#why are you treating everyone like the only way to get through to them is by yelling because they're too stupid/lazy/evil to understand

[manyegos]

Originally posted on May 3rd, 2023 This movie made me cry. I posted about it before. It really reflected a deep seated pain I had, a trauma I had as a kid. I love that movies and start help us make sense of things that we all go through but no one dares to speak about it. The movie is heavily inspired by the study by Niobe Way on Boys friendships and crisis of connection, titled "Deep Secrets" . . . I happen to have such book next to me. there is this moment in the life of men, when we all stop having such rich incredibly and intense friendships with one another. . . and even with ourselves. This is not an attack to masculinity or a forced advocation for sensitivity and delicate gentleness of males, but rather a conversation of a deep unspoken pain men carry. The movie does have some "imagery" a little over the top given that these are kids and they are boys, but it is not sexual nor it is intended to be this way. However, in context as a boy growing up with straight friends I can tell and I can remember very well how closed and sensitive we all were and little by little that went dying. At some point because of whatever it was, we wouldn't dare to hug, cuddle or have heart to heart conversations (remind you women do this all the time without being lesbians and gay men do this with their friends without engaging in any sort of sexual activity) We as men, and specially straight men carry this heavy burden of not being able to relieve their pain. It is a crisis. We are emotional animals, we need to touch, we need to feel and cry, and we need to be close to one another. Women have (and even used to have way deeper) friendships, stronger at times than their marriages. It enriches their lives. We men do, but something loose and aloof. We live without really living. There have been times I wish I knew how my buddies felt, I have a friend for example who lose his mom at 20, was a virgin and feeling lonely. I wish He had talked more about his feelings to me, how he felt, that He knew we would be there for him. Men only get "touchy" seek affection, connection, closeness, emotional, they get real when they drink. That's why men drink in my opinion which is dissapointing. While very few have the fortunate luck of having a wife that knows their most sensitive vulnerable side, even there is as if they abnegate everyone that can understand aspects of them than even women can't, but designate their poor wives to assume all these roles (not only their mother, but also an equal male buddy... ) Women unfortunale will never understand what is like to go through life as a man, same as us will never understand what is like to go through life as women (not even if we transition) So why do we live limited lives? why we as men have this strange disconnection with ourselves and lack of deep friendships? anyways, I love this film. _______________________________ Funny Story I used to have a best friend around the age of the characters, we were close like this. At some point because my inner fears of my own sexuality, I treated him so bad so I could push him away. He was my best friend from childhood. I destroyed a possible meaningful friendship and life story. I deeply regret of such. It was one of the worse emotional pains I went through and I caused it because I was afraid our closeness was too gay (he was not gay, and I did not have romantic or sexual feelings for him, I was just deeply scared of his closeness and that He found out there was something broken with me) I wish I could take all of that back.

close (2022) + male intimacy

[nekonaps0]

Ok. This is the first time in a long time I asked someone for something on Tumblr.

What if the Housewardens/dorm leaders found out that Female MC is the daughter of the goddess of Love and Beauty. Aphrodite!

I’ll totally understand if you don’t feel like doing this. I’m like so nervous. ;-;

Your little high and mighty

✦fem!reader

✦characters: dorm leaders

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle was already struggling with how effortlessly you turned heads. You were always so graceful, eloquent, heart-stoppingly lovely… and he hated how flustered he got in your presence.

But when Crowley casually mentions your divine heritage during a Housewarden meeting, Riddle nearly drops his teacup.

“A-Aphrodite?! You’re her daughter?! That’s why everyone becomes irrational around you…”

He goes red to the tips of his ears.

He spends the next week rereading Every Magical Law About Deities & Demigods, trying not to look at you too long or think about how good you looked the last time you smiled at him.

Eventually, he admits to himself

“It makes sense. You’re love incarnate… no wonder I couldn’t help falling.”

Leona Kingscholar

He always knew there was something dangerous about you. The way you walked, spoke, smirked at him, everything about you screamed temptation. He told himself you were just annoying.

But when Jack slip your parentage after accidental.

Leona stares. Blinks. Scoffs.

“Makes sense. Aphrodite’s kid, huh? Guess that explains why every guy in this school loses their damn mind around you.”

He acts cool, but the knowledge kills him. Now every time he looks at you, he can't help but imagine you lounging on some cloud in a silk robe, dripping in divine perfume.

He starts avoiding you.

…Only to later press you into a wall with a growl:

“Tell me right now, herbivore—did you use your mom’s powers to mess with my head, or is this just how you are?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul always prided himself on control, charm, and strategy.

So why did he fumble words every time you got close? Why did the lounge fill to bursting on days you worked a shift there?

Then one night, Floyd lets it slip:

“Shrimpy’s a demigod~! Her mama’s that hot love lady~!”

Azul spills his drink. His first reaction is panic.

“Does this mean I signed a business contract with a goddess’s daughter?! Oh Seven…”

He spirals. Hard.

But once he calms down, it all clicks—your allure, your emotional intelligence, your strange way of getting even the most stubborn eel to obey. Eventually, he shyly pulls you aside.

“I… I hope you don’t think I treated you differently because of your heritage. It’s just… you’ve always been radiant.”

Idia Shroud

Idia almost short-circuits. He learns about your divine heritage through an obscure, outdated wiki link Ortho finds—and immediately spirals.

“This is a love interest route I’m not leveled for!! She’s literally part of the Olympic pantheon!”

He becomes too afraid to talk to you, convinced you’re out of his league. He avoids eye contact, stammers more than usual.

Eventually, you confront him with a smile and a soft,

“You don’t have to treat me like a goddess, you know.”

He turns neon pink.

“T-Too late! You’ve already unlocked my heart’s hidden event!”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus is intrigued. A goddess’s daughter? A being who understands the weight of lonely legacy?

He’s not threatened, he’s fascinated. Your aura has always glowed in ways beyond the human, and now that he knows why… he feels closer to you.

“Daughter of Aphrodite… I wonder, does your magic rival mine?”

There’s a strange kinship in your connection now, two ancient bloodlines drawn to one another.

“I, too, know what it means to live among mortals, yet never truly be one of them.”

And when he next kisses your hand, it lingers. Reverent.

“Let us walk this strange mortal world together, my radiant deity.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is the most excited of all. When he finds out from Jamil (who knew, but definitely didn’t want to say), Kalim literally gasps and nearly trips over himself.

“That’s AMAZING!! No wonder you’re so kind and beautiful! Your mom’s literally the goddess of love?!”

He starts calling you “goddess” playfully, and showers you in compliments and gifts.

He never treats you differently, but he’s constantly in awe.

“Can I ask what love magic feels like? Do you sparkle? Is there, like, a divine aura?”

The truth is… he’s always been in love with you. He just didn’t realize how fitting that was until now.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil suspected it.

No mortal girl should have skin that glows without highlight or lashes like that naturally beautiful. You were natural perfection, and it irritated him—until it fascinated him.

When your divine lineage becomes public? He’s quiet for a long moment, then simply says:

“So. You’re Aphrodite’s daughter. Hmph. I suppose. It’s explains a lot.”

He plays it off like it doesn’t affect him, but he’s watching you more closely now—studying you. Trying to understand how you walk that fine line between allure and divinity so effortlessly.

Eventually, he pulls you aside.

“Let’s have tea. I want to know more about your mother’s beauty rituals… and you. You fascinate me, potato.”

..............................................................................................................................

[guppiechuu]

smoke signals ★ ༄.° l.h.

plug!heeseung x fem!reader

length: 3k

warnings: smut (minors dni), dry humping, drug use (marijuana), kissing, shotgunning smoke, dirty talk

synopsis: rule #1: never fuck your plug. but it’s oh-so hard to remember this rule when your plug is sooo hot and soooo into you.

⤷ chuu's 💌 ── .✦ anon requested stoner!heeseung dry humping and as a DH connoisseur I HAD to oblige :)

——

You weren't supposed to be here.

You had one rule. Don't date your plug.

It was too messy. Too close. Too many girls who were angling for the same thing—twirling their hair round their fingers as they asked for favors, dragging their nails down his bicep, adding extra emojis and letters to all their text exchanges.

You didn't want to be part of the entourage that trailed after him, sliding into his lap at parties, stealing the blunt from his lips mid-conversation. Not your style.

The only problem? He didn't seem to care about any of those girls. He had his eyes on one person. You.

Heeseung had started inviting you over to smoke a few months ago. It was innocent enough—a joint and a movie, most of the time. He was generous enough to let you smoke for free, though it wasn't lost on you why he treated you with such glimmering hospitality.

He made it obvious how interested he was.

And you made it obvious that you were not.

At least, that's what you told yourself.

Heeseung's pursuit was admirable, and you liked the way his attention made you feel, but he probably invited all the girls he supplied to over.

Probably flirted with each one the way he did with you, watched them with the same lazy hunger in his eyes that always had you stumbling over your words. What, were you supposed to believe he'd never had a crush on a customer before? He did this with everyone. It wasn't special.

Even if you were the only person he ever rolled up for.

Even if he always let you hit first, eyes locked on the shape of your lips as you inhaled.

Even if he always sat a little too close when the lights were off.

You stuck to your side of the couch. Kept your arms crossed over yourself like it might stop the tension from boiling up every time he moved and you felt him brush against you.

And usually it worked.

Until tonight.

There was something about being there with him, the way he kept stretching out on the couch, finding reasons to brush up against you. Eyes lingering on you as he passed you the joint, fingers bumping yours on purpose.

"You look tired. Long day?"

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way he was staring. “Just work."

"You should relax.” His face was soft and easy, lips curving into that smirk he always wore around you. The one that said all you had to do was push, and he’d give completely. “I could help with that.”

You threw him a sideways glance, hollowing your cheeks as you inhaled. He watched, shifting slightly. He was always doing that—watching your mouth as you smoked, like he was living vicariously through the joints he rolled you.

Maybe that's why he was always so eager to offer them.

"I'm not one of your girls," You retorted, exhaling towards the ceiling.

He tilted his head. Like you were a challenge he was all too willing to take on. “Never said you were.”

"I'm not just gonna slide into your lap," You said, a little too sharply.

Heeseung grinned. "Didn't ask you to."

Silence.

You ignored him, struggling to decide between being annoyed and mildly turned on. His persistence was flattering, you could admit that much.

He just smirked a little, clearly amused at how easily he was getting to you. “You keep saying no, but you always come back."

Your mouth went dry.

Maybe you were just tired. Overworked and a little lonely—making you extra susceptible to his advances. But there was something in the tone of his voice that was making it hard to remember why you had that oh-so important rule in the first place.

"I like your weed," You muttered, trying hard to focus on the movie playing in front of you.

"Mhm." He was smirking. "You like something."

"Give it a rest," You said, throwing him a look. "I don’t fuck plugs.”

He raised his eyebrows, feigning surprise. "Never said anything about sleeping together either. Where's your head at today?"

Your cheeks burned. God, he was so annoying. He knew exactly what he was doing—teasing you into a corner and then pretending like he had no idea how you ended up there.

You turned back to the screen, jaw clenched, trying to ignore the way your body was buzzing.

It was maddening.

"Watch the movie," You said flatly, not meeting his eyes, which were still locked onto you.

"Rather watch you," He answered casually.

"Not gonna happen, Heeseung."

A blissful fog was beginning to creep into your head, softening all the sharp-edged inhibitions that you normally carried. You settled back into the couch, exhaling softly as your head swam, senses dilating.

Heeseung’s cologne wafted around you, sharp and sweet intermingling with the ashy scent of smoke. You felt the heat of his body beside you—several inches closer than he’d been at the start of the movie—and every subtle movement as he shifted in his seat.

He was fidgeting. Messing with the ring on his middle finger, bouncing his leg every now and then. Like he couldn’t focus.

"You're not gonna kiss me," He said flatly, almost like he was confirming it for himself.

"No," You answered. "I'm not."

"Right." He settled back, leaning against the cushions. “That's probably for the best."

You hummed, side-eyeing him. It was almost amusing, how badly he wanted you.

Part of you wondered what might happen if you relaxed just a bit. If you gave an inch, would he take a mile?

"If you did," He continued, casual, his eyes back on the screen. "I'd let you."

You rolled your eyes. "Oh, really?"

He took a drag. "I'd let you do anything you wanted." He parted his lips, smoke curling up from his mouth. Then he glanced at you, teasing. "Just thought you should know."

You turned your head, studying him. "Anything?" You asked, voice low, almost amused.

His eyes flicked to you. Quick. Hopeful. “Yeah. Wouldn’t even do anything back. I’d just, like, sit here. Then you wouldn’t be breaking any of your precious rules.”

It was half a joke. Half entirely serious.

You nodded, fingers trailing from your lap to his knee. He stiffened beneath your touch, brow quirking up as you leaned forward.

"Didn't realize you were so obliging to all your customers," You said, sliding your finger up the inseam of his sweatpants, knee to thigh.

He flattened his hands on the couch, throat bobbing as he watched your finger move. "Nah, just the ones I really like," He said breathily.

It was hilarious. Watching his muscles tighten under your touch, like he was trying to contain himself. His hands curled into the cushions beneath him, knuckles going white, and in your hazy state you found yourself wondering for the first time:

How far would he let this go?

"I mean... what if I did want to sit in your lap?" You tested, voice light.

His breath hitched.

"Just to try it," You added, glancing up at him. "Doesn't mean anything."

He took a shaky breath. "Y-yeah. Okay."

You smirked, voice dropping almost to a whisper. "And what if I kissed you? But only because you look kinda hot tonight. Not because I like you."

Heeseung let out a sound from the back of his throat, leaning back from your touch like it hurt. Your stomach flipped in delight at the dazed look in his eyes, the way his tongue kept darting out to wet his lips.

You leaned in even closer, palm flattening on his thigh. "Still just my plug," You whispered.

"Mhm," He answered, eyes on your lips like he wasn’t even listening to what you were saying.

You didn't wait for his permission. He'd already given that up months ago. You’d just always been too reserved to take it, scared that he’d find some way to gain the upper hand. Make you the one who was scrambling to gain back control.

Not this time.

You just shifted onto your knees, one hand on his shoulder as you swung over his lap. Easy. Confident. Like you'd done it a hundred times.

And oh, Heeseung had imagined it a hundred times—how you'd feel on top of him, your body flush against his as you sat yourself down in his lap.

Only, you didn't sit.

You hovered, legs on either side of his, fingers trailing down his chest in a way that made his head fuzzy. He stiffened under you, pupils dark and wide, lip caught between his teeth.

"Still gonna let me do whatever I want?"

His fingers dug into the couch cushions. "Course," He said, chest rising and falling beneath your hands. "I'm all yours."

You flashed a wicked smile, enjoying every second of this. You dropped an inch, pressing just enough for him to feel you through his sweats. He sucked in a breath, hands tensing.

"You're such a mess for me," You teased, fingers ghosting over the side of his neck.

He let out a laugh. "You're really enjoying this, huh?"

"Just a little."

He straightened, looking up at you with wide, desperate eyes. “We don’t even have to fuck.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

“I won’t even touch you.”

“Really? Thank god.”

He growled, eyes on your lips like he wanted to devour them. “You get off on teasing me?”

Your eyes glinted. “I don’t get off on you at all. That’s kind of the point, isn’t it?”

You really thought you'd won. That you had him right where you wanted—Lee Heeseung, everybody's favorite plug, king of nonchalance—squirming under you, begging for just a taste.

Until he put his hands on your hips, his voice darkening.

"Sit," He said seriously. "All the way."

You flushed. "I thought you weren’t gonna do anything."

"I'm not. I'm telling you to."

You lowered the rest of the way, biting down on a sound in the back of your throat as you felt him dig into you. Already hard.

Heeseung’s body was humming. He'd been hard since he opened the door. Waiting to get you in this position all damn night. He groaned, digging his fingers into your waist.

"Wearing this fucking skirt, teasing me like you're the one in control. You're smoking my weed, aren't you?"

You flushed, head spinning at the pressure of him between your legs as you nodded.

"And you want more of it, don't you?"

You nodded again, trying not to squirm. He was pressed so deliciously against you, straining against the fabric of his sweats.

He grabbed the second joint he'd rolled from the table, tucking it between his lips and lighting it. "Then come get it," He challenged.

You glared at him, the heat rising to your cheeks. "You’re—"

"What?" He leaned forward, his hands sliding up your back. His chin brushed against your chest as he looked up at you, eyes glassy and red. “You climbed on top of me, remember? All I did was sit here."

When you didn't budge, he shrugged and sat back. "Stay there then," He said, drawing another cloud into his mouth. "Makes no difference to me."

You protested, folding your arms. "And watch you smoke the whole thing yourself?"

"Sure. Unless you're ready to admit what you want."

"I want the weed."

He hummed, blowing the smoke in a stream against your skin. His breath tickled your chest, sending goosebumps rising across your arms. "That all?"

You had half a mind to climb off him, to remove yourself from the situation before things reached the point of no return, when Heeseung looked up at you and asked,

"Ever tried shotgunning?"

Your eyes widened. "No."

He didn't wait for an answer. He inhaled again and leaned forward, his mouth ghosting over yours as he exhaled the smoke into your lungs, breath tickling your bottom lip.

You gasped, startled by the closeness, and inadvertently drew the smoke into your lungs.

He watched as you swallowed it, eyes glinting.

"Good girl," He said, exhaling the rest away from you.

Your stomach clenched. He might not have thought twice about the comment, but it sent a jolt of desire shooting through your stomach. You squirmed in his lap, desire welling between your legs.

"You liked that?" He asked, glancing up at you as you shifted on top of him. "Come here.”

He did it again, pulling you down on him as he breathed into your open mouth, hands firm on your waist. You swallowed the smoke down, chasing the heat of his lips every time he pulled away.

Your head was getting foggier. Thoughts messier. All you could focus on was the feeling of him underneath you. The pressure against you. The way he was pushing you down on his lap, hips curling up to meet yours just slightly. Just enough to make you crave more.

"Your turn," He said, passing you the blunt.

You rolled your eyes, cheeks warm. "Still trying to get me to kiss you?"

"Still pretending you don't want to?"

The weed was making him cocky. And bold. It pained you to admit that you liked it.

You took another drag and leaned forward, smoke hitting his bottom lip as you exhaled softly.

"I don't kiss dealers," You murmured, watching the vapor curl between your faces.

He laughed, breathless, eyes darting down to your mouth. "Right. And you don't sit in their laps either."

You answered by leaning back, drawing another inhale of smoke into your lungs. He watched, breathing hard, like the effort of keeping still was taking all his strength.

He brought a hand up to your face as you blew out, dragging his thumb against your lower lip to open your mouth. Smoke spilled out from behind your teeth, drifting to the ceiling.

“Love watching you smoke,” He murmured, eyes locked onto your lips like he was entranced. “Love your mouth. The way you move your lips. It’s driving me fucking crazy.”

You laughed lightly, pushing his hand away. “You use that one on all the girls?”

He nodded lazily, eyes locked on your lips. “Only the ones I really really like.”

Your stomach clenched. This time, when you leaned in with a mouthful of smoke, you pressed your lips fully onto his, breathing smoke into his lungs as his lips parted beneath you.

He swallowed, groaning as you opened your mouth against his. The sound made your head spin.

Your chest flattened against his as you leaned in, hips curling against his. His hands flew to your waist, a stuttered moan climbing up the back of his throat as you began grinding against him.

"Fuck, keep doing that," He hissed, glancing down between your bodies to watch as your hips dragged against him.

You couldn’t help it—you moaned, body flushed with the mix of weed and Heeseung's bulge pressing right between your folds. Your underwear was so wet, you might as well have not been wearing any.

Heeseung didn't seem to care that you were leaking all over him. He grabbed your waist and pulled you onto him harder, bucking up slightly as your cunt dragged over his hard-on.

His head tilted back. "Shit," He moaned, lips parting open. “Fuck, you gotta let me inside you. Y/n—“

You silenced him by kissing him again—no smoke, no excuse. Just your tongue sliding over his as you ground your cunt against his dick, body tensed with craving.

Soon, this wouldn’t be enough. Soon, you’d start wanting more. You knew it. He knew it. It was only a matter of time.

“We’re not fucking,” Heeseung insisted, lip caught between his teeth as he rolled his hips into yours.

He was on top of you now, pressing you into his couch like he was trying to get inside you without removing a single article of clothing.

You kept a tight grip on the fabric of his hoodie, knuckles white. “No, we’re not. And we’re not ever going to be,” You reminded him, unable to keep your head from falling back as the bulge in his sweatpants pressed right up against your throbbing cunt.

He growled, head dropping against his chest as his thrusts grew more frantic. Your stomach tightened into a coil of burning nerves, your thighs aching where they were clenched around his hips.

“Hmhh�� fuck,” Heeseung whispered, as if he didn’t want you to know how much he was enjoying it. Like he was scared you’d tell him to stop if you did.

“Don’t stop,” You said, voice low with warning.

You’d taken things this far. No way you were walking out of his place empty-handed.

He whimpered, body flush against yours as he rubbed his dick against your pussy, marveling at the way you’d soaked the entire front of his sweatpants.

“Gonna make you cum,” He gritted out. Determined. “Gonna make you wish you’d wanted this sooner.”

“Don’t push it,” You answered, gasping as he leaned back, grabbing your hips and dragging you roughly up against his cock.

“Gonna make you beg for it,” He rambled, jutting his hips against yours sloppily, like he was a second away from the edge.

“Heeseung—“

“Fuck, you’re so bad.” He whined, ignoring your stuttered gasps. “Wanted to fuck you so bad, but you never let me. Still aren’t letting me. Why won’t you let me fuck you, y/n? Wanna make you feel good.”

You moaned, rolling your hips in his hands to chase the friction of his bulge wedged between your folds.

“Yeah, you feel good right now, don’t you? I’ll show you. You’re gonna come back begging for more.”

“Heeseung,” You cried, grabbing the back of his couch as your muscles tightened. Your legs began to tremble, your breaths growing short and harsh.

“Fuck—just like that. You want it bad, don’t you? God, you’re gonna be the first girl who’s ever made me cum in my fucking pants.”

You stuttered against him, tossing your head back as your pussy clenched painfully around nothing. He rammed his hips into yours, groaning as his cock twitched beneath his sweats.

He moaned, pressing a few last exhausted thrusts against you as he collapsed over you.

His breath was hot against your neck, chest heaving as he dug his fingers into the couch below you.

He pulled back, just enough to look at you, his eyes blown, cheeks flushed. You stared back, head spinning, brain struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

“So… about that rule…”

“Shut up, Heeseung.”

