#and most of all: write what you want to read!

[sunkissed-zegras]

★ THOUGHT OF CALLIN' YA, BUT YOU WON'T PICK UP / 'NOTHER FORTNIGHT LOST IN AMERICA / MOVE TO FLORIDA IOWA, BUY THE CAR YOU WANT / BUT IT WON'T START UP 'TIL YOU TOUCH, TOUCH, TOUCH ME ─── PB⁵ (part 2/2)

❪ requested -> paige and ex gf!reader that plays on iowa where theres a lot of tension on the court bc they ended on rough terms but u can see that they still care abt each other yet have to prioritize the game // hii could u write for paige x ex gf iowa!reader where they play against each other in the final four and everyone can tell theres sm tension on the court between them bc they ended on rough terms ? they still care abt each other a lot but r forced to put those feelings aside for the sake of the game (but they def had a talk afterwards) - u can make it so that iowa still won or uconn won i think either one would be interesting ! tysm ❫ part one!!!!!!!!!!!!

─ warnings | dramatic as FUCK, resolution type shit, iowa v. uconn but like i changed a bunch of stuff so it's not "canon" to real life LMAO. uhhh angst?? idk?? HAPPY ENDINGGG!!!!!!!

─ ev's notes | i just picked LA sparks cause thats the team i want paige to go to but uh it might not be realistic, also this will make sense when u finish ;)

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APRIL 1, 2024

THE AIR WAS ELECTRIC in the arena as the final buzzer sounded, sealing UConn’s victory over USC in the 2024 NCAA Finals.

Confetti rained down, and the deafening roar of the crowd filled the space as the Huskies celebrated their hard-fought win. Paige Bueckers, at the center of it all, was surrounded by her teammates, hugging and shouting in excitement.

Hours later, the team was at an afterparty, the celebratory atmosphere continuing. Music blared, and laughter filled the room as the players enjoyed their victory. Paige, drink in hand, was beaming, her joy evident to everyone around her. She had worked so hard for this moment, and it was everything she had hoped for. She overcame her ACL injury and everyone who had doubted her, she'd ─ no, they'd ─ made it to the Final Four.

As Paige moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and sharing in the excitement, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, glancing at the screen. It was a news alert about the NCAA tournament brackets.

"Iowa knocked out LSU," Paige read aloud, her brow furrowing. The notification showed that Iowa had defeated LSU in a close game, securing their spot in the next round. This meant that UConn would be playing against Iowa next, and therefore against Y/N L/N.

The realization hit Paige like a ton of bricks. She stood still for a moment, the noise and celebration around her fading into the background. She was going to have to play against you.

The same Y/N who had been such a significant part of her life (arguably was the most important part), who she had argued with and ultimately lost, who had moved on and found success elsewhere.

A mix of emotions surged through Paige — anxiety, determination, and a hint of sadness. She hadn't seen you played alongside you since your explosive breakup and your transfer to Iowa. Now, they were going to face each other on one of the biggest stages in their collegiate careers.

Nika noticed Paige's sudden change in demeanor and walked over. "Hey, what's up? You look like you've seen a ghost, we won the game, remember?" she tried to lighten the mood as she smiled.

Paige forced a smile, shaking her head slightly. "Nah, it's just... LSU lost to Iowa. We're going to have to play them next."

Nika raised an eyebrow, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Oh. Y/N."

"Yeah," Paige replied, taking a sip of her drink to steady herself. "Y/N."

Aaliyah joined them, catching the tail end of the conversation. "What about Y/N?"

Paige sighed, glancing between her friends. "We're going to play against her in the next round. Iowa knocked LSU out."

Aaliyah gave a sympathetic nod. "Oh shit. That's... that's going to be intense."

"Tell me about it," Paige muttered. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside the personal turmoil and focus on the challenge ahead. "But we have to be ready. This isn't just about me and Y/N. It's about the team. We have to win."

Nika clapped Paige on the shoulder, offering a reassuring smile. "Exactly. And we will. You've got this, P. We'll face whatever comes our way together."

It left a bitter taste in their mouth, Y/N ─ their (besides Paige, obviously) good friend and old teammate ─ now, they had to knock her out or vice versa.

Aaliyah, sensing Paige's inner turmoil, leaned in closer. "Paige, you've always been one of the strongest people we know. You can handle this. And who knows, maybe facing Y/N will bring some closure."

Paige nodded, appreciating Nika's words. "Yeah, maybe. It just feels... complicated."

Nika chimed in, her tone supportive yet firm. "It is complicated, but remember why we're here. We've worked too hard to let anything distract us now. We owe it to ourselves and to our fans to give it our all."

Paige took a deep breath, steeling herself. "You're right. This is about the team and our goal. We need to stay focused."

Aubrey, who had been quiet, suddenly spoke up. "Y/N is a great player, but so are we. We’ve got each other's backs, and that’s what matters. We’re Huskies, and we fight together."

The next day, practice was intense. The team worked tirelessly, their focus razor-sharp. Coach Geno was relentless, pushing them to their limits. Paige appreciated the rigorous drills, as they helped distract her from her thoughts about Y/N.

──

"Didn't you like, date Paige?" Gabbie spoke up as she glanced toward you, a curious expression on her face. "Like, Paige Bueckers at UConn?"

Everyone was in your hotel room, trying to recover from the afterparty last night. LSU was a hard fought win and everyone was really feeling the win, especially after the controversy from last year so obviously that meant drinks with the team.

Gabbie and Jada were on your bed, Kate had her head on your shoulder as Caitlin struggled to keep her eyes open, despite her laying upright in the chair.

Kate's head perked up at the name, looking up to gauge your expression. It'd been a while since someone (other than reporters) asked you about her, your heart skipping a beat at the mention. The only people who really knew what really happened were Caitlin and Kate, you didn't want to open up about it to anyone else.

Caitlin's eyes opened as she gave you a look. She wanted to speak up before you answered, giving her a nod.

"Yeah, uh a while back." You answered with a nervous smile, feeling the weight of everyone's attention. The room, filled with the soft sounds of recovery and idle conversation, seemed to focus in on you for a moment.

Gabbie raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Wow, that's wild. Must be kind of crazy having to play against your ex in such a big game."

Kate shifted slightly, giving you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. Caitlin, still half-asleep, managed a supportive smile. You appreciated their silent encouragement.

"Yeah, it can be," you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. "But at the end of the day, it's about the game and the team. We’re all here to win."

Jada, who had been quietly listening, chimed in. "That’s a good mindset. It’s gotta be tough, but you’re been handling it really well. Better than me,"

"Thanks," you replied, feeling a bit more at ease. "I just try to focus on what I can control. And right now, that's playing my best for the team."

Caitlin's eyes fully opened now, her gaze steady on you. "And you've been killing it. We wouldn't be here without you."

"Same goes for you, Cait," you responded, grateful for her unwavering support. "We’re all in this together."

Gabbie still seemed curious but nodded, respecting the boundaries you had set. "Well, for what it's worth, I think it's pretty badass. Turning something tough into motivation like that."

"Yeah," Kate added, her voice gentle. "And besides, we’ve got your back no matter what."

The room fell back into a comfortable rhythm, the conversation shifting to lighter topics. You felt a wave of relief, glad that the subject had been handled with sensitivity by your teammates. It reminded you of why you loved this team so much ─ their understanding, their support, and their ability to focus on what truly mattered.

As the evening wore on, you found yourself thinking about the upcoming game against UConn. It was inevitable that facing Paige would stir up old emotions, but you knew you were ready. Your time with Iowa had been transformative, helping you grow not just as a player, but as a person.

You had a team that believed in you, and you believed in them. That was enough to face any challenge, even one as personal as this.

The next day at practice, the atmosphere was intense but focused. The coaches ran through plays, strategies, and drills, emphasizing teamwork and communication. You felt a renewed sense of determination, ready to give it your all.

After practice, Caitlin and Kate approached you, their expressions serious yet supportive. "You good?" Caitlin asked, her concern evident.

"Yeah," you said, nodding. "I'm ready."

Kate smiled, her eyes reflecting pride. "We’re gonna crush it. Together."

You smiled back, feeling the warmth of their support. "Yeah, we are."

──

APRIL 5, 2024

"And here we are folks, the most anticipated of the season! The NCAA Women's Basketball Championship Final Four is about to tip off, featuring the Iowa Hawkeyes against the UConn Huskies!" The commentator's voice boomed through the packed arena, the excitement palpable among the sea of fans.

The camera panned over the teams warming up on the court. The Iowa Hawkeyes, led by their star player Caitlin Clark and Y/N L/N, looked focused and determined. On the other side, the UConn Huskies, with their legendary coach Geno Auriemma and standout players like Paige Bueckers and Nika Muhl, were equally intense.

"Tonight's matchup is not just a clash of two powerhouse teams, but a story of redemption and rivalry." The commentator continued. "Y/N L/N, former UConn star, now shining with Iowa, will face off against her old team. This game has all the makings of an instant classic."

