#...felt kinda presumptuous of me...

[venusheartsyou2]

bloody birds | matt murdock

summary: your ex shows up at your apartment, bruised and bloody.

pairing: ex!matt murdock x fem!reader.

warnings: lore accurate asshole matt murdock! angst. no use of y/n. mention of blood, needles, stitches. obvious lack of medical knowledge on my part. both reader and matt are both so unbearably stubborn. mention of heather glenn? kinda? barely?

wc: 3K

a/n: i love matt murdock but he would be the worst boyfriend in the world! bear with me!

You wake up to your phone vibrating against your bedside table. The clock reads 2:39AM. What the hell? Your eyes are heavy with sleep; you couldn’t pry them open even if you tried. You scramble to find your phone. It seems as though it’s hidden beneath all of your knick-knacks. Mainly books and trash. You should really clean as soon as you can. You grab your phone, and see a no caller ID. Who could be calling you at a time like this?

“Hello?” You answer. You feel yourself freeze when you hear the voice on the other line. It’s Matt. Of course it was Matt. Only Matt would be this presumptuous. Only he would have this much disregard for you. Matt says your name, his breath low and hot.

“The hell do you want?” You say, viciously.

“Don’t be like that,” Matt starts. “I need your help.”

You’re quiet for a second, unsure of what to say. Was he serious? Did he think he could just walk back to you so easily? For what, another stitch-up?

“Who’d you hurt this time?” You say, passive-aggressive. Matt’s silent on the other line. He sits in the tension. “No one.” He finally states. “Open the door.”

You hear a knock on the door. You’ve got to be kidding me. 

“You’re at my fucking apartment?”

“It used to be ours.”

“Are you bleeding out on my front-fucking-doorstep?” You ask, but you’re already up to get the door. You’ll see for yourself. Matt asks you to stitch him up from time to time, but there’s been a brief hiatus where Matt hasn’t been appearing in front of you, half dead and bloody. A brief period meaning 2 weeks, of course.

You open the door to see the bane of your existence at your front door: Matt Murdock, in all his awful glory.

“Not really. This isn’t the worst it’s been.” Matt answers your question, while ending the call. You stare at Matt, dumbfounded. It was pretty bad. Deep gashes are speckled all over his torso. From the skin you can see, he was bruised all over. His fresh red bruises were on top of his recovering yellow bruises. It was grotesque. He was grotesque.

“I don’t need heightened senses to know that’s a bunch of bullshit, Matt.” You joke, dryly. Matt chuckles. 

You hear the voices of your concerned friends flash throughout your head. Whispers of, “He’s such an asshole.” and “He doesn’t value your time.” float in your mind. While, yes, they were right, Matt was never one to make it fair. How could you turn away a man who was near death? You weren’t religious, at least anymore, but it felt like a cardinal sin to turn him away. You knew Matt well enough to know he wasn’t going to the hospital. You knew he was Daredevil. He couldn’t keep the secret long enough. You were suspicious enough to snoop, and he was careless enough to leave evidence out in your old, shared apartment. You tried your best to plead with him and tell him that this “vigilante bullshit” was going to kill him, but with the way he talked, he seemed like he already accepted it. You couldn’t stay to watch it happen.

“Come in.” You say, defeated. You grab the first-aid kit that lays beneath your coat rack. Maybe a part of you knows you can’t get rid of Matt, and maybe an even smaller part of you isn’t ready to let go of him.

You assemble your usual “fuck-ass Matt Murdock first-aid kit”, as you like to call it. Matt never comments on the name. Gauze, stitches, gloves, adhesive bandages, and more are splayed all over your living room coffee table. Matt sits on the couch, after you frantically place a towel over it. You’ve done this way too many times to make the same mistakes. Like that one time he left a suspiciously large blood stain on your couch. You’re lucky Matt’s a lawyer, and that you were somehow able to get that stain out - with enough patience and peroxide.

You kneel in front of Matt and peel his blood-stained shirt off his stomach. You can never forget the invasive smell of blood thanks to Matt. You wipe the wet blood with an old rag. He hisses as his sensitive cuts are brushed over with the rough rag.

“Easy.” he whispers. You don’t respond. Your mind is filled with all the things you want to say to this douche, but your tongue can’t bring itself to move.

“I know you’re mad,” Matt says, “Your heartbeat is racing.”

“You’re being intrusive.” You mumble.

“I’m not being intrusive, I can’t help it. You know that.” He retorts. You place gauze on a cut, and start prepping your stitches. You’re not a nurse - you attempted nursing school, but you dropped out 2 years in - so this process never gets any less nerve-wracking. You struggle on getting the thread through the needle. Matt winces and looks away.

As you finally get the stitch ready, Matt attempts to grab your hand to squeeze. “It helps him handle the pain”, he likes to say. You swat his hand away.

“Need both hands.” You say, as you always do. Your obvious lack of care never discourages Matt. He’ll do this the next time he stumbles in your apartment. You start to dig the needle into Matt’s skin, and he reacts by gripping the couch’s arm rest. He bares his teeth, hissing with every poke and prod of his skin.

“You’re not being gentle.” He comments.

“Stop talking.” You spit out.

“Look, I know I’m an asshole, but can’t you go easy on me?” Matt pleads. You ignore his comments, as you have to stay focused.

After finishing the first stitch, you look at Matt. “You are an asshole. And you’re lucky I’m dumb enough to help you.” You say. Matt lets out an entertained huff. 

“I guess I am lucky.” He says. He smiles enough to show his eye crinkles. You always loved his eye crinkles, so you force yourself to look away.

You finish the other two stitches Matt needed, and bandage everything up. Your hands are covered in Matt’s blood, a sight you see far too often. You scrub your hands raw in your kitchen sink, determined to get the blood off your hands. The water is scorching hot. The steam fills the air. Matt lingers around you, his hands grazing your old, shared apartment kitchen.

Matt wants to say something. It’s written all over his stupid, beautiful face. He chews on his lip for a second, thinking about how to open up the conversation.

“I still think about your banana bread.” Matt says, trying his best to get his words out before you inevitably cut him off. “I always ask for banana bread with chocolate chips now.” Your head drops and you let out a sigh. It was the phase of the night where Matt reminisces on the past. Your banana bread was always heavily praised by Matt. When the two of you were together, you were appalled to find out Matt had never tried chocolate chip banana bread before. You would make it for him frequently when you were with him, and you would add sugar on the top so it would have a nice crunch. You realize Matt’s getting what he wanted: for you to reminisce on the past. 

“We’re not doing this again.” You say.

“Doing what?” Matt feigns ignorance. You wipe your hands off violently with a towel. Your hands are red, and you can’t tell if it’s from his blood or from how rough you scrubbed your hands.

“What do you think is going to happen if you try to make me remember the past? That I’m going to remember everything good about our relationship and I’m going to run back to you?” You questioned.

Matt shakes his head. “I’m sorry. I just missed you, that’s all-” Before Matt could finish his sentence, you cut him off by lightly chuckling.

“No. No, you don’t.” You grin while cleaning your bloody countertop.

It’s times like these where you wish you could hear Matt’s heartbeat, or smell the sweat beading and falling on his head. It’s unfair he can do all that but you can’t. You just have to watch how his face moves, but it never does. It’s always impossible to read him. You knew that Matt could see through your brash attitude. You knew he could hear your heart beating from out your chest, and that he could sense your throat closing up from all the anxiety. It wasn’t fair.

“You’re giving me a hard time.” Matt says, after a period of silence.

“Yeah, I am. You think I don’t deserve it?” You argued.

“I think that I don’t deserve it.” Matt responds. Positive self-talk. You purse your lips.

“What, you got a therapist now?” You ask, bluntly. Matt didn’t seem like the type to go to therapy, with his whole “independent-and-self-isolating” thing going on.

“Slept with a therapist. About the same thing.” Matt shrugs. You let yourself laugh. Thinking about Matt with other women wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to think about, but it would be the mature thing to do to not make a deal about it.

After a moment, Matt takes a breath before saying, “I could only think of you. When I was with her.”

“Oh, Jesus, Matt.” You cringe at his words. “God, that’s awful.”

“I’m sorry, I-” Matt responds through small awkward laughs before he suddenly clutches his side in pain. “Ah, fuck!” He yelps.

“Matt?” You rush to him, faster than you’d like to admit. Matt’s shirt is slowly stained by a new stream of blood. “I think one of the stitches ripped.” Matt mutters.

“Fuck.” You whisper. Again, you weren’t a nurse. You were only Matt Murdock’s next best option. It seems as though you didn’t tie the knot in his last stitch tight enough. It had unraveled. You’re quick to tie it back together. You’re quiet and focused, at least more than you were before. As much as the sight of Matt fills you with unbridled rage, you couldn’t bear to see him in pain. It makes you angry how much you care for this asshole.

You finish re-tying the stitch knot, and your hands are covered in blood again. At least it wasn’t as much as last time. You wash your hands again in silence, and Matt is left to watch you. He does just that, watching your every move.

His presence is suffocating. He’s this reminder of your past. Of what you would let slide, or of what bullshit you would do for love.

You want to say so much to him, but something’s always held you back. Maybe it was your desire to always be the bigger person. It was the smart thing to do, but it was never the satisfying thing.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed out there, Matt.” You say, finally. Matt looks up. He hears your steady heartbeat. You’ve had this conversation with him before. How hypocritical of you. To yell at Matt for bringing up the past but replaying this conversation, for old times sake.

“You know why I do what I do.” Matt says, flatly.

“You’re ignoring my sentiment.” You say.

“You know me well enough to know I’m not going to stop.”

“You know me well enough to know I can’t watch you kill yourself.”

Matt and you sit in the silence. Matt lets out an amused huff, smiling to himself. You and Matt were different. It’s clear why you two didn’t work out. Every problem in your relationship stemmed from the fact that Matt had to live his life as Daredevil.

A long pause passes.

“I still love you.” Matt drops. Jesus. “God, Matt.”

You shut your eyes and let that weird, awful feeling in your chest simmer. This was new from him. Usually, when he crashes half-dead in your home, he’ll leave after you force him out. Maybe you should’ve showed him on his way out before he even got the chance to ruin your night. Well, maybe you should’ve never dated this nightmare in the first place. But you can’t beat yourself up about that. As much as you criticise Matt, you loved him at one point. He gave you some of the best years of your life. Until he let Daredevil consume him.

“I don’t want to let you go.” Matt adds, pleading. He takes his glasses off, placing them on the countertop. He reaches for your hand, and you’re too much in your own head to stop him from grabbing it. He places your hand on his chest. His heartbeat is steady. That bastard isn’t lying.

“Please don’t stay silent. Say something, please.” Matt whispers, as he looks at you, pushing a thick strand of hair behind your ear. You nearly crumble at the soft touches. Matt has a way of making you forget. You would’ve forgotten about all the shitty lies and gaslighting if Matt would just spend a single night with you. At one point, you would’ve even forgiven Matt for all the bullshit. That was another power Matt had. Not just the heightened senses.

“I can’t fucking stand you.” You laugh. You’re not sure when these small tears fell from your eyes, but Matt was quick to wipe them away. He holds your face in his hands. You try your best not to forget about everything he ever did and take him back right then and there. You really hated the effect he had on you.

“And the worst part is..” You start. “I know you’re not going to stop coming to me to patch you up. And I know I’m not going to stop helping you. You don’t make it fair, Matt.”

“I know. I’m sorry, baby.” He says, in that low voice that always got you.

“Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry.” He says, while he finally lets go of you. Maybe he’s starting to get it through his thick head that this is over. No matter how much he begs and pleads.

You clear your throat and straighten your posture. “Get it together," you remind yourself.

“I should go. Thank you. For everything.” Matt says, as he grabs his glasses and heads for the door.

“Right.” You manage to mutter.

As Matt heads for the door, he stops as he opens it. “I’ll find someone else.”

“Someone else for what?”

“To deal with my shit.” He says, mainly pertaining to his medical care. However, a small part of him is referring to him. All of his baggage. It was clear you were trying your absolute fucking best to move on. As much as Matt wants to rip all of it down and make you take him back, so he could relive the best part of his life, he couldn’t do that to you. He’ll go and ruin someone else’s life.

You watch him let go of you. It was what you wanted, in theory, but you couldn’t ignore the haunting feeling in your stomach trying to claw its way out. Him leaving meant it was really over. As much as you put up this careless facade, Matt leaving would mean you would actually have to move on. You could no longer simply pretend that his absence didn’t bother you, since he was never truly gone. The sinking feeling of change started to terrify you.

All of this time you’ve spent trying to be the bigger person; maybe it was time to be selfish, and take a page out of Matt’s book.

“I still love you too.” You say. Matt looks at you, his face blank, shocked at your transparency. He laughs.

“You’re right. That does feel fucking awful. I’m a pretty shitty person, aren’t I?” Matt chuckles, awkwardly.

“Yeah.” You nod while letting out an amused breath.

You start to chew on your lip. You’re preparing yourself to be brave, to stand up for yourself. It wouldn’t be fair to Matt if he didn’t know why you couldn’t let yourself back with him. Although, he should already know why, at this point.

“Matt.”

“Yeah?”

“Your need to save others is killing you. Daredevil is stripping you of your life. You lie constantly to the people who love you. You give up time you could spend with others to beat people up instead. You ghost the people you love. You’re so willing to give yourself for others and yet you get confused when others try to give themselves for you. I will always admire your cause, caring and saving others because the system can’t do it themselves. But it’s just not realistic. You’re going to die. Some evil bastard is going to get you quicker than you can react. You’re not God. What if you’re too reckless and I’m not there to watch you die?”

You let yourself ramble, for once. Matt doesn’t say anything. How could he? No one would be able to react to that. Matt fiddles with the door handle, and the hinges squeak in an awful way. Maybe he does it so something else can fill his mind, so that he doesn’t have to think about what you said. Classic Matt, trying to avoid facing his personal problems, head-on.

Matt’s quiet. You made him nervous, and you can’t lie, it feels good. You swear you could hear Matt’s heartbeat. Finally, Matt breaks his silence.

“I’ll call you when it happens. So you’ll have enough time to come see me.” Matt says. He’s joking, in a time like this. You take a deep breath in.

“I’ll just have to hope that that’s true.” You say. No use in wishing Matt could take things seriously for once.

Another excruciating silence. Matt knew this would have to be the last visit. He couldn’t handle the way your eyes would dilate when you felt like crying. He couldn’t stand the way the air smelled when your salty tears filled the room. You and Matt sat in the moment.

“I love you.” Matt says, after a minute of silence.

“I love you too.” You say back.

“I’ll see you.”

“See you.”

Matt shuts the door. You’re glad he shut the door when he did. You bury your face in your hands and weep. The agonizing silence surrounds you. God, you want to throw up.

[gaycentral]

Confession

Summary: In the heat of the moment, JJ confesses her love for Spencer despite being married. Spencer has a confession of his own.

@delusionaldeadgirl @yomamacrusty

Warnings: Uhhhh JJ’s kind of a jerk in this (sorry JJ ily but you shouldn’t have done that when you’re married), kinda suggestive for a second there but nothing happens? Spencer gets mean for a second there, Protective Husband Mode (tm) I clearly don’t know how to write relationships please be nice to me.

Things had been…tense, to say the least. JJ still wondered why she’d done it, she was a married woman, she had kids. She loved Will, no doubt about it, but Spencer?

Spencer was different. She’d known him for a decade now, and even after everything he’d gone through, he was still him, even if changed. Brilliant and kind, gentle and warm and unbelievably loving. He had so much love to give, and he held it inside, a tight ball in his chest that seemed ready to burst.

Perhaps that’s why she did it. She wanted some of that love from him. It was foolish, she knew that, it was selfish. It was unfair to Will, to Spencer, to herself. But, much to her own dismay, she didn’t care. She wanted so desperately to hear him say it back, to take her in his arms, to hold her and love her the way she’d always wanted him to, even if it wasn’t realistic.