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

me: did hori COMPLETELY forget about the eugenics text or was that all a collective fever dream

my beautiful loving spouse pez dispenser debris: what do you mean? there was a cathartic and honest discussion through the lens of mirio, remember

my unfortunate shadow self: HE BECAME A TEACHER AND EVERYONE WAS HAPPY FO-*gunshots*

pez dispenser debris, smelling strongly of gunpowder : it’s okay, they cant hurt you

(Genuinely in bafflement tonight; thank you so much for your very informative crash out)

me, with a gun: and in this chapter of pez—

I think dropping the line on discrimination was one of the most disappointing parts of my hero for me. It’s fundamentally one of the core conflicts back dropping the universe and implied to be a driving factor behind the central origin and it just like. Was treated as a nonissue.

The world is shown to severely struggle with quirk based discrimination. We have Izuku’s childhood, we have the fact that Aoyama’s family made a deal with AfO just to keep him from being Quirkless, we have people like Shinsou with “villainous” quirks facing social outcast, and we have people with mutation based quirks being literally chased out of shelters and onto the streets. But narratively it’s never addressed. Izuku never deals with the messy, complicated feelings that would be absolutely inherent with going from a maligned minority to suddenly being one of the most valued of the majority. The narrative never confronts it as a real issue, just treats the symptoms. And it only remembers that this discrimination exists when it’s convenient.

World’s first Quirkless hero Izuku? Everyone loves that guy. They’re thrilled. He shot up through the ranks at an unprecedented speed. And yeah, he had the benefit of being a major participant in the final battle. But that is inherently only going to help you with some of the people who would otherwise detract against you, not all or, if we’re in society that hasn’t addressed its blatant issues with discrimination.

People really love to pretend that discrimination is something society just kind of grows out of, but it isn’t. Discrimination is an invasive, aggressive plant species. It’s fucking mint and kudzu and knotweed and every other thing you see in the front yard of the new listing you’re touring and run for the hills. You have to root it out and keep beating it back until that shit stops growing. It is painful and bloody and and laborious work. Society does not just collectively wake up one day and decide it’s done being a piece of shit. Things get better when you don’t give it any other option. And Izuku knows that, and that’s why he’s never given an inch when it comes to Mirio.

Izuku in pez is shown to be aware of his own image and the world’s expectations for him when he’s in public. He’s the confident, smiling Deku and makes sure to maintain the demeanor of a calm, collected, and kind hero. It’s a mask, and one that most reliably slips when Mirio is involved.

Izuku is notorious for being an absolute nightmare to interview when someone’s coming after Mirio. He has every single receipt. He’s confrontational. He will call you a piece of shit to your face.

And that doesn’t exactly fit with Deku. Deku will save the day and then give the villain career counseling on his way out. He’s good with kids and kind to them even when they hit him with a life ruining quirk. He’s as steady as a rock and not really the abrasive type.

Until you try and talk shit about Mirio to his face. Then he’s having to be bodily carried away by Iida.

Izuku in pez knows what discriminatory assholes are like, because he grew up as their target. He knows that if he leaves any equivocation or doubt, if he tries to be gentle or placate people, they’re going to read in some kind of “Deku agrees with us but he’s just trying to be pc” bullshit and use it to make a bunch of other Quirkless kids feel like they’re worthless.

Izuku is actively trying to make people uncomfortable, because they should be. They should be uncomfortable because they’re saying some atrocious shit.

You choke out discrimination by refusing to pretend like what they’re doing is acceptable. You make them so uncomfortable and ashamed of their position that they have to confront why that is or at least stop sharing it openly. A room where a Nazi gets to comfortably talk is just a room full of nazis.

Izuku in pez is an angry, fucked up, traumatized kid who never got help and is repressing like a champ. He’s ten pounds of issues in a five pound bag. He’s got obvious problems with his own Quirklessness.

But it is undeniable that he loves the Quirkless. It is undeniable that he’ll fight for them.

And he makes sure that there is no fucking room for doubt, because he knows that people look up to him. He knows there’s a terrifying amount of kids out there who think of Deku the Hero the same way he thought of All Might. And he knows that those kids may not grow up telling their Quirkless classmates to kill themselves if they think Deku the Hero would be disappointed in them.

At the opening of pez, Mirio has been a hero for less than two years. Society has centuries of fighting and discriminating about Quirks that is baked into its collective consciousness. So Mirio is under extreme fire right now, but I like to think that he and Izuku are making change happen. Lemillion had a line of little kids who wanted his autograph. They didn’t give a shit about his Quirk. They thought he was a cool hero and they wanted an autograph to remember him by.

Those kids are more likely to go to school, to not talk shit about the Quirkless, to be kind to kids who are Quirkless, and to influence their peers to do the same. Because they know Lemillion, and he’s Quirkless, and he’s cool.

Mirio could equivocate about this. It’d be easier on him. There’s plenty of people on the internet who want to say that he’s inherently better and strong because he was born with a Quirk and he’s not really Quirkless, he’s just got a non-quirked human’s capacity. But he’s refused to at every turn. No. He’s Quirkless. He calls himself Quirkless. Quirkless people can be heroes, just like him. And he is out there at the forefront of the worst fucking fights, Quirk or no.

He’s not pandering to people who would be willing to accept him as long as they could still exclude the rest of the Quirkless population. He is under enormous fucking fire endlessly, and he is standing strong. He’s not even trying to make himself more palatable, because that would mean leaving the rest of the Quirkless behind.

It’s hard to see right now, but they’re making a difference. Things are getting better. But it’s not because one day the world woke up and decided they were thrilled for the world’s first Quirkless hero. The world is different because Izuku and Mirio changed it.

[equestria-cross-mod]

Very long vent/rant below the break (yes, another one). Also, go read Twin Runes, it's really good. Also also, bully me into reading the entire thing, because for some reason I can't seem to sit down and do that on my own.

And to clarify, this whole thing is directed at the anon who asked the question, not the person who answered the ask.

I was just scrolling through this blog since I enjoy the comic (though I really need to read the whole thing) and came across this post. If you know me, you know that I really don't like letting injustice stand without me saying or doing something, so here we go. Prepare for heavily restrained anger.

Akanemnon have stated that how people see them doesn't matter as much as how they make others feel. And they want them to feel positively. I can tell they're incredibly kind because of that.

I also empathize with them about this in particular, considering that, while I'm not popular, I do still struggle immensely with being social just in general. Especially publicly.

Now, here's the thing. I have a different approach to this sort of harassment they're experiencing here, which I've stated above. While I'm not as aware of the unspoken social rules that neurotypicals have, primarily because I'm autistic (among other things), some of the rules I do know are ones I don't agree with.

Now, to my point.

Anon? I didn't see the post being referenced here, but I don't think I need to. You're being ten times worse, anyhow. What you're doing is known as "guilt-tripping", and it's something I take huge issue with. You're also assuming the worst here, which tends to make you look like (excuse my language but I can't think of a better word) an asshole.

I know you'll never see this, and you know what? Fine. That's not why I'm writing this.

I'm writing this because I'm sick of people trying to make genuinely innocent people look bad. One mistake doesn't make you a bad person. Not even many. That probably just means you're stubborn or something, but not necessarily bad. Intentional and repetitive bad decisions make you a bad person.

That's what you're doing here, Anon. They made a mistake, and you decided to make them feel bad about it because you felt offended over something they said because they were stressed out.

If you were stressed out and said something dumb, I'll admit, I'd probably be a little offended too. That's not the problem. The fact that you acted on it in this way is the problem.

Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone can occasionally be unprofessional. But what you did was worse, because not only were you also unprofessional, but you did it intentionally. And that is unacceptable.

So many people on the internet just like you need to watch what you say, for various reasons, and to be considerate of other people. It doesn't matter if you can't be traced, those words still affect not only the people you direct them to, but also everyone else that sees them. I know that because I was affected.

And if people figured out it was you, which I don't think is entirely unheard of, they will treat you the same way. 95% guarantee.

Treat people how you want to be treated.

In this case, I'm trying to be as nice as my rage allows me to be while calling you out for being rude. As such, I also want people to tell me when I say something wrong or bad so I can correct myself, preferably in a manner that doesn't trigger bad memories to return to my mind and make me feel awful.

If your purpose was simply to ask for an apology, or to let them know that you were uncomfortable, then you need to learn to not insult them or make unreasonable assumptions in the process. You were lucky this time, but many people would've just ignored you. Telling you this from experience.

And if you do see this, just know that I do genuinely hope you learn how to address problems in your life better than this. Both minor and major. Despite how much I hate bad people (which I only think you're slightly bad since this is only one bad decision), I do want everyone to improve and become better people, no matter who they are. I often don't expect it though, considering... well, a lot of things. But I'm hoping this is a one-time thing for you.

Be better. Always strive to be better. Improve continuously, little by little. And if you don't know where or how to start or continue improving, ask someone you trust how you could do so.

Please add a trigger warning next time you threaten in your posts. I already feel you don't like neurodivergent individuals with the way you react to asks but that really unprofessional.

As a neurodivergent person myself, I apologize if that is how I came across. That was FAR from how I want to make anyone feel. Because it is simply not the case.

The threat was something I thought to be a throwaway line that I unfortunately did not think too deeply about in the moment of writing it. It was too far, and I recognize and do apologize for that. It came from a place of legit frustration as it feels like whatever I am trying to state is not paid attention to.

It is overwhelming, and I can not claim in any way that I am actually good at being a public person. I have stated before that having so many eyes on me is terrifying, as it causes me severe anxiety at times.

This position was handed to me by a weird twist of fate. And more often than not I question if I really even want it.

What I do want is to tell a story. One that gives people hope and makes them feel better. No matter who they are and what they might struggle with. I do want to be a good and supportive person. To ANYONE.

Again. I sincerely apologize for my harsh words. I do not wish to make anyone feel like I hate them or hold a grudge against them.

My frustrations got the better of me, and I should have acted accordingly.

[jinglyjangly]

Howdy howdy!

I've written up the WIP first chapter for my fallout OCs. Calling it “Moon River” for now!

I just really want to write about them before the second season of the show before it ruins more lore. It's set a year before FNV in California… again still a wip, still working on more, still not super satisfied but I’m happy I got this much done tbh

When the sunlight begins to bleed into the horizon, everything in the Mojave shifts. That last stretch of dying light stains the sands a burnt orange as the distant mountains catch its highlight on every ridge. The heat that clings to your skin during the day suddenly retreats, replaced by a bone-deep chill that slips in through your clothes and sinks into your core. Dimitri knew that sensation all too well. He’d felt it a thousand times before, traveling the endless wasteland between Death Valley and the Colorado river. Out here, nothing cared about war, not even him.

He’d been scouting the junction where the 127 and 178 met, once a spot that once pulsed with life. Merchants, caravans, and wanderers all visited creating new livelihoods. Now, it lay buried beneath an unrelenting sandstorm, the air thick with grit and blinding white haze. It wrenched at something in his chest to see it reduced such violence so suddenly. No one even seemed to know how it happened, only vague myths and rumors. One day it was bustling, the next it was swallowed whole.

He relayed everything he saw to the nearest outpost, and was greeted instantly with new orders. The crumpled papers were handed off to him by a weary trooper. Her dust-caked face betrayed the exhaustion that hung on every soldier posted in these outer areas. It said something about a captured legionary prisoner having important intel. He noticed who sent it and realized exactly why he was the one who got it.

It had ended up taking him much longer than he expected to to get to Havasu. Every broken down outpost along the way seemed to tug at him, asking for one thing or another. Fix a busted generator, clear out a nest of bloatflies, find a missing kid — always something. One favor turns into two more, and before you know it, you’re knee-deep in nonsense you never meant to be part of. It's the wasteland method he both resented and relied upon, for as much as it delayed him, the caps jingling in his satchel proved it was worth it in the end.

The resort stood before him now, after what felt like an endless trek. The front doors creaked as he pushed them open, and a stale, musty scent of mildew and aging wood greeted him. Soldiers crowded around ancient terminals repurposed for military duty, their faces pale in the sickly green glow of monitors. The rapid clatter of keystrokes mingled with the steady echo of his footsteps on cracked tile, filling the dimly lit lobby as he made his way through. Faded murals of the pre-war paradise peeled from the walls, and forgotten lounge chairs lay rotting in a corner, making way for stacked crates of ammo, rifles, and armor. It felt like a graveyard of luxury, the bones of a fanciful life repurposed for the business of survival.

“Here’s the report.”

The voice snapped him out of the haze. A manila file filled with a stack of papers was shoved into his chest. Lieutenant Cruz. She looked even more tired than the last time he’d seen her — eyes shadowed, lines cutting deeper into her face. The war with the Legion wore on everyone, but some seemed to carry it heavier than others.

“Our prisoner is Legion, no doubt about it,” she said, planting a hand on her hip. “He’s only said maybe two things since we found him passed out on the 95. Mostly screamed like hell when we treated his wounds.”

Dimitri thumbed through the packet. No name. No rank. Nothing but a few notes on his injuries and a location where they found him.

Dimitri paused for a second and huffed under his breath, “screaming isn't really words.”

“He eventually said words, alright? Figure of speech. And now you’re here to do your thing. Says he won’t tell us anything unless we cut him loose.”

“How would that work?”

“It doesn’t. It’s why you’re here.”

Dimitri grimaced. Interrogations weren’t his style. He could talk his way through most situations, but trying to pry answers from men too stubborn or too proud to break gets exhausting.

“I’m not going to tell you to be careful,” Cruz said, eyes narrowing. “But stay sharp. There’s something about this one. He’s… strange.”

Dimitri grinned. “What, got a crush on him?”

She snorted a short laugh. “No, you idiot. I just know you. You’re persuasive… but you can be persuaded. Get me anything on Blythe. Or the dam. Or hell, Caesar’s grocery list. Anything.”

He paused hearing the town, his grin fading, brow furrowing as a flicker of unease crept in. “Blythe? What’s going on there?”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Did you even read the brief?”

“I skimmed.”

“Goddamn Rangers…everyone of you are practically allergic to paperwork.” She shook her head and continued, “Blythe went dark a while ago. There were reports about random legion sightings, and then nothing. You were supposed to check it out before Mr. John Doe showed up.”

“Think he’s connected?”

“No idea. That’s why you’re here. He’s in the cell down the hallway.”

“You’re not—”

“I’ve got shit to do. Good luck.” She clapped a firm hand on his shoulder, handing him the key and disappeared down the hall.

Dimitri lingered a moment, a knot of unease coiling in his gut. Blythe being silent was bad. The faster he wrapped this up, the faster he could see what waited for him downriver.

He walked up to the door and nodded to the soldier guarding, opening the door with the key she gave him. The “cell” wasn’t so much a cell as it was a repurposed laundry room. Broken washing machines lined the walls like rusted tombs. Snapped ironing boards and piles of rotted linens cluttered the space. A single figure sat among the debris facing away from the door, handcuffed to a dented folding chair beneath a flickering overhead bulb.

Dimitri frowned. The prisoner didn’t fit the usual mold of a hulking brute in Legion armor. He was slender, tall, with unkempt black hair and a scattering of old scars across sun-worn skin. The tattered scraps of clothes baring red barely clung to him, and fresh blood darkened the bandages around his midsection. And then there was the bull, branded into the back of his neck.

He poked his head back out the door, “This is the guy she wants me to ‘interrogate’?”

The guard shrugged. “Only Legionary here.”

“He’s not… the usual-”

“Is there a problem?”

Dimitri clenched his jaw. “No.”

He stepped inside, locking the door behind him. The man stared at him with unsettling clarity, pale eyes glinting in the dim light. Dimitri sat opposite, the sun’s last light slashing through the grimy window and reflecting off a dented metal table, forcing him to squint.

“Not the typical interrogee,” he muttered, flipping open the file, clicking his pen. “Name's Dimitri. Do you have a name? Or do I have to call you John? You really don’t look like a John. Johnny maybe, or JJ. Jr?”

He got a dismissive eye-roll in response.

“I should be guessing Roman names, huh? Although I don’t know a whole lot. How about…Alexius. That sounds cool.”

“That's Greek.”

“Is there a difference?”

That made him turn his head, and Dimitri greeted him with a smug look at the break in the prisoner’s silence. The voice did catch him off guard, low and crisp. He leaned back from the glare of the window, idly tapping the pen against his jaw, a thoughtful glint in his eye. Cruz was right about him being a bit strange. He noticed a shift in the prisoner's jaw as he went back to looking at the clock on the wall. 

He sighed and realized this wasn’t going to go very far. Dimitri tilted his head and looked at the same broken clock on the wall. 9:47 like every other single one. Why doesn’t anyone ever fix them? He opted to look at his watch. 17:02. He doesn’t really have the time to keep doing this if what Cruz said was true.

“Look, since you’re not talking, I’m left guessing. So, I'm guessing you have no rank either by exile or by choice, so you have no allegiance. Here, right now, you're a prisoner, but you're safe. If I'm right, that means if the legion does find you, you're worse than dead. If you’ve got something useful, now’s the time. Talk, and maybe things get a little easier for you. Cruz said you wanted free, but you have to talk first.” 

He stayed perfectly still, though his gaze slid back to Dimitri’s with the slow, deliberate weight of sizing him up.

“I have nothing.”

Dimitri stared into the man’s pale eyes and saw nothing but an unbroken calm. No fear. No desperation. He sighed, closing the file. Whether he did know anything or not, there was no point in wasting time. Dimitri pulled back and got out of the chair.

“Alrighty. Thank you for your participation.”

He left the room, the soft scrape of the door dragging against the warped tile floor, and locked it behind him with a metallic click. The key felt heavy in his hand as he passed it off to the guard. Without a word, he turned and made his way down the dim hallway, each step echoing alongside the steady chorus of keystrokes from the command post terminals. The combined rhythm of hurried typing and his bootfalls filled the air, a sharp, hollow percussion against the crumbling rafters of the old resort.

The kitchen sat at the furthest end of the hall, repurposed tables cluttered with ration tins and dented canteens. A few soldiers loitered there, faces drawn and weary, savoring the illusion of rest. The stale scent of scorched mirelurk meat hung thick in the air, mingling with acrid wisps of cigarette smoke. Dimitri’s stomach gnawed at him, a sharp reminder that if he was going to cover ninety miles of wasteland, it wouldn’t be on an empty gut.

He sat down to a plate of half-burnt potatoes and stringy mirelurk tail, barely tasting the briny, overcooked flesh as his mind churned. Lying to Cruz would be easy, a simple mercy for everyone involved. Blythe was likely already ash, overrun by Legion, and this entire interrogation had been a pointless inconvenience. Confirm her fears, get a handful of troopers, maybe a truck or jeep, and the mystery man gets buried in paperwork and eventually let go. The Legion mark was the only thing keeping him here, and if Dimitri spun this right, he might wrangle something better than a rusted seat at NCRCF.

The clatter of dishes and dull murmur of conversation broke suddenly as Cruz stormed into the room, her palm slamming against the table hard enough to rattle his plate.

“Did you lock the fucking door?”

Dimitri blinked, fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh… yeah?”

“Well, he’s gone.”

He frowned, glancing down the hall as if he might see the escapee lurking in the shadows. “He couldn’t have gone far.”

“I know that, smartass. Just—ugh!” She spun on her heel and stalked off down the corridor. Dimitri let out a long sigh, abandoned his plate, and stacked his dishes onto the cart with a dull clatter.

The hallway felt colder now, an undercurrent of tension tightening around him. He double-checked his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and headed for the utility room. The door hung ajar, the dim overhead bulb throwing a wedge of light across the cracked tile. The cuffs lay discarded on the floor, dull against the grime. Cruz was already inside, pacing in a tight line, gnawing at the edge of her thumb.

“It’s like he vanished,” she muttered. “And so did my soldier.”

Dimitri’s eyes swept the room, past rusted washing machines and sagging shelves. One of the larger machines had its door slightly ajar. He approached, dread creeping up his spine, and tugged it open to reveal the missing trooper crammed inside, stripped of his uniform, with a bruise forming on his head and unconscious.

“Shit—”

He pressed two fingers to the kid’s throat. The pulse was weak, but there. Dimitri exhaled in relief, pulling the soldier free from the cramped metal drum.

“Oh god—”

“Relax,” Dimitri grunted, laying the kid down gently and turning him on his side. “He’ll wake up with a killer headache, but he’ll be fine.”

A deep rumble rolled through the air, the distant sound of an explosion blooming somewhere beyond the walls. Dust sifted from the rafters. Cruz and Dimitri locked eyes.

“Go,” she ordered. “I’ve got him.”

Dimitri bolted, boots pounding against tile and wood, the sharp echo of each step chasing him down the dim hallway. The night air hit him like a slap as he burst onto the porch, dry and cool, carrying the bitter scent of gunpowder and burning wood. The beach was in chaos—troopers shouting over one another, scrambling for weapons, smoke curling skyward from a fresh crater near the supply dump. But out on the docks, one figure moved with eerie calm. A tall man in a trooper’s helmet and mask, no armor, just a standard-issue uniform. That alone made Dimitri’s interest pique. The cool night air carried the harsh, acrid scent of scorched timber from the explosion and diesel fumes wafting from the nearby motorboat, thick and bitter as it filled his lungs.

Without hesitation, he snatched his helmet from his pack, jamming it onto his head as he crept through the shadows, keeping low. Waves slapped lazily against the pilings, a grim, steady heartbeat against the wood. The muffled crunch of his footsteps on sand mingled with the ghostly echo of his own breathing inside the helmet, every sense sharpened by adrenaline.

As Dimitri reached the end of the dock, words failed him. No clever speech, no rehearsed demand. Just raw instinct.

“You really don’t need to do this.”

The figure froze mid-motion, halfway through tossing a canvas bag into the boat, and turned to glare at him. That same cold, calculating stare from earlier. Dimitri’s fingers tightened around the grip of his pistol.

In a flicker of motion, a small butter knife whirled through the dark, catching a glint of moonlight before striking Dimitri’s chest with a dull, metallic thunk, deflecting off his armor. He grunted, instinctively recoiling — and in that heartbeat, the man surged forward. A boot swept his legs out from under him, and Dimitri hit the planks hard, the rotting dock shuddering beneath his back.

The figure was on him instantly, wrenching his pistol free with a swift, practiced jerk. The butt of the weapon cracked hard against the side of Dimitri’s head, a flash of light bursting behind his eyes. Dazed but fueled by sheer stubbornness, Dimitri lashed out, driving his fist into the man’s gut. He felt the impact in his knuckles, hearing a grunt.

He twisted, grappling for control, and managed to knock the pistol loose, sending it skittering across the dock. Gritting his teeth, Dimitri shoved his forearm against the man’s throat, straining to flip him. As he tried to pin the other wrist down, he could feel a hand reach around his back. A sudden, hot sting bloomed in his thigh — a knife, buried deep. He screamed in protest, and his grip faltered.