Kate stood behind you, giving your shoulders squeeze as you let out a surprised yelp. "Ow!"

Kate smiled as she put her arm around you. "You nervous?"

You laughed, shaking off the nerves. "A little bit. It's a big game."

Kate squeezed your shoulder again, this time more gently. "You've got this, Y/N. We've all got your back. Just play your game."

You nodded, taking a deep breath. "Thanks, Kate. That means a lot."

As the team huddled up for a final pep talk, Caitlin took the lead. "This is our moment. We've worked hard to get here, and now it's time to finish what we started. Play for each other, leave everything on the court, and let's bring that trophy home!"

The team roared in agreement, the energy palpable as you broke the huddle and took your positions on the court. You were guarding Paige, that was the ultimate goal for you ─ make sure she does not score.

As you walked to the court, your gazes met and your heart sank. She looked determined, her eyes sharp and focused, a mirror of your own intensity. Her blue eyes carried years of memories, both beautiful and painful. There was a time when those eyes looked at you with nothing but love. Now, they were filled with a competitive fire, and something else ─ something you couldn’t quite place.

But you also knew that you were ready. You had trained for this, prepared for this, and you were not going to let her outshine you. She looked you up and down, but she kept her lips shut as you took your position.

Paige moved quickly, weaving through your teammates with a grace that was almost mesmerizing. But you were right there with her, matching her stride for stride. Every pivot, every fake ─ you were there, anticipating her moves as if you were still in sync, like you had been during the best of times.

The whistle blew, and the game began. The crowd's cheers became a distant roar as you zeroed in on Paige. Paige moved quickly, weaving through your teammates with a grace that was almost mesmerizing. She tried to shake you off with a quick pivot, but you anticipated her move and stayed in front of her, blocking her path to the basket.

You were right there with her, matching her stride for stride. Every pivot, every fake ─ you were there, anticipating her moves as if you were still in sync, like you had been during the best of times.

Right from the start, the intensity was through the roof. UConn came out strong, with Paige leading the charge. She was as formidable as ever, hitting shots from all over the court and orchestrating the offense with precision. But Iowa matched their intensity, with Caitlin and you leading the charge.

"Clark drives to the basket... passes to L/N... she shoots... and it's good! Y/N L/N ties the game at 20!" the commentator exclaimed.

As the game progressed, the physical exertion mirrored the emotional toll. Each bump, each shove, was a reminder of the walls that had gone up between you two. You could hear the crowd, the commentators, your coach shouting instructions, but it all faded into the background.

All you could focus on was Paige, everything about her almost felt like a ghost of someone who you'd known intimately but had somehow become a stranger. The familiarity of her movements, the way she dribbled the ball, the sheer determination in her eyes ─ it all brought back memories that you had tried so hard to bury.

As the game progressed, those memories kept flooding back. Late-night talks after practice, shared laughter over inside jokes, the way her hand used to fit perfectly in yours. Each interaction on the court was laden with unspoken words, with the weight of what once was and what could never be again.

In a particularly intense moment, Paige drove to the basket, and you fouled her hard, sending her sprawling to the floor. Time seemed to slow as you reached out a hand to help her up, your eyes locking onto hers. The crowd's noise dimmed, and for a brief second, it felt like it was just the two of you.

"I'm fine," she said, brushing off your hand and getting up on her own. But her voice was softer, lacking the sharp edge it had carried since the breakup.

"Sorry," you muttered, more for everything unspoken between you than for the foul itself.

She gave a curt nod, her expression unreadable as she walked to the free-throw line. You could see the conflict in her eyes, the same one that mirrored your own. Despite the competitive fire, there was an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore, could ever ignore.

Midway through the first half, there was a brief pause in play. Paige looked over at you, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "You're really making this tough," she said, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

"Just doing my job," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. Inside, you were a whirlwind of emotions.

The first half ended with both teams neck and neck. In the locker room, Coach Blunder gave a rousing speech, but your mind was elsewhere. You couldn’t stop thinking about Paige ─ the good times, the bad, and everything in between. The harsh words exchanged during the breakup, the regret that followed, and the lingering hurt that neither of you had ever fully addressed.

Each glance, each brush of your arms, felt like an electric shock. It was more than just a battle for victory; it was a confrontation of your shared past and the emotions you had both tried to suppress.

Back on the court, the tension was palpable. "Paige on the drive... she dishes it out to the wing, but L/N intercepts! What a defensive play!" The commentator’s voice boomed, but you barely registered it, too focused on the person right in front of you.

In a brief moment when the ball was out of play, Paige walked up beside you. "You're playing good, L/N," she said, breathless but sincere. It was the first civil thing she had said to you in months.

"Thanks," you replied, your heart aching. "You too."

The final minutes of the game were a blur. With the score tied and the clock winding down, Paige had the ball. She drove towards the basket, and you were right there with her. She went up for a shot, and you blocked it, the ball flying out of bounds. The whistle blew, and UConn called a timeout.

As both teams huddled up, coach emphasized the importance of the next play. "This is it. One more stop, and we win this."

When the game resumed, UConn inbounded the ball to Paige. She glanced at you, her expression a mix of determination and something else ─ something softer. She made a move towards the basket, but you stayed with her, your eyes never leaving hers. She pulled up for a jumper, and you leapt, your hand just grazing the ball enough to alter its trajectory.

"Caitlin grabs the rebound... she sprints down the court... passes to L/N... Y/N for the win... and it's in! Iowa takes the lead with seconds to spare!"

The buzzer sounded, and the gym erupted in cheers. Your teammates rushed to embrace you, lifting you high as the reality of your victory set in. You had done it. You had faced off against one of the best ─ and your ex ─ and emerged victorious.

You felt the tears of happiness trail down your face uncontrollably as you shouted, "We did it! We actually did it!" Your voice was almost drowned out by the roar of the crowd and the jubilation of your team.

As you were carried around in celebration, your eyes searched for Paige. Despite the euphoria of the win, there was a part of you that needed to see her, to understand her reaction. You spotted her near the sidelines, her expression a mixture of disappointment and quiet acceptance.

Gently, you extricated yourself from your teammates' embrace and made your way over to her. The noise of the gym seemed to fade into the background as you approached. Paige looked up, meeting your gaze with those familiar blue eyes that had once been your world, except now they were teary eyed.

"Uh, congrats, Y/N." She sniffled, her voice steady but soft. There was a depth of emotion in her eyes, a mix of pride and sadness that tugged at your heart.

"Thanks, Paige," you replied, your voice catching slightly. "You played an amazing game. You always do."

She nodded, a small smile playing on her lips. "You too. You deserved this win."

There was a moment of silence, a charged pause where the weight of your shared history hung between you. Finally, you broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," you whispered suddenly, your stomach twisting in gulit.

Paige scoffed, shaking her head. "For what? Playing your best? Don't apologize-"

"No. For having to be the one to take you guys out. I mean... you guys are my family," you felt your own tears build up in your eyes. "Were my family," you corrected quickly.

Paige's expression softened, her teary eyes locking onto yours. "We are a family, that doesn't just go away. But you have your own path to follow, Y/N. And it's okay. We all knew this day might come."

You felt a lump in your throat, struggling to find the right words. "I just... I never wanted it to end like this, with us on opposite sides."

Paige reached out, her hand finding yours and squeezing it gently and it felt like how it did, two years ago. "Life doesn't always go the way we want, but that doesn't mean what we had wasn't real or important. We grew together, and now we're growing apart. It's part of the journey."

You nodded, swallowing hard. "I just hope we can find our way back to being friends, someday."

Paige's smile was bittersweet. "Maybe. But even if we don't, know that I still care about you, and I always will. I never... I never meant what I said, I swear. I'm not angry anymore, I'm just proud."

The tears spilled over, but you managed to smile through them. "Thank you, Paige. That means more than you know."

Before you could even process it, Paige pulled you into a tight hug. She buried her face in your neck as you felt your tears flow freely, her breaths coming in hiccups. You hugged her back just as tightly, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort you had once known so well.

Her lips found your temple, pressing a kiss on to it. You squeezed her tighter, but it was a cathartic release, a letting go of all the hurt and tension that had built up over the past years.

After what felt like an eternity, Paige pulled back slightly, her eyes red and puffy but filled with a kind of peace. Before she could say it, you felt someone's hands on your back. You met the eyes of Nika, pulling her into a hug.

And soon, the seniors of your old team surrounded you, taking their own turn in hugging you and congratulating you. It was bittersweet moment, reunion tinged with the pain of separation but also the joy of shared memories and accomplishments. Each hug brought a new rush of memories, a reminder of the bond you had shared with these incredible women.

"Well, what a remarkable sight we're witnessing right now," the lead commentator said, his voice tinged with emotion. "It's not just about the victory for Iowa or the hard-fought battle for UConn. This is a moment of true sportsmanship and personal connection. You can see the genuine respect and love these players have for each other, transcending the rivalry and the outcome of the game."

