ruled planet mercury in your first house of how others view you illustrates an individual who is quite reactive, entertaining but genuine in thought and authentic in how you communicate.

☽｡⋆ North Node in Leo suggests stepping into the spotlight as you age/in this life time. Maybe as a kid or if you believe in past lifetimes, in a past life, would’ve been more focused on the collective and group projects. You prefer to work in groups and it feels natural to connect with and work with other people.

☽｡⋆ South Node in Aquarius suggests it might’ve felt uncomfortable taking up the spotlight, possibly the fear of being recognised, perceived or even judged could’ve gotten in the way of you attuning yourself to your North Node in Leo traits.

☽｡⋆ SN in Aqua indicates preferring to work with the team, being a team player, and collectively collaborating, working on and achieving something together for a greater cause that benefits all.

☽｡⋆ SN in Aqua can also show having a lot of empathy for humanity as a whole as a kid, possibly wanting to donate to charity, or getting involved in things/coming up with ideas as to how you can help on a global level.

☽｡⋆ NN in Leo now suggests to not let go of that collaborative, networking and humanitarian side that your SN (most comfortable state) holds, but to carry those traits with you when embracing your destiny in this life/as you age.

☽｡⋆SN in Aqua can suggest possibly being to grown for your age as a kid. Or wanting to be mature and humble over your achievements as a kid.

☽｡⋆ NN in Leo is more focused on the self, is less focused on group collaboration but is the model on the stage that is presented, the person that entertains and brings about happiness in the crowds.

☽｡⋆ NN in Leo encourages you to be more comfortable in the lime light and to never lower or dismiss your achievements but to openly celebrate with friends and loved ones.

☽｡⋆ NN in Leo is encouraging you to move away from collective effort and more onto the natural creative side you have within and to share it with the community, audience, wider world.

☽｡⋆SN in Aqua might’ve been too focused on what other people needed, what society wanted from them and how they can contribute to society, NN in Leo encourages you to instead harvest and develop your personal talents not for humanity, nor a greater cause or society bur for yourself. By putting yourself first and using your talents and or hobbies to enrich your inner world and mental well-being will you then be able to achieve your SN in Aqua dream of being able to help others on a grand scale.

☽｡⋆This could literally be through any outlet, but because it’s NN in Leo, more than likely a creative pursuit. Music, Painting, Acting, Drawing, Dancing etc anything that’s creative and that calls to heal your inner child that was neglected to focus on bigger things at a young age, do that as it will heal you and eventually heal others.

☽｡⋆ NN in Leo= get comfortable being your more authentic and creative self in FRONT of people, show yourself off and be appreciative of what others have done for you as well as what you have done for yourself, move towards positions where you can take charge, be the centre of attention, be the creator (despite how uncomfortable and or how scary it might feel)

☽｡⋆The accuracy of these observations will vary and are all dependant on other placements in your chart, the aspects that are being made to Mercury, Venus, and North node (are they more harmonious or challenging) as well as if they’re conjuncting the Asc, if you have a Day Chart or a Night chart, and the overall strength and dignity of these planets.

(P.S I wrote this on my phone there may be grammar mistakes)