He then felt a force to his chest as he was kicked back onto the boards. He hissed in pain, eyes darting to the gash on his leg where blood welled up, dark and thick in the dim light. He propped himself up on his elbow. It was deep, but didn’t hit any major arteries. He gritted his teeth , clutching the wound. He wasn’t winded, but close combat had never been his strength.

Across from him, the man had retrieved his bowie knife and now toyed with it, flipping it idly in one hand testing its balance on his finger. That smug, practiced arrogance in his stance made Dimitri’s blood boil.

“Are you afraid to die?” The sound of his voice made him pause again.

“No," Dimitri snarled, forcing himself up on his feet.

“No?” the man echoed, his head cocking in faint amusement.

“Because I know I won’t.”

The knife’s tip lifted, beckoning. “Then take off the armor.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening. He was done playing games. “No.”

The man’s expression darkened. Without warning, he bolted for the boat. Dimitri lunged after him, but the other man was quicker, ducking low and driving an elbow hard into the back of Dimitri’s neck. His balance crumbled. A forearm clamped around his throat, powerful legs kicking out his knees. The dock blurred around him as the world lurched sideways.

He fought the hold, hands clawing at the arm crushing his windpipe. Darkness gnawed at the edges of his vision, his ears filling with the roaring rush of his own pulse. Desperate, he twisted, but the strength drained from his limbs.

Then everything slipped away.

Dimitri came to with a sharp, throbbing ache behind his eyes. The world was hazy, shapes and colors bleeding into one another until the full moon cut through the clouds. Blurred moonlight smeared across the river’s surface, turning the water into rippling glass. His head pounded with every heartbeat, his leg ached, and his throat felt raw where the man’s forearm had crushed it.

He groaned, pushing himself upright. Sand clung to his bloodied hands and the back of his neck, and sharp splinters bit into his palm from the dock’s weathered boards. Around him, the beach had settled into an uneasy quiet. Smoke still drifted in thin, lazy plumes as lights flickered on as the night settled in. 

At least no one was around to witness him sprawled in the dirt like a rookie.

He limped back toward the resort, each step sending a hot lance of pain through his thigh. He found Cruz outside the infirmary shack, leaning against the battered frame of the door, a cigarette smoldering between her fingers. The soldier from earlier lay on a cot inside, pale and glassy-eyed, an ice pack balanced awkwardly against his temple. Another patient was curled on a second cot, groaning softly.

“Injury from the blast?” Dimitri rasped, voice rough from the chokehold.

Cruz didn’t look up. “Nope. Food poisoning. Bad mirelurk. The explosion was a goddamn dumpster. Distraction.”

Dimitri scrubbed a hand over his face and let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Yeah… he took the boat.”

Cruz sighed, dragging a hand down her face. “Damn it. That was our only one. Mead’s got the rest.”

“Why?”

“Recon runs. Repairs. Supply hauls. Take your pick.” She flicked the spent cigarette into the dirt and fished another from her pocket. The lighter’s flare briefly lit the wear on her face—new lines, old exhaustion.

Dimitri glanced upriver. “I guess that means I’m walking.”

“Sure as hell does,” Cruz muttered through a drag. “No jeeps, no trucks, no soldiers to spare. You’ll have to hoof it to Blythe the old-fashioned way. And pick up the pace while you’re at it. Feels like a timer’s running out for that place, if it’s not already gone.”

Dimitri grimaced, jaw tight. He could feel it too. A creeping weight in his gut and he murmured, “yeah… At least you still have soldiers.”

“I doubt he went upriver,” Cruz went on. “If you move fast, you might even catch him.”

Dimitri arched his brow. “You want your boat back?”

“You gonna carry it?”

He smirked despite himself. “What about your prisoner?”

She snorted, a dry, humorless sound. “You gonna carry him too?” A thin smile ghosted across her face. “I don’t need any more Legion bastards hanging around. If he didn’t give you anything useful, let the river take him. Boat’s worth more to Blythe.”

Dimitri gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

Before he could brace, Cruz whipped a stimpack from her belt and jammed it into his thigh.

“Shit! Little warning next time.”

“Baby.”

Dimitri grunted, adjusting his pack as the sting dulled to a lingering heat. The desert night unspooled before him, cold and endless, the low murmur of the river threading through the hush. He set out along the bank, his boots scuffing over cracked stone and brittle earth. Somewhere out there, the current carried both a stolen boat and unfinished business.

[zecoritheweirdone]

first art post of the new year!!! granted, i don't share my art here that much anyway, but– shhh.

hehehehhhooo,, here's something i've been working on for 'bout a month,, albeit not consecutively– took a few,, very very long breaks in between working on this,, but i managed to finish it in the end! am i satisfied with it? .......ehhhh? not completely, but if this took any longer, it might not have seen the light of day, so like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

anyway,, made a little poster for my favorite fic, tommyinnit's services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds, by @scorpionoesit!!! it's really really good,,, and i've always wanted to make more art for it,, so i decided– poster! at least,, that's what it's mean to resemble,,, dkdmkdmdkd.

i will freely admit,, i'm... not the biggest fan of the fan-made logo i tried to design for it,, feels a bit boring, and could definitely have used a bit more pizazz, something to make feel more like the fic itself(what does that mean? you figure that out),,,, but– again, steam was running low,, dkdnksjs. graphic design is my passion. i do also have other complaints, but i'm afraid i already punched my one-use self-critique card,, oh well,,, dkdnkxjdkd.

regardless,, even with the flaws only i can really see,, this still turned out pretty okay!! hope you enjoy it, mx. scorpio and mx. alibi!!! and i hope everyone else has a wonderful new year!!!!

[areyoudoingthis]

that post about how if you don't value someone to ask for their advice why would you accept their criticism really changed my perspective about things

[heich0e]

"c'mere."

katsuki was so... normal all evening. so subdued. dinner with your friends was nice in a familiar, comfortably unremarkable way. everyone who gathered around the table at the restaurant had chatted happily, getting each other up to date on any developments in their personal or professional lives. jokes were made about the high school days, and failed romantic endeavours (mainly denki's), and tenya's new haircut that he doesn't quite like.

then the bills were paid, and rides were arranged, and katsuki walked you to the car with a hand on the small of your back.

it was normal. everyone was normal.

but now katsuki's like this.

he has you pinned up against the wall just inside the barely-closed door of your shared apartment before you can even take off your shoes. his mouth is hot on yours, licking messily into your mouth in a way that makes you dizzy.

"katsuki, wait—oh!" your head thumps back against the wall behind you as your boyfriend hitches one of your legs up around his waist and grinds the defined musculature of his upper thigh between yours.

"done waiting," he grunts out quietly against your parted lips, pressing your bodies even closer together.

this isn't like him; the freneticism, the almost stifling haste with which katsuki is trying to devour you. he's usually more reserved than this. more trepidatious. katsuki has always treated you like you were precious. too precious, you sometimes think. like an antique sake set made of porcelain so fine that it could shatter in a too-tight grip—like something he couldn't afford to break.

"what's gotten into you?" you ask as katsuki's mouth trails white-hot down your throat towards your collarbone, the kisses he presses against your skin searing as he moves on to the next.

his only answer is to slip his hands up underneath the skirt of your dress, hooking his fingers underneath the waistband of your panties and tugging them down your thighs.

"katsuki!" you gasp in surprise as the cool air kisses the slickness of your newly-exposed skin.

the pad of katsuki's thumb brushes your clit, and your knees nearly buckle.

"katsuki, stop."

it's quiet after you push him away from you, the air heavy as you laboriously draw it into your aching lungs.

katsuki stands at arm's length, frozen in surprise. in spite of his strength—overpowering you in every possible physical way—he hadn't resisted you in the slightest when you instinctively pushed against him. if anything, he'd willingly taken the step back to give you the distance you need.

he looks at you though his lashes, his chin tucked down towards his chest, half-hurt and half-guilty.

"sorry," he says quietly, mumbled through pursed lips as he shuffles another half step back.

your hand shoots out towards him, grabbing him by the lapel of his unzipped jacket.

"hey," you say, equally quiet but less sheepish than his own words. "don't do that."

katsuki lets you pull him back into your space as effortlessly as you'd pushed him away. you like it when he's close like this. like when that soft, sweet sort of smell that always clings to him envelops you too.

"i'm happy to let you take off whatever article of my clothes you want, i'd just like to take my shoes off first," you say to him, so close your lips are almost brushing. the tops of katsuki's cheeks are rosy, and his lashes are fluttering as he listens to your words. you smile a little. "if that's not too much to ask."

katsuki helps you out of your heels, and then clings to you all the way down the hallway into your bedroom where the two of you go toppling into bed. your boyfriend is normally militant about not letting 'outside clothes' into the sheets, but he says nothing about either of your outfits on the soft cotton as he pulls your body on top of his.

but nothing about katsuki is normal tonight. you've already figured that much out.

you just can't quite understand why.

"you're raring to go tonight," you say with a laugh as katsuki's hands slip up under your dress again, this time with you ensconced upon his lap. your panties are somewhere in the genkan, so this time there's no barrier between his touch and your skin.

"what's wrong with that?" katsuki bites back, but even in his snark he's still soft with you. deftly, his hands slip around to the back of your dress, sitting up so the two of you are chest to chest in bed, and tugs the zipper of the garment down. the material slips down your arms until the dress is left pooled around your waist, nothing but your bare skin left on display. it's hard to make out the colour of katsuki's eyes in the dark, but it's impossible to miss the desire in his gaze as it traces over your newly exposed chest. "what's so wrong about me wanting you?"

you pause for a moment as you consider his unexpectedly earnest words. "there's nothing wrong with it," you finally reply, reaching up and tracing your fingers through the blonde hair at his temple. "it's just a little weird."

"weird?" katsuki echoes, but his repetition sounds incredulous.

he uses a hand on the small of your back—just like how he'd walked you to your car after dinner, but this time a bit more forceful—to pull your body back against his. you brace your hands on his shoulders as you sit in his lap, staring down at him.

"i've been in love with you since we were fifteen," katsuki says. it's ardent. insistent, even. like he's desperate for you to understand. "i've wanted you since we were fifteen. there's nothin' weird about it."

you blink. a little dumbstruck. a little lovesick.

and suddenly you understand his behaviour a little more. it's all a bit clearer.

you dip down, pressing a featherlight kiss to katsuki's lips. then another; deeper and longer.

"you were feeling nostalgic, huh?" you murmur breathlessly against katsuki's mouth, cupping his face between your palms. his cheeks are burning hot underneath your touch. it makes butterflies lick in the pit of your stomach.

you'd caught katsuki's eyes on you a few times tonight at dinner, but really hadn't thought much of it. at one point you'd moved seats to chat with momo about her upcoming wedding (and to admire the ring on her finger) and more than once you'd met katsuki's gaze from the other end of the table where he was seated with the boys.

katuski kisses the back of his teeth, tilting his face away from you slightly.

"fuckin'... izuku said something earlier that just..." he seems to be struggling to find the words. you give him the time he needs. "said some sappy shit about growin' up. about how we all ended up happy."

you feel a twinge in your chest as katsuki mumbles the admission. he's struggling to meet your gaze, and instead leans his forehead against your chest.

"and i looked at you across the table, 'n i just... i kept thinkin' about being a fifteen year old brat staring at you across a classroom. kept thinkin' about how he'd never believe it if i could tell him how we ended up."

it's quiet for a moment as katsuki holds you. and you hold him. the hot, hot flush of his face against your bare skin.

"fifteen-year-old you probably would've tried to kick thirty-year-old you's ass."

katsuki laughs, a warm wash of breath breaking against your skin.

"yeah, probably." he nods, finally lifting his head. he stares up at you, his hands patting gently up and down your back. he smirks a little. "woulda popped a boner at the thought of seein' you like this, too."

"so the two of you have that in common, huh?" you tease him, wiggling your hips a little in his lap where proof of your accusation presses against you.

katsuki kisses you to hide the smile on his face, twisting both of your bodies to lay you down against the soft sheets of your shared bed that katsuki dutifully launders every sunday. he slips your dress down your hips to leave you bare, and tugs his own t-shirt off to join it on the bedroom floor soon after.

"katsuki?"

the man suckling a bruise into your throat groans a little at your quiet call of his name. "if you push me away again i'm gon—"

"i love you too, y'know."

you feel him swallow hard, his face still tucked into the crook of your neck. his hands are trembling a little—just like the first time he touched you, a few years after graduation when your paths crossed again. you can feel his heart thundering in his chest.

your own beats just as loudly underneath it.

because fifteen year old katsuki wasn't the only one sneaking glances across the room. and katsuki isn't the only one who feels so grateful about how you two ended up happy together.

[mononijikayu]

you belong with me — nanami kento.

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied.

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, childhood friends, best friends to lovers, romance, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, p to v sex, car sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my love, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, best friend! nanami kento, best friend! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the final fic for 2024!!! wah, there's a lot to say. first and foremost, this fic would not be possible if it wasn't for the lovely person who commissioned it from me awhile back. please give them a lot of love and a lot of thanks.

they were my first ever commission here and still it flutters my heart with joy to have worked them. they were so good to me and continues to do so, with how they want to share this fic with you too.

also, i want to thank you all for sticking with me this 2024. it was a long road and a really painful time. i wrote to escape these painful times and i got through 2024 with you guys, just enjoying stories in my head. so thank you!!! there were a lot and there are still a lot i haven't published here.

i hope we continue to be together in 2025 too. i'll continue to write for both of us, to have solace in hard times. i bow to you in all ways that i can. thank you for being good to me!!! i love you all. this is kayu signing off for 2024. please have a lovely and wonderful new year and i'll see you on january 2025 <33333

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if you want to, tip! <3

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EVEN AS A CHILD, YOU THOUGHT THAT HE BELONGED TO YOU. It was a childish little thing, you knew that much. But the moment you met Nanami Kento at the park when you were five years old, you just knew he was going to be your best friend.

And no one else could claim that from you. It wasn’t something you decided after a long debate in your head. If anything, it was instinctive, instant, like the way a flower turns toward the sun. What surprised you even more was that he didn’t seem to mind it.

That day, Nanami Kento was sitting on the swings, looking unusually serious for a kid. His little legs dangled, barely brushing the ground, and he rocked back and forth so slightly it was as if he wasn’t even moving. It was odd. 

Most kids treated the swings like they were flying machines, pumping their legs wildly, laughing as they soared. But not Kento. He just sat there, his small hands gripping the chains, his gaze fixed on the ground as though it held all the answers to the universe.

It wasn’t sadness—not exactly. He didn’t look miserable or lonely. No, it was more like he was... satisfied. Content in his little bubble of silence, where the noise of the playground seemed to slide right past him.

You, however, were not content with his quiet. What could a kid possibly have to think about so deeply? Why wasn’t he running around, chasing someone, or shouting nonsense with the other kids? How could he stomach sitting there alone for so long?

The questions buzzed in your head, but more than that, you felt a pull. You wanted to know him. You wanted him to talk to you, to share whatever thoughts were hiding behind those serious brown eyes. And if he wouldn’t come to you, well, that was fine. You’d go to him.

You had the kind of confidence that only comes from being five years old and utterly fearless. The kind of confidence that didn’t know rejection or hesitation, only the certainty that the world would say "yes" if you asked it nicely enough.

So, you marched right up to him, your pigtails bouncing with each determined step. You put on your brightest smile, the kind of smile that has always gotten adults to bend down and coo. “Aren’t you just the sweetest?”

"Hi!" you announced, planting yourself firmly in front of him like he had no choice but to acknowledge you. You told him your name, grinning at him. 

He blinked, startled out of his deep, secured thoughts to the sight of you. It took a while, but he  lifted his caramel gaze to meet yours. For a moment, he just looked at you, like he wasn’t sure if you were real. No one has ever approached him before, well not as brazenly as this. Then, finally, he answered you back. 

"Hi….I’m Kento."

“Kento, huh.” you said, testing the name again like you were rolling it around in your head, trying to get the feel of it. After a moment, you nodded, satisfied. 

“Yeah, that’s my name.”

“That’s a good name.” You declared it with the authority of a five-year-old who had decided someone was officially worth their time.

“Your name’s okay too... I guess,” Kento replied, his tone so nonchalant it was almost teasing.

“Huh? It’s pretty!” you retorted, your hands flying to your hips, a slight pout settling on your lips. “My mom thought hard about it, you know!”

“So did mine.” Kento shot back, a flicker of mischief lighting his normally serious face. Then, in a tone that was just a little too smug, he added, “It’s a good name too.”

For a second, you just stared at him, caught off guard by the slyness in his tone. Then, to your own surprise, you burst out laughing. It wasn’t just the words that got to you—it was the way he said them, so calm and deliberate, like he was throwing you a challenge wrapped in politeness.

“You’re funny, you know that?” you decided, grinning widely.

Kento raised an eyebrow at that, his lips twitching into the barest hint of a smile. “I wasn’t trying to be.”

“Well, you are.” you said firmly, as though your opinion was final. “So, Kento, what do you wanna do? We could swing, or climb the jungle gym, or—oh! We could build a sandcastle!”

He blinked, caught off guard by your rapid-fire suggestions. “I don’t know,” he said slowly, like he wasn’t used to making decisions for playtime.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand without a second thought. “Then we’re doing the sandcastle! Come on, you’re gonna love it.”

He let you pull him along, his steps falling into rhythm with yours. “What if I don’t?” he asked, his voice so soft you almost missed the challenge in it.

“You will!” you said confidently, already imagining the crooked towers you’d build together. “Because I said so.”

Nanami Kento didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a quiet laugh, the sound so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. But you were paying attention, because something about this boy made you want to see every little detail he kept hidden in that quiet bubble of his.

From that moment, Kento Nanami became yours.

He knew that just as much as you did, even then.

And he was certain you were just as much his from then.

It wasn’t long into your days of playdates before you started staking your claim. You didn’t mean to—well, maybe you did. That really didn’t matter. What mattered was that you and Kento were having fun. Like the time some other kids approached while you and Kento were hard at work in the sandbox, trying to make your castle less crooked.

"Hey, kid!" one of them called, pointing at the little shovel in Kento’s hands. "Can I borrow that?"

"No way." you said firmly before Kento could even open his mouth. You shot the kid a look that clearly said back off. "We’re using it."

"But—"

"Nope. Sorry. It’s ours to play with." you cut them off, turning back to your castle as if the conversation was over. "Right, Kento?"

Kento hesitated for a second, glancing between you and the other kid, before quietly nodding. "Right."

The other kids' faces were filled with harsh looks at what you said. But you didn’t care. All they could do was huff and puff until they were blue in the face. You would never budge, not even if they wanted you too. 

You were a tough girl. And you always got what you wanted. And you wanted your new friend and his attention only on you. So you didn't care what you did. You’ll keep your friend, no matter what they want. 

Soon enough, they gave in and went to wander off. You can only smile. You didn’t feel the slightest bit bad. If anything, you had wished that they had left much sooner. 

You turned to Kento with a satisfied smile. "Good. They’d just mess it up anyway. It’s better if we play together, only us!"

Kento tilted his head, watching you with that quiet curiosity he always seemed to have. You seemed to be content about playing just by yourself, by his side. Not many kids seem to be content about wanting to do that at all.

"Why don’t you let other kids play with us?" he asked.

You looked at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. "Because you’re my friend. I found you first. That means you’re mine."

For a moment, he just stared at you.

Then, slowly, that tiny, barely-there smile returned.

"Okay." he said simply, like he didn’t mind one bit.

══════════════════

YEARS DRAGGED ON IN A FLASH FOR BOTH OF YOU. From that day forward, Nanami Kento was your shadow. Or maybe you were his—it often depended on who was asking and whose ego needed inflating at the moment.

But that was just how it was between the two of you. And you were content about how that goes. You knew he was just the same. Not because you went around declaring it (okay, maybe you did once or twice), but because your actions left no room for doubt.

The two of you were inseparable, and everyone knew it. In a way, both your parents were both glad and concerned about it. Glad that you both were in each other’s lives, nurturing and caring for each other. That means you both weren’t lonely, and you both were happily playing with each other day in and out of school.

But concerned that you weren’t letting each other find any other people in your lives and explore other friendships. But that hardly mattered to the two of you. Both of you didn’t budge. You didn’t need anyone else. If anything, you only need each other. You were both content with that. 

If there was a school project, Nanami Kento was your partner. No debates, no negotiation. You made sure of it every single time. It got to the point where teachers didn’t even bother asking anymore. By third grade, the class roster might as well have been printed with your name and his own written in bold under "Partners" for every project.

“Do you guys ever work with anyone else?” a classmate once dared to ask.

“Why would we?” you replied, looking genuinely puzzled. “He’s the best at making the physical parts.I don’t need anyone else.”

Kento, standing beside you, simply shrugged. “She’s good at explaining the messy, hard parts.” he said, so matter-of-factly it left no room for argument.

At lunch, it was no different. You always saved him a spot, waving him over like a VIP guest being ushered past the velvet rope. And no one dared sit with the two of you. Not after The Incident.

There was one time where a new kid made the mistake of sliding into the seat next to Nanami Kento before he got there. You didn’t even hesitate to act as quickly as you could. 

“Excuse me, new kid.” you said, your voice sugary sweet, but your eyes narrowing dangerously.

“What?” the kid asked, glancing up at you.

“That’s his seat.” You pointed toward Kento, who was still in the lunch line, entirely oblivious to the showdown brewing at the table.

“Seats are for everyone in the school.” the kid said, with all the defiance of someone who didn’t know better yet. “I can sit wherever I want.”

And that’s when you did it. You reached out and swatted their hand as they tried to open their milk carton. You glared at him, almost as cold as the North Pole. He gulped at your glare. You were terrifying for a middle schooler.

“Go. Somewhere. Else.” you said, every word punctuated with a glare that could have sent a grown man packing. “That’s HIS seat!”

The new kid was terrified and immediately scurried off, muttering something about "territorial weirdos." — that was another thing for the school to whisper about in their past time. But you didn’t care. 

By the time that he got out of the boy’s toilets, Nanami Kento got to the table, his spot was as clear as always, and you were already peeling the wrapper off the sandwich your mom made for him like nothing had happened.

“Thanks.” he said, sitting down without even asking why the kid from earlier was now eating on the other side of the cafeteria. He saw that of course. But he didn’t dare ask. “Thank your mom for me, about the sandwich.”

“You’re welcome.” you replied, sliding his sandwich over to him. You smiled as he opened his own lunch bag and started to pull out chocolate pudding in a tupperware. “Ohhhh, your mom thought of dessert!”

“Hm, I asked her.” Kento retorts back to you, smiling softly at your excitement. “Since you like chocolate pudding.”

“Thank your mama for me, okay?”

“Hm, I will.”