His co-commentator nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. It's moments like these that remind us why we love sports. It's not just about the competition, it's about the camaraderie and the human stories behind the game. These athletes have given everything on the court, but off the court, they are still friends, still a family in many ways."

The camera panned across the court, capturing the emotional reunions and heartfelt embraces. It zoomed in on you and Paige, still holding hands and exchanging a few final words. The commentators fell silent for a moment, letting the images speak for themselves.

As you walked away, you felt a sense of closure. It wasn't the perfect resolution, but it was a step in the right direction. You turned back to your teammates, who had been watching the exchange with quiet understanding.

Kate came up to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "How are you feeling?" she asked gently.

You took a deep breath, feeling a sense of calm settle over you. "Better. Lighter, somehow."

Kate smiled and squeezed your shoulder. "Good. Now let's go celebrate!"

You laughed, the sound light and free. "Yeah, let's do that."

As you joined your teammates in the celebration, the noise and excitement of the gym washed over you. For the first time in a long while, you felt truly at peace. The future was still uncertain, but you knew you had the strength and support to face whatever came next. And that was enough.

──

"I just hope we can find our way back to being friends, someday."

"Maybe. But even if we don't, know that I still care about you, and I always will. I never... I never meant what I said, I swear. I'm not angry anymore, I'm just proud."

ESPN, APRIL 2025 Reunited Once Again | Paige Bueckers and Y/N L/N Embrace as Teammates Once Again with the LA Sparks

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[daenysx]

imagine giving james a skincare sesh where reader is seated comfortably (on his lap ehm) and he lets her put all sorts of moisturizers, face masks and even lip balm on him and he secretly LOVES it and after they eat homemade cookies and watch their comfort show

thank you for requesting!! i had so much fun writing this, it's my skincare routine applied to james. i guess that means he's literally my boyfriend now (support my delusions please <3333) you can send me requests for james!

james potter x fem!reader, fluff

"are you ready?" you say, grinning. you carried most of your skincare essentials to living room, ready to give your tired boyfriend a nice spa day.

"yes." james walks out of the bathroom. "i washed my face."

"with the cleansing jel?"

"yes, baby." he sits on the couch next to you. you place yourself on his lap expertly, his face looks dry and clean. you lean to give him a kiss on his cheek, james settles down on couch with his back to pillows.

"okay." you say, clapping your hands. you're excited to give him a nice treating, he deserves all the best. you've never understood how boys have clear and smooth skin naturally, james certainly doesn't use as many products as you do, but he lets you do anything you want to him. skincare is like a therapy for you, quality minutes you spend on yourself. it's relaxing, taking care of your body without a single thought in your mind, you want james to experience it, too.

"let me just pull your hair back first." you say quietly, using tiny hairclips to secure his curls.

"why are you whispering?" he asks, whispering.

"i wanna create a relaxing ambience for you." you answer. "whispering is a part of it."

"oh." he teases. "okay."

you take your face toner in your hand, pouring some of it on a cotton pad. "close your eyes, jamie." you say, start applying it on his skin.

james relaxes into the pillow, his hands keep you balanced on his thighs. he likes how excited you get to take care of him, he likes being spoiled by you. your fingers are gentle on his face, almost invisible.

"now i'm gonna put on a face mask, handsome." you say, tearing the package of the mask. "it can feel a bit cold."

"that's okay." he mumbles. you place the mask on his skin carefully, adjusting the sides to cover his entire face. "what does this do?"

"um," you read the package. "it's for hydration mostly, and it has vitamin c in it."

"cool." he has no idea what vitamin c does for skin.

"we're gonna wait for 15 minutes." you say. "can i massage your hands while we wait?"

this must be some kind of special heaven for james. he gives you his hands blindly, you put on hand cream on the back of his hands and start rubbing it nicely on his skin.

james sometimes complains about how rough his hands feel, he washes them a lot and always neglects applying moisturizer. the cream feels good, like he has the skin of a baby now. you're being really sweet on him, he likes the way his muscles loosen up under your fingers.

"you're an angel." he says, a deep sound coming from his throat when you press a tight spot between his thumb and forefinger. "my fucking angel."

you smile, giving the same care to his other hand. james feels his hands go numb when you're finished. you clean the remnants of the cream on your hands before taking the mask off his face. "there you go." you put the used mask aside. "feels good?"

"i feel like a baby."

you laugh. "you're gonna be like a baby when i'm done."

it's a nice promise, james likes it very much. "i'm gonna apply some under eye cream now." you whisper. "you have no dark circles, i'm so jealous."

"it's because i actually have a sleeping schedule, lovely girl." he smiles. "something you lack, you know."

"hmm."

you massage his face a little bit before applying some moisturizer. you don't think any more products are needed for james, his skin is already perfect and the mask takes care of a lot of things. you want his face to be relaxed, so you keep your fingers on his cheeks. he smiles a lot, there are little lines on the corners of his lips and eyes that start forming. you can't help yourself, you kiss his lips softly. he immediately reacts but you pull yourself back, focusing on your work.

"what's the point of relaxing if i'm not gonna get a kiss?" james frowns.

"you'll get your kisses." you promise. "when i'm done."

applying moisturizer is so easy, his skin is glowing now. you make sure you cover every little spot on his face. "it smells good." he says. you nod even though his eyes are closed. "it really does." you say.

"and now," you put the cream away. "lip mask."

"lip mask?" james opens his eyes. "how will i kiss you if i have something on my lips?"

you laugh at his dramatics. "it never stopped you before. you always ruin my lipstick, remember?"

"not the same thing."

"come on, be a good boy for once." you tease. james parts his lips in shock. "once? this is a vile accusation."

you stop him, putting on a tiny bit of lip mask on his lips. he presses his lips together clumsily. "it tastes nice. is that strawberry?"

"you're not supposed to eat it!" you laugh. "leave some of it at least."

"mm, okay." he says. you fix his hair, and put a kiss on his cheek. you hand him the remote before leaving his lap. "i'm gonna bring you some cookies, can you pick a show?"

james nods, watches you clean up the mess through sleepy eyes. his skin has never felt this soft, he wants to pinch his own cheeks. he opens up the show you both like as he waits for you.

you come back with a plate full of cookies. james pulls you into his lap again. "i'm gonna eat just one." he says smugly. "i can't ruin my lip mask and i don't want crumbs on my face."

you laugh. "you're getting really good at this skincare thing."

"thanks to my angel." he says, he kisses your cheek three times. "i love you so much."

"i love you, too, baby." you say, your hand in his curls. "i can do it anytime you want."

"good, because i don't think i can go on without this anymore." he says like it's so obvious. "now, i remember i was promised kisses."

you settle down on his lap. "i don't wanna ruin your lip mask."

"it's not ruining, babe." he disagrees. "i'm willingly sharing my lip mask with you."

you laugh until your chest hurts.

[winterrrnight]

mystery of love

PAIRING: husband!soft!rafe cameron x wife!fem!reader

SUMMARY: rafe started to get more busy with his business, and you couldn’t help but start to feel neglected by him.

WARNINGS: soft soft SOFT rafe, he's so lovesick for his wife it is crazy (no it isn’t that’s practically canon), slightly suggestive content but it’s written with a fluffy intent, usage of nicknames like goddess & baby, and just loads of sweetness over all, very very slight angst (?) and intentional use of lower case

EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is more on this, you can’t look at that picture and not think that’s rafe, cause it is! thank you so so much to @glimodejun who commented their idea which prompted me to write this 🫶🏼 i was supposed to write a blurb but I got carried away, clearly, and this is pushing 2k words 😁

anyways, please please reblog if you liked this and feedback is always appreciated! thank you so much for reading 🫧

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oh will wonders ever cease? blessed be the mystery of love

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

it was starting to get a little out of hand.

you always knew how important rafe’s business was to him, especially after he inherited it all from his father. the burgeoning fire in him to make the business bigger and better than it had ever been and be so much more powerful than his father, who couldn’t give him an ounce of attention or praise his entire childhood was one of the biggest things fueling his motivation.

that, and wanting to give you everything you could possibly need in great abundance so that you never felt you were at a loss of anything under his roof.

so you knew he tended to sometimes spend longer hours at the office, to get everything done, to not let a single mistake fall into place in front of his eyes, everything perfectly coordinated and right up to his standards.

he always made sure to call you or send you a text if he was going to be late, informing you why he was going to be late, the tentative time he should be back home, with a small ‘i love you’ and ‘i miss you’ accompanied with the occasional red heart he only ever used for you.

since the past few days, unfortunately you hadn’t been receiving the texts you always did. if you did, it was short, something along the lines of ‘i’ll be late’. but no explanation as to exactly what had been keeping him busy, and no words of endearment at all. he started coming home really late, most of the times when you had tried your best to stay up till he comes home, but the exhaustion would always defeat him in the race and you’d be out like a light.