But she still hoped.

“JJ.” Spencer’s usual soft cadence broke the tense silence of the break room as he stood in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched and his eyes trained intently on her. JJ felt her heart speed up. Was this it? Was her outlandish fantasy not so outlandish after all? She watched him, absorbed him. His big brown eyes as he gazed at her, the familiar pinch in his brow, his messy curls that always looked so unfairly soft.

Spencer took a few steps forward, but he didn’t get as close as she wanted him to, maintaining a respectful distance, and JJ felt the familiar ache of yearning. Closer, she begged internally. Please.

“Yes?” She finally opted as a response, the glint in her eyes betraying the growing feeling of excitement. She knew Spencer quite well, or she thought she did, and he certainly seemed nervous. Nervous enough for a confession.

“I have something to tell you.” Spencer finally said, one of his hands pulling something she couldn’t see from under his collar, attached to the chain of a necklace, and rubbing his thumb over it in a self-soothing motion. “I should have told you before.”

This was it, JJ thought to herself, her inner voice was almost squealing with excitement. Her breath caught in anticipation, and a smile began to grow on her face.

“I know.” She said, perhaps rather presumptuously, too impatient for him to say it, and she said those oh-so-dangerous words once again. “I love you too.”

The air hung between them for a moment, and when Spencer didn’t say it back, JJ’s smile began to fade. Oh no. Was she too presumptuous? Was Spencer not ready to say it? Had she ruined everything? Oh god, what if he was already in a relationship?

“No.” Spencer shook his head, a frown creasing his features in a way that made JJ’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “JJ, I’m married.”

JJ’s heart stopped. Her worst fear confirmed. No. No…that didn’t make sense, where was the ring? She’d never met his spouse, he’d never spoken of them. Was this a trick? A lie? Surely he was kidding. He’d break out into his infectious smile and say it back, any time now.

“I’ve been married for years. And I love them more than anything.” His hand opened and he showed JJ the wedding ring, noticing her bewilderment. “I wear it around my neck so I don’t lose it. It’s easier to hide from prying eyes that way.”

JJ felt as though she were listening to him speak underwater, her head swimming with confusion, with anger, with grief. No, no, no. This wasn’t fair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted something for myself.” Spencer’s face was still marred by a frown, and he tucked the ring necklace back under his collar. “You’re not entitled to know about every part of my life.”

It wasn’t fair to him, but this made JJ angrier, and she began to speak before thinking. “Who is it? Some…some stand in for me? I know you felt something for me once! They’re just a replacement because you couldn’t have me!”

To say Spencer was shocked by her outburst was the understatement of the century. The gentleness and patience he often associated with JJ had seemingly vanished, morphing into bitterness, lashing out from embarrassment and jealousy.

JJ looked past Spencer for a moment, and locked eyes with you. You. Of course. How had she been so blind? Of course it was you who had snatched Spencer up, who’d taken his affection for yourself.

You were staring her down, brow furrowed deeply and gaze sharp with a glare. You’d been listening in. Spencer had told you he wanted to deal with this on his own, and you respected his wishes…but that didn’t mean you weren’t weighing the consequences of throwing your stapler at her.

“They’re not a replacement.” That rare, dangerous edge to Spencer’s voice made it’s return, this time directed at JJ, which had never happened before. “I had a crush on you, what, ten years ago? That’s all. That’s it. Nothing more.”

He stepped closer to JJ, brow deeply furrowed and a darkness in his eyes that made her shrink, her insults dying in her throat.

“I’m a patient man, so I’ll only warn you once. Don’t ever talk about them like that again. You don’t want to find out what will happen the next time.”

The mosh frightening part was that his threat could be entirely genuine. Prison had changed him, rage festered in him like a disease, a rage that hadn’t existed before. And he was clever, so very clever, he didn’t need to lay a finger on JJ to hurt her. He never would.

Spencer abruptly left the break room, storming out of the bullpen, and you quickly followed, too worried about him to bother giving JJ one last withering glare. Although it did cross your mind.

It took a bit of searching, but you found him in the men’s bathroom. His hands clutched the counter, his tie loose, his head hung over the sink. You frown, hearing his deep breaths as he tried to calm himself.

You slowly approach before wrapping your arms around his waist from behind, and he meets your gaze in the mirror, his muscles noticeably relaxing beneath your hold, his grip on the counter loosening as lets out a heavy sigh.

He turns in your arms until he can hold you properly, his chin resting atop your head, the two of you gently swaying side to side as you hold each other. His eyes slip closed in a moment of peace, and he dips his head slightly to press a kiss to your forehead.

“So…you threatened JJ for me?” Despite the question, you keep your tone playful, trying to lighten the mood and you hear Spencer groan.

“You heard that?” He mumbled, shame causing his cheeks to burn. He knew he’d stepped over a line, and he regretted it, but a part of him didn’t. A part of him thought it was deserved.

“Yup. And I know I shouldn’t encourage that, but it was very sweet that you stood up for me…and a bit of a turn on. Just so you know.” Not letting go of him, you tilt your head up to meet his eyes, smiling up at him, taking joy in his surprised laugh and the way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“I suppose I’ll have to keep that in mind.” His tone was warm, affectionate, watching you intently as you straightened his tie for him, the grin fading into a soft smile.

“You know that JJ was wrong, right? None of that stuff she said is true.” He worried that maybe you’d taken her words to heart—or worse, that it was something you truly believed long before today.

“I know.” You smile up at him, hands moving from his tie to rest on his chest, the fabric of his suit jacket smooth beneath your palms. “You gonna be okay?”

“I’ll be alright.” Spencer assured you, but his fingers curled lightly around your wrists, pulling you back into him, placing a soft kiss on your lips before resting his cheek on top of your head. “I’d just like to stay like this for a few more minutes.”

“I can work with that.”

[yourislandgirl]

*:ꔫ:*ₓₒ RAMEN RESOLUTIONS ˚ ༘♡ੈ✩ || 이히승 x fem!reader || drabble

— KISS ME, DON’T SAY NO series

summary: sometimes all you need is someone who tries, because they love you. heeseung was your someone, and he’d move mountains to prove it . or make you some ramen.. rain check on the mountains

genres: fluff, romance, non-idol!heeseung x non-idol!reader, est. relationship

warnings: attempts at humour, pet names, the smallest hint of angst, heeseung’s poor choice in skincare

w.c: 1k

[archive]

You were extremely annoyed.

Last night was… a mess. And you didn’t even have the time to ruminate on it since your day started off late — you missed your bus, you had to take an uber to campus, you made a stupid mistake on your quiz and lost three marks because of it, and to top it all off you had to walk home in the rain because you forgot to check the weather forecast for the afternoon.

You were cold, shivering a little, hair sticking to your forehead, damp and kinda gross. It was an odd feeling to be sweating while the weather was so cold but it couldn’t be helped as you rushed into your apartment, only stopping to finally take a breath when you entered the elevator.

You leaned against the elevator walls, pushing your hair off of your cheeks. There was no way today could get worse.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket and as you pulled it out, you took a deep breath in. Heeseung’s bright smile graced your screen, the name ‘Hee-man🧍‍♂️’ at the top.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself. It was bracing, those tense three seconds where you wait whilst deciding whether to pick up the phone or let it keep ringing. Truth be told, you loved your boyfriend, you loved him to the ends of the earth, but after such a shitty fight the night before, followed by such a shitty day, well…

You exhaled, and answered the call.

“Hi,” your voice was soft.

“Hey.”

You felt your stomach flip. Two years and you still could not control that reaction every time you heard his voice.

more under cut !!

Heeseung sighed before continuing, “Look, I know you had long classes today, and I know all you wanna do is just relax but… I was hoping we could talk?”

“Um,” you glanced at the number on the elevators monitor, your floor was next. “Okay, yeah, okay.” It was like you were trying to convince yourself that it would be alright. “It’s just that, I only just got home.”

“That’s fine,” Heeseung chuckled, “I’m at your apartment.”

You froze, almost forgetting to get off the elevator as the door opened. “I- what?”

It was like you could see Heeseung shrugging as he went “Mhm, I was hoping you’d say yes.”

“A bit presumptuous, huh?”

“I like to think it’s because I know you so well,” he chuckled.

You slowed down your pace, a few steps away from your door.

It was never fun to fight with him, the few fights you’ve had you’d resolved quickly, but last night was different. It was the first time either of you went to bed without fixing things. But even in the midst of nerves and the buzzing sensation from how overstimulated you were from your day, Heeseung had managed to calm you down in about five seconds.

You really wanted to fix things. And you hoped that’s what he wanted too.

As you stepped through the threshold of your door, you smiled at the warmth that filled your home.

He’d turned the heater on in the living room, he was listening to the playlist you made for him and he was… in the kitchen?

“What are you doing?” You dropped your bag and coat on the dining table chairs, unclipping your hair to start drying it.

Heeseung smirked, glancing up from the cutting board. “Ramyeon,” he said, simply using his thumb to gesture behind him at your stove. A copper pot sat on top with a delicious, spicy scent wafting out. Heeseung carefully added some small squares of fish cakes before turning down the heat to let it simmer.

You leaned against the counter, observing his movements as he let out an awkward cough, shuffling a little closer to you.

“I, uh… I know that there are a few things we need to talk about and, um, I want to sit down and properly explain my side and hear your side and just…”

You held his hand, stopping him from waving them around in a frenzy as he tried to find the words to explain what you already knew. “I get it,” you whispered. “You wanna work this out.”

Heeseung gave your hand a squeeze, a silent confirmation.

The relief that washed over you was worth every nitty gritty annoyance that you went through today.

“It was just some miscommunication, baby.” Heeseung pulled you closer by your waist. “I didn’t like how we left it last night so, I figured I’d do something nice, let you know that I’m sorry for that. And maybe we could just eat some ramyeon together and I can help you relax before we talk about this?”

You fought the smile but it slowly bloomed on your face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” he shrugged. “But just because we had a fight doesn’t mean we don’t love each other, right?”

You nodded, burying your face into his chest. “You’re right,” you whispered, your voice muffled by the material of his shirt.

Heeseung pulled back a little, his eyes darting down and back up, holding himself back from leaning closer.

He settled his gaze on your lips. “I wanna kiss you right now.” The heat of his breath brushed against your cheeks.

You didn’t trust your voice to respond, opting to lean closer, closing your eyes and melting into his touch.

Heeeseung hands slid up your arm, reaching to cup your face, smiling into the kiss. It felt that much more special to know the love you shared wasn’t dependent on good moods and easy going days. Heeseung gave you the freedom to feel and the agency to express every emotion. Willing to slow down and solve the issue together because your love isn’t something finite. Heeseung made you feel worthy of asking for that love, he made you feel worthy of accepting that love, even when you weren’t at your best self.

“We’ll be alright,” he murmured against your hairline.

You giggled under your breath, before screwing your eyes shut. “Oh, babe… Your fingers smell like fish cakes.”

“But you love fish cakes.”

“Not as skin care!”

a.n: first instalment of the ‘kiss me don’t say no’ drabble series !! welcome to the month of love everyone <333

taglist: @oceanstide — @sheepsgf — @itsrinsdrs — @enjakey — @rynnest

2025 © yourislandgirl

[prettyiwa]

(Previous) Relationship: Sakura Haruka x Florist!Reader Content Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Grief, Insecurity, Affirmation of friendship, Food as a love language, (kinda?) Napping together, Casual (+ Platonic) affection, Mentions of drinking together Summary: About twenty minutes before everyone was supposed to meet you at your house for lunch, Sakura texted saying he wouldn't be able to come. The moment Nirei told you it was because he had a loss in the family, you knew you wanted to be there for him. Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: This was a little tricky for me because I, being a canon-compliant bitch to the end, don't know the actual relationship between the people in Sakura's memories from ch. 172. Florist also doesn't know and it doesn't matter because Sakura's relationship with his grief would be complicated regardless and he likely wouldn't want to talk too much about it. As someone still dealing with grief (even years later) this was a little cathartic for me, and I hope it's that way for you, too. This chapter is sponsored by my wonderful ability to fuck up the omurice flip ✌ Very grateful to be able to tag @owoasis and @kweenkatsuki-fics 💜💜

Additionally, I think Sakura would still try to maintain his fighting skills for security (in addition to other skills he's picked up since joining Furin), so I gave him multiple, alternating jobs: day security/waiting with Roppo-Ichiza/Keisei Street and night security in the pub district.

Nerves eat at you as you raise your fist, tendrils of anxiety unfurling from your heart, twisting and clawing its way down your limbs as you rap against the door labeled 201, finding no response from the doorbell. There’s been this weight in your chest since you first received his text, twenty minutes before you were all supposed to meet at your house for lunch. You’d planned to check on him after entertaining the other two, but…

The door opens and Sakura greets you with wide eyes, brows pinched together in some mix of confusion and worry while his mouth opens, inhale shaky, dressed similarly to when he helped with the weddings. Did you interrupt him on his way out? Suo and Nirei both reassured you he’d be home today.

“Hey.” It doesn’t even sound like your voice, detached and foreign as you reassess whether you made the right move coming here. Was it too presumptuous? “Did you just come from the service?”

His brow furrows, leveling out the uneasy arches, and he shakes his head. “No. What’re you doin’ here?” Despite his expression, his voice lacks the bite you’ve come to expect from that question.

He sounds lost, not unlike how you feel.

Truth is, as soon as Nirei blurted out Sakura’s reason for canceling, you wanted to come. Them encouraging the impulse was all the okay you needed before you rescheduled lunch altogether. (They both assured you it was more than okay, but you still feel bad).

“I… don’t know.” His eyes drop to your hands, expression unchanging though you know he’s curious. “Ah, I brought… food. And sake, but mostly food. I can… I can leave it with you if you have somewhere to go or if you don’t want me—”

“No. And I’m not… I’m stayin’ here.” As he remains stock still in the doorway, unable to look up from your hands, you don’t know whether he wants you to stay or leave the food with him. He comes to a moment later, startling as his eyes jump to yours, looking more wet than before as he steps aside. “Uh… C’mon in.”

It’s not until you’re moving past him that he shuffles back in the small space, pressing him against the wall to make room for you like he can’t quite believe you’re in his apartment. Nudging the door shut with your elbow, you feel his attention on you, and you slip off your shoes, remembering the way nothing felt real after your grandfather died. Is it similar for him?

To the left is a kitchenette with its counters empty, save for the remnants of instant ramen packaging and empty water bottles. It reminds you of your first college dorm a little, but the simplicity suits him. Setting down the bags, you begin tidying, maneuvering through his space with ease.

Footsteps approach, and looking over your shoulder shows him nearing, hands halfway up in a partial attempt to get your attention. “You don’t have to—” His voice is distant and the lack of blush tells you more than you think he knows.

“No, but I want to.”

It freezes him where he stands and the way he looks at you—it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him and thought he looked small. He looks… vulnerable. If you two were better friends, you’d probably hug him right now, but you aren’t. You don’t know what kind of comfort he needs, what you could offer to help. So you focus on the tangible.

“Have you eaten?” To your right, you spot his chabudai through the open door, though there’s no sign of the ramen belonging to the empty packaging. When you receive no answer from him, you turn.

“Had some ramen earlier.”

“When was ‘earlier?’”

Suddenly unable to meet your eyes, he looks away. How much of his languor is grief and how much of it is not taking care of physical needs? It doesn’t matter. His silence tells you it’s been longer than it should’ve been.

“Well then. I think you’ll be happy with the spread.”

“Wait, what about lunch?” There’s a hint of urgency to his question, almost as if he’s remembering what you had planned for the day.

Turning back to the bags, you start unloading them, letting him see the different containers. He comes next to you and you glance over, watching as whatever protestations he had evaporate. “I brought it. Suo and Nirei both agreed to reschedule when we could all eat together. Go sit down. I’ll bring it over.”