But of course, your protectiveness didn’t stop at lunch seats. If anything, you were protective of him to the point that it was already insane. If anyone so much as thought about teasing him, you were on them like a hawk. It didn’t matter if it was a stupid nickname or a poorly aimed joke. Nanami Kento wasn’t going to deal with any of it, not on your watch.

“Hey, Kento, why are you so quiet all the time?” one boy snickered during recess, his tone dripping with mockery.

Before Kento could even respond, you were already there, hands on your hips and glaring like you were ready to call down the wrath of the heavens. You glared at the kid as though he was meeting to face a thousand suns. 

“Maybe he’s quiet because he doesn’t waste time saying dumb things like you do.” you snapped, tilting your head and raising an eyebrow for maximum effect. “Stop being a weird waste of space and leave him alone, you freak!”

The boy tried to stammer something in response, but you didn’t wait to hear it. You didn’t care for what they said. Only for what Kento says. You rolled your eyes at the kid, as though he bored you and looked away. Soon enough, you turned back to Kento, your expression softening immediately. 

“Come on, Kento.” you said, grabbing his hand. “We’re going to the swings.”

Kento didn’t say much about that. But later, when that same boy made a malicious face at you from across the playground and had made a plan to chase you with a bottle of water to throw, Nanami Kento was the first to sense a threat against you.

He sighed heavily and without even looking up from his picture book muttered just loud enough for you to hear. “She’s faster than you, you know? She would wet your hair and make fun of you for it. So, I wouldn’t try it.”

The boy stayed far away after that.

And you could only giggle at what he said.

Nanami Kento knew you all too well.

But just as much as you were ready to fight Nanami Kento’s battles, he was ready to fight yours. And while you often took on challenges with the energy of a charging bull, Kento’s approach was quieter, deadlier—like a knife slipping between ribs before anyone even noticed it was there. He was just that type of kid, you think.

You first realized just how far Kento was willing to go for you one day when a group of older girls decided to target your ponytails. It wasn’t a big deal to you at first; you were used to the occasional teasing. But this time, something about their tone, or maybe the way they crowded around, everything about it had made your stomach twist.

“Why do you always look like you just rolled out of bed?” one of them sneered, her voice dripping with faux innocence.

Her friends burst into laughter, as if she’d just delivered the punchline of the century. You bristled, the words forming on your tongue to snap back. But before you could speak, Kento appeared, slipping between you and the girls like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why do you care?” he asked, his tone calm, his hands tucked casually into his pockets.

It was such a simple question, but somehow it silenced the entire group. The girl blinked at him, thrown off by his directness. Kento yawned, as though he was already bored with her. She had never expected anything from him. Kento was quiet and reserved. 

He was also popular and quite a handsome young boy that people had a crush on. Even when he didn’t talk or pay any mind to any of them. You glared at this girl, as though she was the worst of them all. She’s always been trying to take Kento from you.

“Uh, excuse me?” she said, attempting to regain her composure.

“You heard me.” Kento’s gaze was steady, his expression as unreadable as ever, but there was an edge to his voice that made it clear he wasn’t messing around. “Why do you care what she looks like? Or are you just bored?”

The giggling stopped. 

“Well, I—” The girl floundered, her cheeks turning pink. 

“She looks fine to me.” Kento interrupted smoothly, tilting his head slightly as if he were assessing them. “Better than you, anyway. I mean, those pants with that shirt? What are you thinking? Does your mom even love you if she allows you to wear something like that?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop at what he had said. You look at him, blinkingly. Before finding yourself bellowing at laughter at how blunt he had worked everything. The girls gasped, their mouths falling open in perfect synchronization. One of them muttered something about “rude boys” and then, just like that, they were gone, retreating with their tails between their legs.

You stood there, stunned, as Kento turned back to you like nothing had happened. You finally straightened yourself from your laughing form. You wiped your eyes as you turned back at him. You grinned at his words. 

“Better than her?” you repeated later as the two of you walked back to class. You were trying not to laugh, but the corners of your mouth kept twitching upward.

“It’s true. You already know that.” he said simply, not bothering to look up from the book he’d already opened, as if the whole thing hadn’t even fazed him.

“Aw, you think I’m cute, don’t you?” you teased, nudging him with your elbow.

“Don’t push it.” he replied dryly, but the tiny smirk playing at the corner of his lips betrayed him.

══════════════════

BUT OF COURSE, THIS ONLY INTENSIFIED ONCE YOU BOTH GREW OLDER. Entering this new environment, in high school — one could say nothing had ever changed. If anything, it has only grown more concrete that you and Nanami Kento, no one can separate the two of you even if they tried. 

If one were to describe how you both were, it would be like being a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Inseparable. And even when people questioned it, you turned them down just as easily. Little by little, people barely questioned it anymore. 

You had long since reached the point where your friendship was so solid that it seemed like a fact of life. If anyone tried to ask about it, the answer was already clear: You two were a package deal. And while you liked it that way, not everyone seemed to get the memo.

It didn’t take long for the attention to roll in once high school started. You were used to it by now. After all, you and Kento had always been a pair of conspicuously close friends, so naturally, people were curious. 

But this was a different kind of curiosity, the kind that came with stares and whispers behind your backs. Everyone seemed to have suddenly developed a keen interest in your best friend, and you couldn’t decide if it was because of his brooding good looks or that deep, mysterious aura he carried, but maybe, probably both.

It started with the girls, as it usually did. They would hover around Kento in class, a little too eager to engage in conversations about anything—his favorite books, his thoughts on the weather, even the random things he’d written in the margins of his notes. It didn’t matter what they brought up; they were just looking for an excuse to get a reaction out of him. 

They wanted to be the one to crack the mystery that was Nanami Kento. And of course, they expected him to open up, to smile, to laugh, to do something that would confirm they were special enough to make him forget his usual quiet, studious demeanor.

But Kento, being the stoic, no-nonsense guy he was, would respond with quiet politeness, barely even registering their presence. He would tilt his head slightly when they asked questions, look at them through the edge of his glasses, and give just enough of an answer to keep things from getting awkward.

The girls would often stare at him a little longer than necessary, hoping for a second of warmth or acknowledgment. But no matter how many times they tried, all they got was that polite, impersonal smile that didn’t reach his eyes. And it wasn’t that he didn’t care; it was just that he didn’t care about them, not in the way they wanted. 

To Nanami Kento, it was all just noise. So, he’d just keep his focus on what mattered, which was probably the latest algebra problem or his ongoing internal monologue about the best way to prepare his next snack.

Even as an emo guy with that black hoodie, messy blond hair, brooding eyes that screamed ‘don’t talk to me, but if you do, be prepared for my sarcasm’—people still flocked to him. It was almost unfair, you thought. He had this combination of boy-next-door charm and detached, almost tragic mystique that girls couldn’t resist. 

He was a pretty boy, you knew that much. You’d known him long enough to appreciate the way his eyes glinted in the sunlight, how his messy hair always looked effortlessly perfect, how he somehow made a monotone voice sound like the most hypnotic thing in the room.

And it wasn’t just the girls, either. The guys were starting to notice, too. Sure, they didn’t hover the same way, but they’d get a little too chatty when Kento was around, laughing a little too hard at his dry jokes, trying just a bit too hard to be friendly.

Everyone knew he wasn’t the type to just buddy up with anyone, and that mystery only made him more desirable. So when they’d get too close, you’d notice the slight twitch of Kento’s eyebrow, the way he’d lean just a little bit further away to make it clear that he was not interested in their company.

But the one thing you didn’t doubt was this: Kento was really polite. He never outright rejected anyone, and that politeness was a plus. Sure, it drove you a little crazy when they’d swarm him like bees to honey.

But you had to admit that his politeness was a rare commodity in a world where most people had no issue turning someone down rudely or making them feel uncomfortable. Kento didn’t do that. He’d simply nod back at people and get back to whatever it was he was doing, never making a fuss about the attention.

Well, it was better than over half the school, that’s for sure. You’d seen the way people treated each other, cold and snide, brushing off others without so much as a second thought. Kento was a rare gem in that regard. He was a gentleman, even in the face of all the attention he was getting, and that made it all the more frustrating. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want people to admire him; you just didn’t like the thought of anyone thinking they could replace you. You and Kento had this bond, a strong one, one that didn’t need words to be understood. But here was the thing—everyone else didn’t get it. And that was where the fun (and by fun, you mean sneaky sabotage) began.

After all, who else could say they knew all his little quirks? Who else had shared so many quiet lunches under that same oak tree, or been the one to force him to eat a full meal instead of staring at his book? You were his best friend, and that meant you had a certain, special claim on him, no matter how many girls wanted to make themselves part of his world.

But, like the selfless best friend you were, you’d keep that fact under wraps. No one needed to know you had a stake in him—especially when you were also the one helping him avoid the chaos of all his newfound admirers. Let them keep fighting over who could be the one to crack Kento's cold exterior; you'd be the one to keep it safe.

But that wasn’t enough. No, they wanted more. They wanted to peel back the layers, crack open that cool exterior, and find whatever hidden treasure lay beneath. And that was where you came in. That’s where you always have to come in. He was your best friend, after all.

It wasn’t that you hated the attention Kento was getting, but it was yours, wasn’t it? You didn’t want anyone to think they could just stroll up and waltz into the little bubble you and Kento had created. And you know he agreed. He doesn’t really need anyone else, he’s said that to you numerous times.

So naturally, you and Kento found creative ways to sabotage any admirer who dared to get too close. It wasn’t malicious, exactly. Well, not to you or Kento. it was more like you were just “protecting” him, and, on occasion, he did the same for you.

It started with the simple things. You'd hover near him during lunch, casually tossing your snacks at him in a way that made it obvious you didn’t want him interacting too much with anyone else. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse between the two of you. Both of you pretended you weren’t doing it, but everyone knew exactly what you were up to.

For example, when this girl from the other class named Yuki asked to sit with Kento one day during lunch time, you quickly swooped in, plopping down next to him like you were the most important thing in his world. You grinned at him and he hummed.

“Hey, Kentooooo!” you said, dropping your lunch tray in front of him. “Did you get those history notes I gave you this morning?”

Yuki opened her mouth to say something, but before she could, you continued to talk to him with a brighter grin. You nonchalantly handed your strawberry milk carton to him and he started to open it for you with the same amount of cool. 

“I was thinking of making brownies this weekend. You like chocolate, right? The ones that we used to buy at the mart? It hasn’t changed, right?” You sent her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I know it's probably too sweet, but it’s his favorite.”

Kento nodded back at you as he placed your strawberry milk carton on the side. You thanked him happily as you started to drink with happy sounds. Kento simply looked at Yuki with the politest expression he could muster and muttered back at her. 

“Sorry, I’ve got a study group with her after school. Maybe next time.”

Yuki didn’t even bother trying to argue, just nodding stiffly before retreating. You shot Kento a quick grin, but before you could say anything, he just sighed and went back to his book.

“You didn’t have to do that, you know.” he muttered under his breath. “Could have handled that myself.”

“But I have to. You know that.” you said with a grin, popping a piece of fruit into your mouth. “You’re my best friend, not hers.”

One day at lunch, as you and Kento sat under the shade of the old oak tree, munching on your usual snacks, a girl named Mia from your history class walked by. She glanced at Kento, then at you, then back at Kento, before finally stopping a few feet away.

"Hey, Kento!" she called, her voice way too sweet for your liking. “Mind if I join you guys?”

You didn’t even have to look up from your crackers. “Sure, but he doesn’t bite.” you said, not even looking at Mia. “I mean, I don’t think so...”

Kento, who had been engrossed in a textbook the size of a brick, glanced up at you before looking back at Mia. "I can sit alone, you know." he said, a little too casually, not even bothering to hide the fact that he didn’t care much for the attention.

Mia, undeterred, tried again. “Are you sure? I heard you like this band, too. Maybe we could—”

But before she could finish her sentence, you leaned forward, dropping a half-eaten cracker dramatically into your lap as if to make your point clear. 

"If you want to talk about music, you’re gonna have to take it up with me right now, okay?" you declared, giving her your best “this is my turf” look. "Kento here’s more into his book right now, not whatever band you think you have in common with him."

Kento blinked slowly, clearly trying to figure out why he was being pulled into this, but didn't argue. He just glanced at you and nodded, an expression you knew meant, I’m not getting involved in this one.

Mia looked between you and Kento, her shoulders slumping in defeat. “Okay, fine.” she muttered before turning around and walking off, her face flushed red.

"Good job, hero," Kento muttered under his breath, voice dry.

You smirked at him. "You’re welcome, sunshine."

Of course, it wasn’t like you were the only one who was possessive. Nanami Kento hated that you were constantly getting hit on. It drove him absolutely insane. Apparently, teenage boys had this ridiculous notion that your consistent rejections made you more appealing. The more you turned them down, the more determined they became, like you were some kind of prize to be won.

Nanami Kento of course, naturally, found this logic baffling—and irritating. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust you to handle yourself; he absolutely did. He hated everyone else, maybe most of all the men around him and of course — you. 

But watching those guys swarm around you, trying to impress you with their lame jokes or over-the-top compliments, made his jaw tighten and his grip on his pen just a little too firm. Oh, he hated men even more like that. And, well, Kento was never one to sit back and let something annoy him for too long. Not when it comes to you.

But of course, there are things that come as unexpected too.

Maybe it was because Nanami Kento was too perceptive.

Maybe he was just good at dissecting situations happening.

He doesn’t know how this happened, or how this came to pass.

But today would change his life for good, that was certain.

A week after one particularly bold senior cornered you after class to “ask for your number” Kento decided to return the favor—not with dramatics, of course, but with his usual understated, calm assertiveness.

You were sitting in the library, animatedly telling Kento about your latest sketch. It was a concept you were certain would win the upcoming art contest. He was actually paying attention, nodding slightly as you explained your technique, when suddenly, a guy from the senior class decided to interrupt.

“Hey, you’re the girl who draws, right?” the senior asked, leaning against the edge of the table with a grin that screamed overconfident.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, that’s me.”

“Well,” he continued, practically oozing smugness, “I was thinking, maybe you’d want to collaborate on some sketches sometime. You know, we could—”

Before he could finish whatever weak line he’d rehearsed, Kento smoothly slid into the seat beside you, his broad shoulders cutting off your view of the guy. He didn’t even spare him a glance. Instead, he turned to you, his voice calm but laced with just enough edge to make his point.

“I’m pretty sure sketching is a solitary activity.” Kento said matter-of-factly. “You know, for concentration… unless, of course, you want a distraction?”

The guy blinked, clearly caught off guard by Kento’s sudden presence. “Uh, no, I—”

Kento didn’t let him finish. “You know….” he continued, still not looking at the guy. “It’s actually better if you’re alone when you’re working. Less… interruptions.” 

He then picked up your sketchbook, flipping through it with the kind of casual indifference that somehow made it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. Your jaw dropped at what he’s done.He’s silly like this sometimes, you think to yourself. 

“Kento!” you half-laughed, half-scolded, reaching for your sketchbook. “That’s my sketchbook!”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” he replied nonchalantly, not even pretending to give it back. His attention wasn’t on your sketches anymore, though. His eyes were fixed on the poor senior, who was now fidgeting uncomfortably under Kento’s unnervingly calm stare. 

“Do you mind?” Kento said coolly. “She’s busy.”

The guy stammered something unintelligible, his confidence evaporating faster than a spilled soda in the sun. “Uh… yeah, maybe another time, I guess.” he mumbled before slinking off, clearly realizing he was no match for Nanami Kento’s level of subtle intimidation.

Once the guy was gone, you turned back to Kento, crossing your arms with a mix of exasperation and amusement. You giggled to yourself for a moment. He sighed, looking at how amused you were. It was always like this with you, getting giddy when he does things like this.

“Nice one, Kento.” you said, smirking. “You do know I could have handled that, right?”

Kento raised an eyebrow, setting your sketchbook back down and leaning back in his chair like nothing had happened. You take it back from him, giving him a small thanks. He couldn’t stop looking at you. But when you looked up again, he'd already looked away.

“Sure.” he said, his lips curling into that faint, almost-smile of his. “But it looked like you were busy… talking to him.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting his arm. “What was that even about? You’re not my bodyguard, you know.”

“I wasn’t being a bodyguard.” he replied, his tone annoyingly calm. “I was just... pointing out how distracting he was being.”

“Right, right.” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “And that had nothing to do with you hating that he interrupted us?”

Kento didn’t answer right away, but the way his eyes flickered with quiet amusement gave him away. He never likes admitting it out loud, but he feels glad. He feels glad when he makes sure you both are alone. You were all he needed after all.

“Maybe.” he finally admitted, his voice as casual as ever. “Or maybe I just wanted to look at your sketchbook.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you talk too much.” he countered, eyes shining softly against your own.

You giggled back at him, your lips smiling beautifully at him. Beautifully more than ever before. “But you like it that way, don’t you?”

Huh, what was that? He thought to himself.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Was that his heart beating like that just now?

For a moment, he stops and looks at you. You were unaware about what happened just now. Instead, you were back on your sketching, humming to some song you were obsessed with right now. Kento swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of how he was looking at you. He cleared his throat. 

“We should get going.” he said finally, his voice a little quieter than usual. “The library closes soon.”

You nodded, falling into step beside him as you always did. But as you walked, Kento couldn’t help sneaking a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. He’d always thought of himself as someone who was good at keeping his emotions in check, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Is this what it feels like? Kento wondered as he watched you walk off in front of him. 

He stops. He takes in the sight of you. You were laughing, hopping on the tiles one by one. The sun glows behind you like a beacon leading him to the direction of life. You nearly fell, making him jump forward. But you held your balance. 

And then you laughed. Laughed so beautifully that he doesn’t know what to do.  He could feel every fiber of him turning warm, warmer and redder than ever before. His heart beating out of rhythm again. 

Ah, shit. Kento once more thinks to himself. I’m screwed.

══════════════════

HE DOESN’T THINK TO SAY ANYTHING. How could he, when he’s scared about the outcome? But as the time flew by as fast as it could, he knew he can’t keep being a coward about it. He had to say something. He should do it soon.

It was going to come out anyway. College was looming on both your shoulders. And with that, a lot of uncertainty came. If he says something, at the very least there would be something certain, concrete as your friendship. 

The two of you sat cross-legged on the floor of Kento’s family home, a single bottle of sake between you. Neither of you had much experience with alcohol, but the thrill of being eighteen and toeing the line of rebellion was too tempting to resist.

Kento poured carefully into the mismatched cups you'd found in his cupboard, his movements precise, even in the low light.

"Cheers, cheers!" you yell with that bright eyed grin, raising your cup to him.

"To...?" he asked, his brow arching slightly, always wanting things to have a purpose.

"To us!" you said simply, eyes sparkling with mischief.

He hesitated, his breath catching in his chest, before clicking his cup against yours. "To us."

The first sip was sharp, burning its way down, but it wasn’t long before the alcohol began to work its magic with swift effectivity. You laughed more freely, leaning closer to him, and your words came faster, your thoughts unfiltered.

"You know, Kentooooo." you said, poking his shoulder with a pout. "You’re, like, ridiculously handsome, right?"

Kento froze mid-sip, his ears instantly turning as pink as your sweater. "W–what?"

"I mean it! You’re so... ugh…." you groaned, tossing your head back dramatically. "How am I supposed to focus when you look at me like that?"

"Like what?" he asked, his voice soft, betraying the nervous flutter in his chest.

"Like you’re trying not to smile, but your eyes are giving you away." you teased, your grin widening as you poked his cheek this time.

Nanami Kento could feel his heart pounding so loud he was sure you could hear it. Every word you spoke chipped away at his usual composure, and he could feel himself unraveling under the weight of your drunken admiration. In just this moment, you wholly outwit him. You make him come undone. Only you can have that effect on him. Only you. 

"You’re unbelievable, you know that?" he muttered, trying to look away, but you caught his chin, turning his face back to yours.

"Admit it already, won’t you?" you said, your voice lower now, but no less playful. "You like me. Maybe even a little too much."

Kento stared at you, the world blurring slightly around the edges, whether from the alcohol or the way you were looking at him, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to do it like this. He didn’t want to put up his hopes that you would be sober enough to know the truth. Or for you to have sober truths pouring out of your sharp grinning lips. 

"I think…" he began, his voice steady but his heart anything but.

“You think?”

"I’m falling for you. More and more. Every second."

You blinked at what had just shifted in the air, your teasing expression softening as you processed his words. Then, to his surprise, you smiled—not mischievously this time, but gently, sweetly. Full with a merry drink, you smiled.

"Good." you whispered, leaning in so close he could smell the faint sweetness of the sake on your breath. "You said really good words.”

Kento barely had time to breathe before you pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, leaving his face on fire and his heart completely, utterly yours. Kento froze, the warmth of your lips lingering on his cheek like a brand. His breath hitched as your words sank into the alcohol-drenched air between you. 

“I think I’m already there.”

He stared at you, his usually composed mind now an unsteady swirl of emotions—exhilaration, disbelief, and a flicker of hesitation. Your gaze was soft, dreamy, and undeniably sincere, but the alcohol in your system clouded everything. He said it out loud. But are you sure? How could you be, with how merry the drink is in your belly?

"You don’t mean that." he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as though saying it too loud would shatter the fragile moment.

"I do. I do." you said, your expression serious despite the light flush of intoxication on your cheeks. You reached for his hand, holding it with a gentle firmness that made his heart stumble in its rhythm.

Kento's fingers curled instinctively around yours before he could stop himself, but his grip was careful, steady. "You're drunk. I just…you can’t say that drunk." he pointed out, his voice more tender than reprimanding.

You frowned, tilting your head like you were trying to understand him through the haze. "So? That doesn’t mean it’s not true."

He sighed, looking down at your joined hands. He wanted so desperately to believe you, to let his heart leap completely into your words, but his rational side, his ever-present voice of reason. It held him back.

"It matters. It matters to me." he said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. "If you mean it, I need to hear it when you’re sober. When you’re sure."

"But I am sure, Kento." you insisted, leaning closer, your warmth almost overwhelming him. Your free hand reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, and he felt the breath leave his lungs in a rush.

Kento shook his head, his smile faint but aching with restraint. "Not like this." he murmured. "You’ll wake up tomorrow and—"

"And what? Pretend this didn’t happen?" you interrupted, your brows knitting together. "Do you think I’d forget how much I lo—"

His hand shifted, gently pressing a single finger to your lips to quiet you, though it was more for his sake than yours. He wasn’t sure he could take it, hearing those words from you while your judgment was fogged.

"Stop. Please." he said, his voice barely steady. "Don’t say it now. Not tonight."

Your eyes searched hisfrustration flickering in their depths before softening. You saw the way his shoulders tensed, the way he looked at you like he was holding back an ocean of feelings.