and the next morning wasn’t close to being better than the night. if you were lucky, you would catch him getting ready for work, and you would always prompt him to stay for at least breakfast. but he would be in a hurry and shake his head no, saying something like ‘i have to leave, it’s important’ and leaving you with a chaste kiss to your lips.

whatever you’d ask, his answers to you would be short, concise and quick, and you felt as if you’re catching the subtle drift of vexation and annoyance in his tone. was it actually there or were you just imagining it? you didn’t know.

and if you weren’t lucky, you wouldn’t even get to see him leave. by the time you would be up, you would only feel the cold wrinkled sheets next to you, the faint scent of him lingering in the air as a burning memory of the love of your life.

this specific night, exactly one week after since the first day this peculiar behavior of his started, you were seated on the edge of the bed after a shower, applying your lotion on your arms as you prepared yourself for another night of waiting for rafe, falling asleep in the process, and letting it be a mystery solved only by some higher power if you would see him in the morning or not.

as you were rubbing the lotion into your skin, you couldn’t help your wandering mind. how were you supposed to deal with this situation? were you supposed to confront him and demand answers? or were you supposed to tread slowly? you knew you were nearing the end of the american fiscal year; 30th of september being right around the corner. it involved loads of financial and accounting work, preparing end-of-year accounts and statements, and what not. so him being busy felt justified. but he should be able to spare a moment to at least send you a proper text, shouldn’t he?

no, you shake your head. you’re his wife, for god’s sake. you shouldn’t be reducing your worth down to some text. heck, you should be getting proper calls from him. you’ve been so wonderfully patient, not complaining for a second for the past week. the least you can get is a proper conversation with him.

as you made up your mind firmly, your thoughts were cut through firmly when the door to your bedroom opened. you looked up to see rafe entering inside the room, his blazer off and resting on his shoulder, and his sleeves messily rolled up to his elbows.

“hey,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him, keeping his bag on the side and disappearing behind the washroom door.

“hey,” you said quietly, your gaze fixed on the floor as you heard the washroom door close. you remained seated on the edge of the bed, clad in a satin black robe which he swore made you look even more of a goddess than you already did as you waited for him to come out.

you heard the shower run inside for some time, after which the door opened and you were greeted with rafe sporting a pair of grey sweatpants, his upper body bare with some water droplets still trickling down his skin.

as he came out, he saw you in the same position at the edge of the bed as before. “hey why aren’t you going to sleep hm?” he asked as he busied himself with applying his moisturizer to his face.

“no reason,” you muttered, your back to him as you kept your gaze down at your feet.

rafe was very quick to catch the dejection in your voice, and before you knew it, he was making his way around the bed to you, standing right in front of you as he looked down at you.

“baby, look up please,” he murmured softly, one of his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

you lifted your head up to meet his gaze, your eyelids heavy as you look up at him through your lashes. “yeah?” you mumbled.

rafe exhaled softly at your bleak tone. he sank down on his knees in front of you, his gaze coming to your level.

“listen baby,” he sighed softly, placing both his hands on your thighs right below the hem of the robe. “I… I haven’t been the best husband the past week and I’m… so so sorry about that,”

his heartfelt words reached your ears and caused your eyes to widen, your mind started to work away the gears to process his words.

“I haven’t been giving you the attention and love I vowed to give you on day one,” he whispered looking deep in your eyes, his own eyes softened to such an extent it had you melting completely. “I haven’t been communicating well with you I…” he muttered, running one hand over his prickly buzzed hair, “I didn’t mean to do that baby I’m so sorry…”

you wanted to say something, anything, for that matter, but you were rendered completely speechless when you started feeling him press kisses over your thighs.

“I hope you can forgive me,” he whispered into your skin, “I hope you can forgive me for everything I did… I’ll make it up to you I promise…”

your lips parted to let out shuddering gasps as you felt him slowly move the satin of your robe up to reveal more of your thighs, his lips pressing kisses against your inner thighs and trailing over your outer thighs.

“I’m so sorry… so sorry, my goddess…” he whispered. “i won’t ever do this again… you’re my top priority, always, and there will never be a second where you don’t feel that way…”

his words left a searing mark on your skin, his lips trailing up to your left hip bone. one of his hands came to rest on your right hip, rubbing gentle circles onto your hip bone through the satin of your robe, and his other hand shifted your robe even higher to grant him more access to your skin. his lips landed on your hip bone and he pressed the most tender kisses along the bone, a soft gasp escaping your lips at his actions. your hand came to rest on the side of his face, your head leaning back as you felt the sensations of his lips on your sensitive hip bone thrum all throughout your body, lighting up each and every nerve that constituted you.

“I love you so much…” he whispered against your skin, starting to gently suck on your skin, his eyes fluttering shut. a hum of pleasure tumbled past your lips, your own eyelids getting heavier. “I love you so so much darling and I’m…” his lips started to trail over your lower abdomen, pressing kisses through the soft satin of your robe that still covered your upper half, “I’m never making this mistake ever again I promise... please forgive me…” he pleaded, his lips making over to your other hip bone and kissing on it, before gently sucking on it the same way he did earlier.

“you only deserve the best…” he murmured, lips trailing a path down to your inner thigh again. “just the best… cause you are so amazing…” he whispered, nipping on the soft skin of your inner thigh. your fingers curled over the nape of his neck to give you some leverage, soft gasps leaving your lips, your eyelashes fluttering, and your chest starting to heave from every kiss and nip of his lips and teeth.

his both hands now rested on the sides of your thighs as they gently kneaded into the flesh and his lips peppered insistent kisses all over your inner thighs. he looked up from your thighs up to you, a pleading expression in his eyes, his lips slightly parted as breaths escaped them.

“please forgive me, my beautiful goddess…” he implored, his voice a mere whisper. “please please forgive me, I’ll never do the same I promise…”

you looked down at him, your fingers trailing to the side of his face to gently cup his cheek. he snuggled into the warmth of your hand almost immediately, his eyes closing for a moment as he let out a soft sigh, letting his lips press a chaste kiss to your palm.

“I forgive you, rafe…” you whispered.

that made him look up at you, his eyes widened and the pleading expression draining out to be replaced with a hopeful one.

“yeah? you do?” he asked, squeezing your thighs in return.

“yeah,” you whispered back, giving him a small smile as you trailed your fingers to the side of his neck, gently scratching your nails against it. he let out a soft exhale at the sensation, letting his head drop to your thighs as your fingers made their way to the back of his neck, continuing the scratching motion. he almost purred in your lap at the feeling, nestling his face into your thighs.

“thank you…” he whispered against your skin. “I won’t disappoint you again, I promise,”

you let out a gentle sigh as you looked at his buried face in your thighs, your expression softening more.

“I know you won’t,” you mumbled, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his head.

that night, he held you in his arms and kept you pressed against him, his warmth lulling you in the most beautiful slumber you had experienced in that past week. he made sure you fell asleep comfortably, his lips always pressing random kisses to whatever part of your skin he could succumb to, whispered sweet nothings stumbling past his lips to your ears to alleviate you to great heights.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

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[ffsg0jo]

𝖆𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖈𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓[𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘] - 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 1

no way. there's absolutely no way you're tutoring sukuna. never in a million years, not if there was a gun to your head, not if.... gojo's willing pay?? maybe you can make arrangements, after all you're always happy to help >_<

college au - various x fem! reader

warnings: swearing, sukuna, ooc characters, mentions of pregnancy (NOT the reader)

w/c: 2500 words+ (somewhat proofread)

a/n: this chapter took so so long and i apologise for that :(( thank you to @storiesoflilies for beta reading and for the encouragement!! and thank you to everyone who left a lovely comment too. they honestly give me so much motivation and energy to write more <33

series masterlist :: general masterlist

join the taglist here to be tagged in future chapters <33

previous chapter :: next chapter

it was a beautiful and blessed day. somehow, the stars aligned, and you and shoko managed to wrap up your lectures early and go for lunch together. heaven knows you needed a break, and its light truly was shining down on you.

shoko, being a med student, had a packed timetable, and you rarely saw each other. you missed your best friend and spending your free time tutoring was taking a toll on you.

with your lunches comfortably settled into your stomachs, you both turned to your favourite pastime. gossiping.

“you know that one third year?”

“which one shoko? there’s literally hundreds?”

“the rude one, shit i’ve forgotten her name,” shoko rubs her forehead with one hand, a cigarette in the other. she puffs out smoke, manoeuvring her lips so it avoids hitting your face. “with the long brown hair? spilt her drink on you on purpose?”

“ohh you mean yorozu?” you say, finally realising who she was talking about.

you remembered that day like it was yesterday. you were sitting in the library tutoring geto when all of a sudden gojo comes waltzing in looking for him, his entourage hot on his tail.

apparently, yorozu didn’t like geto’s attention being on you (even though you were there for strictly business purposes), and ‘accidentally’ dropped her drink in your lap.

that might’ve been the only time gojo had been somewhat nice to you, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his pocket and offering you his jacket to cover up the stain.

still, it didn’t make up for the other 99 times he was a prick. and it only made yorozu hate you more.

you pause, taking a sip from your mug. “i don’t want to be mean, but she’s such a bitch.”