He obliges, eyes lingering on the food before turning around. It must’ve been longer than he’s used to since he ate. As you open his cabinets in search of plates, you come across your vase, cleaned and tucked away on the shelf above. Smiling to yourself, you set everything up, a light fluttering behind your ribs (whether because of his interest in your food or the care he gave your gift, you aren’t sure). Even still, you hesitate in setting a space for you, something he invariably notices. Anxiety eats at you again, wondering whether you’re imposing, whether he’s comfortable sharing this grief with you.

“What’re you doing?”

“Sakura… I—” When you meet his stare, you’re surprised by its intensity. “I haven’t imposed on you at all, have I?” The question feels wrong as it comes out.

“The hell are you talkin’ about?”

“Would you like me to stay?” you try again, phrasing it differently.

His gaze softens before it seems like he’s seeing through you. After a beat, his eyes fall to the table and he says, “If you want. Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me.”

Clicking his tongue against his teeth, he remains unable to look at you. His stomach rumbles audibly and he ducks his head, that familiar bit of embarrassment poking through. Still, he doesn’t move to enjoy the food laid out before him and you read between the lines. Even with his propensity toward obliging requests, he wouldn’t have let you in if he truly felt you were unwelcome. He wouldn’t be sitting here, not eating, if he didn’t want you to join him.

When you start making your space beside him, he relaxes, shoulders no longer hunched, posture turning casual. Lowering yourself and tucking your legs beneath you, you grab your chopsticks, waiting for him to look at you.

“I’ll stay.”

The tips of his ears turn pink, but he doesn’t look away, allowing you to see the gratitude that pools in his eyes.

“Let’s eat.”

Satisfied you’re not going anywhere, he dives in, wasting no time in trying the dish closest to him. It isn’t until he gives an appreciative hum that you join him.

“So this is what you finally decided to make, huh?” he asks between bites, eyes flickering from the food to you. He seems more grounded now, closer to the Sakura you’ve come to know.

“Hm?”

“It’s… It’s good.”

The compliment sets off a wave of fluttering in your gut before you remember earlier in the week.

When you asked Nirei if he had a meal preference, he promised you he’d be happy with whatever you offered them. The same question to Suo resulted in his usual evasiveness until he told you he’d enjoy whatever Sakura requested. And Sakura gave you reluctance before supplying you with the same noncommittal answer as Nirei. He stopped answering your messages when you threatened to ask Kotoha, instead showing up to walk you home from work at the end of the day, wanting to talk in person. Omurice, he admitted, one of the dishes you’d have to practice before sharing with someone else, but his excitement at your promise to learn guaranteed that you’d serve omurice the next time you’d have them over.

All of that feels so long ago, even though it was only Monday.

“Yeah, I think I wanted to show off a bit after everything,” you say, chuckling to yourself.

Swallowing, he takes a moment to look at the spread before looking at you again. “You can make all this but you can’t make omurice?”

When you laugh, you catch the corner of his lips quirking. “I think you underestimate that flip.” He doesn’t need to know how many times you’ve had failed omurice for dinner over the last week.

“Where’d ya even learn how to do all this?”

“My great uncle has a restaurant in the next city. After my grandfather died, he came around to help and ended up teaching me and my brother a bit.”

“A bit?” he asks, raising a brow as he looks at the now half empty dishes.

“A bit. I mean, it’s not restaurant quality in the least.”

Shrugging, he grabs his water, twisting off the lid. “I think it tastes great.” He takes a swig from his water and you take a moment to appreciate his praise, feeling more than seeing when he grows somber once more. “The others. They didn’t… They were okay with putting lunch off?”

When you had opened the door earlier, concern weighed down the atmosphere for everyone. It was enough that even Suo’s mask was slipping. The moment you asked after Sakura, it came spilling from Nirei’s lips, and as soon as you expressed interest in seeing him, the address was already being sent to your phone.

“More than okay. I’m a little surprised they didn’t join me.”

His eyes shift to the right, not wanting to meet yours, and his shoulders lift slightly. “They… came ‘round yesterday.” As you nod, his shoulders lower on a sigh, relaxing when he reaches for more food. Before he plops it on his waiting tongue, he hesitates. “Did… Did they tell you to come?”

There’s something undecipherable in his question, a quiver you never thought you’d hear from him. “Not quite. I… I wanted to and Nirei encouraged me. He’s the one who gave me your address.”

As much as you want to check his reaction, you’re struck by the memory of when you and your brother tried taming the neighborhood cat. Each time you tried to pet it and called out to it, it’d run. It wasn’t until you stopped looking that it approached, nudging your hand on its own terms. So you keep your attention on what remains of the food, catching only a slight nod in your periphery before he begins chewing.

You want to ask him about it—how he’s doing, whether there’s anything you can do to ease his burden—but you get the sense that you’re doing it. He seems livelier than twenty minutes ago, seems better with some honest food in him. Perhaps all he needs is some semblance of normalcy.

“Did you know they got me an orange tree?”

Freezing beside you, his mouth falls open before processing your question. “Oh. They actually went through with that?”

“Did you all talk about it?” You figured the tree was Suo’s idea given its meaning (especially compared to other fruit trees and their potential blossoms), so it surprises you to know that Sakura was in on it, too.

When your eyes meet his, he looks away, though you notice a brief shimmer of gold, almost as though assessing whether you’re actually looking at him. “You were sayin’ that you didn’t have much time and you wanted to do more with your garden. Maybe a fruit tree or somethin’ and I thought you might… I dunno.”

“So it was you?” You’ve mentioned the garden to the group in passing, but you’ve only brought up the desire for a fruit tree with Sakura.

“It wasn’t,” he denies, leaning forward, the tiniest bit of pink appearing on his face. “Suo’s the one who said an orange tree would be best! If you wanna blame someone—”

“I don’t want to blame anyone,” you laugh, watching as he slumps forward. (If that’s the case, you’re glad Suo didn’t recommend a cherry tree). “I wanted to thank you. I look forward to planting it.”

Tilting his head, black hair falls over his white, and he peeks up at you through a tired, stormy blue eye, observing you as you get up to clear the table. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that falls isn’t as oppressive, as suffocating as when you first arrived. No longer does he look like he’s caught in the limbo of his grief. As you clean off the table, he comes forward, leaning on it with exhaustion you’ve only seen a handful of times. Resting his hand in the palm of his hand, he watches as you clean the dishes and you’re glad he’s rooted in place. For him to not offer (not that you’d allow him to), he must be truly exhausted. Before joining him again, you open your second bag, revealing the plants of the day.

Setting the potted bamboo on the windowsill, you bring the chrysanthemum and China aster to the table. Sakura straightens when you do, eyeing the flowers with brief recognition. Typically a funeral flower, you only brought one, more in respect to his grief than anything. And the aster? More a promise to him, even if he doesn’t know its meaning.

When you sit, you keep your legs to the side, bringing you closer to Sakura than intended, though he doesn’t seem to mind, still focused on the flowers.

“How’ve you been sleeping?”

“W-What?” He turns to look at you, brows knitting together in confusion before he realizes your proximity.

“Have you been sleeping okay?” Leaning in slightly, you notice the circles beneath his eyes and the subtle red that you doubt is indicative of tears shed (though you can’t be certain).

“I-I’ve been fine! Don’t worry about it.”

“But I am worried about it. When my grandfather died, I… Sleep was hard to come by.”

He sniffs, looking away, though he shifts his position, getting more comfortable. “It’s been fine. M-Maybe I’ve been waking up more.”

“Yeah, that’s common.” When he shifts his weight to his left arm, he’s close enough that you can feel the heat from his body. “I could bring chamomile tea if that would help.” With how quickly he turns at the suggestion of you leaving (even if tucked inside the idea of returning), you feel the truth of his isolation right now. When you don’t move, don’t do anything but watch with patience, he calms, though that vulnerability is still present. “Do you want to try to take a nap?”

“What, together?!” He leans away from you, red shooting up from his neck, covering his entire face.

“Together. Not. Sometimes having someone next to you can help sleep.”

“I-It’s too bright out to sleep,” he says a little too quickly.

“You say that like we can’t close the curtains.”

If possible, his flush deepens, deep crimson, a shade you’ve never seen from him before. He sputters and pushes himself away until his knee knocks against the table. “Th-That’d—! P-P-People might get the wrong idea—!”

Raising both palms in surrender, you lean back, trying your damnedest not to laugh. “Do many people peep through your windows? It might be time to look into moving.” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “We don’t have to. I only wanted to suggest it as an option.”

Bringing his knee up, he drapes his arm over it, using it to bury his face until only his eyes are peeking over his elbow. Never looking away from you, it feels like he’s waiting to hear your next suggestion. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he’s horrified at the prospect of napping together or even laying beside you. Perhaps…

“Are you familiar with quiet wakefulness?”

“Huh? What’s that?” he mumbles, tracking the way you tilt your head until it’s almost resting on your right shoulder.

“Usually it’s done by simply laying down with our eyes closed with the intent to rest. It’s been found to help with stress and mood. I mean, it’s not as good as sleep, but it still helps keep us sharp, you know? Better than nothing and all.”

“Oh.”

“Do you want to try that instead?”

Looking down, his right lashes contrast against his pale cheeks. “Dunno. I’ve… I haven’t really taken a nap since I was a kid. Don’t remember how.”

There’s a flash of gold as you sigh, his eyes trained on you once more as you anticipate similar pushback for your next suggestion. “Do you want… You can rest your head on my shoulder if that might help? It’s fine if you don’t want to. I just… I want you to feel comfortable.”

This is how you’ve been useful in the past. When your maternal grandmother died, when your best friend’s father died, when your paternal grandfather died. You brought food, made sure they were drinking water, and you helped them sleep. It’s how you know how to be useful, but it only works if they’re receptive to it. Food and water is enough.

His golden eye turns vibrant again as pink dominates his face once more, but his gaze never wavers. You hear him swallow before speaking, voice cracking when he does. “Are you sure?”

With the barest of nods, you relax again, getting comfortable before growing still. Slowly, with exceeding care, he loosens up, incrementally coming closer until he goes stiff, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

“Could— D-D’you think… you could close your eyes?” Again, his voice is small, and you find it impossible to deny him.

“Of course.” You oblige, listening to the rustling of his clothes as he makes his way over. The air around you changes, tense, nervous, and you hear shaky, shallow breaths before feeling the heat of them on your shoulder. His hesitation is palpable, the distance between you two electric, but enough to know that he waits, afraid to come closer.

“We don’t have to do this—”

“Just— Sh-Shut up, will you?” The words come out like a plea, breathy and strained. A weight comes to rest on your shoulder, though it’s significantly lighter than you expected. “N-Now what?”

“Close your eyes and try resting.”

His exhale is shaky, uncertain, but you don’t want to ask or reassure again (you’re starting to worry that it’s only making his anxiety worse). Focusing inward, you notice the rapid beating of your heart for the first time. Regulating your breathing, you attempt to slow it, to ease your own nerves, feeling subtle movement next to you. Peeking open an eye, Sakura’s picking at his nails.

“That’s not very restful, is it?”

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, breath heating up your shoulder as he ceases.

Chuckling, you barely turn to the right, his hair tickling your cheek, the warmth of his skin heating yours. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He grunts in response, the sound growing in comfort.

Again, you try centering yourself, letting yourself simply exist in the moment—the press of Sakura against your shoulder; the weight of his breaths against your back; the steady beating of your own heart; the feel of your hands held together, sitting in your lap. It works for another couple minutes before he sighs, the end of it weighed by mild exasperation.

“It’s not working.”

“Sakura,” you laugh, feeling him freeze behind you, “you haven’t really tried. Are you comfortable as you are?”

A beat, and then— “No.”

“Get comfortable.”

A sound rises in his chest, a grumble of sorts as his head rises, and you expect that he’ll pull away, too flustered to keep trying (the fact that he was willing to try at all makes you happier than he needs to know). Instead, he finally relaxes, closing whatever distance remained, fully pressing into your side. His arm comes to rest behind you, against you, and he places his head back where it was.

“N-Now what?” It’s gruff, probably a defense from the heat that radiates from him.

“Focus on the sound of my breathing.”

“Sounds easy ‘nuff.”

And for the third time, you relax, content with the trust he’s exhibiting. More than content. You don’t know who it is that he lost, but it’s obvious his relationship with grief is complicated. Him trusting you with this… perhaps you’re closer friends than you had originally thought.

It’s not much longer that he slumps against you, that his breaths turn shallow with sleep, that you’ve succeeded in your goal. The minutes carry on and you’re unable to focus on much beyond the gentle rise and fall of his chest against your back. He shifts in his sleep, turning his head until he’s no longer stable on your shoulder, and in your attempt to put him back, you end up turning. Still drowsy, he remains pliable, allowing you to shift you both until he’s curled on his side with his head in your lap.

His breathing changes, deeper, indicative of wakefulness, so you stroke his hair, trying to lull him asleep once more. After a minute or two, his breathing returns to that same state as before, though you don’t stop. Honestly, you lose track of time as you two stay like this, and it’s only the buzzing of your phone in your jacket pocket some time later that distracts you.

It’s the group chat—Nirei asking if Sakura wants him to bring over dinner—and it’s the first time you realize Sakura’s phone is nowhere to be heard. Checking the time before you put your phone away, you see it’s been a little over an hour and a half since you arrived.

Sakura’s head turns in your lap and, given the way his breathing’s changed again, you realize he’s awake. As much as you’d like to brush the hair from his face, you’re worried it’d be akin to looking at the stray cat as it nudged your hand. You two sit in comfortable silence, your hand resting on his head while he remains in whatever state of rest he’s found himself in for a few minutes more.

“Why’d you bring sake?” he asks, voice groggy, moving only so far as to tighten his fists where they sit by your knees. It’s more curiosity than anything, like he’s trying to understand your thought process (you’d like to know yourself).

“I… don’t know. That’s just what we did when my grandfather died, and what we did when my friend’s father died. Came over with food and sake and… I dunno.”

“I don’t… drink.” He almost sounds bashful about that fact, and when you glance down, he’s pointedly avoiding your stare.

“Oh. Well, how was I supposed to know?” The sound of your laugh pulls at the corner of his lips.

“Sorry,” he says without force.

“If you don’t want it, I can take it back. It’s not a big deal.”

Without thinking, your fingers start stroking his hair again, gentle as they brush it. His fists clench, then release, and he holds his breath when you pause, seemingly releasing it when you tentatively start again.

“I… could have a drink with you.”

“You don’t have to, not if you don’t drink.”

His blush appears, turning the tips of his ears pink then splotching across his cheeks. “It’s not— I mean… I-I’ve never had a drink. It’s not like I have a reason n-not to.”

Surprise freezes you, your hand lifting from his hair, and he half-turns with a light glare that disappears when he meets your eyes.

“Really?” It comes out much more shocked than you mean it, and it’s enough that he pushes himself from your lap, a little dizzy as he does so quickly. “Even though you work in the pub district?”

His brows furrow in indignation. “I don’t just work for the pub district!”

“My apologies,” you say, your hands coming to cover your mouth (and to hide your involuntary smile). “Where else do you work?” This blush is unexpected, especially after his little outburst. It deepens when you tilt your head and lean in, silently requesting his attention. “Sakura?”

“I… I work with Roppo-Ichiza, too.” His eyes flick away from yours as soon as he finishes speaking.

“What’s that?”

It’s his turn to be surprised, head jerking back as his eyes narrow slightly. “They’re… It’s… Keisei Street. I’m there during the day, mostly.”

“Oh.” Keisei… Street? Oh. “Really?” How fascinating that he’s never had a drink despite working in both the pub district and the red-light district!

“Wh-What, ‘really?!’”

“Nothing.”

Turning away with your dismissal, you’re surprised when Sakura leans forward, just a bit. “No, if you have somethin’ to say, say it!”

“I guess it makes sense. You see all these people misbehaving because of alcohol, you’d probably be less likely to want to try it, right?”