"You're such a romantic, aren’t you?" you murmured, a teasing lilt to your voice as a lazy smile spread across your face.

He gave a quiet chuckle, his fingers brushing against your cheek now without realizing it. "Maybe." he admitted, his tone gentler than ever. "But I want this—want us—to start right. I’ll wait until you’re ready to tell me again."

You let out a small sigh but didn’t argue. Instead, you leaned into his touch, your head coming to rest on his shoulder as your eyelids grew heavy. You always liked this, taking in his warmth. You don’t think there was any other place you belonged in but his arms.

If you were being honest, you were afraid. He was right. Your words could mean something, and maybe it wouldn’t be as clear as his own. You were drunk. You were really drunk. And feels hazy in your head. It wouldn’t be fair. It wouldn’t be fair to your Kento. Not like this.

"Fine." you murmured, your words slurring slightly. "But you’d better be ready for me to say it a hundred times tomorrow. Maybe a thousand."

Kento chuckled again, the sound low and warm in his chest, as he rested his chin lightly on top of your head. "I’ll be ready." he promised, even as his own heart thudded wildly at the thought. “I’m always waiting for you. Always.”

And as you drifted off, still clutching his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, Kento silently vowed to himself: when the time came, he’d tell you how deeply, how completely he felt for you too. He just needed to be sure you knew what it meant.

The morning after that night, you woke up on Kento's couch, the faint remnants of sake lingering in the air. Your head throbbed lightly, and your memories were fuzzy around the edges. Kento, ever thoughtful, had left a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside you.

"Rough night?" he asked from the kitchen, his voice steady but carefully neutral as he busied himself making coffee.

You groaned, rubbing your temples. "What did I even say last night? I barely remember anything."

He hesitated, his hand tightening briefly on the handle of the coffee pot. He looked over at you, your half-asleep face free of the weight of your drunken confessions. For a moment, he considered saying something, but the words got caught in his throat.

"Nothing too embarrassing," he said instead, forcing a faint smile.

You laughed, your cheeks reddening slightly. "Good. I’d hate to think I made a fool of myself in front of you."

Kento gave a small nod, but his heart felt heavy. You didn’t remember, and he couldn’t bring himself to remind you. Not like this. So, he lets himself break apart. He doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t let you have guilt. Because if he did, how is that loving you?

So Nanami Kento buried those words, locking them away where they couldn’t touch the fragile balance between you. He told himself it was better this way. But he hopes, maybe one day — just one day. You’ll see him too. Sober with your love for him.

══════════════════

THINGS DID CHANGE A BIT WHEN YOU WENT TO COLLEGE. Of course, you both got into the same university. But there’s a rough difference between not only being in different departments, but also being in different campuses. It was a rough travel back and forth. But Nanami Kento was determined to go and visit you.

You often feel a little bad when you look back on those days. Engineering classes were no joke. Too many long hours, grueling projects, and the constant pressure to keep up left you drained most of the time.

You barely had the energy to go out, even when you wanted to. But Kento never minded. He understood in the quiet, steady way that only he could, and instead of waiting for you to have time, he made sure to visit you instead.

It didn’t matter where for him. Whether it was the bustling campus lunch hall, where the two of you would share a plate of something warm while you tried to finish an assignment, or your dorm room, which was always a little messy with textbooks and half-drunk cups of coffee.

What mattered to him wasn’t the place or even what you were doing. What mattered was just being with you.

And that thought? It never fails to make your heart skip a beat. Even now, after everything, it feels just as special as it did back then. You still held dearest to him after all this time. Ever since you were kids, you were his everything. And you were sure, more than ever now, that he was yours too. In all sense of the word.

It’s been a year and a half since that time, since you confessed to Kento. Well, technically, drunk you confessed to him. It was late, and you’d had just enough to drink to make your heart bolder than your brain. You didn’t want to say a word. And you think that Kento was just as much waiting for you to say something.

You were ready to die of embarrassment when you remembered that you had said that. But then you remembered, with just as much horror and embarrassment — he’d confessed too. With that same calm sincerity, he told you he’d felt the same way for a while.

Looking back, it was a little messy, maybe even a lot embarrassing. But it was also sweet, earnest, and so perfect for you two. And honestly? You wouldn’t change a thing. You had said something that clarified things for you.

After all, that drunken confession was the start of something that would make all the challenges of those days worth it, every late-night study session, every coffee-fueled conversation, every stolen moment in between. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

You were falling for Kento more and more every day, and it was starting to feel like a problem. A big problem. How were you supposed to act normal around him when everything he did—from the way he fixed his tie to the way he said your name—made your heart do backflips?

It wasn’t fair, really. How was it possible that the same person who once laughed so hard he choked on a piece of rice during lunch was also the one making you reconsider your entire perception of love? He was your best friend, and now you couldn’t even look at him without overthinking every little thing.

And to make matters worse, he was visiting you today.

You had approximately 15 minutes to get your life together before Kento arrived, which was nowhere near enough time to deal with the tornado that was your dorm room or the emotional hurricane swirling inside you.

“Okay, okay, calm your tits.” you muttered to yourself, grabbing stray socks off the floor. “Just play it cool. It’s just Kento. You know him best. Real well. He’s been here a million times. No big deal. Totally normal.”

You shoved a pile of notebooks into your desk drawer, praying it wouldn’t jam, and quickly rearranged the pillows on your bed. By the time you heard the knock at your door, your dorm was passable, well barely. And you were mostly sure you didn’t look like a total disaster.

When you opened the door, there he was, Nanami Kento in all of his huge handsome stature, standing there with his usual calm demeanor, holding a bag of snacks. You yelped quietly as you looked at him. Your roommates must have let him inside. 

“Thought you might need these.” he said, giving you one of those small, knowing smiles that made your brain short-circuit.

You blinked at him. “Nanami Kento, are you a psychic?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No, but you texted me at 2 AM complaining about running out of your favorite chips, so I figured this might help. You still have some paperwork to do, right? And you won’t eat unless I come by to remind you. So, I got it.”

“Oh.” You tried to laugh, but it came out more like a nervous croak. “Right. Thanks. You’re, uh…you’re a hero.”

He stepped inside, his gaze sweeping over the room. “Did a tornado hit your room? It was clean last time I came by.”

“What? No!” You crossed your arms defensively. “I cleaned! Mostly.”

Kento gave you a skeptical look before setting the bag of snacks on your desk. “If this is what ‘clean’ looks like to you, remind me never to see it messy.”

You threw a pillow at him, and he caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Careful. That’s my best throw pillow. If you damage it, I’ll charge you emotional damages.”

“Noted, little miss engineer.” he replied, setting the pillow down with exaggerated care. “What’s the rate for emotional damages these days?”

“Depends. How many snacks did you bring?”

“Enough to keep you from suing me.” He tells you with a grin. “Still have some in my car, just in case you wanted more.”

The two of you laughed, and for a moment, it felt like old times. A little bit easy, comfortable, effortless. But then, as Kento sat down on the edge of your bed, something in your chest tightened. How had this annoying, perfect, infuriatingly kind man become someone you couldn’t stop thinking about? Someone you don’t think you could live without?

He looked up at you, tilting his head slightly. “What’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face?”

“What? No!” You blinked rapidly, your cheeks heating. “I was just—uh—zoning out. Engineering stuff. Very complicated. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Right, right.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m definitely not the one who helped you with that last project.”

“Details, details, Nanami Kento. Don’t get bogged down in the details.”

He chuckled, and the sound was so warm and familiar that you almost forgot why you were freaking out in the first place. Almost. Kento takes a moment. He then looks at you as though examining you with careful abandon. Kento wanted to take in the sight of you, after not seeing you for a while.

“You’re weird today, do you know that?” he said, leaning back slightly. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, totally fine. Super fine.” You waved a hand dismissively. “Just tired, you know? Engineering. It’s a grind.”

Kento studied you for a moment, his expression softening. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced a laugh. “Who, me? No way. I’m like…a professional liar. Best in the business.”

“Uh-huh.” He hums back in retort.

He didn’t press further, but the way he looked at you. Everything about his caramel gaze was gentle, understanding, like he already knew what you weren’t saying. Everything about it, everything about him made your heart squeeze.

You sighed internally. How were you supposed to handle this? You couldn’t just blurt out, “Hey, Kento, I think I’m in love with you, and it’s driving me absolutely insane!”

But as he opened the bag of snacks and handed you your favorite, you couldn’t help but think maybe, just maybe, he already knew that you knew. And that maybe he knew that you felt deeply about him. You sighed. Maybe you’re just imagining it.

As the minutes ticked by, Kento made himself right at home in your dorm, sitting cross-legged on your bed and munching on the snacks he’d brought. Meanwhile, you had plopped into your desk chair, scrolling on your phone under the pretense of “taking a break.” 

But in reality, you were desperately trying to distract yourself from the way he looked way too good just casually existing in your space. How could he look that good even as a law major? How can he have time to make your heart feel like this?

As you flicked through your social media feed, you stumbled upon a post that made your stomach twist uncomfortably. It was a picture—Kento, smiling (smiling!) with a group of classmates, apparently from earlier that day. Some of them were girls. Really pretty girls. Those really pretty preppy law girls!

Your first thought was When does Kento even smile like that? He never smiles like that around me!

Your second thought was Who’s the one leaning so close to him? Is she, like, whispering in his ear or something?

You shot a quick, subtle glance at him. He was still on your bed, completely unaware of the emotional spiral you were going through. He crunched on a chip like it was the most normal day in the world.

“Did you have fun today?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Kento raised an eyebrow. “Uh…what?”

“Today. You were with…people from your department.” you said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.

His brow furrowed toward you slightly. “I mean, yeah, I had a class project meeting. It was fine. Why?”

“Oh, no reason.” you said, voice a little too high-pitched. Fuck, you  were too obvious. You looked back at your phone, scrolling furiously to hide your face. “Just…wondering. Looked fun.”

“Wait.” Kento’s tone shifted. Suddenly you felt his gaze on you. “How do you know about that?”

Your heart dropped. “Uh, I saw it. Online. A picture. No big deal!”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again, amusement clear in his voice. “Are you…jealous?”

“What?!” Your head whipped up so fast you almost gave yourself whiplash. “Me? Jealous? Of what? Why would I be jealous?”

Kento’s lips quivered into a rare, brat–like smirk, and you immediately knew you were in trouble. “No reason at all.” he said smoothly. “Just seems like you’re a little…interested in what I’m doing when I’m not here.”

“Interested? Pfft, no. I was just—just checking to make sure you’re not hanging out with the wrong crowd.” you stammered, flailing for a decent excuse. “You know, bad influences. Peer pressure. That sort of thing.”

“Right, I see.” he said, clearly unconvinced. “Because I’m the type to fall victim to peer pressure.”

“Well, I don’t know that part of your life right now!” you snapped, feeling your face heat up. “Maybe one of those girls was trying to…to make you join a pyramid scheme or something!”

Kento leaned back on your bed, folding his arms behind his head, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re terrible at hiding things, you know.”

“I’m not hiding anything!” you shot back, spinning your chair around so you didn’t have to look at him.

There was a rustle of movement, and then suddenly, he was right behind you, his hand resting lightly on the back of your chair. You could feel your ears redden at the feeling of him. You squeaked, loud enough for him to hear.

“You’re really bad at lying, too. How come you haven’t evolved at lying? It’s been years and somehow, you’re still bad at it.” he said softly, his voice just teasing enough to make your heart race.

You spun around to face him, glaring. “Okay, fine! Maybe I was a little jealous. Are you happy now?”

Kento blinked, clearly surprised by your sudden outburst. But then, to your absolute horror, he started laughing—actual, full-on laughing. He hadn’t expected for you to just come out and say it like that. You were a prideful little flower, you always have been. 

“You’re laughing at me?!” you cried, swatting at his arm.

“I’m not laughing at you, you know.” he said, still chuckling. “I just didn’t think you’d actually admit it.”

“Well, I did!” You crossed your arms, trying to look annoyed even as your face burned. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

Kento’s laughter softened into a small, fond smile, and for a moment, the teasing disappeared. He didn’t know how much he missed you until now. Somehow, the world seemed like it was in proper orbit when he’s with you like this.

“Nothing, nothing.” he said, his voice low and sincere. “Because you don’t need to be jealous. If I wanted to spend my time with anyone else, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting as he straightened up and walked back to the bed like he hadn’t just casually wrecked you with one sentence. You looked away, crossing your arms as though to shield yourself from him. But he could still see the redness of your ears.

“Well….” you muttered under your breath, plopping dramatically onto your desk. “Now I’m jealous of myself.”

Kento paused mid-bite of a chip and turned to you with an amused look. “What was that?”

“Nothing!” you said quickly, sitting up straight like you hadn’t just been caught having an existential crisis.

But of course, Kento being Kento, he wasn’t about to let it slide. “No, no, go ahead.” he said, his smirk returning as he leaned back against the headboard. “Explain how you’re jealous of yourself. This, I have to hear.”

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. “Forget I said anything. It’s dumb.”

“I doubt that at all.” he replied, his tone annoyingly smug. “But fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, only to find him watching you with a mix of amusement and something softer, something that made your heart flip all over again. You wanted to throw a pillow at him or maybe yourself—just to get rid of the growing warmth in your chest.

Instead, you grabbed the bag of chips from the desk and walked over to him, shoving it into his hands. “Here. Eat some of the snacks and stop psychoanalyzing me.”

“I wasn’t psychoanalyzing you.” he said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But you’re making it very tempting.”

“Unbelievable, Kento.” you muttered, plopping down onto the bed beside him. “This is why I can’t stand you sometimes, you know that?”

“Uh-huh.” He glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “So much so that you admitted to being jealous of people spending time with me. Makes perfect sense.”

You huffed, grabbing a handful of chips just to give your hands something to do. “Okay, fine, you got me. I was a little jealous. Big deal. You’re my best friend. It’s normal to feel weird about you hanging out with other people, right?”

“Is it?” he asked, his voice teasing but his eyes studying you closely.

“Yes!” you said, refusing to meet his gaze. “Because we’re close. And I don’t like sharing, okay? You’ve known that since we met!”

“Hmm, hmm.” he said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer. “So what you’re saying is, you want me all to yourself?”

You choked on your chip, coughing violently as Kento sat back, looking far too pleased with himself. “You—ugh! Don’t say things like that!”

“Why not? I’m just repeating what you said to me.” he replied innocently.

“That is not what I said!”

“Sounded like it to me.”

You glared at him, your face burning. “You’re the worst.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’m your worst.”

And just like that, you were done for. Completely, utterly done for. You threw a pillow at him once again. Because what else could you do to him like that? He wasn’t wrong. Sure enough, he caught it effortlessly, laughing rather softly as he set it down beside him.

“Stop overthinking about it.” he said after a moment, his tone quieter now. “I’m here because I want to be. No one else matters, okay?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sincerity in his voice. “Oh.”

“Yeah.” he said simply, reaching into the chip bag again like he hadn’t just made your heart implode for the second time that evening.

And you sat there, staring at him like an idiot, thinking that maybe, just maybe, falling for him wasn’t the worst thing in the world after all.

══════════════════

IT WAS ONE OF THE RARE OPPORTUNITIES WHERE YOU HAD A DAY OFF. So of course, you took the time to call Kento and ask him to hang out with you. And as usual, all he had said was that short, sure yes and nothing more.

He’d pick you up in thirty minutes, like usual. And of course, Nanami Kento was never late. If anything, he was always ten minutes early. He couldn’t have you waiting, after all.

The bar was warm and lively, filled with the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses. You and Kento had decided to spend your day off together, and while the original plan had been something low-key like a café or a bookstore, somehow you’d ended up here, nursing a drink and trying to act normal around him. 

He’d never been here before, but he saw it from across the road and if the cafe or bookstore was closed — an afternoon at a bar wasn’t going to be a bad idea for college kids wanting to have some adventure beyond the campus walls.

Normal. Just normal. Yeah, act like you do. Well, whatever normal looks like to you now.

You could only mentally sigh as your peripheral was only stuck on him more than usual.

As if that was possible when you were utterly, hopelessly in love with the man sitting across from you.

Kento, of course, looked effortlessly composed, like he always did—leaning back in his seat, one hand resting on the table, the other holding his drink. He wasn’t a flashy guy, but there was something about the way he carried himself that made it impossible not to stare. And you were staring. Again.

“You’re staring at me again.” he said, his voice calm but with a hint of amusement.

“I am not!” you shot back, quickly taking a sip of your drink to cover up your flustered state.

“You’ve been doing it all evening.” he continued, raising an eyebrow. “Is there something on my face?”

“No, no.” you muttered, feeling the heat creep up your neck. “I was just…zoning out. Thinking about…stuff.”

“Stuff. You sure….about stuff as an excuse?” he repeated, his tone skeptical.

“Yes, stuff.” you said firmly, glaring at him. “You wouldn’t understand.”

He chuckled softly, and you were both annoyed and utterly charmed by the sound. Why did he have to be so effortlessly perfect? It wasn’t fair. You hated how good he is at being everything you love. As you tried to regain your composure, a voice interrupted your thoughts. 

“Hey there, sweetie–pie.” a man said, sliding up to your table with a confident grin. “Mind if I join you?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…”

Before you could say anything else, the man pulled up a chair and sat down, clearly not waiting for permission. He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on you. You felt disgusted by the way he looked at you. He wasn’t your type at all. And moreover, he’s creepy as hell.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room.” he said smoothly. “You’ve got a great smile.”

“Um, thanks?” you said awkwardly, glancing at Kento.

Kento’s expression didn’t change much, but there was a subtle shift in his posture. He sat up a little straighter, his jaw tightening just slightly. Kento’s eyes were glaring hard enough that you could find those eyes were blades cutting you whole.

“So, what’s your name?” the guy asked, ignoring Kento entirely.

You opened your mouth to answer, but Kento beat you to it. 

“She’s not interested in you.” he said flatly, his voice calm but with an edge that made the guy pause.

The man glanced at Kento, raising an eyebrow. “And you are?”

“Person she’s with.” Kento replied smoothly, though his tone made it clear that he wasn’t just a friend. “Who also happens to know she’s too polite to tell you to leave, so I’ll do it for her. What else are you waiting for? Leave.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Was Kento…jealous?

The man hesitated for a moment, clearly debating whether to push back, but something about Kento’s steady gaze seemed to make him think twice. With a shrug, he stood up. He wasn’t going to get anything out of you. Lest he wants to get bitten by a tiger waiting to eat him. Well, at least he’s smart about that.

“Alright, alright. No need to get territorial.” He winked at you before walking away.

You shuddered at his wink.

Have men always been weird?

You shake it off quickly, drinking your pint.

You turned to Kento, your cheeks burning. “Territorial? Really?”

Kento shrugged, taking a sip of his drink like nothing had happened. “He was bothering you. I handled it.”

“I could’ve handled it myself, you know.” you said, crossing your arms.

“I’m sure you could’ve.” he replied, setting his glass down. “But I didn’t feel like watching you pretend to be polite to someone who clearly couldn’t take a hint.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe.” he said, a small smirk playing on his lips. “But at least you don’t have to deal with him anymore.”

You huffed, turning back to your drink. But as you took a sip, you couldn’t help but notice the way Kento’s gaze lingered on you, softer now, like he was trying to gauge your reaction. You drink your pint once again in some somber silence. 

“Was that really necessary?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Yes.” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You glanced at him, your heart doing that stupid fluttering thing again. “Why?”

Kento held your gaze for a long moment before replying. “Because I don’t like the idea of anyone else thinking they can have what’s mine.”

Your brain short-circuited. “W-what?”

He didn’t elaborate, just leaned back in his chair with that same calm composure, as if he hadn’t just wrecked your entire evening with one casual sentence. You stared at him, utterly flustered and more in love than ever, wondering how on earth you were supposed to survive the rest of the night without completely losing your mind.

For the rest of the night, Kento didn’t let you out of his sight. He was subtle about it at first—the way he leaned in whenever someone walked by, his hand resting casually on the back of your chair. But as the minutes passed, it became glaringly obvious: Kento was on high alert, and every glance from a stranger only made his protective aura grow stronger.

When a group of guys walked by your table and one dared to look at you a second too long, Kento’s hand dropped from the chair to your shoulder, the weight of it warm and grounding. He didn’t even glance at the guy, his focus entirely on you, but the message was clear: Don’t even try it. Back off.

You tried to act normal, but it was impossible. Sitting beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, you were acutely aware of every little thing about him—the way his sleeves were rolled up just enough to show his forearms, the way his voice dropped into a lower register whenever he spoke to you.

“You’re quiet again.” he said, his voice low as he leaned a fraction closer.

“I’m fine, Kento. Really.” you mumbled, staring into your drink to avoid looking at him.

“Liar.” he murmured, his tone edged with amusement. “You’ve been squirming all night.”

“I have not!” you protested, but the way your voice cracked didn’t help your case.

Kento just smirked, and that was the last straw. You stood abruptly, your chair scraping against the floor. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Not alone, you’re not.” he said immediately, rising from his seat with an ease that made you want to throw something.

“What, are you my bodyguard now?” you snapped, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickened at his possessive tone.

“If that’s what it takes, then yes.” he said simply, his gaze steady and unyielding.

Before you could argue, he took your hand—firm, unrelenting—and led you toward the exit.

“Kento, the bathroom’s that way.” you pointed out, trying to tug your hand free.

“We’re leaving.” he said without looking back.

“Wait, what? Why?”

“Because I’m done watching people think they can look at you like you’re up for grabs.” he said, his voice calm but with an edge that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your protests died in your throat. Nanami Kento rarely raised his voice or lost his composure, but there was something in his tone now. It was something raw and unmistakable. And every bit of it just left you speechless.

The car ride was silent, tension thick in the air. When he pulled into a quiet, empty lot, he turned off the engine and finally looked at you. His gaze was dark, intense, and it sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Kento, what’s going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You.” he said, his tone low and rough. “You’re what’s going on. Do you have any idea how hard it is to sit there and pretend I’m okay with watching other people look at you like they have a chance?”

Your breath hitched. “I… I didn’t think you—”

“Didn’t think I’d care?” he interrupted, leaning closer. “Didn’t think I’d notice? God, you drive me insane, you know that?”

“Kento…”

“You’re mine.” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. “You’ve always been mine. You always have been since we were kids. I just didn’t want to scare you off by saying it out loud again.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I— I….I know.” you admitted, your voice trembling. “But I thought you wouldn’t say it again and I just…maybe with time passing… I thought I was the only one now.”

His lips curled into a dark, almost predatory smile. “You’re not. Never. Not when I’ve marked you since we met at that playground when we were kids.”

Before you could process his words, Kento leaned in, capturing your lips with his in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was animalistic, it was wanton. It was full of possessiveness, claiming, as if he were branding the truth into you.