“she literally made fun of professors toji’s daughter who’s terminally ill, there’s a special place in hell for her,” shoko paused and took a long drag of her cigarette before continuing. “anyways apparently she’s pregnant with that one third year with the facial tattoos.”

your mouth falls open in shock, and the mug nearly falls out of your grasp.

“choso?!? choso got her pregnant?!!? there’s no way, choso would never, he’s so sweet! and if he did he’d tell me!”

“not choso you dumbass. sukuna.”

“oh,” you deadpan. “him.”

sukuna, whilst you’ve had the pleasure of never really interacting, was one of gojo’s little friends. you really didn’t want to judge people on appearances, but sukuna lived up to his expectations.

for the most part, he’d ignore you when gojo relentlessly bothered you. but sometimes you’d catch him giving you the dirtiest and most scathing looks. as if you personally replaced the feathers in his pillow with dog shit. how he and yuuji, the absolute sweetheart of a first year you tutored, were brothers was beyond you.

snorting at the look on your face, shoko brings her cigarette up to her mouth once more.

“wait sukuna?” you said somewhat confused. “i thought she was with geto?”

“they weren’t together. she was fucking both and was trying to sleep with gojo too.”

“how on earth do you know all of this?”

“gojo has a big mouth, and we have lab together.”

you hum in acknowledgement, remembering shoko complaining at the beginning of last semester, about how much of an annoyance he was.

“what about nanami?” you asked, trying to act nonchalant and disinterested. he was part of their friend group, and he could be considered attractive by a lot of people (definitely not your own words), so it was only natural to ask, you rationalise. shoko gives you a pointed look, slightly raising her eyebrow.

“she hasn’t slept with him if that’s what you’re worried about, she thinks he’s ‘too boring’.”

‘too boring my ass’ you mutter to yourself. nanami was one of the best listeners and conversationalists, you know, if not the best. and he was funny! sure, maybe his humour wasn’t for everyone, but his dry and witty remarks had you snorting ten out of ten times.

a part of you almost sighed in relief that nanami hadn’t fallen into her trap. she was beautiful and looked like a model. and whilst you were confident in your looks, you were certain you didn’t stand a chance next to her.

a sudden ping pulls you out of your thoughts. sheepishly apologising to shoko, you turn to put your phone on silent. she waves her hand at your apology and takes one last drag of her cigarette before stamping it out on the ashtray.

you quickly check the notification, eyebrows furring at the unknown number. shoko sees the look on your face and asks if everything’s okay. instead of responding, you show her the message.

‘hey it’s sukuna. need a tutor u free?’

speaking of the devil, you wonder how he got your number and why he thought to message you of all people. probably through yuuji, but he would’ve asked if you were okay with it first. you just got rid of a student, and you wanted some time to yourself. also, sukuna of all people wanted a tutor?!? he barely shows up to lectures and seminars there’s no way he’s serious about studying.

“just ignore him,” shoko said, seeing the turmoil on your face. for once, you decided to agree with her and took her advice. she’s right, you’re not obliged to tutor anyone, especially not someone like sukuna. you were trying to distance yourself from that group to avoid trouble anyway.

sighing you lock your phone, ignoring his message and turning back to shoko.

before long you’ve completely forgotten about his message, caught up in shoko’s wild escapades.

it had almost been a week since sukuna first messaged you, and you still hadn’t responded. truthfully, sukuna had forgotten about it after a day or two. but then his academic advisor scheduled a meeting for him to discuss his future at the university, and he panicked, suddenly remembering his message.

‘too nice and too scared’ to refuse him his ass. nothing but pure waffle comes out of gojo’s mouth, he doesn’t know why they’re still friends if he’s being honest.

“why the sour face?”

sukuna turns to the girl lying beside him and resists rolling his eyes. he was hoping she’d have left by now, but here she was, on his bed. her hand on his chest was slowly moving further down.

“none ya business, don’t ya have anywhere to be?” he bites back.

the girl’s eyes narrow as she stares at sukuna coldly. retracting her hand, she moves off the bed and picks her clothes up off the floor, taking her time in putting her tights on.

“scan’s next week, baby should be the size of a plum, you coming?”

“’s not mine, go ask the twelve other guys you’ve slept with.”

yorozu falters, her dress still bunched up around her midsection. she turns away from him, rushing to roll her dress down and moves to the door. a part of sukuna feels bad, he really shouldn’t be nasty, but he was adamant the child wasn’t his. even at her insistence on her being on birth control, he never once went without a condom.

once she hurried out of his room, he let out a massive sigh. god, where did it all go wrong? here he was, about to flunk out of uni, potentially be stuck paying child support for the rest of his life, and loveless.

at least his brat brother was doing well. yuuji and sukuna were like night and day, but he thanked every god out there for the way yuuji turned out. sure, he was a little stupid at times, but his brother always gave it his all and had the purest heart. the effort he put into raising yuuji really paid off.

“morning kuna,” yuuji chirped as sukuna walked into the kitchen of their shared apartment. of course, he was already up and making breakfast for the two. “i’d ask if you slept well, but i saw that girl running out of your room.”

sukuna only grunted, scratching his bare stomach in response. yuuji continues scrambling the eggs as sukuna grabs two plates from the cupboards and places them next to the stove.

“dunno why you’re still with her kuna. i support all women, don’t get me wrong, but she’s horrible! the things she’s said about gumi’s sister, i’m embarrassed to know her by association!”

“s’nothing to do with me, quit yappin.”

yuuji side eyes his older brother with a look of disgust on his face. why sukuna insists on sleeping with her is beyond him. he knows for a fact sukuna has zero feelings for the girl and is just using her.

yuuji tuts and shakes his head, plating up the eggs and moving to the dining table where they both tuck in.

“thanks for breakfast brat,” sukuna says, mouth full of food,

“no problem big bro,” yuuji beams.

the youngest itadori glances at his watch and jumps up suddenly, realising the time and leaving his breakfast half uneaten. he runs into his room and comes back out 3 seconds later with a bunch of textbooks and papers.

“(name)’s coming over for our study session, she should be here now.”

you tutored yuuji? since when? just as sukuna’s about to ask his little brother someone knocks on the door of their apartment.

you were feeling good today. with a lecture in the afternoon, you thought you’d fit in one of your students for an early study session, and who better than yuuji. he worked better in the mornings, and he was a pleasure to teach, so you were actually quite looking forward to it.

you knock on yuuji’s door and anxiously wait for him to open the door. you hear the lock turn, and the door creaks open; your face falls upon seeing who’s on the other side. the universe must hate you.

you’ve never once ran into sukuna whilst tutoring yuuji, thanking your lucky stars every day. but the one time you wanted to avoid him at all costs he’s there in all his glory.

there sukuna’s stood, topless and in his boxers, his bulky torso managing to take up the whole doorframe.

eyes naturally falling to his chest, you notice the tattoos across his body. the rings around his biceps and wrists, the delicious markings across the expanse of his torso, they complement the ones on his face so well, and you can appreciate good art when you see it.

wait, delicious? you snap out of your thoughts and meet sukuna’s gaze, who’s smirking down at you, having noticed your oogling. your face instantly morphs into a scowl.

“take a picture it’ll last longer”

“is yuuji home?” you say, choosing to ignore his words for your own sanity.

“aww you embarrassed about being caught staring?”

“it’s too early for this, if yuuji’s not home i can come back another day.” stepping back, you turn to walk away, but yuuji’s out-of-breath shriek stops you.

“kuna stop bothering her! ‘m here (name), was in a rush getting everything ready, just come in.”

you brush past sukuna, your elbow grazing his warm, bare skin. willing yourself to not think about it, you follow yuuji into the living room, where everything’s set up.

surprisingly, sukuna leaves you both alone whilst you’re tutoring yuuji, choosing to take his breakfast into his room after forcing yuuji to finish his first. sukuna was many things, but a bad brother was not one of them you realised.

a part of your heart softened seeing him take care of yuuji, glad he had that support system in his life. but the other part of you got the heebie jeebies.

still, the last thing you wanted was sukuna to confront you about his message, knowing you had ignored it. as yuuji’s session was drawing to a close, you started forming an escape plan. if you ran fast enough, you could avoid ever bumping into sukuna on the off chance he decided to confront you. and if you just grabbed your shoes and put them on outside the apartment complex you’d be even quicker!

with your plan ready and all thought out, as soon as yuuji finished his last question, you packed up, said your goodbyes, and bolted towards the door. it was like you had developed tunnel vision, blurring everything out except the door. you were so close, and so far, there was no sign of sukuna. you could do this! you could pull this off!