He stumbles backward when you lean forward. “Uh, s-sure.”

“I’m curious: how’d you end up working for either?” When his attention turns downcast, you reign in your excitement. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

He looks up at you, softer than you’ve seen from him, the hint of a chuckle escaping on his exhale. “Maybe later.”

“Yeah?” Returning his smile in kind, you wish you could see it more often.

He tracks the curve of your lips before red tints his cheeks. “Y-Yeah.”

“So, would you like to share a drink with me now, or later?”

“Would you be safe walking home if you had a drink here?” he asks, looking at the window.

Given his line of work, you’re not surprised he worries about that (especially given how you two met).

“What, you don’t trust me?” you tease with a smile. If you had some water and waited a bit, you’d be fine.

“It ain’t about that! I mean, I’d walk you home and shit if you wanted…” His sentence trails, the offer similar to the one he made Monday night. You’d be similarly worried about him making it home safe, considering his alcohol tolerance is unknown.

“How about this,” you start, leaning forward again. Taking him in, you appreciate the returned color to his skin, the energy he has now compared to earlier.

“What?”

“You come by my place and we drink there. Can be whenever.”

The sliver of defensiveness that he held onto slips, and you’re met with someone borderline eager to try something new. “I-I guess that’d work.”

Between the two of you (and between his two jobs), he would know when your schedules would align. Since it’s also a new experience for him, he’d be allowed to choose the terms by which it happens. Whatever other hesitations he has for drinking (a teasing Suo comes to mind), this would be a safe option. You’ve come up with worse ideas.

“What about…” His voice pulls you from his reverie, though he’s still working on whatever he’d like to propose. “Is… tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow?” So soon? At his hesitant query, you smile. “For you, I can make it work.”

His expression falls and he shakes his head. “You don’t gotta go out of your way or nothing! Not if it doesn’t already work.”

“I think you misunderstood me. For you, it’s not going out of my way. We can drink sake together tomorrow.”

Flower Glossary:

Orange Tree: Generosity Orange Blossom: Purity, Your purity equals your loveliness

Bamboo: Loyalty, Strength, Steadfastness

Chrysanthemum (White): Truth, Grief, Death, Respect

China Aster: Fidelity, I will think of you

(header credit)

Hanakotoba Masterlist | Wind Breaker Masterlist | Next ❧

[yuurei20]

Updated Silver Facts Part 48: Silver and Idia (pt2)

Idia struggles with being forced to sing at Noble Bell College and Silver encourages him to conquer his aversion, saying that he will be a better mage for it.

Ortho reveals that Idia isn’t actually averse to singing at all and Silver guesses that he must be feeling self-conscious, teaching him the secret to singing as it was taught to him by Lilia: looking at his reflection in water.

Silver says the trick has been passed down since olden times, and has helped him a lot. (Idia: “What are you even talking about? I literally don't know what that's supposed to accomplish.”)

When the reflection trick fails Silver decides that practice is their only option, and Idia should sing in front of them to build his confidence (Idia: “I DON'T WANNAAA!”)

Silver and Idia are grouped together in Fleur City, and when Idia becomes animated over the discovery of hand-crafted wood figures Silver says, “I'm glad Idia's enjoying himself. He's been so quiet, I was worried he might be feeling under the weather.”

After Malleus, Azul and Idia read Rollo’s diary Silver comments on how Idia has again become quiet, wondering what has affected him so much.

After hearing of Idia’s exploits with Rollo, Silver says that Idia deserves to celebrate his accomplishments. Ruggie suggests and air toss and both Silver and Sebek agree, with Silver encouraging Sebek to lift Idia’s legs. (Idia is spared by Malleus hurrying the group along.)

Idia is still resistant to having to sing at the social, saying that assuming one’s own voice is a gift is “kinda presumptuous,” he could never be that optimistic, and it would be better for all of them if he sat out the performance so as not to make things harder for the rest of the group.

Silver interrupts Idia and Sebek’s argument to ask why it is that Idia must constantly put himself down, saying, “I know that sometimes being pessimistic can make you feel better, but that doesn't mean you should talk that way all the time. Eventually, those dark thoughts will negatively impact your behavior and your future!”

Idia says he is weirded out by SIlver’s lecture (“I literally told you guys I couldn't be a lead singer”) and Silver reveals that he knows that Idia has actually been practicing daily, in secret from the rest of the group: “It's not about whether the song is a success or not. The important thing is that we all banded together to sing with one voice.”

Silver assures him, “People believe in you. And not just Ortho. Malleus, Azul, and everyone here... myself included, of course.”

Sebek comments on how rare it is to see Silver so talkative and Idia responds, “who has a motivational speech ready to go at the drop of a hat? Diasomnia gets a mega-yikes from me.”

Silver goes to Idia after the performance to compliment him again, saying, “What I said before didn't fully convey how I felt. I wanted to share my thoughts in greater depth.”

Silver apologizes for the presumptuousness of his speech, as he just wanted to encourage him, but then “the rest sort of…happened.”

Silver says that Idia put on a wonderful show, and his voice has a kind quality to it: “I could feel how much you care.”

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch6

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch6 [masterlist]

// a really great idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ~ 7392 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, squirting, sex in a bed!!, a lot of feelings and love!!!!, intimacy in more than just the bedroom fr, names names names pet names a million pet names, oral f!receiving, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: oh good god guys we're finally here. thanks to everyone who is going to read this last chapter even though it literally took me over 6 months to write it. i hope you enjoy it and i'm glad it's over and that it happened. ily all. hope u enjoy. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

you’re not sure you’d admit it to anyone, but walking into osamu’s apartment for the first time feels like coming home after a long day at work. you can see yourself here, more than you can in your own apartment or your childhood home. you feel just a little bit more like yourself, shoulders relaxing in a way that you didn’t think they needed to, breath a tiny fraction steadier. you’re not sure you’ve felt this comfortable in a really long time. 

you don’t have to ask him where to put your shoes or where to hang your jacket, and he doesn’t take them from you either. he doesn’t put them away for you or tell you to hang them on the hangers in the empty closet down the hall. 

when he unlocks his door and pushes inside, you mimic his motions, placing your shoes gingerly on the rack to the right of the closet between his white sneakers and black work shoes, hanging your jacket on the empty hooks above the spot where you've just retired your shoes. 

stepping deeper into his apartment, he offers a small, “so, welcome,” he says, gesturing to the living room, one hand softly wrapped around yours as he tugs you along. stepping past the barrier of the front door, further into osamu’s space, you don’t feel like a guest here. you just feel like you belong.

“oh my god, it’s so clean in here,” you say, a few paces ahead of him now, but he refuses to break contact, to let go of your fingertips so he walks quickly along with you. 

“well, yea, i’m not really ever home,” he explains, shrugging, as you walk around his living room eyes stopping at the neatly organized coffee table with cork coasters and a yellow hard-covered book titled this book will make you kinder, at the photos on his wall of him and his brother and him and his restaurant and him and suna, at the plants in the window sill and the dustless, dirtless ledge beneath them. 

you shake your head, “no, that’s not true. you come home after work and you’re here before you leave for work, and i’m sure you’re super busy leaving in the morning and super tired when you come home at night, so it’s really impressive that it’s really clean.”

he lets out a half-laugh, a breathy light scoff in the place of a real response. you turn around, looking at him directly with a mischievous look on your face, “unless you cleaned your apartment just for me tonight?”

osamu’s quiet, a very telling silence, a wordless admittance. “oh my god!” you say, hands on your hip, and the slight hold that he has on your fingertips isn’t broken yet, his hand now pressed against your side, fingers curling around your hip as he pulls you a little closer.  

“okay!” he admits, “so i am pretty tidy anyways, but there may have been a few dishes in the sink and the bed might not have been made and the couch cushions didn’t look that good before but-”

you shake your head, clicking your tongue, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth as you tease, “how presumptuous of you that i would come back here after our date?” 

“i didn’t think we’d just fuck in the bathroom again, baby, what was i supposed to do, you literally said-” he says, trying to explain himself, unstoppable smile on his face as he pulls you even closer to him.

“do you think i’m that kinda girl? to just fuck you on the first date?” you ask, palm flat against his chest now, the other hand snaking up to lazily drape around his neck.

he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around you tight around your arms and shoulders, holding you in place as he laughs so deep that it sends tingles and shivers down your spine and skin. “you’re very funny, y’know that?” he asks, squishing you against his chest as he presses kiss after kiss into the top of your head. 

“you made the bed? fixed the couch cushions? samu, i mean, really, what did you think was going to happen tonight?” you giggle, emphasizing every other word dramatically as you squirm in his tight grasp.

“i mean,” he says, leaning back to look at the warmth on your face, the fluster that lies with it, “you are here, aren’t you? i couldn’t have been that wrong if the cleaning paid off.”

you giggle harder now, leaning up and pressing a kiss into wherever you can reach in his strong hold. “i sure am,” you agree. he loosens his grip, hand falling down your arm to thread his fingers with yours again. he pecks a small kiss against your lips and then your cheek. 

“you sure are,” he says, warmly. 

you really could’ve stayed in the middle of his living room forever surrounded by couches and books on shelves and an impressive entertainment system. you didn’t need any of it either, didn’t need a place to sit or things to keep you busy, you’d be really happy just staring at osamu for the rest of time, at hearing him laugh, at feeling his pulse in your palm.  

“can i getcha a drink?” he asks, pulling you out of this mellow, love-struck state in the name of hospitality. 

“only if i can come with you,” you say, looking over his shoulder into the kitchen. your motivation is 70% wanting to stay with osamu and 30% wanting to see what his kitchen looks like: what kind of mugs he has, where he keeps his silverware, if his knives and pans are on display or tucked away in cabinets.

“clingy,” he teases, smile huge because there wasn’t any way that he was leaving you alone for even a second. 

“fine! i'll stay in here,” you pout. 

he doesn’t respond, only laughs and pulls you by the hand, “come on, pretty.”

you don’t protest anymore, following along happily into the kitchen, forcing yourself to sit on the barstool in front of the bar rather than snoop in his cupboards and drawers. he’s hesitant to let his touch fall from yours, to let go of the contact he has on your hand and your hip, but he does, presses a small kiss into the side of your head, and walks deeper into his kitchen.

from here you can see the kettle on the counter and the knives on a metallic strip above the black countertop. the pans are nowhere to be seen. they must be hidden away somewhere safe. you don’t say anything and neither does he as he pulls wine glasses and mugs and cups out of the cupboard and places them on the countertop in front of you. 

and you still don’t feel like a guest. 

it feels like osamu getting you a drink is because he loves you, like you could get up and get your own if you wanted to, like you already knew where the tea bags were and the spoons and the shelf that the sugar resided, like next time you would return the favor, let him sit down for a minute while you made the two of you tea or poured another glass of wine. 

“what’s it gonna be?” he asks, gesturing to your choices on the bar in front of you.

“y’know you could’ve just asked me that before pulling out all the cups?” you tease, eyes moving from cup to mug to wine glass. 

he shrugs, “not as visual.”

“what are you in the mood for?” you ask, reaching to pick up the mug, black ceramic with a gray stripe along the base. you turn it over in your hand, running your fingers along the matte texture. yeah, this feels like a mug osamu would own. 

“anything, really,” he says, smiling before the rest of the flirt even comes out of his mouth, “as long as i’m drinking it with you on my couch, i will be very happy.”

you roll your eyes. it’s really unfair how predictable, yet how adorable, he is when it comes to things like that. “alright, how about wine now, tea later?” you ask.

he rests both of his hands on the edge of the counter for a moment, nodding as he does, removing the cups from the counter and pushing the mugs towards the tea kettle. “sounds like a plan, angel,” he says, disappearing behind the pantry door and coming back with a bottle of wine. 

he doesn’t recork the wine or put the bottle back, leaves it exactly where he sets it on the counter in a rush to just drink wine on his couch with you. he carries your glass for you as he guides you back to the couch. 

sitting on the plush, perfectly set cushions, tucking yourself into the corner against the arm rest, osamu pressed up against you, pulling your legs over the tops of his, his hand resting comfortably on your calf, you’re not sure you’ll ever really be ready to go back to your own cold, lonely apartment. when you close your eyes, you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

your first glass of wine isn’t even finished before he interrupts your current conversation of favorite movies and media with a stupidly cute, nervous question, “so, can i ask you now?” 

you want to be stunned or at least fake it, but you can only lean closer into him, setting your wine glass down on the coaster on the coffee table to wrap both of your arms around his bicep. “ask me what?” you tease.

he shakes his head, “y’know that night i thought you were so out of my league.”

you lean backwards, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, “no fucking way.”

“swear,” he laughs, leaning forward to set his glass down next to yours, “and i was out of my depth, had no idea what i was doing, just couldn’t stop staring at you-”

“oh, i know,” you say, recalling his smitten, lingering stare so perfectly that your face feels warm, “every time i would look over in your direction you would be looking at me like this.” you mimic your recollection as best as you can.

he puts his face in his hands. “that’s so embarrassing,” he says, and it’s muffled by his palms. you wrap your hands around his wrists, pulling them away from his face and kissing the backs of them.

“no, no, it was cute,” you say, but he still groans. you continue, “samu, i was into it, obviously.”

he explains further, “sumu was like shoving me over there so blatantly that i almost didn’t go over there.” he shakes his head at the memory, at the alternate universe where his stupid brother alone failed to start the best chain of events of his life. “and then omi leaned over to me and was like, ‘i'll distract your dumbass brother, go have a good night, you deserve it.’” 

“remind me to thank him then,” you say, softly, shifting against the couch to lean against his shoulder instead of the armrest. 

“will do,” he says, smile in his voice as he snakes his arm around your waist, hand resting on the side of your thigh. “i’ve thanked him plenty for both of us, but it might mean more coming from a new mouth.”

“you just say the most romantic things like it’s nothing,” you say.

“i don’t try,” he admits, “just hard not to be romantic when i’m with you.” he reaches across you with his other arm, pulls you further into his lap until both of your knees are on either side of his thighs and you’re facing him. “sorry,” he mumbles, “wanted to look at ya.”

“you’ve gotta be doing this on purpose,” you whisper. 

his fingers scrape against the tops of your tights before rooting on your hips. he shakes his head. “it’s all you, really,” he whispers back. “these thoughts just come into my mind and i say them. love you so much, you make it easy.”

you’re very grateful for this position because it’s effortless to lean down and crash your lips into his, to wrap your arms around his neck and pull him deeper into the kiss, to feel his chest lift to kiss you harder. he tastes like expensive wine and a little bit like you still and you might cry, he’s just really perfect. 

he places his hand on your shoulder, holds you in place as he leans back into the couch. the pout is already forming on your lip, so he runs his thumb across it gently. “will you be mine?” he asks, adding before you’ve even answered, “let me love you with labels.”

“oh my god, samu, you’re going to kill me, y’know that?” you say, hands cupping both of his cheeks before kissing him sweetly. “how do you expect me to keep up with this?”

“just say yes,” he says, quickly, “that’s enough for me.”

“of course,” you say, forehead resting gently against his, kiss placed on his nose and then the high of his cheekbone. you repeat it again just in case he missed it the first time, “of course.”

“i’m sorry that i didn’t make this happen sooner,” he says, soft sigh accompanying his remorseful tone.

“stop that,” you hush him.

“i mean it,” he says, sitting up into you a bit more, “if i would’ve figured my shit out sooner, we could’ve been doing this for months.”

“yeah, but you don’t know if everything would’ve turned out the same way,” you say, bringing your hands up into his hair, “if that would’ve been too soon or if we needed to go through all we went through to be as strong as we are now, there’s no way to know, really.”

he smiles at you, not opening his mouth to say anything, just soaking in the moment, humming at your astute thought. you continue, “i guess i just mean that, yea, getting more time with you would’ve been great, but we can’t do anything about that. so i’m just really glad to be with you now, here, drinking wine and sitting in your lap and kissing you.”