You matched his intensity, your hands gripping the front of his shirt as you pulled him closer. The kiss deepened, and any hesitation you’d felt earlier melted away, replaced by a burning need that had been building for far too long.

He broke away just long enough to murmur against your lips, “Say it. Say you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” you whispered, your voice shaky but resolute.

“You belong with me.”

You looked at him with your doe like eyes. “I belong with you.”

“Good.” he growled, pulling you into his lap without hesitation. His hands gripped your waist firmly, his touch both grounding and electrifying. “Because I’m done holding back.”

Your fingers tangled in his hair, and you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

And he didn’t.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT HIM TO BE THIS HUNGRY FOR YOU. But with the way he’s going at it. Kento has been hungry for you for a very long time. Kento’s lips linger, soft and insistent, as if savoring every inch of your skin.

The warmth of his breath trails higher, leaving behind a delicate ache where his mouth was. His hands rest firmly on your thighs, fingers pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

“You’re trembling.” he murmurs, his voice a rich baritone, teasing but laced with tenderness. He looks up, his gaze heavy with desire, his lips brushing against your inner thigh as he speaks. “Do I make you nervous?”

A shaky laugh escapes your lips, betraying your composure. “Not nervous... just—” Your words cut off as he presses another kiss, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin.

“Just what?” he asks, his tone low and deliberate, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. His hands slide upward, thumbs drawing small circles that make your heart race.

“Kento.” you breathe his name like a plea, your voice catching as he moves closer, the space between you charged with electricity.

The dim glow of the streetlamp filters through the windshield, casting golden lines across his sharp features. The intimacy of the confined space amplifies every touch, every sound between the two of you in these leather seats. The soft rustle of fabric, the quiet hum of his breathing, the slap of flesh against flesh.

“I love when you say my name like that, you know?” he says, voice dark and velvety. His mouth moves with purpose now, leaving faint marks of love on your skin, each one deliberate, each one staking his claim. “I love hearing it like that. Wanton f’r me.”

You gasp, your head falling back against the car seat, fingers threading through his hair, tugging gently. He groans at the sensation, the sound sending heat coursing through you. How has he ever been this good at getting under your skin?

“I want to hear more from you.” he murmurs against your skin, his voice a mix of command and yearning. His lips hover for a moment, teasing you with their proximity. “But only if you’re ready.”

Kento’s lips trail higher, each kiss softer yet more possessive, leaving warmth that lingers long after his mouth moves on. He pauses for a moment, his breath hot against your skin as his hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles.

“Don’t hold back your noises from me, okay?” he murmurs, his voice a sultry whisper that sends a shiver racing through you. He looks up, his golden-brown eyes locking with yours, a smirk tugging at his lips. “I want to hear you clearly.”

The command in his tone makes your pulse quicken. You bite your lip, but the sound escapes anyway, a soft, breathy whimper that only seems to spur him on. Kento’s touch made you feel as though a thousand flames were burning all at once.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” he says, his voice thick with satisfaction. His teeth graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and he chuckles darkly when your hips shift involuntarily toward him.

“Kento.” you gasp, your voice trembling with both restraint and longing.

“Hm?” he hums against your skin, the vibration sending a jolt straight through you. “I told you—no holding back.” 

His hands glide upward, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh of your thighs, anchoring you in place as his mouth continues its slow, maddening journey lower and lower. You could feel your lips mutter a weak groan against him. 

The dim light of the streetlamp catches the sheen of his messy blond hair, illuminating the faint smile on his lips as he drinks in every reaction you give him. The intimacy of the moment wraps around you both, the world outside the car fading entirely.

“Kento, please.” you whisper, your voice raw with need, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He pauses, his lips hovering just above your skin, his breath ghosting over you. He takes in the sight of you, almost as though a hunter to a prey. Nanami Kento is your hunter, he always has been. And he’s been keeping this inside him for way too long. This desire, for you. Only you.

“That’s what I wanted to hear from you.” he murmurs, his tone dark and full of promise, before pressing another kiss, softer this time, but no less consuming.

Kento’s words hang in the air, thick with authority and desire, as his lips return to your skin with renewed purpose. He’s slow, methodical, as if every kiss, every graze of his teeth is a language only he can speak—and you’re utterly fluent in his meaning.

“Such sweet sounds from you, hm?” he murmurs against your thigh, the deep timbre of his voice reverberating through you. “Don’t hold them back from me. Let me hear what I do to you.”

Your breath hitches, a soft moan slipping past your lips, and the way his lips curl into a grin tells you he’s satisfied—but not done. His hands are firm but gentle as they slide further up your inner thighs, fingers brushing dangerously close to where you want him most. 

His touch sets your skin alight, the heat pooling low in your stomach as your chest rises and falls in uneven rhythm. You could feel his long fingers making their journey to that space, their cool touch melting you whole in a pleasurable moan.

“Kento.” you whisper, barely able to find your voice, your hands trembling as they clutch at the seat beneath you.

He glances up, his caramel eyes catching the faint glow of the streetlight streaming through the windshield, giving him an almost otherworldly allure. His gaze is dark, hungry, but there’s a softness there too. There was that endless reverence in the way he looks at you, as though you’re something precious.

“Yes, my love?” he asks, his voice laced with feigned innocence, though the smirk pulling at his lips betrays him. Your heart drummed at your new nickname from him. It was real. You were lovers. Doing what lovers do. “Tell me what you need. I want to hear it.”

You let out a shaky exhale, your fingers threading into the lower depths of sandy blond undercut for stability as much as desperation. Slowly, it trailed down on his neck, your touch sleuthing through him. Temptingly, almost like a wanting vixen.

“I need you… closer.” you admit, voice breaking, the vulnerability of the words making heat rise to your cheeks.

Kento hums in approval, the sound low and pleased at your words. He leans closer and his fingers echo deeper and deeper into you. Your head throws back hard against the leather’s pristine touch. He playfully moves inside. One moment in a circle. One moment a thrust. Over and over again, rinse and repeat, force and pleasure. And all you could do was surrender.

“Good girl of mine, my love.” he murmurs, his praise sending a wave of warmth coursing through you. 

That had surely made you even more wet inside. His lips press higher against your jaw, his stubble grazing your sensitive skin, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He continues on and on. You don’t know where he learned it. How he got so good at knowing how to take you to paradise. BUt you could hardly care. You were focused on how deep his fingers were in you. 

“You’re so beautiful like this, my love.” he continues, his voice velvet against the charged air. His hands grip your thighs tighter, pulling them apart just enough for him to settle more firmly between them. “Completely undone for me.”

A sound escapes you, part moan, part plea, and his response is immediate. There was a broken groan deep in his chest as he nuzzled against you, the vibrations of his voice making your whole body tremble and shake as  he rushed more and more, in and out, with his masterful fingers.

“That’s it. Go on, my love.” he breathes, his voice dark, dripping with satisfaction. “Just let go for me, honey. No one else is here. Just us. Just me and the way you fall apart under my touch.”

The world outside the car feels impossibly distant now. The soft flicker of the streetlamp, the faint hum of passing cars. It’s all drowned out by the thrum of your heartbeat and the way Kento’s lips, and his fingers worship every part of you they touch, in and out.

“Kento, Kento.” you gasp again, your voice a desperate whisper.

His name on your lips seems to be his motivation, pushing more and more as his fingers tighten inside of you as he shifts closer, his movements becoming more deliberate, more consuming. You could only feel your tears rush in pleasurable waterfalls on your cheek.

“Say it again, my love.” he demands softly, his lips grazing the edge of your hip. “Say my name like that again.”

And when you do, your voice trembling and raw, and broken — he lets out a sound that’s pure need, his control slipping as he loses himself in you entirely. His fingers dug deeper and deeper until they couldn’t anymore. Your slick brushing through his fingers as he repeats it over and over again.

Kento’s name spills from your lips again, breathless and aching, and he growls softly against your skin. There was a sound that sent a ripple of heat straight to your core. You cry out loudly as you come undone on his touch, so hard that you see stars. 

“You’re trembling so much, my love.” he murmurs, his voice molten and rich. “Is it because of me, hm?”

His fingers slowly exit through your crevices, slick and full of you. He looks satisfied with the mess he made of you. It doesn’t matter if you pool your pleasure on his leather seats. The sight was satisfying to look at. Because you’re his. And this was proof.

Your answer is a shaky exhale, your head falling back against the seat as your hazy gaze saw him slowly eat at the slick of your pleasure. You had just come undone from his touch and now you could feel yourself wanting more. You were wanton for more. Only he could make you feel this way.

“Words in full, my love.” he coaxes, his tone teasing but firm. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes, Kento.” you admit, voice breaking as you finally surrender to his command. “It’s you—only you.It’s always been you.”

And with that, he kisses you as he finds himself wanting more of you, as much as you wanted more of him. You gave him everything, and he gave you everything. You wanted to be whole, consumed by the existence of the other.

The air thickens with desire as his touch shifts from lingering to deliberate, the rhythm between you growing more urgent.  You brace yourself, your body trembling in anticipation, and then, with a careful, controlled movement, he enters you. 

A sharp inhale catches in your throat, the sensation overwhelming as he fills you completely. You gasp, every inch of him stretching you, pushing you to the edge of something deeper, something more consuming. Your body trembles in the wholeness of him. 

He began to move at a slow pace and then soon enough, with that eager speed. Your legs crossed against his back, and your arms crossed against his shoulders. You could only hold on for dear life as he pushes in and out of you in a pace that took your breath away.

Every inch of him stretches you, each motion slow yet intentional, designed to leave you breathless, wanting more. Kento’s gaze never leaves yours, intense and searching, as though he’s reading the unspoken desires written in the way your body responds. The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse quicken, your limbs aching with the need to surrender to him entirely.

Everything felt so good.

He made you feel good.

Only he could do it like this.

"Are you okay?" His voice is low, almost reverent, as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. 

There’s a softness in his caramel eyes, a tenderness beneath the storm of desire that mirrors the vulnerability you feel. His breath is heavy, and yet there’s a careful concern in his touch, as if he's trying to read you, to make sure you're ready for what comes next.

You nod, but words fail you, the overwhelming sensations clouding your ability to speak. Every inch of your being is attuned to him now, to the heat of his body against yours, the steady rhythm of his breathing. 

You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, yet all that fills your senses is him. The scent of him, the taste of his skin, the press of his chest against yours. Your slick blending against his own. It was all consuming. How you both fit together. How you were made for each other.

"More, Kento." you whisper, the word barely audible but laced with desperation. It’s not just a plea. No, you were saying it as it is. “Faster.”

You needed him. Every bit of him, every part of him. You wanted it all. The craving in your voice is clear, raw, and unfiltered. The desire that had been simmering between you both is now an undeniable force, impossible to resist.

His lips curl into a small, knowing smile, and something in his gaze shifts, darkens. Without breaking eye contact, he presses forward again, moving with an intensity that speaks of his own growing hunger. His movements are deliberate and calculated, even with the speed he was going at. 

It was as if  he was savoring every inch, every moment with you. Each stroke is measured, calculated, and yet there's an undercurrent of urgency, as though he's trying to pull you deeper into him, deeper into this shared space where only the two of you exist.

His gaze is intense, a silent communication passing between you both. It's not just about the way he moves or the way he touches you. Everything about it felt like magic. It's how he reads every subtle shift in your body, every small intake of breath, every whisper of need. 

He’s attuned to you in a way that goes beyond words, understanding the unspoken pleas you can't voice. It’s like he knows you better than you do yourself. It’s like he’s memorized every part of you. He just knew how to love you whole, completely.

You cried out as he hit that pleasure spot, in and out. The car windows were fogging up with the hot breath echoing out of your lips over and over again. You were certain that just as much, people had noticed the car shaking and rearing with activity at the stop. It was too obvious to see.

The heat between you builds steadily, a slow burn that makes your pulse race, that quickens the rhythm of your heart. You feel it in the way your body responds, how the pressure inside you grows with every shift, every stroke, until it feels like the world is narrowing down to just the two of you. You both were lost in this rhythm of connection, of craving, of surrender. This was all that there was, this universe of you, together.

Your body aches with the need to give in completely, to let him take you fully, to become lost in the feeling of him, of the shared moment. He looked at you and leaned forward, letting his lips take yours. His tongue pushes through against your own in a delicious melee of pleasure. You hummed against his lips as his thrusts got deeper, faster. More desperate. 

When he parts from you to gather air in his lungs, he slows for a bit and pulls out, earning a whine. But then in a steady shock, he pushes back in, his hands straying to your back, pulling you closer to him. It was as though he wanted you to melt and blend with his flesh. To become one. He thrusts deeper and deeper, harsher than before. You cry out against his ear. 

"Let go, my love." he murmurs, his voice a low, breathy whisper against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. "I’ve got you." 

There’s an assurance in his words, a promise that you can surrender, that he’ll be there to catch you, to guide you through whatever comes next. And with those words, everything inside you snaps. The tension, the anticipation, the desire. 

Everything unravels in a wave of release, a deep, consuming surrender. You cry out so loud that you think that you were gasping for air for the first time. Nanami Kento hit on your body with a harsh desire last time and felt his own hot pleasure flow through you with a loud roar.

Your body trembles beneath his touch as you lose yourself in him, the rhythm of his movements pulling you deeper into the moment, into the raw intensity of it all. Your grip on him tightens involuntarily, fingers digging into the hardness of his skin, anchoring yourself to the sensation of him. 

Each breath comes quicker, more erratic, as you struggle to keep up with the waves of pleasure crashing over you. Your eyes flutter closed, and a few tears escape, blurring your vision. But the tears are not from pain. They are from the overwhelming satisfaction, the complete surrender of everything you’d been holding back.

For a moment, you can’t see anything, your body entirely consumed by the sensations coursing through you. It’s like you’ve been plunged into a haze, where nothing exists but the pulse of his touch, the heat of his body against yours. You feel your senses heighten, every movement, every sound reverberating inside you, making your heart race.

And then, slowly, your sight begins to return. Everything is foggy, distorted at first, the edges of the world softened by the force of your pleasure. But as the fog clears, everything sharpens, every detail comes into focus. 

And in that moment, it feels like you’ve stepped into something infinite. The universe itself is laid bare before you, and standing at the center of it all, consumed by the same overwhelming force, is him. Everything felt like enlightenment. Life started here.

Kento’s eyes are locked onto yours, dark and intense, holding you captive with every glance, every word unspoken. His face, usually so composed, is now etched with a mixture of hunger and satisfaction, his own breath coming in ragged pulls. You are drawn to him, to the way he fills every corner of your mind, your heart, your body.

"You're... breathtaking, my love." he murmurs, his voice rough, barely audible as he moves against you, his hands cradling your face gently. "So beautiful, at this moment."

The words make your heart ache, the vulnerability in his tone striking you deeply. Your gaze never wavers from his, even as the pleasure inside you begins to coil again, threatening to pull you under once more. It’s not just his touch, not just the way he moves inside you. It’s the way he sees you, the way he makes you feel like you’re the only one who matters in the world.

"You’re mine. You always will be." you whisper, your voice trembling with the truth of it. The words come from somewhere deep, primal, raw. You don’t even know where they’ve come from, only that they’re true. 

“Am I really?” He snickers, pecking at your jaw with small peppering kisses with exhaustion.

You nodded shyly, smiling at him. "I need you... like this. Always."

Kento smiles at your confession. His grip tightens around you, his lips pressing against your forehead in a soft kiss, almost reverent. For a moment, it was like he’d fallen in love with you again for the very first time again.

"And you have me, my love." he responds, his voice low and full of promise. "All of me. Always."

[rawrfrferrari]

The One Who Left | CL16

Plot: Y/n is Charles' ex but their families have been friends since even before they were born. Arthur is attached to Y/n like a brother and is not happy with his brother and his new girlfriend. After a few family events Y/n couldn't bear the uneasy atmosphere with the new couple and the hate by Charles fans, so she distances herself from them and finds herself a new man who treats her right.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x ex!reader

Type: Angst, SMAU.

*will have a part 2

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BACKSTORY

Y/N lives in London, working as a Brand Consultant. Y/N and Charles dated for nearly 6 years. They broke up 5 months ago for vague, “mutual but painful” reasons, mostly due to them not being able to handle long distance and Charles feeling emotionally unavailable. Charles started dating Alexandra a month later. Pascale and Y/N’s mom were also childhood bestfriends. Which is why the three brothers grew up with Y/N. Arthur has always seen her as his elder sister, was devastated after the breakup. He never really forgave Charles for “letting her go.”

Arthur’s birthday dinner was held at a private cliffside restaurant just off the port of Monaco.

Y/N arrived with her parents, her mother’s arm looped through hers and her father trailing slightly behind, greeting the host like an old friend.

“Ah, finally!” Pascale stood up the moment she saw them, her eyes lighting up like the birthday candles yet to be lit. She enveloped Y/N’s mom in a hug before pulling Y/N into a familiar embrace. “Tu es magnifique, ma chérie,” she whispered warmly, the scent of her signature perfume clinging to the air.

Charlotte , Lorenzo's girlfriend kissed Y/N’s cheek and took a glass of wine from the server for her. “You look so thin. London hasn't been treating you well, mon ami,” she said softly, though her eyes flickered with something that looked a lot like sympathy.

But it was Arthur who broke into a full grin, rising from his chair before anyone else had even registered their arrival properly. “Took you long enough!” he said, weaving past waiters and the elegantly dressed diners to get to her.

Y/N laughed as he pulled her into a quick, tight hug. “You said seven-thirty. We’re here at seven-twenty.”

“Exactly,” he said, pulling back and nudging her playfully toward the family table. “Still late by my standards.”

He was beaming, the way only someone young enough to still love birthdays could beam. And she, despite every buried emotion twisting in her stomach, smiled right back.

He led her to the long, white-clothed table where everyone was already seated. Lorenzo gave her a polite nod; Charlotte smiled again. Pascale reached for her hand as she passed.

And then her gaze fell on him. Charles sat at the far end, dressed in a navy-blue velvet jacket with the first few buttons undone. He was mid-sentence, saying something to Lorenzo, but his words faltered as their eyes met.

Y/N blinked. He looked away.His new girlfriend, sitting beside him in a cream halter dress, leaned toward him and said something low. He nodded, too quickly, reaching for the wine glass in front of him without meeting anyone's eyes.

Arthur pulled out the seat beside his, gesturing for Y/N to sit. “The favourite should always be next to the birthday boy”

“I feel honored,” she replied, taking her place. Her mother slid into the seat next to Pascale, already lost in conversation.

Dinner began with toasts and laughter. The servers moved smoothly, bringing out course after course. Arthur, though, barely touched his food.

When it came time for presents, he turned to Y/N with the excitement of someone who already knew she’d outdone everyone else.

“Okay. Yours first,” he said, eyes gleaming.

Y/N hesitated only a second before reaching into her bag and pulling out a slim, matte black, box tied with a dark silver ribbon. She slid it across the table to him, silently.

He tore the ribbon off with zero elegance. The lid lifted, and there it was.

A Patek Philippe watch. Limited edition. Midnight blue dial. Platinum finish. Behind it was engraved; 'Je resterai à tes côtés, mon petit frère'

“Holy sh—” he blinked hard, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

Arthur laughed, slipping the watch onto his wrist. It gleamed under the soft golden lights.

Charles looked over then, his gaze lingering on the timepiece. He said nothing.

“There’s something else,” Y/N added, lifting a second, heavier box.

Arthur looked confused until he opened it. Inside was a large, leather-bound photo album, its cover engraved with A.L. in silver.

The room quieted as he began to flip through the pages. Childhood photos. Karting trophies. Stick-figure drawings titled "Me, Char, Y/N." Birthday cakes. Family holidays. Y/N’s school graduation with him photobombing in a suit two sizes too big. Hervé and toddler Arthur and Charles in the garage, grinning with grease-stained fingers. Handwritten notes from when Arthur had panic attacks before races. Doodles, ticket stubs, and years of layered, intertwined lives.

One photo of Arthur sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Herve, with Y/N squished between them made him pause. His fingers trembled slightly.

He didn’t say anything. He just shut the book, stood up, and pulled Y/N to her feet with him.

“This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten,” he said quietly, arms wrapping around her. “Ever.”

Pascale dabbed her eyes with a linen napkin, as she observed each photo with him. Even Lorenzo looked down at the table, hiding a soft smile.

From across the table, Charles watched. His jaw ticked. He hadn’t touched his dessert.

When Arthur sat down, he immediately turned to show the watch to Lorenzo. Charles leaned back in his chair slightly, forcing a small, tight smile.

Alexandra touched his hand under the table and whispered something, trying to pull him back into her orbit. He nodded once, distracted.

Dinner went on. And still, Y/N and Charles didn’t speak.

At one point, Y/N's father was telling Charlotte a story about an old vineyard trip they all took together years ago. Pascale was laughing so hard she leaned into Y/N’s mother’s shoulder. The adults looked like they belonged to a time before this fracture.

Arthur remained glued to Y/N’s side. He nudged her plate closer when she left it half-finished. Poured her more water.

At one point, he leaned in and murmured, “Don’t let the them bother you. You’re family. No one can change that.”

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’re too sentimental for your own good, Art." He rolled his eyes, bumping her shoulder with his.

Meanwhile, Charles sipped his wine, responding with tight nods when Alexandra spoke. He laughed at Lorenzo’s jokes, a half-beat too late.

He didn’t look at Y/N directly. But he felt a familiar ache he couldn’t remove, no matter how well he masked it.

And she smiled when spoken to. She laughed when she needed to. But she never looked toward the end of the table again.

Lorenzo leaned slightly over the table to speak to Y/N, “So,” he said, gesturing with his glass, “how long are you in Monaco this time?”

Y/N looked up from her plate, her fork paused mid-air. “Just three more days,” she said, setting it down gently. “I have to fly to Budapest for a client meeting on Friday.”

“Work?” Pascale asked, leaning in with interest.

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, a brand alignment workshop with a biotech company expanding into Central Europe. It’s part of a longer campaign we’ve been working on since spring.”

Lorenzo raised his brows. “Consulting must keep you on the move.”

“It does,” Y/N said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve gotten really good at packing light and sprinting through security.”

Before anyone else could speak, her mother chimed in fondly, “But she’ll be back for Christmas.”

“Of course,” Y/N added with a small smile toward Pascale. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Pascale’s expression softened. “Good. I would've been really upset with you if you worked on holidays. We don't get to see you much anyways.”

They all laughed, but across the table, Charles had gone still again.