“leavin without saying goodbye?”

you stopped in your tracks, recognising the irritating voice coming from behind you. maybe if you just ignored him he’d go away?

you couldn’t though, you raised yourself with good enough manners, so begrudgingly, you turn around to face sukuna.

sukuna had a massive smirk on his face. he saw the way you almost ran towards the door, evidently trying to avoid bumping into him. it was actually quite comical, to be honest.

he did feel a little bad for you. you didn’t have the best experiences with him and his friends, so it was somewhat understandable. but gojo would not stop talking about how you were smart and a great tutor, and he really needed someone’s help.

sukuna would never admit it, but the textbook and the hundreds of research papers were completely inaccessible to him. he couldn’t understand the results sections to even decipher whether the results were shown to be significant or not. and why do people accept the null hypothesis? what even is the null hypothesis? and what is that funky little r he sees everywhere?

anyway, the bottom line is he really needed the help. sukuna sighed and realised he needed to come at this from a different angle.

“listen ‘m sorry about ambushing you, but i really need a tutor.”

the apology and defeat in his voice struck you off guard. maybe you were wrong about sukuna. maybe he just had a really angry resting face all those times he stared at you like you murdered his family.

“can’t you ask anyone else,” you replied

“not many people can get through yuuji’s thick skull, so you must be one helluva tutor. and gojo'll pay for your time.”

you raised your eyebrows at that, not believing satoru gojo would be willing to pay you for tutoring someone else. regardless if he truly was, you weren't going to say no to money. especially since he was known throughout the university for his trust fund.

your shoulders dropped, and you looked up at the ceiling, trying to think of what to do. he was being uncharacteristically nice about it, and you can never say no to people when they’re polite. plus the money would be good.

“fine,” you acquiesced. “i’ll do it.”

“wait seriously?”

“yes, but i can only do wednesday afternoons.”

“perfect-“

“but not this wednesday, we’ll start next week.”

“got it, next wednesday.”

sukuna was half expecting you to say no, but he’d take it. he gruffly thanked you, saying he’d message you about further details later and left you to put your shoes on in peace.

slipping them on, you mourned your no longer free wednesdays. you’d worry about lesson plans and everything later, but for now, you needed some strong coffee to get you through the rest of the day.

what had you gotten yourself into?

© ffsg0jo 2024 — do not plagiarise, repost, modify, or translate any of my work, in any way shape or form; i will piss in your cereal if you do. all work belongs to me and me only.

[hoseoksluna]

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance. 

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either. 

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death. 

Work was hell, to say the least. 

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it. 

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked. 

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore. 

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office. 

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor. 

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin. 

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service. 

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond. 

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him. 

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance. 

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you. 

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it. 

“Okay.” 

A beat of silence. 

“Why do you sound so sad?” 

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.” 

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?” 

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.” 

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him. 

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno. 

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing. 

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand. 

You spill, completely. 

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you. 

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.” 

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech. 

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast. 

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair. 

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness. 

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves. 

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders. 

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?” 

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him. 

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.” 

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.” 

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.” 

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.” 

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within. 

You’ve become them, all over again. 

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.” 

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?” 

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.” 

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you. 

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling. 

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?” 

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.” 

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him. 

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.” 

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy. 

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers. 

Holds your hand. 

Doesn’t let go. 

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[saerins]

ᯓ ᝰ RIGHT HERE .ᐟ — touya todoroki

touya x female reader. content tags modern au, childhood sweetheart!touya, both are working adults, making out, mentions of infidelity/murder, he’s a tease. word count 1.7k

ᯓ notes .ᐟ haha can you tell i love touya too much rn ? just getting back into writing so have some of my touya :) thanks to any of you who read this <3

“touya, you’re gonna make me late for work tomorrow,” you whine, pouting as he wins you in yet another round of super smash bros. (and hence you’d have to stay up and continue playing at his behest.)

beside you, touya smirks, rows of pearly white visible while he clearly enjoys tormenting you. “weren’t you the one who said you needed a distraction?”

you grumble as you take the couch pillow and hold it over your face, groaning in frustration. touya’s right; you’d called him right after dinner, practically forced him to come after you figured out that you’re actually not as strong you thought and you’re actually still really upset that your ex cheated on you.

it’s only pathetic because it’s already been a couple of months and you’re still wallowing over it somehow.

“you know, i bet all that frustration will go away if you just let me kill that fucker,” touya tells you, flicking your forehead as leans forward, yanking the cushion off your face.

unamused, you deadpan at him. “yeah? then what am i gonna do when you’re in jail, huh?”

touya snickers, “aww, what? can’t handle being without me?”

in a strange way, your honest answer is definitely not. you’ve known touya forever. ever since you were five and your families connected at a preschool event. ever since your friend fuyumi introduced you to her brother. ever since touya confided in you how much he hated his father.

fast forward more than a decade later and you’re both sitting in your apartment, in a different state than either of your families, still as close as you were when you were kids.

you glare at touya, rolling your eyes before scrunching your nose and smirking at him. “actually, go ahead, i’ll go find myself a better guy while you rot in the cell.”

your best friend scoffs, cocking a brow and looking like he’s offended. “i off someone for you and you don’t marry me immediately? the fuck is wrong with you?”

the shit-eating grin that dawns on his face immediately after makes your heart skip a beat. yeah, you’ve always found him attractive, maybe even had a crush on him back in high school, but he’d always had girls after girls, and somewhere along the way you learned to stuff those flimsy emotions back down.

until you remember that he’s been single for a while now, and the fact that you’re both working adults with all the freedom in the world.

fuck, you really shouldn’t go back there.

“haha, funny,” you try to wave it off sarcastically. “says the one who told his ex that he just sees me as a little sister.”

he laughs, leaning back against the couch, a hand behind his head, abs sticking out from the edge of his shirt. it takes you a second to rein yourself in, not wanting to get teased relentlessly by him if you get caught staring.

“hey, she was getting jealous of me spending so much time with you! what was i supposed to say?”

yes, you’re aware. most of them were. most of the time you never told touya about any of that; of how his girlfriends were coming up to you, all insecure about your friendship and asking if you could back off. that was the most common thing among all his relationships: the girls’ pleas for you to keep a distance.

you did… the first few times.

and after his fifth relationship, you realised that touya would always pull you back close. would always end up breaking up with them if your friendship is causing them too much worry.

“you didn’t have to say anything, maybe you should’ve just kept your distance, you know? since most of them seemed to have a problem with it,” you comment, trying to act as nonchalant as possible, though even you don’t believe yourself.

a life without touya is unimaginable for you. even if you can’t really say the same for him.

touya sighs, shifting in his position before ultimately putting an arm around you, pulling you close. he smells like your soap and his hair against your face tickles.

he’s always like this; always touchy, always close. recently he’s been more than usual, coming over and sleeping the night (you never did anything physical!), chasing other guys away at the club because they’re not good enough for you.

and when he’s like that, you think maybe there’s no harm in letting those long-lost feelings flow back.

it’s dangerous.

he’s always like this. always way too much for you to handle. and yet you can’t live without him.

and then he does something he’s never done before.

you feel his lips on your temple, and you hear the chuckle reverberating from his throat. his left arm around you holds you tight, not that you’re running anywhere—you’re pretty sure you’re frozen stiff from the shock.

did that really happen?

“how can i do that when you’re the only one i want?”

you’re sure that’s his voice. it can’t be anyone else’s. but you’re not sure if you believe him. is he really saying what you think he’s saying?

slowly, you turn to face him, expecting him to wear that smug grin and tease you for being so gullible but it never comes. instead, you’re greeted with his half-lidded eyes, blue pupils staring at your lips like he’s hypnotised, his thumb caressing your lower lip from left to right like he’s trying to memorise all the grooves.

it’s so soft that you barely recognise your own voice when it comes, “touya, kiss me.”

and maybe he’s always wanted to, because he doesn’t miss a beat. the second you open your mouth, he’s giving you what you asked for, his tongue prying your lips open and he tastes just like the warm in winter mornings, like the comfort people always dream about.

mint. you can taste the sweet from when he ate it right before he beat you in the game. you can feel the cold on the tip of your nose from when you brush against the piercings on his nostrils. you can feel him carry you onto his lap, feel his hands wrapping around your waist. you can feel his heartbeat under his chest, under your palm, almost as erratic as your own.

were you really just upset over someone else?

every relationship you’d been sad over suddenly didn’t seem to make sense anymore. not when touya’s right here, lips locked with yours and telling you more with his kiss than you’ve ever heard from his words.

by the time you pull away, both of you are breathless, his hand on your cheek, lips softly brushing over your own like he can’t bear to be away even for just a second. you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, half overwhelmed and half confused.