“and you say i’m the romantic,” he murmurs, kissing you once more. 

“you are,” you argue. 

/\ /\ /\

neither of you even finish your first glass of wine. even if you had, there was no way the two of you were untangling from each other and making your way into the kitchen for another, not in the middle of unimportance conversations about your thoughts on christmas lights or osamu’s thoughts on the type of pet he’d like to have one day. 

but as the hours tick on, as the clock hands droop lower and lower, osamu knows that you need some sort of transition period to staying the night. “cup of tea before we go to bed?” he asks, head resting against the back cushion of the couch staring into your eyes with as much love as he can.

“are you being presumptuous again, samu?” you tease, but your eyelids are getting heavier and you can’t put a lot of effort into the taunting. 

“i’m sorry, princess, do you want to stay the night?” he asks, gut-wrenchingly sincere. 

“i would really love that, yea,” you say, flustered in the backfiring of your banter, “and tea sounds really nice too.” 

he nods, once, short and happy, ready to move you off of his lap to go get the two of you a final drink before bed, but you get off of him first. “i’ll get it,” you offer, waiting with bated breath for him to fight you on it or to be weirded out by the forwardness of raiding his kitchen to feel the domesticity a little harder.  

he doesn’t protest at all, lets the smitten, lingering stare last for a few moments before saying, “only if i can come with you.”

before you’ve made it to the kitchen with osamu in tow, he stops you, plants in place in front of the hallway to his bedroom, and nods towards it. “but first, can we get you into some comfier clothes?” he asks. “nighttime tea tastes better when you’re in comfy clothes,” he reasons. you can’t disagree. 

you follow him down the hall to his room. you don’t get a good look at his plainly decorated room or the nicely made bed as you wait in the doorway. he returns quickly with a t-shirt of his. “you can change in the bathroom across the hall if you want,” he offers.

“you know you were inside of me in a fancy restaurant bathroom hours ago, right?” you ask, narrowing your eyes, pushing past him into his room and taking off all of your date clothes. osamu folds them neatly as you set them on the bed. when he picks up your torn tights, he can’t hold back his small laugh. 

“oh yea, so funny,” you joke, “you can probably throw those away.”

“but they’re perfectly good for having sex in public bathrooms,” he jokes back. 

you pull his shirt over your head, soft cotton taking the place of going out clothes and the difference is already lulling you to sleep. you’re determined to make osamu tea, but you can’t promise most of the cup won’t go cold on the counter.

it doesn’t take long for osamu to be on you, arms wrapped around your waist, hands roaming over your body, “you look so good right now.”

“shut up,” you say, pushing him away with the least amount of resolve anyone has ever had, “imagine how i feel looking at you wearing stuff like this.”

“you look better in it than i do,” he says, shaking his head. 

“not possible,” you say back.

he leans down to kiss you once before reluctantly pulling away, walking back over to his dresser to change into comfier clothes as well. if you weren’t so stupidly tired, seeing osamu shirtless and in super casual sweatpants would’ve been the perfect catalyst for your first night together having sex in a bed.

tea. sleep. tea. sleep. tea. sleep. you remind yourself.

“c’mon, angel,” he coaxes, pulling you by your hand back down the hallway and into the kitchen. he leans against the countertop, doesn’t say another word or try to make you tea despite your earlier statement. 

you start the kettle with the push of a button, pull the mugs from across the counter in front of you. you pluck two tea bags from the glass jar where they live. you have to open a few cupboards before finding the spoons, but the sugar is right where you think it will be. 

“i think knowing that you take sugar in your tea is both the most surprising thing and also somehow completely aligns with who you are,” you reason, pouring the gently boiling water over the tea bags. by the time you finish your sentence, you’ve noticed the enamored look on his face, but you don’t have time to comment on it as he replies. 

“that’s because you know me really well,” he says, nodding, loving smile still lingering. you put half of a spoonful of sugar into the cup, stir until it dissolves and then slid it against the countertop to him. he wraps his fingers around the warm cup, brings it to his lips, blows on it gently as if that’s going to do anything at all, and then takes the smallest sip. “perfect.”

you lean against the edge of the counter, holding the mug in your hands, waiting for the air to cool down the steaming beverage. “i think i’d be really okay with ending every single day of my life just like this,” you admit. if his eyes go wide or he recoils even the smallest percentage, you’ll blame it on the eventful day and the exhaustion that’s quickly overcoming you, but they don’t. his features soften, hand reaches across the counter to rub the back of your hand. 

“me too,” he reciprocates. “you’ll have to stay over more often,” he doubles down. 

“what?” you ask, taking a sip of your tea. you can feel the warmth hit your stomach. “have dinner ready for you when you come home and spend your nights off intertwined on the couch?” everything that you’re saying is getting closer and closer to practically asking to move in, but osamu doesn’t seem to mind. 

“exactly that,” he murmurs, “you’ll have to see if you like my bed first, though, before you resign yourself to coming over every night.”

“every night?” you ask, cheeky smile the only form of teasing that you’re giving right now, “maybe we should go check it out then.” you take one more sip of your tea and then set the cup down on the counter. osamu doesn’t even do that, pulls you away from behind the counter and down the hall. 

you climb into his bed, under his covers without asking or another mention. osamu joins you, climbing into the other side, and the two of you don’t waste a single second, curling up against each other, limbs lazily tangling, pressing up against one another as close as you possibly can. 

“the first time we’re in a bed together and we’re not even having sex,” he says, softly, reaching over and turning off his bedside light. it takes a few moments for your eyes to get adjusted, to make out the shapes of his face in the dark. 

“crazy, right?” you ask, smiling as you snuggling into his chest impossibly closer. 

“i like this though,” he admits, traces his fingers up and down your arms, “just being in bed with you, falling asleep with you, means i get to wake up with you.”

you hum at his voice, soft and deep, and the darkness looks the same as it does with shut eyes, but you’re trying your best to not let the sleep take you that fast. “can you keep me awake?” you ask.

“you’re literally falling asleep as we speak,” he says, your eyelids fluttering shut as if to make a point. you shake your head, but you don’t say anything else. “why do you want me to keep you awake, babygirl?”

“cause i wanna be in this moment a little while longer,” you reason, breath taking over your voice as the darkness and warmth pull you into a comforting hug.

“we’ll have plenty of time for moments like this later,” he says, kissing the top of your head. “plenty of time, so go to sleep, angel.”

you’re not even embarrassed at how quickly you listen to him.

/\ /\ /\

if last night wasn’t enough to convince you that you were exactly where you needed to be for the rest of your life, waking up in osamu’s arms definitely was. they’re strong around you, wrapped tightly around your waist, nose nuzzled into the back of your neck, legs intertwined with yours. 

you’re incredibly surprised that you’ve woken up first, but the second that you start to stir, osamu’s grip loosens, and his head peaks over your shoulder and he places a small kiss on your cheek. “mornin’,” he says, raspy as he talks off the sleep. 

you turn in his arms, laying flat on your back so you can look at him directly. “good morning,” you say back, lifting your head to kiss him. “very good morning,” you say again. 

“cute,” he murmurs against your lips, “stupidly cute.” you reach your arms up, draping them over his neck loosely to pull him down into you. “do you want breakfast or something?” he asks.

you shake your head, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “no,” you say, “well, maybe later? i think right now i just want, y’know, this.” you gesture with a small nod not really towards anything in particular, just to the situation.

he laughs, kissing the side of your face, “alright, this it is.”

you don’t say much else. nor does he. it’s all stolen kisses and roaming touches and silent exchanges. you don’t feel the need to talk, don’t have much to say, you’re communicating just fine without them. 

every touch is getting needier, every kiss is getting longer, sloppier, more desperate, and the only thing that you’ve been able to think about for the last hour is all of the promises that have been made to you about after date things. 

it doesn’t help that he’s on top of you now, tops of his thighs resting between your legs, hands on either side of your waist just looking at you like that. the first thing you say in over an hour is, “what, samu?”  

he laughs, pushing his fingertips up your body, under the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and up until your entire stomach is exposed. “god, you’re so hot,” he says, grabbing onto your waist to pull you closer to him. 

“samu,” you whine. 

“what, doll? it’s true,” he says, pushing your shirt up even further now, tits on display so pretty that you can feel him begin to grow hard against your inner thigh. “so pretty,” he murmurs. he tugs your shirt off, tosses it to the side with no regard for the tidiness of his room anymore. 

you’ve really never been this exposed before when you’ve had sex with osamu, always an article of clothes on, but now the only thing stopping you from being completely naked is the thin fabric of your panties and osamu’s fingers are already hooked in the waistband. you don’t protest as he drags them down your thighs, picks up your legs and rests them on his shoulder as he does. 

he presses a kiss into the side of your leg, slowly drops them back around him. your stomach is in knots, can barely breathe with the way that he’s looking at you, eyes traveling down your body so slowly that you can see each point that they linger a second longer.

“fuck, you look good,” osamu says, leaning down to kiss your shoulders, your collarbones, your chest.

“shut up,” you murmur, fingers threading into his hair, scratching against the back of his head as he scrapes his teeth against your sensitive skin.

“no, i’m serious,” he says, leaning back, “you’re so fucking pretty, gorgeous actually.”

“ew, shut up,” you push him away jokingly, gently, “or i’m not going to let you fuck me unless we’re fully clothed ever again,” you joke.

he laughs against your neck, breath and vibrations tickling the wet skin. every single kiss feels personal, hand-crafted and perfectly thought of just for you. the placement is direct and purposeful and you can feel his love in every single one. 

“god, i’m going to take my time with you,” he says, pulling away again. you can feel the blush blooming under your skin, warming up every inch of you, igniting fires in your stomach.

“first time that we have a lot of it,” you joke, coaxing him back up to your lips. “and first time that i don’t have to be situated on a sink or the floor.”

“so you’ll be perfectly comfortable,” he says, kisses trailing between your tits and down your stomach, “while i eat you all morning long.”

“samu,” you say, crook of your elbow rising up to your face to hide behind it. he reaches up, pulls it away from your face. 

“don’t hide from me, doll, look so cute like that,” he says, laying between your thighs, pushing them open with familiar hands. you give in to the gentle pressure so easily that you swear you hear the faintest laugh coming from Osamu, but the light kisses peppering your thighs that follow gain your focus instantly. 

it should feel agonizing, the way he takes his time dragging his lips across every part of the skin between your legs, kissing and biting lightly. but the longer he’s there the more laughter flutters through your chest, the more your cheeks flush, the more loved you feel. you bring your hands to his face as he rests his head against your knee cupping one under his jaw and using the other to push his hair back a little. 

“make me feel so pretty, samu,” you mumble. he makes no attempt to answer, just holds your gaze with loving eyes as he brings himself to ghost near your already soaked pussy, the feeling his breath overwhelming any of your other senses. 

“just want you to see yourself through my eyes, princess.” the end of his sentence comes with a long, slow swipe of his tongue against your hyper sensitive clit and it feels good to finally not worry about who can hear you. 

you dig your head back into the pillow, hair already a mess after a perfectly restful night’s sleep. you can feel his eyes burning into you, even if you can’t see them, even if your focus is really anywhere but the agonizing feather-like touches between your legs.  

it’s a shame, you think, but only for a moment, that his mouth is so busy that you can’t hear him call you pretty names or poke fun at you for whining so much. only for a moment. 

if there’s one thing that osamu cannot be called it’s all-or-nothing. osamu doesn’t do all-or-nothing; he does slowly, consistently, comfortably, and then all. this is no exception. he runs his tongue between your puffy lips, smears your juices all over your sensitive pussy with the tip, and then he eats you- not like a man-starved, but like a man who he gets to indulge in his favorite dessert. 

his fingertips are digging into the fat of your hips, palms pressing to keep you in place, to keep you from squirming, and it’s working. he lets you scratch your nails into his hair, down the back of his neck, resting on the tops of his shoulders. you don’t guide him, don’t buck your hips impatiently, you don’t need to. if he isn’t lapping exactly where you want him to, you know he will be soon, you know it’s deliberate, you know that he knows what’s best for you even if you have to wait for it. 

you’re not sure you know how many times you come on his tongue, how many are attributed to just his tongue and how many are attributed to the noises that he’s making, the grunts that are coming from his throat, the mumbled praises that he’s whispering against your soaked folds, the squeaking of the mattress from the soft grinding that he’s doing against the blankets. 

without a watch, you’d have claimed you were there for hours, all morning, just like he said. you’re not sure if he would’ve stopped either, if you hadn’t sat up on your forearm, somehow more out of breath than he was, and tugged on his hair. “samu, baby,” you whine. 

you can’t help it, the even-more-breathless-breathlessness that hits you when he looks into your eyes, bottom of his face soaked with you, licks his lips, wipes the rest of it with his palm, and crawls slowly up to meet you. he kisses you hard, as hard as you’ll let him, and then he kisses you again, and then he kisses your cheek, and then your jaw, then your neck, mumbles against your skin, “what do you want now, bunny?” he’ll give you anything. “i’ll give you anything.” you know that he will. 

the opportunities are endless. the world is your oyster. anything that you ask for, he will give you, and it will be wrapped with neat paper and a pretty bow with a handwritten note several miles long. you swallow, eyes searching his face for nothing in particular, just because he’s pretty and because he’s yours. 

“i don’t think i have anything to ask for, because you’re already mine,” you whisper.

his face lights up, skin hot and flushed on the highs of his cheeks and traveling down his neck and chest. for a second it looks like he short-circuits, like you’ve broken him just by telling him the truth, and then, in a second, the world catches back up to him. 

he shakes his head slowly and then you’re on top of him, sat with both legs on either sides of his, strong hands steadying you before you can even clock that you need to be steadied. “you’re really asking for it, huh?” he asks, and now you’re feeling warm.

“i- what are you talking about, samu,” you say, eyebrows furrowed. you can feel his hips- and yourself- lift off the bed as the fabric between the backs of your thighs and the tops of his is replaced with soft skin. you yelp softly as you’re lowered back down, hands on your inner thighs pushing you back just enough for his cock to rest between them. 

you’re soaking wet, making a mess between your lips and on the insides of your legs and now all over his hard cock, slowly pushing through your pressed together thighs. he brings his hips off the bed, steady thrusts rocking the mattress ever so slightly, both his hands squeezing the outsides of your thighs. he clicks his tongue, “saying shit like that, angel, you know i’m not going to be able to help myself.”

“samu,” you repeat, breathless. “what ar-.”

he cuts you off, sliding his thumb from the tip of his cock to the base, his leaking head slipping between your messy lips until it’s teasing your hole. “sound so in love with me, baby, need to fucking feel you around me so fucking bad right now,” he breathes, sharp inhale punctuating his sentence as he pulls you by your hips until you’re fully seated on his cock. 

you don’t know if the warmth is coming from the blush or touch of his skin or the desire that’s burning in your core, but it’s there, and before you can even fully register what he’s saying, he’s honest-to-god whimpering, spouting more lovey bullshit, “god, it’s like falling in love with you made you fit even more perfectly around me.” he lifts you slightly, fingers digging into your hips as he lets you slowly fall back down onto his cock. 

he tilts his head into the pillow, but immediately picks it back up, locking eyes with you before letting his gaze fall down your body, like he can’t believe you really exist, like he can’t believe he let himself relax into a position where he couldn’t see you at all times, like he “can’t believe you’re fucking real,” he grunts, “and that you’re all fucking mine.”

“osamu, if you don’t knock it off,” you say. you’re only half-joking. you’re not sure that you could take him talking to you like this for much longer. you feel so full, every part of you feels so full. you slide your hands down his chest, palm against his rapidly beating heart acting as leverage as you start moving in time with him.

you close your eyes, partially to focus on the parts of you that are on fire right now, and partially so that you don’t have to keep looking at how much osamu is looking at you. he can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t keep his eyes off of you.