His hand curled loosely around his wine glass, and though he didn’t say anything, there was something cold behind his eyes which made Y/n shift in her place uncomfortably.

arthur_leclerc

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arthur_leclerc 23 with the bests

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charles_leclerc Happy birthday, petit frère 🎂 (Even if you’ve started dressing better than me now)

lorenzotl Happy birthday, champ 🖤

charlottedepietro You’ll always be my favorite Leclerc (don’t tell the others). Happy birthday!!

yourusername Happy birthday, mon cherie. Love you, Artie 🤍

alexandrasaintmleux Happy birthday Arthur! Such a lovely evening 😊

pascale_leclerc Mon trésor. Papa would’ve been so proud today. Joyeux anniversaire 💫

leclerc.moments Why is Y/N still there? Alex must've got so uncomfortable. SMH.

→leclercupdates The Leclerc brothers and Y/n grew up together so its valid for Arthur to invite her. So happy that the breakup and Charles' actions doesnt affect her relationship with the rest of them ❤️

juliaaa_16 Y/N still looks like family idc 🥹

camiferrari The Leclerc genes 🤌🏽

monacogossipblog Where is Alexandra?? He posted Charlotte but not her. On top he also posted Y/N.

Y/N walked out of the arrival gates at Nice Côte d’Azur airport, dragging her suitcase behind her and tugging her scarf a little tighter. Her flight had landed a bit early, which was a miracle in itself. She scanned the small crowd of drivers and family members waiting outside the barrier.

And then she saw A hand-written sign in thick black marker on torn cardboard:

“CEO of Emotional Damage — Miss Y/N”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. Arthur stood behind it, with a massive grin on his face.

She raised a brow. “You’re actually the worst.”

“Bonjour to you too,” he said, tucking the sign under one arm and opening his arms. “Now give me a hug, woman. I drove thirty minutes for this.”

She let him pull her into a strong hug. “I was going to take a cab,” she said when they broke apart.

“Yeah, and pay triple for a silent driver when you could get my award-winning company for free?” Arthur grabbed her suitcase and started walking toward the parking lot without waiting for an answer. “Let’s go. You’ve been missed.”

“So,” he said once they hit the highway, “I waited exactly seven minutes to give you the gossip. You should be proud.”

“Wow. Personal growth,” she deadpanned. “Go on.”

“Camille broke up with Tim. Again.” They were Y/n school friends who were together since grade ninth.

Y/N raised a brow. “I thought they were engaged?”

“Yeah.Not anymore. He’s already back on Raya.”

She snorted. “Typical.”

“Also Camille and Adrian were seen at that hotel in Verbier.” Adrien was an acquaintance through Tim.

“How do you know all of this?”

“I’m chronically online. It’s a disease.” They both laughed. The wind through the half-cracked window lifted a bit of her hair as the coastline blurred by.

“Oh,” he added, throwing a quick glance her way. “And I have decided to make it official with Jade."

"That's great Arthur, but I feel it's too early since you and Carla broke up a few months ago. It wouldn't look good on you in public perspective. Maybe wait till the next season starts?"

Arthur nodded and said he'll discuss it with Jade. He knew he should take her advice since she went through worse because of her brother and probably had also thought about Clara but didn't mention.

By the time they reached the outskirts of Monaco, dusk had settled. Streetlights flickered on, casting golden glows over stone buildings and quiet sidewalks.

Arthur turned down the familiar road to Y/N’s house. “You sure you don’t wanna come up to our house first?”

“Tempting,” she said dryly. “But I need a shower, and a solid hour of silence before I enter that arena.”

He pulled up outside her place, engine humming low. “Fair. I’ll pick you up tomorrow for brunch.”

She leaned over and squeezed his hand once. “Thanks for the ride, Artie.”

“Anytime. I’ll have new tea by morning.” She kissed him on his cheek and went in her house with her luggage.

yourusername

Y/N’s parents’ place had always been the Christmas house. While the two families spent their summers at Pascal's pool, This house brought the warmth during the winter holidays.

Y/N was pouring herself a glass of mulled wine Pascale made when Lorenzo and her dad walked in from the garage, lugging in the bare tree.

“Try not to break your back before dinner,” Your mother called from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a checked apron.

Y/N laughed, stepping aside to give them room. The same corner by the window had held every tree since she was a kid.

Minutes later, the front door opened again, Arthur and Charles came in, cardboard boxes in their arms, bits of tinsel already clinging to their sleeves.

“Where do you want to dump these?” Arthur asked.

Y/N raised her eyebrows. “Is that the box with our old ornaments? Where was it, we lost it years ago.”

“It was in the wooden cabinet with our mamas old vinyls,” Charles said, his tone dry. He didn’t meet her eyes. She didn’t look for them.

They placed the boxes on the floor. Moments later, Jade and Charlotte arrived, both carrying platters of casseroles from their place as Y/n's kitchen was preoccupied with the mothers baking cookies. Alexandra trailed in behind them, with a few gift bags in hand.

The living room filled quickly with chatter, the occasional squeal from Jade when Arthur teased her with a furry ornaments.

Charlotte and Lorenzo untangled lights near the window.

Arthur knelt by the tree, unwrapping the handmade decorations like they were museum pieces.

Y/N stuck close to Jade not hovering, just casually steering conversations her way, checking if she needed help with the drink setup, looping her in when family stories got too deep too fast. It wasn’t awkward. Jade was kind and easy to be around.

At the same time, Y/N kept herself moving, rearranging the pile of gifts, going back and forth from the kitchen to bring out bowls of icing for the cookie decorating.

Charles drifted in and out of her periphery. He stayed mostly beside Alexandra, who smiled and complimented every cookie shape like she was on a first date with the entire household.

Still, every so often, Y/N would feel a glance across the table, a pause when they both reached for the same red sprinkle tub, a beat too long when her laugh cut across the room.

Later, around the dining table-turned-cookie-lab, Y/N’s mom handed her a tray of sugar cookies shaped like stars and trees.

Arthur was beside Jade, pressing too much icing on a snowman and laughing like a five-year-old. Y/N leaned over to pass her a piping bag.

Charles, quiet at the other end of the table, was outlining a tree in neat green lines. Alexandra was scrolling through her phone beside him, scrolling absently.

Y/N looked up from her own cookie, their eyes meeting for a second. He gave a small smile.

She didn’t return it. Not out of coldness but because it didn’t feel necessary.

When the cookies were laid out, a chaotic masterpiece of colours and bad proportions, Charlotte laughed. “It looks like Santa threw up.”

“Hey, Don't be mean on Christmas!” Arthur declared.

“Wait,” Pascale said suddenly, wiping her hands. “Did anyone hang the tiny car from Herve’s keychain?”

Everyone paused. Y/N turned to the tree and found it still nestled at the bottom of the ornament box.

“I’ll do it,” she said quietly. No one objected. She walked over, picked it up, and found a place on a lower branch not too hidden.

Alexandra shifted closer to Jade seeming to pick the red piping bag from that side of the table but stayed next to her in Y/n's seat.

She had watched how Jade gravitated toward Y/N in conversations, how Charlotte laughed at something Y/N said and touched her arm like they’d been friends for years. And she, who was the actual girlfriend of The Charles Leclerc felt peripheral.

“Hey,” she said lightly, brushing invisible lint from her sleeve. “You okay? You’ve been stuck to Y/N all evening.”

Jade gave a quick smile. “Yeah, she’s cool. Easy to talk to.”

Alexandra nodded slowly, like agreeing with a lie. “Sure. I mean, I get it, she has history here. But sometimes… it’s a little much, right? Like, she makes herself the main character everywhere?.”

Jade’s hand froze mid-reach for the paper towel. “Um… I didn’t get that vibe.”

“She can be a bit performative,” Alex continued, sipping her wine. “Don’t let it get to you. Arthur has this saviour complex when it comes to her, always puts her first. It used to be endearing. Now it’s just exhausting.”

Jade’s eyebrows knit together. She offered a polite nod and muttered, “Thanks for the heads up,” before heading back into the living room where Arthur was placing the gifts from the trunk of his car.

“Alex just cornered me when Y/n was busy,” she said under her breath.

Arthur blinked. “Seriously?”

“She implied you’re overly attached to Y/N and said she’s always making herself the centre of attention.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. Arthur didn’t respond right away. Instead, he stood up, casually looped an arm around Jade’s shoulders, and walked them both back into the centre of the room.

Everyone had already cleaned up the mess from the dining table and were settled in the living room.

“Jade, did I show you the cursed Christmas photo from 2008?” Arthur asked loudly.

Lorenzo grinned. “Oh God, the one where the three of you wore same ugly sweater?”

“Exactly.” Jade laughed and leaned in.

Alexandra, still at the edge of the room with Charles, caught the exchange. Arthur hadn’t even looked her way.

And for the rest of the evening, Alexandra was present, but not included.

Every time she tried to interject into a conversation, it shifted away. Every story was a callback she wasn’t a part of. Every inside joke was a thread she couldn’t follow.

“Alright, alright, before anyone falls asleep,” Arthur said, clapping once, “present time. And no fake enthusiasm this year, please. I’m looking at you, Enzo.”

“You got me socks last year,” Lorenzo deadpanned.

“You wear them all the time,” Charlotte shot back.

Y/N laughed, reaching under the tree to start handing gifts out. She had wrapped them herself, brown kraft paper with twine, little handwritten name tags and wax seals. The kind of aesthetic Pinterest would be proud of.

"Mon Cherie, When did you get the time to do all this." Y/n shrugged as she waited for Pascale to open her gift. It was a cashmere shawl in mint green with her initials in the corner.

She got Lorenzo & Charlotte a limited edition bottle of red wine from a small French vineyard where they’d vacationed the year before.

Arthur tore apart the gift paper to find a personalised perfume from Saudi.” Jade got the same but one with floral notes.

Y/n was also considerate of Alex and got her a box of chocolates from her latest trip to Switzerland. Alexandra smiled and said “Thanks,” before moving on to clinging her boyfriend even more tight.

Y/N handed out the last box, turning to Charles. “And for you.”

He looked surprised. It was a rectangular box, neatly wrapped, subtle, quiet. He opened it slowly.

Inside was a team signed as monaco jersey. Charles ran a thumb over the cover. He didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded. “Thanks.”

Alexandra passed Y/N a small envelope then. “From both of us,” she added. Her voice was light, like this was a business handoff.

Y/N opened it to find a gift card, an expensive one, but generic. Multi-brand. All luxury stores. She smiled politely. “Appreciate it.”

Arthur, standing behind the couch with a mug in hand, rolled his eyes at Alexandra and moved on to snatching it and replacing with his gift.

Him and jade had custom bracelets made for her, Y/n and Charlotte. Jade had given a separate gift to Alexandra, a boxed pair of gold stud earrings. She disappointed took it eyeing the new bracelet adoring Y/n's wrist.

But she smiled anyway and said, “That’s thoughtful,” before folding the wrapping neatly.

Y/n's dad had got each of them a Christmas themed ceramic mug and her mother had scarves custom made for each.

Later, as the wrapping paper lay crumpled on the floor and wine was being refilled, Arthur passed by Y/N with a satisfied look. “You crushed it,” he whispered.

Y/N shrugged. “I like giving presents.”

“No. I mean… the whole night.”

She nudged his shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

yourusername

yourusername

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yourusername joyeux noël🎄❤️

tagged: @/yourmomofficial, @/arthur_leclerc, @/pascale_leclerc, @/lorenzotl, @/charlottedepietro, @/jade_distinguinn

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pascale_leclerc Toujours la lumière de la maison ❤️ joyeux Noël, ma chérie! [Always the light of the house ❤️ Merry Christmas, my dear!]

→yourusername Joyeux Noël, maman Leclerc ❤️

carlossainz55 Feliz Navidad Cariño!

→yourusername Merry Christamas Carlitos 🫶🏽

softf1girlie Merry Christmas y/n❤️

arthur_leclerc Best day 💕

y/nangelarchive Not her posting and tagging everyone but Cheater and ad queen 😌

landonorris Do those cookies ship to the UK asking for a friend

→yourusername Nori I can bake you cookies when I get back 😭

yourmomofficial Belle soirée en famille. Que Dieu bénisse mes enfants et leur accorde tout le bonheur possible. [Beautiful evening with the family. May god bless my kids with all the happiness.]

→ yourusername Je t'aime maman❤️

→ charles_leclerc: Merci beaucoup ❤️ toujours reconnaissant d’avoir grandi entouré de tant d’amour. [Thank you so much ❤️ always grateful to have grown up surrounded by so much love.]

→ arthur_leclerc  Love you mama 2 🫶

→ pascale_leclerc Toujours un bonheur de voir nos familles réunies 🤍 [Always a joy to see our families together 🤍]

→ leclercfamupdates Y/n's mother is the sweetest. Even after what Charles did to her daughter, she wishes him the best because he's her son too 😭. Charles you seriously fucked up bad...

mluexupdates not her pretending like she still belongs lol

→ username1 THEYRE LITERALLY AT HER HOME!

softf1girlie lol Alex and Charles should be grateful she even invited them...

lewishamilton Merry Christmas ✨ I hope you're back in London for New Year!

→ yourusername Merry Christmas, Lew. I'll be home for the holidays. We can catch up when I'm back 🫶🏽

jade_distinguinn Thanks for making me feel so at home 🥹❤️

yourbestie Merry Christmas, Y/n/n 🫶🏽 Miss you 💗

→ yourusername Merry Christmas! Miss you too ❤️

alexstmbestie Homewrecking Slut!

leclercsdaily For the newbies and Alexandra fans who call Y/n names, They should know Charles has most probably cheated on Y/n with Alex, even if not jeopardised 24 years of friendship and 6 years of relationship for her. And Y/n is inviting them for christmas at HER HOME after all this only for the love she has for all the other Leclercs and Charlotte, She even made Jade feel at home. This explains a lot about her being a kind soul and Charles took advantage of this kindness and so does Alex now. Expecting her to separate from her family just because this guy fucked up is utter bullshit. Leave her alone goddamnit!!

ynarchive

Liked by leclercupdates, y/nangelmine and others

ynarchive Y/N was spotted at Ibiza Airport earlier today, sources confirm she flew out of Nice early this morning after spending Christmas with the Leclercs & her family in Monaco.

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ynangelclub honestly? protect your peace queen 🧘‍♀️

alexmlxupdates good. she doesn’t belong in Monaco anymore

→ leclercfamupdates dude stop she's literally born there.

leclercfamilyupdates Pascale already missing her we just know it

username1 This is what emotional maturity and boundaries look like

yln.ynlover she’s so real for escaping the drama!

username2 “she’s still close to the family” ok then why leave? 🙃

[error: happy new year in advance, Artie. Kiss both mamas for me? - y/n]

yourusername

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yourusername Happy 2024 and Happy Y/n 🪩🌊

tagged: @/carlossainz55, @/landonorris, @/yourbestie

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yourbestie You're the only one who upgraded. tbh

pascale_leclerc  joyeux nouvel an, mon étoile 💫

→ yourusername joyeux nouvel an, mon luna 🌕

carlossainz55 You are an alcohol menace...

→ yourusername Got reasons, mon cherie

→ carlossainz55 still?

→ yourusername Nah. Over it 😏

jade_distinguinn you are LITERALLY the moment

→ yourusername 💕

charleswife16 real homie hopper. ugly whore

lilymhe literal goddess vibes

→ yourusername Lilyyyy! Love u 🫶🏽

friend1 You dropped this 👑

→ yourusername oops 🤭

f1teaonline this squad > Y/n and Charles

username1 this is her I could’ve ruined you, but I chose peace post

landonorris  How did I end up being the least chaotic one on this yacht

teamalexmlx she really can’t sit still for a second huh. Attention seeking bitch.

sainz55fp Carlos stop looking at her like that... She's mine!

danielricciardo Ibiza huh? very proud!

→ yourusername Thank you Thank you

arthur_leclerc Take me with you next time...

→ yourusername Shore 👍🏻

friend2 I approve this version of you. She’s glowing.

→ yourusername 🫶🏽

y/nsupremacy the “Happy Y/N” era is going to heal me

charlexnation meanwhile Charles living his best life with Alexandra 🫶

yourusername

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yourusername 🪷🩷

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yourmomofficial Ma belle fille 🌷

alex_albon @/yourbestie do you know what I know.

→ yourbestie I know what you know, but I won’t say it unless you say it first 😇

→ yourusername Snitches ends up in ditches!

leclercxangel I think she’s with Arthur?? It makes sense.

→ f1gridgossip No one else is in Melbourne yet except Carlos, Oscar, Lando and Alex Albon.

charlexchild funny how she’s always “working” when he’s racing

pascale_leclerc 🌸❤️

ynupdatesdaily She didn’t even need a face pic and still ate

arthur_leclerc stay for the race?

→ yourusername Can't. I have work on Monday 😭

charlesluvclub Someone’s trying really hard to be relevant this season 💅

alexandrasaintmleux So aesthetic!✨

→ username1 eww go away

lilymhe Date tomorrow?

→ yourusername Sorry Lils, I have a flight early tomorrow ☹️

f1wagsgossip Charles in the likes and Alexandra commenting 💀

alexusuals OMG Alex commented. She's such a girl's girl 😍

→ ynupdatesdaily 😂 She's anything but that. haha

username2 melbourne museums never looked this cute.

f1

Liked by yourusername, scuderiaferrari and others

f1 🏆 AUSTRALIAN GRAND PRIX PODIUM 🏆 1️⃣ 🇪🇸 Carlos Sainz 2️⃣ 🇲🇨 Charles Leclerc 3️⃣ 🇬🇧 Lando Norris

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scuderialover Ferrari on top and my serotonin is back

gridenergy That post-race smile from Sainz >>>

mclarencryingclub Honestly thought Lando had it… sigh

taglist: @sarcastic-ravenpuff, @cryinghotmess, @dreaming-starlet, @agustdpeach, @yeslybanevi, @lovestruck-sky, @yara011, @nafisalove, @agustdpeach, @deleataecount, @janeh22, @mel164, @destinyg237, @esmeect, @saythename-sm, @ajordan2020, @ceekokocee15, @vinylphwoar, @paucubarsisimp, @flowersandalll, @mbioooo0000, @zoeyjadetice2010, @angstynasty, @sinfully-yoursss, @chlmtfilms, @san4117, @sachaa-ff, @kenkozkmg,@sagestach,

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[7frogsspeaks]

If you've never worked in a big corporate office you are missing out on half of Severance

Everyone seems to be talking about the setting of this show like it's a big mystery we're waiting on answers for, and I keep having to remind myself that this is the Unemployed Website because every single aspect of the severed floor is a direct parody of corporate office work. Some of it is pretty obvious to anyone (being a totally different person at work than you are at home, excessive surveillance, etc), but unless you've worked in one of these places there's a ton you're probably missing.

So, for those of you who (luckily) lack corporate office experience, here is a non-exhaustive list of real phenomenon Severence is referencing:

- Having absolutely no clue where anything is other than your department. A large corporate office truly feels like working in a brightly-lit, featureless labyrinth. You get lost so easily, and the number of turns and hallways in the opening scene is not that much more extreme than how I had to get to my department (which was over a 5-minute walk from the main entrance). It's common to draw new employees a map.

- Cult-like worship and constant quoting of the company's founder/founding family and core operating principles. Long-time employees will genuinely treat it like religious doctrine. It's scary.

- The relationship between departments. The different cultures, outrageous rumors, distrust, compete lack of understanding of who they are, how many of them there are, where they work, what they do, and generally treating them like a foreign country is barely even a parody. It's just really like that. Going to another department and seeing their equipment and work area (and being stared at by a bunch of people who don't expect a stranger to be there) might as well be walking into a room that's a hill with intimidating goat farmers.

- Other people's jobs being utterly incomprehensible. The department that had a room behind a wall next to mine apparently used it for filling backpacks with weights until the straps broke. Another department had someone whose job was to shine different lights onto pieces of fabric and record the color difference. One of my positions was measuring various pants 20 different ways and then taking notes while a specific person tried them on. Apparently a guy somewhere occasionally got paid to make watercolors of birds. Some people did finance. You get the idea.

- Only ever hearing from upper management (who are treated like a group of fickle, wrathful gods) through a nervous secretary and never hearing their voices/seeing their faces. You might know their names.

- Weird, uncomfortable, often ritualesque events that are treated like a big deal. The company I worked for, for example, would announce the employees of the year by having a committee of people with noisemakers and silly hats parade around the buildings until they got to the person's desk, and then take their photo to hang on the wall. People were not warned beforehand, it was a ~surprise~. This happened daily at random times for over a week each year, and long-standing employees got really into it.

- People genuinely fighting over all those meaningless, patronizing rewards like pizza parties, fancy pens, etc. Having an "employee of the month" mug, for example, is treated as an enviable status symbol. Presumably this is why corporations think this stuff will also work in the service industry (it doesn't because service workers are normal).

- Ridiculous conspiracy theories about the building, management, coworkers, or company history, peddled like gossip.

- New employees having a rough adjustment period where it feels like you're adapting to an alternate universe. Office culture is nothing like real life though it's closer if you live in white suburbia and have an HOA, so during most people's first time working in one they bump up against a lot of unspoken rules, weird taboos, and general culture shock. Most of this involves navigating strictly-enforced social hierarchies, verbal adherence to company ideals, and using only specific types of communication, and being chastised when you mess up. It 100% feels like being indoctrinated into a cult.

- Not understanding the purpose of the work you're doing, and only receiving vague answers, that it's "important", and that there's a big exciting deadline. No single department has access to the big picture for how everyone's jobs fit together to accomplish something, you'd have to work in all of them or in upper management to figure it out. The inner machinations and goals of the company are generally treated like a mysterious secret.

- Never seeing the sky. Window offices are a prized commodity since the buildings are so big, so unless you're a high-up manager or the company has gone to great lengths to add access to widows (most don't because it's really expensive) you likely won't see daylight until you leave, even if you travel around the building during the day.

And for the Lifetime Unemployment crowd, some more general job phenomenon:

- So. Many. Acronyms. And being expected to say them all with a straight face, even if they sound really silly.

- Coworkers effectively ceasing to exist the moment they leave the company, with zero explanation given for why they're suddenly gone unless there's a retirement party.

- Management giving ridiculously nit-picky feedback as a form of hazing/power play, especially to marginalized people.

- Upper management making sudden, drastic changes to your job expectations, physical workplace, or management structure with zero notice and penalizing you if you can't adapt immediately.

- The entire vibe of your job being dictated by who your manager is.

- Your coworkers acting like what happens at work is their entire life, and treating their home lives as something extra they do on the side.

- Having no clue who your coworkers are outside of work, and that information being largely treated as taboo.

- Being effectively locked in a sealed space with zero access to the outside world for the entirety of your workday, and being told that that's not weird or a problem– it's a benefit that helps you focus on your job.

Basically: There's no big mystery to the structure and culture of Lumon/the severed floor. Most of it is never going to get a canon "explanation" because the target audience already has one. It's all a parody.