“fuck, did we really just—”

“shh,” you hush him, putting a finger on his lips, suddenly embarrassed. your foreheads are still pressed together, and you can’t see it but he’s admiring your face, holding himself back from just kissing you even more.

touya moves your finger away. he whispers your name in the most gentle tone you’ve ever heard, “does that mean you feel the same?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, tongue-tied and still straddling your best friend on the couch. you’re just a single impulsive action away from going all the way.

dangerous.

pulling back even further, you’re about to make a break for your bedroom when touya pulls you back, making sure you face him.

“no running this time,” he tells you, voice raspy and his eyes flicking from your eyes to your nose and your lips but mostly your lips. “i want you,” he whispers, and the minute you lock gazes, the answer has never been more clear to you.

“i want you too, touya,” you answer, both excited and afraid but he never lets you harp on things too much because he’s already kissing you silly, barely letting you breathe—you don’t have to guess with him; he wants you so desperately you can feel it in his actions.

“touya, we should stop,” you whine, knowing that this might be going way too quick yet you want it all the same.

touya shakes his head, big hands slipping under your shirt and squeezing your waist. “no, don’t wanna stop,” he whispers into your mouth.

he’s about to pull your shirt over your head when the loud shrill of his phone interrupts. he would’ve tossed it to the side if you hadn’t taken it and insisted he should take it. it’s from shoto, after all. (he doesn’t call often, it’s a complicated relationship.)

grumbling, touya leans back, keeping your thighs in place so you can’t move away. he’s smirking at you as he answers, “shoto, what is it?”

you can’t hear his brother over the phone. you can only guess snippets of the conversation from touya’s end.

“huh.”

“what for?”

“you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever.”

when he finally puts it down, he pulls you close by the chin, a glint of mischief in his grin. “get ready, doll.”

“huh? for what?”

touya gives you a peck on the lips. “family’s visiting, a surprise or whatever. they’re already in the city.”

you blink, praying he’s not being serious and wishing it’s not what you’re thinking. “okay, have fun!”

“and where do you think you’re going?” touya laughs, pulling you back down after you barely got back up.

“go spend some time with them, it’ll be fun.”

“oh i’m sure it’ll be fun,” he smirks, typing something into his phone and sending the message before you can sneak a peek.

you’re almost too scared to ask. but you do. “and why’s that?”

touya chuckles, thinking you’re way too stubborn, playing dumb even if it’ll kill you. but he guesses it’s fine if he has to spell it out for you. “because i wanna re-introduce you.”

“wait, what do you mean?”

with a gentle smile and a poke on your forehead, he looks you in the eyes. “i’m gonna introduce them to my future wife.”

[tsukii0002]

My demons' periods cycles. By Mc

Note: these are purely my headcanons at the moment, they are based on animal ethology and behaviours that I think would suit each character depending on their personality and Lore. I would love to read your headcanon in case you have them.

Warning: Long text. Possible grammatical errors. It's written as if Mc was writing for themself.

Hey, it me Mc, the best human. Here is a compilation of the behaviours of my demons during their periods, cycles, for practical day to day use. It wasn't easy but I sat them down and got to talk to them, with a little effort I now know what they need. So now I am ready to assist them during these complicated times and be prepared in case I find a dead goat on the porch as a tribute.

Lucifer, Mammon & Levi || Satan, Asmo, & Beel || Belphie, Barbatos & Diavolo || Simeon & Raphael

Belphie

It could be said that he is the one that best keeps his schedule.

During his period he still sleeps a lot, the only difference is that he has short periods of high activity.

He can stand the light well. In fact, he will often ask you for a spell that simulates sunlight to sleep under.

During his cycle, most of Belphie's body is covered with soft fur, although some parts of his body such as the end of his tail or chest is a denser fur (perfect for sleeping) where spotted patterns can be seen.

His horns and ‘claws” harden and his pupils become horizontal (Little cow boy).

He sheds a lot of hair and his claws grow, but he is too lazy to groom himself. So wherever he is there will be fur everywhere.

To get him to groom himself, you will have to tell him that you will help. Sometimes, he strokes you simulating the action of brushing the fur (so I think that if he wasn't the avatar of sloth he would groom his companion).

Belphie does not build a nest as such, but rather a kind of fort with all kinds of blankets, pillows or stuffed animals, he steals them from his siblings to feel safe, although he won't admit it.

He usually does it in the attic to be quiet, although your room is also one of his favourite options.

Belphie becomes possessive and somewhat capricious, he won't be shy about asking you to spoil and pamper him. Lucifer says he is always like this but it has gotten worse since you offered to help.

Before his period, Belphie will go a couple of days without sleep, which makes him very irritable. Is this the equivalent of hormones?

During his period Belphie's appetite neither increases nor decreases, but he needs to change his diet to high-energy items because of his periods of activity.

He will want you to feed him but he will not feed you.

Belphie can talk, although slower than normal. He will communicate most things to you with puppy calf eyes. He knows how to use his weapons, sly cow.

He produces pheromones and marks everything with them, without you noticing.

This pheromones are not very strong but have a unique scent. He is a bully and sometimes goes around the house spreading them to annoy his siblings.

Belphie likes you to always be rubbing him, in any moment, always looking after him. He gets very touchy.

One thing he will do a lot is lick and bite you gently. Sometimes he expects you to lick him back, my tongue is not ready for that Belphie.

Belphie's courtship consists of little taps to get your attention and release a special kind of pheromones, if you stay close to him he will consider the courtship a success and proceed to groom you insistently (so he can do it >:v)

You can be a bit naughty and get up, just to give it back to him, but come back quickly or he will cry.

The sense that develops the most during hir cycle is his smell, mostly to detect the presence of other people nearby.

His temperature rises a lot, but he won't give up blankets and other warm things. Prepare ice packs for you, not for him.

Belphie's purr is not very loud, it's more of a chest vibration, he's super cute when he purrs, but don't feed his ego.

He doesn't mind everyone knowing he's on his period and will make it everyone's problem.

Mc: *worried* What's wrong?!

Belphie: Mc… Mccccccc!

Belphie: *stretching his arms out* I'm on my periodooo, cuddle me.

Mc: *stifling laughter* Why should I?

Belphie: Eeeeh? *pouting* I'm on my period and you're not going to spoil me? How cruel.

Mc: *cuddling up next to him* You're such a spoiled brat.

Belphie: *sleeping with hs shirt pulled up*

Belphie: *cuddling up against them* Yeah, yeah, whatever you say *smiling*.

Mc: *observing the spots on his fur* Humm *drawing the shapes of the spots with their finger*

Mc: Soft…

Belphie: *shrinking back*

Belphie: *balling himself up into a ball* It tickles..

Mc: *smiling* A cute little cow with a cute little coat~

Belphie: *blushing still in his sleep* Stop…

Belphie: *courting Mc*

Mc: *getting up to go get something, without noticing it*

Belphie: …*his eyes fill up with tears*

Mc: Belphie??!!!

Belphie: Do you still love me?

Mc: Of course I love you,

Belphie: Then don't ever do that again… *biting their arm*

Mc: Ouch

Diavolo

Get ready to go underground. Diavolo nests in a cavern. There is a large underground cavern under the palace for this precise purpose.

Diavolo can go through his entire cycle without sleeping, but likes to do it, curled up in his nest just for the fun of it.

He can tolerate light, but only if strictly necessary.

You can find out a lot about Diavolos' period because the cycles of the royal are well documented.

Diavolo's scales harden and although black, they glow golden in the light and the golden scales double in size.

His pupils tear he's such a big lizar. And ornamental patterns are spread all over the skin.

Diavolo's grooming is complex and laborious, at first he didn't want to, but now he is the one asking for your help.

The scales on the wings, body and tail moult almost every day and it is advisable to keep his skin moisturised. If it gets too dry its can crack.

He needs to sharpen its claws and teeth, usually against rock walls.

Diavolo nests in its cavern, always high up, never close to the ground (you won't be able to get out of it without help).

This nest is surrounded by all kinds of treasures did you think the riches of the kings of Devildom were in the palace? No, most of it is in the cavern, accumulated generation after generation.

Very territorial, during his period almost all the employees of the palace must leave him. Also his sense of protection is increased, he will not leave you alone, he will not.

Diavolo's pre-heat consists of very constant feverish moments. But it is easy to detect that the cycle is approaching because of Barbatos.

During his period his appetite and voracity increase, he needs to hunt often, animals and beasts, but also souls trying to escape from the Devildom among other things (he takes the opportunity to go hunting when you sleep).

He will try to feed you, mouth to mouth, but seeing that it don't work, he will switch to giving you small pieces.

Diavolo in his demonic form can generate fire, not only with his magic. Because of your reluctance to eat raw food he started to ‘cook’ it with this fire.

Can speak on very specific occasions, the rest of the time he is non-verbal. His growls are literally demonic, sometimes it scares you and it is very sad to see his expression of guilt :(

As royalty, Diavolo has one of the strongest pheromones in Devildom, many demons are sickened by them (Ha, human insensitivity mode on), he consciously marks everything, especially his mate.