“can’t help it, pretty, not when i get to savor it like this,” he says, brings his chest up and wraps his arms around your back, holding you securely to him. he kisses the side of your face, whispers in your ear, “not when i finally get to fuck you in my bed and tell you that i love you and see you- all of you.” 

“are you trying to make me cry or something?” you ask, placing both of your hands on either side of his face, forcing his attention on just your eyes and the hints of shyness strewn all over your face. 

a slight smirk is followed by raised eyebrows and a tiny kiss to the temple. osamu flips you over, lying you gently on your back while you’re still fully encompassing him. “that can be arranged, puppy,” he says, kissing down your neck, nipping at your shoulders and chest. he slams his hips into you and you can’t help the pleasured, high-pitched moan that comes as a result. in fact, you can’t help the ones that come one after another after another as he keeps snapping his hips, insides of your thighs growing raw from the impact.

you’re babbling at this point, a symphony of half-finished words and tiny whimpers, and when a single tear breaks free of your blurred waterline, osamu can’t hold back. “fuck, holy fuck, babygirl, you sound so good, don’t stop, princess, keep making those cute fucking noises, fuck, sound so good.” 

you shake your head no and hope that he understands what it means, that you won’t stop as long as he doesn’t. you’ll cry and scream and make cute little noises for him forever if he never pulls out of you. 

you’ve always known that fucking in bathrooms has been disadvantageous, you just couldn’t pinpoint it, not when it always felt so good anyway. you never thought the space bothered you or the hard, cold various materials of sinks or the fact that people were often only a door away; you never thought any of that mattered until now, now when you can cry for him and feel the softness of the blankets beneath you and the plushness of the pillow behind your head.

“baby,” you cry, “i’m- you’re gonna- fuck, i love you so much. i’m-.” you throw your head back, you can’t finish your half-constructed sentence before osamu is fucking you faster, harder, wrapping an arm around your lower back and lifting you up the slightest bit to angle you perfectly. your hand moves on instinct, reaches down between your legs and circles your throbbing clit for only a second before you’re squirting all over him, a release of pressure drenching him as you gasp for air, drawing in enough breath to cry out his name.

you place your hand on his lower abs, eyes closing softly to center yourself. you could’ve passed out right here, slept for a million years, and you’re not sure you would’ve completely recovered. your body is shaking, throat is sore, and when you open your eyes, osamu is looking at you with such adoration and awe that you’re certain you’ve missed something. 

“the first time we’re not in a fucking bathroom and you fucking make me squirt,” you mumble, shaking your head, “what are we going to do with you?” you ask, removing your hand from his stomach, silently letting him know you’ve recovered enough for him to keep going. 

“i don’t care,” he says, kissing your jaw, “i don’t care what you do with me for the rest of my life, that was the most amazing thing i’ve ever seen.”

“you made a mess,” you tease.

“i made a mess?” he asks.

you nod. 

he breathes a laugh before accepting responsibility, “i made a mess,” he confirms. 

“so you’ve gotta do one thing for me,” you say, circling your hips, matching his lazy thrusts as you wrap your arms around his neck. 

“anything,” he says. and you know that he means it. 

you use your loose grip around his neck to coax him closer to you, your lips now pressed against his ear. “need you to make a mess inside of me, samu, please,” you say, low enough to send shivers down his spine from the tone alone. his hips stutter. he wants to regain composure, to not give in to blowing his load deep inside of you just from you saying his name and asking him nicely, he really wants to savor it and last a little bit longer. 

but you’re so wet. you’re drenched, but you’re still so tight and sucking him in so nicely, perfectly sculpted for him, gummy walls still clenching and fluttering from your orgasm, and you kiss the skin right below his ear and you say, “please, i’ve been waiting for it ever since i fucking met you, please, don’t make me wait any longer.”

and he can’t. 

he wouldn’t.

he doesn’t.

he snaps his hips forwards, pressing himself flush against the insides of your thighs and releases deep inside of you. you can feel his cock pulse with each stream, feel yourself getting fuller and fuller and fuller with each throb and accompanying grunt. you can’t get enough. you don’t want it to ever stop, but it does. he keeps himself deep inside of you for a moment, not wanting to lose the feeling just as much as you don’t. 

when he starts to get soft, he pulls out, come dripping out of your hole and onto the blankets below just adding to the mess the two of you have created in the span of a few hours. he doesn’t exactly know where to go, what to do. the two of you could’ve passed out just like this, intertwined together and had the most incredible sleep of your entire life, if it weren’t for the huge mess beneath you. 

“what now?” you mumble, not moving. 

you feel osamu flop next to you. you’re not sure if he’s avoided the mess or if he’s embraced it. part of you wants to stand up and apologize and start throwing his bedspread in the washer, but that part of you isn’t winning, not today. if that part of osamu exists, it’s not winning either. he wraps his arms around your waist, rests his head on your chest, pulls you into him. 

“are we just going to lay in this?” you say, laughing. it sounds ridiculous coming out of your mouth, but you’re sure it wouldn’t take much convincing for you to not have to move from this very spot. osamu doesn’t answer you, but you feel him unwrap from your body and then get off the bed. you go to sit up, but you don’t make it that far, opening your eyes as osamu pulls the blankets out from under you and throws them in a heap in the corner of his tidy room. he opens the closet door and comes back with a spare, small, but clean blanket. 

he reassumes his position on the now-much-more-acceptable bed, throwing the blanket overtop of you and him and cuddling into your side. “is that better?” he asks, but he doesn’t really expect a response. your small smile and content hum is all he needs. 

after only a few moments, recuperated by a clean blanket and strong arms, your body is ready to move onto the next thing, ready to get up and start making breakfast or start kissing him again or start getting ready for work despite how long you have until your shift. your skin is antsy, pulse is quickening. there are a trillion things in your head that you want to do with osamu, plenty of dull activities that seem like they’ll be much better with him by your side. you want to see them. you want to do them.

osamu shifts and pulls you into his chest, kisses the top of your head. “love you, angel,” he murmurs into your hair. “love you so much,” he says again. you feel calmer now, the most at ease you’ve ever been, because you know that there’ll be time for all of that, plenty of time, hours and hours of time to do all of the things that you want to do with osamu, more time than you know what to do with, you just know it.

for now, all you have to do is lay here, in bed, surrounded by warmth in more ways that you thought were possible, maybe let sleep take you again or stay awake in these passing moments, it doesn’t really matter. your exhale is steady, matches with his. you close your eyes and you can see this moment next week and next month and three years from now. 

you look happy there. 

you look really happy there.

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♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

tori talks more: i do not know if i'll be around to write more to be honest with you. like i probably will at some point, but who knows. maybe when the new movie comes out. maybe ill do a jjk pivot bc i just finished it. feel free to scream in my inbox abt it or this or whatever. ily all and im so glad i could finally finish this. <3 :)

[laurenairay]

“It’s good to know you’re safe” – Anthony Beauvillier

Second prompt in the 6 x 6 x 6 Easter Weekend Challenge.

I needed some Tito fluff and that’s that. He seems like such over-protective boyfriend material.

Word count: 490 words

~

You closed your front door behind you, locking it securely, before allowing yourself a moment to tilt your head back and smile softly. Of all the first dates you’d ever been on, you’d never been swept off your feet like this before, and you could only hope that Anthony felt the same way.

Never before had a man put so much effort into romancing you. Never.

You didn’t care that the giddy smile stayed on your lips as you hung up your jacket, no-one else around to judge you for indulging yourself in hope. It had only been a classic wine-and-dine date, Anthony making the reservation and meeting you at the restaurant with a sweet smile, but it had been everything you’d ever wanted.

Hope was a dangerous thing, you knew that much. But as your phone started buzzing, Anthony’s name flashing across the screen, that dangerous hope buzzed through your skin.

“Hello?”

“Did you get home okay, ma chérie?”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks at the term of endearment, smiling to yourself as you kicked your shoes off.

“Yeah, I did Tito, thank you for checking. I hope you did too?” you asked, wincing at the mildly awkward tone in your voice.

“I did, yeah. It’s good to know you’re safe.”

“The uber took me right to the door of my apartment building!” you mused.

“Next time I’ll pick you up myself.”

Next time?

“Next time?” you said softly, hope sinking into your chest.

He cleared his throat, huffing out a laugh, and you just wished you could see his face to read what was going on in his mind.

“Yeah, next time. I hope I’m not being presumptuous, but I had a really great time tonight, and I hope you did too? I know people say to wait a few days to text after a first date, but I couldn’t help myself.”

The smile on your lips spread into a full grin, a hand raising to cover it even though you were alone. This man.

“I had a great time too. I…would love to go on a second date with you,” you said, voice full of warmth.

“Alright! Alright, great. I, uh…”

He trailed off laughing softly to himself.

“I swear I’m much smoother than this usually.”

The fondness you already felt for Anthony was crazy – you couldn’t think of any other way to explain it.

“I don’t know, I kinda like this not-smooth version,” you teased.

Anthony just laughed softly, sending butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Good to know. Look, I know it’s late so I’ll stop making an idiot of myself. I’ll text you tomorrow, see when you’re next free for me to take you out?”

You found yourself nodding before you could even think. “Yeah, okay. That sounds great.”

“Great. Great! Goodnight, fais de beaux rêves.”

If Anthony ever realised how him speaking French affected you, you’d be a goner.

“Sweet dreams, Tito.”

[orgaslink]

I mean; 1) mirror sex screams Raviolink

Thank you so much for the ask! I appreciate it!

Probably not what you had in mind for this - but all I could think about was the mirror in TenderTendril’s Rupees and Rods AU and how that could be used. I realised as I finished writing that this whole thing has a huge plothole but we’re going to pretend not to notice and forget that the mirror in R&R AU can be used as a portal. So it’s more a “what if the mirror allows us to look but not touch while we are apart.”

Based in and inspired by @tendertendrils1’s R&R Ravio and Link. Probably OOC and kinda rushed the sexy bit, but it was getting lengthy and I wanted to ease back into writing so hopefully you won’t mind. Please forgive the mistakes and how long it's taken me to answer this.

Under the cut for nsfw and length (2.5k)

Strange. That was the best word Link could conjure to describe the situation at hand. Odd, not right, strange.

Not so long ago, he was fine with being alone, enjoyed it and preferred it, even. He was known for being alone after all, especially after his uncle…

You still have Ravio, dipshit. He’s not gone like Alfon, he’s just not here at the moment. He’ll be back. He will! If he repeated it often enough, maybe it would be true.

Link shook his head, an attempt to stop the spiralling thoughts swirling in his agitated mind. Yes, it’s true that he once preferred his own company even if he did mourn his uncle but things were different now. He had Ravio.

Or at least, he did have Ravio. Until a week ago.

Fuck, his head was a mess right now. When would Ravio be back again? Another week? Fuck.

It still came as a shock to him that Ravio’s absence caused him so much distress. When had the merchant burrowed himself so deeply into Link’s life, home and heart that the absence of him for mere days caused such a spiral in Link’s emotional well-being?

And why was it worse that Ravio had clearly suspected this to be the case and fussed over Link days before he actually went anywhere?

But worst of all was that Zelda had the audacity to perceive him so accurately that she had not only preempted his mental downfall but had also devised a plan to attempt to mitigate it. Link… well, he didn’t know how to feel about that. Betrayed? Useless? Relieved?

Certainly, Link felt in a mess right now, struggling more than he ever could have known without his husbands presence by his side, but he knew it would have been far worse without Zelda’s presumptuous actions. There was no helping that Ravio needed to go back to Lorule temporarily for some shit Hilda apparently needed him for, and Link couldn’t exactly drop his commitments to travel with Ravio (and fuck if that wasn’t typical that the one time his empty schedule was no longer empty was the one time that Ravio was needed in his own world).

‘Look but don’t touch’ had been Zelda’s advice to him, a knowing glint in her eye as she closed her office door, the shimmer of a ward causing goosebumps to dance over Link’s skin. Ravio soon contradicted the queens suggestions (“They are guidelines anyways, not actual rules” Ravio had sniffed) with the simple notion that they could still touch. Just not each other. (At least not yet - only another week to go. Fuck!).

“Bun. Eyes on me.”

It was both the silky smoothness of his voice and the words that brought Link blinking back to the present and out of his own head, the contrast almost jarring. The void in Link’s heart ached to hold his husband, to feel Ravio’s breath on his neck and his filthy whispered words but, at the very least, Link could and should be grateful that he had the ability to see his husband and be reassured of his safety and wellness - even if it was through a mirror image. It was certainly much better than no contact at all.

Needless to say, after a week in, the awkward nature of conversing and being with Ravio like this had faded to give way to the excitement brought by novelty and a 7 day history of nothing breaking through Zelda’s wards and disturbing them in their stolen moments.

“Fuck, sorry. I’m here.” Link’s hair dishevelled from where he’d repeatedly ran his hand through it.

“So, husbun mine. As much as we could talk about your day, boring though it may be without me there with you-“ Ravio’s grin was full of smug delight as he deliberately made a show of eyeing Link up and down, shuffling his chair closer to the mirror. He spread his legs wide, his purple robe gathering at his thighs but still concealing everything to Link’s gaze - “I’d rather get down to the important stuff.” The wicked grin caused Link’s heart rate to kick up a notch, excitement warming his veins and stirring his interest.

“Good boy. Remember I’m keeping score on what punishments and rewards I owe you when I get back. Any longer stuck in your thoughts would have earned another punishment, bunny butt.”

Link swallowed, the thought of the type of punishment Ravio liked to give caused his cock to stir with mild interest, hesitant to rise to full mast as punishments usually involved his dick and some form of painful stimulation. He was not thinking of Din’s Teeth right now, damnit!

Link chose to ignore the side of him that wanted to beg for Ravio’s touch even without the merciless teasing, the part of him that would want to cling to Ravio the moment he got home and never let him out of sight again.

“I can see your piercings through your shirt, bun. Bet your missing my touch, they way I tug and pull at your nipples, especially when you have that little chain connecting them.” The gap in Ravio’s teeth was visible as he pulled his bottom lip between them, taking a breath and watching Link intently.

Link’s hand subconsciously raised towards his chest, fingers trembling to reach and pull at one of his aching nipples just like Ravio would. He stopped short, unsure if he was being given permission or not.

“I won’t deny you tonight, fuckbunny. There are still days until my return that I can tease you mercilessly and have you begging for my touch the moment I’m back in Hyrule, without being cruel. For now.”

Knowing Link always needed some gentle persuasion to get started, one of Ravio’s hands started to wander, the glint of his wedding band catching Link’s eye as he watched freckled fingers flex while Ravio trailed his own hand up his thigh to cup the bulge forming beneath his robe.

“You have no idea how pent up I am for you. Having some of your belongings in my home, reminders of you everywhere I look.” To demonstrate his point, Ravio’s hand gripped himself in a way that caused Link’s breath the hitch, his arousal clear to see even through the reflective surface of the mirror and the miles that separated them.

Swallowing the last of his nerves, Link allowed his determination to give his husband a show of his own to take control of his actions, guiding his hand to trail over his sternum to brush his fingertips lightly over the protrusions straining his tunic. The brief touch was maddening, causing him to shiver as he watched, eyes glued to where Ravio’s hand stroked himself over the fabric of his clothing.

“Good boy, Link. But remember we don’t have all night and I can see your as pent up as I am. Show me.” Ravio’s demand was met with a pointed nod to Link’s groin, his eyes ablaze.

Shivering at the praise, Link stood on shaky legs, the tent beneath his tunic hiding nothing from his husband hungry eyes.

Glancing at Ravio, Link pulled his tunic up revealing his shorts underneath and the small wet patch forming there.

“Mm, Link. Looks like you’re as hard for me as I am for you. Touch your self, bun, show me how much you miss me.”

Link’s attention was pulled away from Ravio for one moment while he pulled his shorts down, his bells jangling as he removed them from his pocket. His ears burned and strained at the appreciative humming sounds he could hear from the mirror. Looking up, Link got an eye full of his own, Ravio taking full opportunity to pull his cock out and stroke leisurely.