EDIT: Reblogged with more office-specific ones and some photo evidence

[sttoru]

·.⌇ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. you’ve been one of sukuna’s many concubines for quite a while now. yet, you still cannot get rid of the jealousy in your system whenever he interacts with the other women in his harem.

wc. idk around 1 to 2k

tags. true form!sukuna x concubine!female reader. angst (hurt to comfort), fluff, suggestive at the end. heian era. you call sukuna ‘my lord’. reader gets called ‘brat, little girl’. size difference. no part2, don’t ask i beg. not beta read.

“get back here, brat,” sukuna raises his voice as he follows you. he isn’t one to care about others’ emotional outbursts, yet here he is, chasing you after you’ve poured out your heart to him.

you don’t know why you’re this upset. you do know, however, that it’s childish of you to walk away mid dinner. you should’ve just stayed seated and refuse to let the thoughts consume you.

now you’re speed walking down the hallways of the estate—your legs carrying you as fast as they can without actually making a run for it. your mind keeps replaying the ‘unsettling’ scene that caused you to flee.

you remember it vividly. the sound of sukuna’s low, amused chuckle. how intrigued it was because of something another concubine told him—how he stopped chewing to say something back to her. which he rarely does.

hell, you’ve never seen him laugh around his other concubines.

“i do not wish to talk to you right now, my lord,” you reply, voice raised so the distance wouldn’t make it a hassle for the king of curses to hear you. you know that feisty attitude of yours entertains sukuna to no end.

he raises an eyebrow once he’s heard your voice; how it’s dripping with envy and hurt. you’ve never reacted like that before—at least not in his presence. it made him want to figure out why and how.

though, he can easily guess the reasoning behind your sudden defiance.

“oh, that so?” sukuna hums. he’s lenient with you this time around. he could catch up to you in under a split second, but he decides to give you that sense of accomplishment first before completely destroying it. he walks after you slowly, your fast steps being the same tempo as his slow pace.

you don’t answer. you’re stubborn. you have no right to feel jealous. you are a fairly new concubine—only a couple months ago did you join sukuna’s harem. yet, the time spent with him was precious.

he treats you differently. everyone notices that. everyone tells you the same. you know he does by the way he lets you off the hook with most stuff you say and do.

you don’t know what you did to gain his favouritsm, but it’s addicting. his attention is addictive. real addictive.

you had sworn not to develop any unneccessary feelings for that ruthless sorcerer. but, with the way sukuna treated you so gently behind closed doors, it was impossible not to.

you eventually reach the doors to your chambers. you slide them open and wish to close them behind you, only for a big hand to halt those movements. you freeze in place and refuse to look up at the owner of that said hand.

“look up,” sukuna demands. his voice causes goosebumps to appear on your arms, but you still don't budge. he clicks his tongue. that’s your first warning. two more and your punishment will be carried out, “we can do this the hard way too if you want.”

you turn your head, your fingers curling around the material of your kimono. you really should not feel this way about a little interaction between sukuna and his other concubine. that is none of your concern. what he does with those other women is none of your concern.

and yet. . .

“i don't want to,” you retort. sukuna walks into your room with a sigh. each step he takes forwards, you take backwards. your back finally bumps against the wall next to your bed.

sukuna towers over you, his tall and big frame making you feel vulnerable. especially with the way those red eyes of his are staring down at you. he crosses all four of his arms before speaking.

“tell me what’s running through that head of yours,” sukuna inquires sternly. he isn’t playing around anymore, you can tell. you glance the other way—knowing that he will laugh at you the moment you tell him why you’re upset.

you have a feeling he knows the reason behind your tantrum anyway.

“it’s nothing of importance, my lord,” you shake your head and relax your tense shoulders to make you seem less upset. your words have some truth in them—you don’t think your feelings of envy hold any value to him.

sukuna sighs again. he’s trying his best not to be annoyed at you. you’re his favorite and he wishes not to sadden you any further. he steps forwards, one hand moving to cup the side of your face.

his rough fingers play with a string of your hair, “i’m not stupid, little girl. i don’t like it when my woman is in distress.”

your heart skips a beat. this is what confuses you—how he can go from stern to gentle and vice versa. it’s surprisingly unexpected, which makes you long for more. even if his behaviour is confusing.

you look up at sukuna. your eyes meet for the first time in a good couple minutes. the corner of sukuna’s lips curls up into a satisfied smirk. that’s one step closer to getting you to open up.

“now,” the king of curses lowers his head to your eye level, the proximity all the more nerve wracking. he holds your jaw super tightly out of the blue. it makes you whimper.

“spit it out.”

there it is. the duality of the man strikes once more. you swallow the spit that’s been building up in your mouth. you bite your bottom lip lightly, trying to gather and form the right words to explain yourself.

sukuna wouldn’t understand. he’s a cold-hearted man who doesn’t care about such ‘trivial’ matters. he’ll just call you stupid, pathetic or whatever other derogatory term.

you stop your thoughts for a moment.

“it’s really just a stupid thing,” you mutter. your fingers curl around sukuna’s wrist—the one hand he’s using to firmly hold your jaw. you take a deep breath in, “i did not like it when you, errr. . . when that woman talked to you at the dinner table.”

your voice is clearly dripping with jealousy. pure, pure jealousy. and for what? because he talked to his other concubine. you feel stupid. you thought you discarded your personal feelings for the sorcerer before you the moment you turned into one of his many women.

“that woman?” sukuna tilts his head, feigning ignorance. that little grin on his face tells you enough. he’s playing with you like some form of entertainment. well, technically you are.

he wants you to be specific. he’s forcing you to be by acting like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

in all honesty, sukuna’s already forgotten what that woman had said to him. it wasn’t and still isn’t worth remembering. all he can recall is your adorable facial expression when you saw him interact like that with his other concubine.

that little frown on your face was priceless. it makes him want to keep teasing you.

“you know who i am talking about, my lord,” you huff, trying to look away, but get stopped by sukuna readjusting his grip on your jaw. he firmly yet gently taps your cheek once and you know what it means.

“attitude,” sukuna warns with a quick hiss. he can let you say whatever you want to him, but you also have some limits regarding which tone you use with him. you apologise quietly under your breath.

the king of curses nods in satisfaction before releasing the grip on your jaw. his large hand trails down to your neck, thumb rubbing up and down your throat, “so, my little girl is mad at me because i talked to another concubine of mine, huh?”

you nod mindlessly. sukuna can easily get you to comply with him—to obey his every word, simply with his actions. the terms of endearment he uses are the cherry on top. they slip off his tongue so easily with you.

“tsk tsk,” sukuna shakes his head. his hand is now on the back of your head, fingers tangled into your hair. he’s staring down at you with a smug expression. he knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger, “how childish of you.”

you knew that would be one of the things he’d say to you. what you didn’t expect is for him to go for a kiss right after. his lips land on yours firmly, and to no surprise, you instantly return the gesture.

your arms wrap around his neck—your chest pressing against his. sukuna wastes no time in picking you up and letting your legs encircle his waist. he’s not pulling away for air to breathe and you don’t either.

“you’re going to listen to me, yeah?” sukuna murmurs between passionate kisses. he’s holding onto you tightly with two arms, his free hands roaming over your body whilst he pins you against the wall.

when you whimper out a weak, high-pitched ‘yes, my lord’, he smirks against your mouth before turning to kiss your neck. he slightly bites the skin to make sure you’re paying attention to him.

“i don’t remember what that woman said,” sukuna continues, nearly out of breath because of the kisses he’s leaving all over you. he easily grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head on the wall, “i was too busy lookin’ at a much prettier concubine of mine.”

he pulls back a little so he can look you in the eyes. you’re panting and embarrassed by what he just said. one of his hands finds your face again, tracing the shape of your mouth.

“my favourite,” sukuna whispers whilst licking his lips. you can see it in his eyes: he’s silently planning out how he’s going to remind you of your place. your place as his favorite concubine.

he dips his head back down, aiming for the valley between your breasts. he closes his eyes before sucking on the surrounding flesh;

“guess i’ll be nice for once ‘nd show you just what it means to be my favorite so that you’ll never dare forget it again.”

[moon-fics]

Pepper Spray Lovers

Pairings: Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: You're a well-known bartender at the Hard Deck and friends with most of the pilots who enter through the doors. However, you've caught the eye of one specific weapon systems operator.

A/n: I'm going to need a break after this one. Holy shit.

It was the same every night for you. Serve drinks, clean cups, chat with pilots, and never give out your number. It was a loop that you found comforting and easy to follow. At the Hard Deck, there was a guaranteed safety with the amount of trained pilots around.

You never have to memorize names because the call signs they have are way too ridiculous to forget. They stand out, and based on their personality, you can match them easily. For Hangman, you chalk it up to him always talking to a woman at the bar, but never taking her home. For Rooster, it's because his mustache sometimes looks like a beak to a bird.

You treat each customer the same and smile when they order. You highly doubt any of them know your name, but why should they? You serve them drinks, and they pay their tab. That's all you need or want from them.

"Can I get a water?" A soft voice asks from behind you. You're cleaning a pile of cups while Penny takes orders. You aren't supposed to be bothered, but you assume Penny is busy. You can fetch some water and return back to your cleaning.

Without even looking at the person who ordered, you grab a clean cup and fill it with water from the water dispenser. You spin around and place the cup on the bar top. You only look up for a second but you immediately stop on him.

It's his smile that catches you off guard. It's almost silly how adorable a Top Gun pilot can look by just smiling. His hair is gelled back neatly, and his glasses are a little lower than where they should be.

"Thank you," He nods while taking the glass. His fingers graze yours, and you realize you're still holding the cup. Your hand flinches away automatically. "Busy night?"

You force yourself to speak because you cannot just stare at him. "Yeah, it's definitely busier than usual," You say while clearing your throat. He nods and takes a sip of his water. "There must be something huge happening for so many Top Gun pilots to be here." You glance around the room to see it practically filled with people wearing navy uniforms.

"I'd tell you if I could," He chuckles. "I'm Bob," He holds out his free hand to shake. You gladly take it, and there's a shiver that goes up your spine at how nice his arms look. Before you can respond, someone is calling him over. He gives a little wave as he parts from you.

Throughout the night, you catch him staring at you. Usually, you'd find it creepy or enough to cut him off, so he leaves. Instead, you try to catch him. It gives you some enjoyment to watch when he nervously looks away after getting caught. After a while, he understands the game and begins playing along.

--

It's closing time, and by now, everyone has left, including Penny. The beach waves are all you hear as you check the register and count the cash left over. There's still a smell of alcohol in the air, but it's mixed with salt and sunscreen.

After shutting the register and turning off the lights, you lock the doors. Right as you pull the key out, you hear rustling. No one should be out this late on base. So, either you have a wild animal nearby or someone is stalking you. Either way, it could mean trouble.

Silently and slowly, you reach for your pepper spray. You unlock the safety feature and press your thumb over the top of it. The rustling gets louder, and your body trembles from anxiety.

"Do you need someone to walk you to your car?" A familiar voice rings from behind you. On instinct, you swing around and aim the spray at them. "Hey, hey, wait!" The person yells while putting their hands up in surrender.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness to see Bob standing in front of you. You don't put the pepper spray down, but you remove your thumb from it.

"What are you doing? That was so scary!" You scold. One corner of his lips turns up in a half smile that is still charming.

"I just wanted to make sure you got home alright," He explains. He lowers his hands and puts one in his pocket. He looks concerned that you're going to spray him anyway, but you decide not to. "It's late, and I know that sometimes it can be dangerous on base." He mumbles.

"So, you waited out here for me to close up? It's been like an hour since I saw you leave the bar." You raise an eyebrow. There's no way he waited that long for you.

"I waited," He admits with a nod. You suck in your cheeks at how honest he is. It's refreshing but also a bit odd. "Sorry that I scared you. I thought you heard me walking up to you." He chuckles to himself.

"It's alright. Just, next time, announce yourself or maybe wear a bell." You smile.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, "I'll think about tying a bell around my belt next time."

"Next time?" You tease. You aren't sure what he means by it, because it could simply be a joke. You don't know if he'll be back at the bar because sometimes people show up once and never return.

He seems caught off guard by your repeating his words. "I mean, it's a popular bar. It's the best one on base, so I just assumed I'd come back," He clarifies while scratching at the top of his lip nervously.

"Would you walk me to my car every time?" His eyes practically twinkle at your question. As if your offer has brought a genuine joy inside him. "You did say it's dangerous on base at night."

"I'll walk you to your car as many times as you'd allow."

It takes longer than you expect to get home. Mostly because you're enchanted into a conversation with Bob way past curfew. Once you walk through your door, you get a sense of excitement for your next shift.

--

The music is loud, and so are the pilots. After a long day of training and sweating their asses off they've returned to the bar. Not that you mind anymore.

You get to continue your favorite game with Bob as he plays pool. Every time he makes a shot, he looks for you to see if you saw. When he gets a ball in one of the pockets, he waves. When he scratches, he talks to you until his turn again.

This continues until the end of the night, until he walks you to your car.

[sunderwight]

Shen Qingqiu gets hit by a rare wife plot.

And it actually is a rare one because Airplane didn't even write this one down! He toyed with the idea before ultimately dismissing it as being too controversial for the tastes of his readers, and adapting only a few of the same elements for a subsequent chapter of PIDW.

But apparently the System can pull inspiration even from the author's thoughts, especially when there's nothing to contradict the concept and even a few threads of it still to be found in the original, and somehow Shen Qingqiu runs afoul of this previously-unwritten plot bunny.

The core concept was a cuck scenario, of all things. One of the Luo Binghe's wives gets afflicted by a poison that can only be cured by dual cultivation, but specifically can't be cured by by dual cultivation with anyone who has mastery over demonic qi. Something something conflicting energies, something bullshit something. Peerless Cucumber would have ripped the chapter to shreds if it had actually made it to publication, not just for the insult of implying that Luo Binghe should let one of his wives sleep with someone else, but also because why would Luo Binghe -- able to use both kinds of cultivation -- somehow not be able to keep his demonic energies from influencing the situation just in this one case?

Well it turns out that in his specific case it's because sex gets him too worked up to keep things strictly separate, and the degree of control required to treat the affliction whilst dual cultivating is extensive enough that even a little slip-up would be fatal.

Of course, in the actual chapter of PIDW, this same plot device was altered and used to create a harem orgy where Luo Binghe oversaw several of his wives "treating" one another's "afflictions", but Shen Qingqiu just had to go and get a fatal of dose of the more severe version (he didn't realize the risk, because again, this version didn't even make it into the novel).

Anyway, of course this ends up with Shen Qingqiu trying to figure out another way to cheat death, while Luo Binghe goes through the five stages of grief before accepting that he's just going to have to let someone else fuck his husband. This leads to an argument because of course Shen Qingqiu's not going to cheat on Luo Binghe, and he's especially not going to force one of his martial siblings to sleep with him, come on now, and Luo Binghe trying not to cry tears of blood while bringing himself to explain that a fair few of Shen Qingqiu's sect siblings would be happy volunteers for this task.

Shen Qingqiu's just like, well of course you think that, for some bizarre reason you think everyone wants to sleep with me. Bias is what it is. Really it's flattering Binghe but obviously every other person we know is straight, that's just statistics, and everyone in the entire cultivation world knows that Qi Qingqi would sooner chew glass than have sex with a man!

Luo Binghe, weeping now: Shizun please. This is serious. I need you speak words that make sense in the order you're saying them.

They argue, they reach an impasse, the clock is ticking. So Luo Binghe reluctantly turns to the most reliable source of information (outside of himself) on Manipulating Shen Qingqiu to Do Things That Are in His Own Best Interests -- Shang Qinghua.

At first Shang Qinghua is like, well I'm flattered Junshang but I don't think I could shoulder the baggage of fucking Cucumber-bro for you. But then Luo Binghe is like no I need someone who is way hotter and more capable than you, if Shizun is going to fuck someone else at my behest they're going to be TOP TIER so that when I fuck him better afterwards he's really impressed with me. Liu Qingge, obviously.

Not Yue Qingyuan, Shang Qinghua asks? (He'd take the insult a little more personally but honestly he's just relieved that he's not being asked to navigate this social minefield.)

No, Luo Binghe says. He's not 100% sure he could beat Yue Qingyuan in a fight even to this day, which in his mind also translates to not being 100% sure he could do sex better than him either, so Yue Qingyuan is an emergency last resort. He's way more likely to cry on Shizun too and Shen Qingqiu is into that shit, it's too risky.

Alright, says Shang Qinghua, and he thinks about it, and then he comes up with the beautifully simple solution:

Luo Binghe has to fuck Liu Qingge first.

Because of course the crux of the issue is that even with permission, Shen Qingqiu doesn't want to cheat on Luo Binghe. But in the twisted annals of his mind, Luo Binghe himself is still entitled to a harem, even if Luo Binghe is also happily monogamous in this life. So if he shacks up with Liu Qingge first then Liu Qingge essentially joins Luo Binghe's harem, at which point if Shen Qingqiu sleeps with him it's not an affair, it's the gay version of those fanservice-y 3P scenes that the wives in PIDW did. Shang Qinghua translates the concept as best as he can to Luo Binghe, who -- though slightly dubious -- must accept that so far Shang Qinghua's wisdom hasn't steered him wrong with regards to his shizun's eccentricities.

Luo Binghe's mission: seduce Liu Qingge, or at least convince him to have sex, or possibly to lie and (convincingly!) tell Shen Qingqiu that they had sex. That last one is the longest shot so he's probably going to have to just fuck him (Luo Binghe still underestimates how willing his husband is to believe that just about anyone would have sex with him).

Shang Qinghua's mission: convince Shen Qingqiu that he owes his husband steamy threeway gay sex or something so that this plan he pulled out of his ass doesn't backfire and get him killed.

[bbokicidal]

Not A Want, But A Need - Perv!SKZ

A small series of Perv!SKZ Headcanons

Pairing: OT8 x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sexual behavior (MDNI), Perverted behavior (obviously), panty stealing, up the skirt pics, one-sided masturbation, meandom!Seungmin (oops)

Chris :

Chris likes to consider himself a gentleman. He's respectful, responsible, kind to women and men alike - treats everyone with polite gestures -

But he really can't hold himself back when you wear that little pink dress that hugs your ass so right.

He swears he'll delete them later but he never does, taking quick pictures up the skirt of your dress when he stands behind you in the elevator.

You know why he never deletes them? Because he uses them as soon as he gets home - sometimes in the company bathroom if he really can't wait that long. Tugging his cock and whimpering as he bites down on the fabric of his shirt, staring through lidded eyes at the picture of your lacy black panties.

God, he's obsessed.

Minho :

He's going to have you sitting in his lap as often as possible. You're one of his best friends - who started as a backup dancer for the group - and he knows nobody finds it too suspicious that he has you in his lap often.

The worst they can think is that he's romantically interested in you - which, maybe he is.

But he really just wants you there so he can feel the way your ass pushes down against his cock in his sweats. He's in love with the feeling and if you move just right his head will roll back and his eyes will roll with them, slipping shut at the pushing right up against his length.

After he figures out just how much he likes having you in his lap, he'll keep his hands on your hips often as well. Even when just standing next to you - maybe one occasion letting his hand drag over your ass on 'accident.'

Changbin :

There's little shame on his part.

He loves to stare at your tits.

He starts inviting you to the gym just so he can see how they bulge in your sports bra and push at the seams, the soft skin bubbling and making him want to touch so badly. And maybe he does on occasion, letting his hands brush the underside of your chest while you're doing box squats.

He swears he's just helping you with your form - you need to arch your back a little more. Push your chest into his waiting hands. Please. For him?

Hyunjin :

He's very sly with it.

He's so, so very sly with the way he steals your panties.

That precious white pair with the cherries on them were the first he knew he needed to have, shoving them into his pocket after you'd gone to the bathroom and given him at least three minutes of free time to roam around your room.

The lace pair he saw a peek of when you sat down at a party once were next.

And he won't return them. Not when they're covered in his cum and he'd feel dirty giving them back to you that way.

And washing them would get rid of your scent. So... He'll just keep them.

Jisung :

He's the only member who's a bit shy about his actions.

He feels wrong about it but he needs it so badly.

He just loves your hands so much. Touch him a little more, yeah?

He'll do things like sit too close so your hands will brush his thigh when you talk and move them around - or stand up abruptly beside you so that your hand will bump his hips.

Or he'll just straight up hold your hands whenever he can, refusing to let go until they're down near his hips and your knuckles brush his zipper as he drops his hold on you. It's always subtle - but definitely there.

Oh, and of course later he'll picture your pretty hands jerking him off instead of his own. He's embarrassed about it but he'll look at photos he's got of you two together as well - zooming in on your rings and bracelets to better picture how you'd look between his thighs and holding onto him.

Felix :

The most cocky mf.

He's the type to rest his hand on your thigh as much as he possibly can. At first it's gentle rubbing of his thumb or a brush of his knuckles here and there,

But then it's him squeezing the supple skin under his ringed fingers as he chats with you or others. His actions are all but second nature now, but he's definitely chubbing up in his jeans just at the feeling of your thighs under his palms.

If he's feeling real bold (or a little tipsy), he'll slap your thighs or maybe - if you're really lucky - bite them to leave little teeth marks.

He'd do anything to have them pressed around his head while he eats you out, but he knows right now it's only a dream. So instead he'll just keep his subtle touches and rubs going until that day comes.

Seungmin :

So sly about it but also extremely bold and straightforward.

He passes it off as playful fighting.

The type to slap - Yes, I said slap. - your tits and ass whenever you pass by him or are bugging him. He's use to you slapping his arms or chest and laughing in annoyance at his antics, so he thought he could get away with doing the same to you. And he was right.

It's perceived as play fighting and just two best friends fucking around with each other - but he's secretly getting so hard it hurts in his jeans at the way your tits and ass jiggle when he hits them.

On a couple occasions he's taken sneaky videos of him slapping your ass while you walk together so he had it for later use.

And of course there were the few select times he full on spanked you while the two of you were bickering.

Jeongin :

Shy about it - but if he's all dressed up or just performed or the likes - he's a looooot more bold.

Jeongin won't admit it out loud, but he likes your lips. A lot.

He has so many pictures of the two of you together just because he loves the way you purse your lips all cute-like.

And he's grown a habit of touching them, too. Wiping sauce off of them when you eat meals together, brushing off crumbs or even just shushing you with his index against your bottom lip so you hush up all pretty. (And he loves seeing you obey.)

And he'll never forget the time he was drinking with you and when he shushed you, you took his finger into your mouth to suck over it. He'll cherish that memory forever - the way his cock tented in his sweats and he had to go to the restroom to jerk off so hard it hurt. He's never come so fast in his life.