Link called out in surprise before he could stop himself, his cock straining towards the mirror as if pointing to the object of his desire. “Fuck!”

Link took his seat again before his wobbly legs could give from under him. His nerves jangled, alerting him to the fact that he wasn’t at home, anxiety threatening to take over. A quick magical probe reassured him that the wards were still in tact and they were indeed safe.

“Now, Link,” Ravio barked, impatience straining his voice. “Use your bells or get on with it. I’ve been waiting all day for this and I need to see you.”

Ravio’s eyes watched Link’s throat as his swallowed, his gaze then dropping to observe as Link’s hand slowly ran down his body, detouring to tease his sensitive nipples. His breath hitched as he pinched. Though it felt good, it wasn’t Ravio touching him and he felt the distance acutely.

Keenly wanting the distraction, Link’s own eyes focused on the show Ravio was putting on for him, his signature hood in place while still stoking his shaft. Link swallowed as he watched, rapt, as a bead of precum dribbled from Ravio’s dick.

Although he couldn’t see Ravio’s eyes because of the hood, the rapid expansion of his chest gave away that Ravio was keen to reach his climax also.

“Soon bun. Soon I’ll be there to give you this cock.” Gripping his base, Ravio waggled his dick causing Link’s mouth to fill with saliva. He wanted it very much, to swallow down every glorious inch, to gag and to choke on his length and taste his husband on his tongue.

Link whimpered, the sound catching his off guard while he began stroking his own dick to the pace Ravio had set.

This wouldn’t take long - the combination of his unease of their location and the fact Link had almost forgotten how to pleasure himself since Ravio ruined him for even himself - Link was pent up. Restless energy thrummed through his veins causing his movements to hasten, his heart beating like a bunny in the gaze of a hunter.

“Going to fuck you so hard, bunnybutt. Going to tease you and fill you until you can’t take anymore. You’ll be a delicious mess for me and I can’t wait to ruin you.”

Faster their hands worked in unison, each feeling the build of their orgasm about to reach a crescendo. From the bit of Ravio’s face that was visible, Link could see the way he bit his lip to keep his groans contained, the way his freckled skin was pinkening up from the exertion much like Link’s own was.

Fuck he was so close, so close, nearly there…. Please!

Mimicking Ravio, a twist of his hand to the head of his cock made Link’s vision darken for a moment, the tang of blood on his tongue where he bit his lip to keep from moaning out loud.

His heart pounding, Link’s vision cleared enough to see that Ravio has also crested, their ability to still be in sync apparent even when not with each other. Although they rarely did come in sync, they could. Each just much preferred their usual style of play.

Breathing returning to a somewhat normal rhythm, Link glanced at the mirror to find Ravio cleaning his hand with a handkerchief he had obviously stowed up one of his billowing sleeves. Conniving bastard that he is probably had this planned since before he even left for Lorule.

Ravio’s face, now visible with his hood pulled down, was glowing, his eyes burning with mischief despite his orgasm only seconds ago.

The question was rhetorical and Link sighed as he resigned himself to his task. It wouldn’t be the first time and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. And it wasn’t as if it was bad, it just wasn’t Ravio. Maybe he could convince himself otherwise, though—?

“Now,” He started, tone almost prim and proper while his eyes gave him away with the way they danced. “We can’t have Zelda seeing you in such a state, can we bunnybutt? Make sure to lick that hand clean for me, every drop.”

Link’s jaw almost dropped open at the request. Though, unlike Ravio, Link didn’t have a handkerchief to hand. He supposed he could use his shorts but then he’d have to walk back either trying to hide said shorts or wearing them and feeling the gross uncomfortable mess with each step…

Looking to Ravio, Link squinted. “Should have known you’d still pull this shit even though you’re miles away. Damnit, Ravio, I don’t really have a lot of choice here, do I?”

“That’s it, good boy. Make sure you get every drop and don’t think I don’t know that you’re pretending it’s my cum you’re tasting. Soon my little fuck bunny, soon you can have as much as my cum as I can fill you with”

Moaning, Link’s eyes rolled, his dick valiantly trying to rise to the bait Ravio was laying for him. Alas, exhaustion was taking over and Link needed to get home.

Mess cleaned and clothes back in rightful places, Link’s glance returned to Ravio’s through the glass.

“Ah, good job, Link. Thank you for indulging me. By the way-“ Ravio’s grin turned menacing, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ve taken the liberty of stocking up on all of our potion supplies while I’m here.”

Link didn’t know why he was surprised.

***

“Hurry back” was simply all Link could manage, the closest thing to the “I miss you” his heart was crying out for him to voice.

Despite the absence of words, Ravio heard him, understood exactly what Link was trying to express.

“I will, Link. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Love you, husbun mine. Now and always.”

A chirp broke the moment, a flash of white trailing across the mirror as Sheerow appeared to land on Ravio’s shoulder.

“Opp, that’s my cue Link. Hilda needs the mirror. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Link nodded, the lump in his throat making it difficult to form words.

The mirror connection broke before Link could voice anything further, his morose reflection staring back at him as his heart lurched to jump through the mirror to his love.

“And I you… More than you know.” Link said on a sigh, getting up to his feet with protesting knees and a heavy heart as he turned to leave Zelda’s office, not even noticing Zelda slipping into the room with the mirror.

[givekelsiercocaine]

God everything about Lisa is so tragic. Her trigger event, being forced into villainy by Coil, her desperate attempts to find out as much as she can to prevent the end of the world, and her whole relationship with Taylor.

She sees Taylor for the first time and immediately knows she's passively suicidal. She can't let that go, if course she can't, she can't let another Rex happen. So she reaches out, she invites Taylor to join the Undersiders, knowing the whole time Taylor's lying from the start. She gives her a friends/family/a support group, desperately hoping to give Taylor a reason to live. She takes her shopping, hoping to boost Taylor's confidence in herself. She pushes Taylor to go out with Brian, because she knows Brian has the same feelings, and she thinks it'll both help Taylor feel more tied to the group and help make her happier.

And it kinda works. Taylor gains confidence, she's stronger, she's happier.

"I'm sorry," Lisa put her hand on my shoulder. I felt grateful that she wasn’t pulling away or laughing. It was the first time I’d ever really talked about it, and I wasn’t sure I could’ve dealt if she had.

Shell 4.3

It kind of surprised me, but I realized what I was saying was true, so I didn’t even need to worry about tipping Lisa off. A second later, I realized I might have been a little presumptuous.

"I mean, assuming that we are frien—"

"If you finish that sentence,” Lisa warned me, "I'm going to slap you across the head." I felt the heat of a flush in my cheeks and ears. "Yes, Taylor, we’re friends," Brian said.

Shell 4.3

"I don’t know how to say this gracefully," I said. I paused, noting the presence of a hero nearby who’d raised a camera towards me. Whatever, I’d say it anyways. "But you guys mean a lot to me. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before, but I couldn’t without letting on that something was going on. You’re my family, in a way. As lame as it might be, I love you guys."

Drone 23.5

"I know," Grace said, after a pause. "I get that. I get that there’s other reasons. Like the fact that you love those guys and you never loved us. Cool. Makes sense."

"I liked you guys."

"But you didn’t love us.”

"No," I said.

Venom 29.1

By Arc 19, Lisa's sure she succeeded. She averted another Rex, she saved Taylor. Even with how self destructive Taylor is, pushing herself so hard towards a goal, first saving Dinah then saving everyone, throwing herself in dangerous situations one after another, she's in a better state than she was before. But is Lisa?

Taylor and Lisa have somewhat of a distant emotional connection. As much as Lisa has helped Taylor, Taylor can't really do the same to Lisa. Because even when she isn't wearing a mask in a literal sense. she's always wearing one metaphorically, one that she almost never lets slip. So as much as Taylor loves Lisa, she doesn't really know Lisa. She can't. Lisa's given Taylor a support system, but she herself doesn't have one.

"Except you’ve been talking to the heroes, and you’ve had that to help center yourself, figure out where you stand," Tattletale said. "I haven't."

"That’s it? You need to talk to someone?"

"No. That’s not what I’m saying," she said. She sighed. "Yes. Kind of. It’s only part of it. Who the hell am I going to talk to that grasps things on a level I do? Do you really expect me to find a therapist and sit down and not pick him apart faster than he can decipher me?"

"You could talk to me ," I said. "Not when you’re part of the problem, part of what I’d need to work past."

"That’s not fair," I told her.

"No, it isn’t," she admitted."

Scourge 19.7

And that disconnect shows in Taylor's pov. Even in Taylor's head, Lisa is so often thought of as Tattletale, not Lisa. Even as she's eviscerating Taylor on personal level in 30.1, she's still Tattletale, not Lisa. Rachel is almost always Rachel more than Bitch, and I'm pretty sure Aisha is Aisha'd as much as she's Imp'd.

Later in the same chapter, she explains herself, her first time in the whole book being genuine and letting herself be vulnerable.

Me? When you shot Coil, I realized I was done. I’d helped you out of the same trap of despair Rex had been in. Don’t know if the road I helped you down was a good one or a bad, but I’d finished."

"But why be reckless? Why take the risks?"

"Because I did what I had to do, I helped you, and I still feel like the stupid, self-obsessed little child that let her big brother die. It wasn’t conscious, but maybe I felt like I needed to up the stakes. Pull something dramatic. Show that, with these crazy smart capes like Alexandria and Faultline around, I could still be the smartest person in the room."

Scourge 19.7

She's finished her project, she's saved Taylor, whether for good or ill. She's freed herself of Coil. And it didn't fix her; She still bears all that guilt over Rex. Maybe, given time, Taylor could have helped Lisa, returned the favour. But they never had the time, because so soon after this, Taylor is outed, and things escalate, and Taylor is gone. I can't imagine what that did to Lisa, but it I'd guess that it means that her one true friend, probably the only person who even comes close to understanding her, is gone. Of course, she keeps in touch. But the letter she sends, its so impersonal, naught more than a status report. Whereas Brian and Rachel's are emotional and personal, confessions of their feelings. (I love Taylor and Rachel's relationship so much, but that's not the point here.) And when they meet all meet back up before Behemoth, the only thing she says to Taylor is asking her to survive. I think that even though she said she felt like she'd succeeded fixing Taylor, she was still doubting. Taylor is Taylor, I don't think she ever really could have been saved just by who she is. And Lisa could probably tell.

With a touch more seriousness, Tattletale said, "No dying, okay, Skitter?"

"Weaver," I corrected.

"Skitter," she said. "Here, today, you’re Skitter. Consider it a good luck charm. And no dying . I’ll say it as many times as it takes, until it gets through to you."

...

“Just remember,” Tattletale called out, “You’re officially Skitter today. Don’t be a hero. No point to all this shit if you do something brave and get yourself killed.”

Drone 23.5

And it all leads to Khepri. Taylor ruining herself, letting someone alter her brain to such an extent in a desperation to beat Scion. And it kills Lisa

"You couldn’t have made it easy?” Tattletale asked, looking down at it. “Because standing by while you do this… that’s fucking hard . It’s honestly easier if I’m on their side and I’m helping them stop you. If I can blame the fuck-up job Panacea did to your head."

"While I’m saying all this, kiddo, you gotta know I love you. I adore you, warts and all. You saved me, as much as I like to think I saved you. All this stuff I’m bitching about, it’s the same stuff that got us through some pretty hairy shit, and I love you for it as much as I groan about it. You’re brilliant and you’re reckless and you care too much about people in general when I really wish you’d leave things well enough alone and be selfish. But this?"

"Shit ," Tattletale said. "You gotta forgive me, just this once. Because seeing this and knowing what you pulled hurts enough that I gotta say this. This makes me feel really sorry for your dad, because I’m starting to get a sense of what you put him through.

Speck 30.1

Like, god. The tragedy of loving Taylor Hebert, a stubborn, persistent, unyielding person, one who doesn't value herself but will give everything to fight for her friends. For all that Lisa could try and do to save her, for all the happiness she could try and give her, it didn't work. Taylor becomes Khepri, and she loses her forever. I'm don't even know if Lisa knows what happened to Taylor, that she's on another earth, safe with the opportunity for genuine happiness without all the crises, able to be a regular person. Or does she assume Taylor died, maybe at the hands of a cape traumatised and angry and being mind controlled, maybe because of her own shard destroying her?

Does she ever regret trying to fix Taylor? Does she ever think back on it and wonder if Taylor would be better off if she hadn't guided her into villainy?

[drinkyourvillainjuice]

Picky NB reader again, I remembered something else. I'm curious why when you play as a man, the RO choices ban you from Beth, stating she only dates women (fair enough, obvs), but she still goes for nonbinary MC's. That's all fine, but then when you meet Teddie, he states he's gay (meaning he's only into men) but he /doesn't/ go for nonbinary MCs. From where I'm standing (as an nb reader) this looks like a discrepancy of some sort, but I'm not the author, so I obviously can't say what the reasoning is behind it. I don't mind RO's being gender locked, a labeled queer character should in fact be written as being their chosen label, otherwise what the hell are you using that term for, I'm just not getting what the difference is between lesbian Beth dating nbs and gay Teddie not. It would probably bother me less if I didn't keep coming across this exact set up, where the gay guy won't go for nbs but the gay woman will. It starts to feel icky after awhile. I don't mean to complain so much to you, but I love your game enough to take the time to think and complain about it and you're the first author I've come across that I felt could understand what I'm saying and why. I once came across an IF where an RO only dated men & women and not nb MCs and I was like ???? While it would be awesome to actually be an alien instead of just feeling like one, I am sadly a regular human nb (the nb MC was also not an alien.) Someone who dates humans should probably date nbs, I mean, not to toss out big scary words, but its kinda transphobic (and super weird) otherwise. But I didn't love the story and the author came across as very straight and cis, so, like, why bother? Anyway, I love and appreciate you in a queer stranger on the internet way, sorry if this is rude or presumptuous or bothering in someway, I'm trying to come across as wanting to open a dialogue, not attack you, and I hope I conveyed the tone correctly? If not, I'm sorry, I don't want to make you feel bad or discouraged, I really do love your game and your writing and appreciate it a lot. <3

Yeah so I honestly think I kind of fumbled a bit there.

Like, how to put this...

Beth I pictured as lesbian as in not into men.

Teddie I pictured as gay as in exclusively into men.

But these are the only two gender-restricted characters, and having both of them creates this odd situation where, as you rightly mention, this feels uneven when you look at DYVJ as a whole.

So yeah. I'll probably futz around with Teddie's stuff a bit. Mostly I'm just not sure on how to properly implement certain tinkering (I do want Teddie to be able to recognise MLM specifically, but I don't want that to get weird with not!guys)

[wisteria-cherry]

heyaa

saw you were on the lookout for a marauders x reader fic request? well, here is your savior 😌 (also if you write it you'll be my savior so it's an all win situation right?)

how about a Remus x reader, where they're kinda wandering around outside the castle during winter (snow gazing date, is that a thing?) and although reader is already wearing remus' woolen sweater and we'll equiped for snow, they (or she, or he, whatever you prefer writing with) are freezing and so they cling to Remus and like he takes their hands to put them in his pockets and stuff...and yeah it's all fluffy and cute and warm

is that clear lol ?

anyways byeeeeee

omg my savior🙏🙏🙏 she’s a little short, hope that’s okay..!

warning: tooth-rotting fluff

“it’s beautiful.” you remark as you walk side-by-side with remus, gazing at the snowfall from your favorite overpass at hogwarts— a beautiful wooden pathway, with a roof to protect from harsher weather such as this.

“dare i say not as beautiful as you?” remus glanced down at you, bundled up in his ever-cozy wool sweater, and cracked a smile.

“if i didn’t know better, rem, i’d say you were hitting on me.”

“let’s not be presumptuous, now.” remus looked out at the snow. “i’ll blush.”

“your cheeks are already pink.” you retort.

“that’s because it’s cold, love.” he looked back at you with honey-colored eyes. it was a crime, really, to have such beautiful eyes. surely you must be a criminal, then, to have fallen for such eyes. “yours are much redder.”

“because i’m cold.” you huff.

“that had better be satire, that’s my best jumper you’ve got there.”

“you told me i could wear it.”

“that i did.” remus agreed. remus stopped in his steps, leading you to stop as well, and he turned to lean against the banister. he lifted his arm up. “c’mere.”

you gratefully tuck yourself under his arm, pressing yourself against remus, who, despite the cold, was incredibly warm. maybe he was hiding the possibility that his actual best jumper was the one he was wearing right now. remus’ arm settled around you, hugging you close. he gently kissed the top of your head, much to your delight.

“pretty thing.” he murmured against your hair.

“cold thing.” you hum in response. despite the addition of remus’ body heat, you were still shivering, and your ears were still bright red.

“can’t have that, now can we?” remus replied. you feel his arm move from its position around you, the wool from his and your (technically also his) jumper sleeves rustling. his hand takes yours, and he faces you, using your hand to guide you to do the same. his other hand finds your other hand, and he studies them, as if admiring a work of art.

“didn’t i tell you to wear gloves?” he inquired, raising a questioning eyebrow as he looked at your red knuckles.

“maybe.”

“what am i going to do with you?” he tutted, taking your hands and moving them behind him, sliding them into his back pockets. you look up at him earnestly; he was truly the sweetest boy you’d ever met. in that moment, you were sure you’d never fall in love with anyone else ever again.

“come on, now, you.” remus released your hands, and now wrapped his arms around you, bringing you into a hug you wished would last forever. you rested your cheek on his chest, and he rested his chin on the top of your head. the both of you continued to look out at the scenery. fluffy snowflakes fell lazily from the sky and landed on the powdery wonderland that hogwarts became each winter.

“i used to hate winter.” remus admitted, not once taking his gaze away from the view.

“really?”

“yeah.” remus confirms. “i thought that all winter did was hinder people, and track snow in the house, which would then melt and get everything damp.”

“pessimist.” you accuse lightheartedly.

“realist.” remus corrected. “besides, that’s changed.”

“has it?”

“it has.” remus confirmed. “i started liking it when i saw how much you liked it.”

“really?” you felt your heart flutter. this was easily one of your favorite sides of remus— the romantic side. more often than not, he hardly even realized he was being romantic; in his eyes, he was just stating the truth. but there was something so incredibly beautiful about the way he worded each truth that you just wanted to give him the world in exchange for one more.

“really.” he confirmed.

“hey.”

“hm?”

“i love you.”

“i love you too.”

[snowthornes]

hi i kinda understood where u were coming from with this whole mess before that most recent ask but now i'd like advise you to get out of this server because you seem decent ? i was in a circle just like this one for a different online game and it was just a circlejerk of the most negative people and opinions and a toxic place and i don't look back on that time fondly at all! actually it kind of weighs on me and this is presumptuous of me because you're a stranger but you seem like a nice person. i fully recognize this is weird of me and i hope i'm not out of line but all of this writing and tumblr stuff is far less important than being kind 2 people and not making fun of their mental illnesses or whatever they're going through

Hi! First off, I'd like to say that I appreciate your concern, as well as the courtesy you've extended through your ask! I'd like to set the record straight, though: if you're talking about the hate server that the anon mentioned in the CoC ask, I genuinely have no idea what that is about. I've never heard of it, have never had contact with it, and certainly have no plans of joining this elusive server.

I weighed in on the discussion because I felt it was important that this plagiarism issue, no matter how 'small' or 'insignificant' it may seem, wasn't allowed to just slip by unnoticed. The IF community is something that many people hold dear, and plagiarism is just not something that should be allowed to infiltrate its circle unchecked just for the reason of 'being kind'.

Respect and kindness is important, but so is lending voice to the gaze of good faith. As an audience, we have the right to speak up when we feel that something as big and ethically damning as 'plagiarism' is being committed, and it is the duty of the creator to address and settle these concerns with logic and rationale.

The lines between audience and creator can vastly blur on tumblr, especially in the interactive fiction community, but I do hope that people will be able to voice their concerns without having to fear others personally attacking them or tearing them down.

As for the issue of making fun of someone's mental illness: I truly regret that ever happened. That crossed a personal line, and I apologize that it ever happened — I would have much preferred that things stayed civil.

Thank you for reaching out. I hope you have a good day.

[ihopesocomic]

Am i projecting or is it kinda really uncomfortable when people bring their hyperspecific interests to artists, as oddly specific questions or requests. Idk to me it feels like it could be a fetish or something close to it and being asked to indulge it feels weird. How do you feel about it? The leopard/adamant ask is a good example actually

eh I wouldn't go as far to describe it as a 'fetish'. I get what you mean when it comes to certain asks but let's not be too hasty, anon. lol

We're both artists, we're used to this kind of thing from the countless art requests we've gotten in our years on the internet. I view it on the same level as that. Yeah, it's kinda presumptuous but this is a PG-13 comic and we appeal to a lot of minors and well, minors are still learning these things.

tbh a lot of the time we ignore these kinds of requests and just delete the ask but considering this specific request has now happened with two of our characters and one character's wiki article was edited to include this mysterious female leopard character, we felt we had to say something. lol

All we can do is encourage them to make their own content because, as much as we'd like to, we can't include every single fan character and we certainly can't change the story for them. Sure, we're including cameos and some are related to some of our cast in a way, but none of them change the storyline to the degree of having an intimate relationship to a main character.

But some people won't get that distinction and that's OK, because I get the whole confusion of 'well, you included this person's character in the story: why not mine?'

Thus, all we can do is point out that the rules are a) we include these characters because they're either cameos we like or we're friendly with their creators and b) even if point a is met, the agreement between the pair of us is that we're not gonna change the storyline in any way for them. - RJ

[yesimwriting]

Hi! I hope you're doing well!

I've recently watched scream 6, and while it definitely wasn't my favorite (the original cannot be beaten) I enjoyed it more than I thought I would.

I've seen you mention him a little, but I really liked Ethan. His betrayal felt kinda predictable, but he was cute and I'm a sucker for "soft/sweet/nerdy character is actually a killer".

Ig I'm just wondering if you have any more thoughts about him? I really like how you portray characters so I wanna know your take on him ig

hi!! i totally get what you're saying about scream 6 i can't imagine anything beating/slaying as hard as the originals but i did thoroughly enjoy it as it's own thing lol

especially ethan!! like him being a ghostface was so obvious, but his character was so awkward bf and i really like the soft/nerdy character as a killer trope too!!

i also feel like there's so much in the movie that gives us a way to characterize him so i have a lot of thoughts, some stick closer to canon and others are just vibe-based, ig? if that makes sense

idk if these count as headcanons, i feel like they do bc i have a lot of thoughts on him

have to immediately mention the "a special bond between a father and his first son" line, i love any excuse to give a character daddy issues 😭so maybe i'm projecting, but i can definitely see that relationship being strained and maybe a competitive relationship with his siblings, especially Richie

i'm not saying that this means he didn't want to kill!! between the cut stuff about their mom and the way Anika died, the urge had BEEN there lmao, and i think it actually would have added to any competition with Richie

like maybe growing up Ethan felt jealous of Richie in a way bc he had this outlet for exploring gory things bc of his interest in horror movies, but that's just not how Ethan's family saw him and not something he was particularly drawn to

or maybe he liked the movies and tried to bond with Richie over them when he was younger just to have that thrown in his face (siblings are such gatekeepers sometimes😭 Richie gives me mean vibes so i feel like he'd be the worst about it)

i feel like growing up he didn't have many close friends, like the jokes about being a virgin were obviously more about his romantic life but i think it kind of hints at him not being super socialized, and he dropped everything pretty quickly to just join a random college in NYC

ik Quinn did the same thing, but she seemed to click/adapt a lot quicker socially, like she was closer to the girls than Ethan and she was dating

besides the way Ethan switched up and became a Chad hater,, i could see that stemming from hating that kind of person, like maybe in high school he struggled bc of guys like Chad and that's where that aggression came from

this one is a bit more of a stretch, but going with the assumption that he had some kind of rivalry with Richie, i could see Ethan seeing Chad as competition bc of how easy college and pulling girls was for him

anyway!! that's a general psychological break down! let's get into more presumptuous/friendship/romantic relationship thoughts!!

i can see him being relatively used to having crushes on people/generally thinking someone's attractive so he wouldn't go totally feral over just liking someone

i think this is his most noticeable romantic difference from other ghostfaces i've written (cough, billy and stu, cough) bc i read him as having more psychopathic tendencies than sociopathic ones

BUT the second that that's reciprocated in anyway some switch flips in his head

like he's probably used to being an outsider in friend groups and feeling relatively disposable, so if you were to make a point of calling him a best friend or picking him over anyone else even in a small way,, poor guy wouldn't know what to do with himself

like that would take his crush to the next level and suddenly Ethan's like 'well ig i have to do whatever to ensure their happiness for the rest of time now'

it's not his fault :( it's just bc he's not used to having anyone pick him first

would probably be less inclined to follow through/have murder-y thoughts while being caught up in some kind of crush/relationship,, at least at first bc i can see him being content/distracted

but i see one exception with that:

i could see Ethan being super prone to jealousy and not even being aware of it until he really started to have a crush on someone/dating them

like before when people he liked would either blow him off or date other people he'd be like that's life, but with the only person that's ever made him feel irreplaceable?

he's not having it!! suddenly, he's imagining what it'd be like to brutally murder anyone that flirts with you/hints at liking you

not saying he'd act on it every time he felt jealous, but he'd think about it!!

would definitely be pouty though, trying to act cold bc he's mad at the other person and is trying not hold it against you but then he starts to wonder if he imagined your connection and if you've been stringing him along

but the second you make it clear that it's still him, Ethan's snapping out of it and is immediately all heart eyes

actually a vicious cycle because every time you "pick" him he just starts to feel even fonder for you and then that makes him more upset when someone else tries to come between you two and then you "pick" him again, so it keeps adding to itself lol

kind of random but i feel like he's closest to Quinn in his family, like yes they still might have competed a little but it wasn't that son vs son thing, so it wasn't as tense

if he had a crush i feel like he'd eventually tell Quinn about it, at first casually like 'omg y/n just showed me this song, that new perfume you got is similar to hers, ik we're here to avenge our brother but y/n needs help with her econ homework so let's reschedule the plotting session'

and then one day he's like 'i think i like y/n' and Quinn's like 'no way!! really🙄?!😒' and then she's instantly giving him all the dating advice even if the timing is terrible bc she's a real one and her brother never likes anyone!! let him hook up with someone for once!

i feel like after the ghostface thing starts his ego would switch up, like the adrenaline and confidence of knowing what he's doing and getting away with this would make him act different

nothing that you could quite put your finger on, but he'd be a little touchier, maybe care less about hiding clingy tendencies

his dad's sudden influx of approval would probably also make him feel more like a man, y'know, so he'd be able to accept/get you liking him more bc of that

despite the aggressive undertones that i've focused on here i actually feel like he'd be such a cutie while pining/dating someone

like he'd go out of his way to remember things about you, would want to ghostface anyone that upset you, definitely would give 'my girl is mad at me, i hope i die' before you're even officially dating

he's a whole puppy once you have him, but will still be happy to stab ppl

----

this was a lot longer than i thought it'd be and it was really fun to write!! if anyone wants anything else ethan related pls send asks!! actually might just write a fic just bc lol

also a reminder that i'm generally open to writing about any scream character :)))

[tachiguin]

thank you so much for all the tanizaki content… i don’t see him talked about as much as he’d deserve so i think you’re satisfying one of my carnal desires. you’re my idol now okay

Ahh thank you so much for sending this ask! I'm super flattered that you'd think that.

Also yeah, I think my whole Tanizaki brainrot started when I saw a random tumblr post that went something like "everyone in the ADA is crazy and then there's normal-guy Tanizaki" and and my gut reaction was "lol yeah" and I almost reblogged the post. Real testament to how much Tanizaki's own disparaging narration of himself can influence what we, the audience, think of him. But then I gave it a second thought, and was like "but.... he's not normal? He doesn't get a lot of screen time, but when he does, he's hitting people with trucks and being felt up by his 'sister'. That... isn't normal. Right??" I felt like I was having an epiphany.

The longer I thought about it, the crazier I got about it. So I ended up kind of getting a reputation for being the "Tanizaki person" in the BSD tumblr fandom (I think?? I don't want to be presumptuous, lol) because I made a lot of unhinged theory posts and metas about Tanizaki that apparently a decent chunk of people found not-entirely-insane.

So like. Here I am. I'm invested now, I feel obligated to stick around long enough to witness whenever Asagiri finally drops the other shoe with him.

I'm kinda hoping (betting?) it'll be after this arc wraps up, because the whole ch118 thing with him seemed like a soft setup for. Something.

Fingers crossed Asagiri doesn't prove me wrong.

[cakepoppresent]

He's Moving Too Slow 2

In a flurry Asuka rushes up Luna and Veronica and shouts out to gain their attention "Ladies'! Please wait a moment!". Stopping at being called Luna and Veronica turn to face the strange women

Asuka: So sorry to bother but are you Luna Villeral? The actress? I'm a big fan!

Luna: Oh! Thank you!

Asuka: This is just so amazing, youre even more beautful in person

Luna: You're too sweet! I appreciate the support!

Asuka: I know this might be presumptuous of me but would you allow this old lady to gift you with a little spa day? My treat of course!

Luna nervously responds "I'm not too sure about that, you don't have to do that"

Asuka: But I insisit! My first time meeting such a talented actress! I just have to treat you

Luna: I can't take something from a stranger even if you are a fan!

Asuka: Please! You can call me Asuka

Veronica: I think that would be great! Luna needs a little spa day

Luna: Since you are so insistent. There is a private spa upstairs we can use!

Asuka: Perfect. Let's go upstairs!

Enjoying themselves on Asuka's wallet Luna and Veronica enjoy the company of this older lady. Asuka waiting for the right moment tries to scope out Luna's feelings about her relationship with her son

Asuka: So sweetie...I don't mean to pry but a pretty girl like you must have someone in your life? a boyfriend? a partner?

Luna: Oh! Um...I don't...

Asuka: Don't worry dear my lips are sealed. I'm just a housewife I have no one to share this information with

Luna: Well... it's just that...

Veronica cuts Luna off mid-sentence and states "She's single. Very single" That is definitely not what Askua wanted to hear.

Asuka: Is that so?

Luna: No! I mean kinda? It's complicated.

Veronica: Not really.

Asuka: Sweetie It's never complicated it's either a yes or a no

Luna: It's just that we had a little fight before I left for the summer and I haven't spoken to him since and he hasn't reached out. So I guess you can say I'm single?

Jesus. Her son is completely useless, and can't even take of a lady like Luna. Summer is almost over and he hasn't contacted her once? She might as well be single. It's a good thing she's here to fix this mess

Asuka: Nonsense! Do you want to be single? You don't want him anymore?

Luna: I do but...I don't think he wants me? We've been seeing each other for a year but have nothing to show for it!

The pent-up frustration Luna has felt about her relationship with Daisuke finally bubbles to the top. He said he was serious about her but everything to this point seems like he is just playing around. Is she a joke in all of this? "Maybe he thinks I'm a joke?"

Asuka: Listen, sweetheart, you are not the joke! He is for wasting your time. Now listen to me are you still interested?

Luna: Yes...I do like him a lot

Asuka: Perfect. Men are simple creatures. I think you just need to remind him of who you are!

Luna: Who I am?

Asuka: Of course! Listen, I'll be here for a few more days. Take my number and we can meet up at the Hounds Country Club. I know exactly how to get back at him. Don't worry about a thing sweetie! I'll help you handle it!

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