The only way to calm the dragon is direct physical contact, stroking its complex ornaments and wing membranes with your fingers It's like a game to be honest

Press on the muscles of its wings and neck and you will have it completely entranced. He has spent a lot of time alone during his periods and is in need of contact. Initiate physical contact and it will be pure happiness.

And most importantly, show reassurance, it makes him feel insecure to think that you are there against your will.

Diavolo's courtship is a ritual. First it will show off its grandeur by lighting up its scales and perform a nuptial flight where it will display its wings and ornaments.

After this he will look for the rarest prey to give them to you (the day he brought you a baby unicornia you almost fainted, thanks to Barbatos, you were able to get the baby out of there). Finally, he will try to dress you up with all kinds of treasures and jewels to ‘be a couple’.

All his senses are heightened, especially sight and smell.

There is a rumour that he sees everything that happens in Devildom. Which is a lie because you've seen him run into a wall when he's looking beyond it.

Diavolo's temperature increases a lot, despite the coldness of the cave (You slept on his chest because he's super warm? Yes, That from then on he always wanted you to sleep on top of him? Also).

Diavolo's purr is deep and loud. It will resonate throughout the cave, and will usually purr when you are paying attention to him.

Diavolo: *clearly worried*

Mc: *caressing his scales* What's wrong?

Diavolo: Mmmm *looking around*

Mc: *sighing* I'll tell you again, I'm here because I want to, because I want to take care of you, is that so hard to believe?

Diavolo: wrapping them in his wings Thank you…

Diavolo: *placing a pearl necklace on their head*

Mc: *returning the hug* Anytime.

Mc: *sitting on his lap* Dia...

Diavolo: *placing several precious stones on their chest *

Mc: Diavolo, dear.

Diavolo: *holding up a golden tiara to put on them*

Mc: *filled from head to toe with treasures* Diavolo, this is too heavy, it doesn't- stop, please.

Mc: *caressing a fairy that Diavolo has brought them as food*

Diavolo: *staring at the fairy*

Mc: Don't even think about it, if you burn the fairy, I'm out of here.

Diavolo: * indignant dragon sounds *

Mc: It's true... I can't leave here without you, but if you touch the fairy I'll get angry.

The fairy: *about to have a heart attack*

Barbatos

He doesn't sleep during his cycle, no matter how much you bowel, no matter how much you insist, he won't sleep. It is normal to wake up and find him watching you with his eyes wide open.

Light hurts him, during his period his skin becomes sensitive and burns very easily.

Barbatos' skin becomes very pale with a mucous covering. His tail elongates and ridges appear on his back, forearms and legs.

His horns also develop a membrane between their branches.

Its pupils lighten to the point of seeming to disappear, but then return to colour when it is alert. Sometimes you get the sensation that he stops blinking.

To groom himself, barbatos needs a lot of water. During his cycle he will create all kinds of water springs, (he is one of the few demons who can consciously use his powers).

 He's not a big fan of you helping him or watching him, he doesn't consider his appearance the most pleasant for a human.

He usually nests in his room, but sometimes opens portals to hidden parts of Devildom or even the human world, the latter more so since you started helping him. He creates a burrow, underground or among roots.

Although he occasionally goes out, he prefers to stay in his den.

Barbatos is dangerous, and possessive, he prefers loneliness with the sole exception of his mate, he is not territorial, I think because no one in their right mind would go near Barbatos during his period.

During his period Barbatos gets headaches, because he sometimes loses control of his powers and timelines overlap in his mind. The only thing you can do in these cases is stay by his side and comfort him :(.

Barbatos doesn't seem to need food. But for pleasure he sometimes devours curious prey (souls, blood of mystical creatures, cursed plants...).

He can talk without any problems, but he doesn't talk much. He prefers to attract attention with caresses or small bites. It is easy to interpret his silences.

During his period, Barbatos generates a lot of pheromones but does not mark. He has no sense of territory and prefers to stay close to his mate all day to avoid others approaching.

At the beginning of the period he will be reluctant to physical contact, he'll keep his distance, partly because of his appearance and partly because of fear of his behaviour. But little by little he will ask for more contact.

Don't touch him if he doesn't ask for it and make sure your hands are always wet or cold because even if he seeks your warmth, the normal temperature of a human could overwhelm him. Good thing we know magic, thanks Solomon.

Barbatos' courtship consists of a kind of lullaby, a humming, in which his skin glows slightly in a beautiful colour, quite frankly it is very mystical and magical. If it sees that you don't get disturbed it will hug you and swim with you for a long time (use magic, use it, or it will give you hypothermia).

Barbatos' senses are completely heightened, nothing escapes his awareness, but this is detrimental because very loud sounds, light or even physical contact can harm him. There are far more stimuli than millennia ago so this is yet another reason to isolate himself.

His temperature drops drastically, but he doesn't seem to have any problems with it.

Barbatos' purring is almost inaudible, you have to be very close to hear it. But it is quite easy for him to purr even though you won't notice it.

Barbatos is feeling quite vulnerable because he hasn't had his period for centuries so he is unfamiliar with his own reactions, and feels lost, although he will never admit it.

Give him confidence, by now, you are a master in demon periods.

Mc: Barbatos, my dear *peeling an apple*

Barbatos: *cuddling on Mc's lap* Hum?

Mc: Is there a reason why you chose one of the most remote places in the human world to spend your period?

Barbatos: … no

Mc: It's not so the brothers can't find me, is it?

Barbatos: … no…

Mc: *stifling laughter* Okay.

Mc: *gently stroking his back* How are you feeling?

Barbatos: *laying down next to them* It… hurts...

Mc: I'm sorry I can't help you *gently pouring water on his forehead.

Barbatos: You're here… that's more than well enough.

Mc: Give me some time and I'll find a way to calm those migraines.

Barbatos: *smiling* I'm sure you will….

Barbatos: I have to say I had forgotten what it was like to live ‘a period’.

Mc: I wonder why you've had them again after so long.

Barbatos: *smiling* It's because of you

Mc: Me?

Barbatos: *shrugging theur cheeks and rubbing their forehead against his * Yes, until you came there was no one who could be my potential mate, and my body knew it. Just like it knows you're here now.

Mc: *blushing* Those words count as courting? because they're working.

If you have made it this far, thank you very much 🩷

[prettyboykatsuki]

on deaths door | s. gojo

✮ tags ; dark content ahead, afab + gender neutral reader, dark comedy / black comedy, attempts of suicide, the use of the word rapist in text, mentions of self-harm scars, penetration, intense but not rough, gojo is doting, no curses au, ceo!gojo 18+

note: this fic is mostly intended to be a dark comedy and have an unserious nature. it is very absurdist and it makes light of both suicide and assault. please proceed carefully if you find this might be triggering to you.

PLEASE READ THE TAGS BEFORE YOU PROCEED.

✮ wc ; 2.6k

✮ a/n ; i actually really really enjoyed writing this and would love to expand on it potentially. KJSDFJSKD.

reader has been through a lot so they are super nonchalant about everything just as a precaution

"Uwah," A voice startles you from your place on the roof. You gasp, amidst tears and sobs from shock. "Are you about to kill yourself?"

You whip your head around to see who could be beside you at this hour. It's a deliberately obscure location, too so it's extra weird. You were hoping to die in peace in a place where it'd be hard to find you, after all.

But there's a strange man interrupting your plans. Very strange. He's speaking Japanese rather clearly but his hair is a shock of white and his eyes are blues as saphhires. Despite the situation, his voice is light and cheerful - almost amused.

You can't tell if he's just a figment of your imagination. He's so unusual it stuns you out of your tears. You can't find your voice to respond for a moment.

"Yes," You reply, unsure of what else to say. He smiles at you.

"Hm." He looks contemplative. "Well... if you don't want it, can I have it?"

You stare on, confused.

He grins. "Your life, I mean. Can I buy it off you?"

Starting to wonder if you've already died, you stretch your hands up to wipe the tears off of your face just to see if any of it is real. The touch makes it gasp. You're definitely still alive. So, that means this strange man is also real and asking to buy your life.

"What?"

"Oh, don't worry. I'm not a cheapskate or anything, the price will be fair." He walks closer to you from where you've been standing all this time. He grabs you by the collar of your shirt, picking you up and setting you down further away from the ledge with a harsh yank.

Like a kitten whose mother is dragging it by the nape, you fumble onto the rooftop concrete. As soon as you're moved, you drop down to your knees - unable to find anymore strength.

"Are you... trying to traffick me?" Your voice is coarse in your reply as you stare up. It's a genuine question. You aren't sure what else to call this. The strange, unusual man just laughs in your face.

"Mm, well - not really. Though, if you say yes I'll make good use of you in all ways." The last part makes your skin crawl a little. "You were weeping so pitifully when I came up here... super pathetic. I just thought it'd be a waste if you died since I got to see something interesting."

There's something really wrong with this guy, you think. But this is such a common thing in your life, you aren't sure how shocked you should be.

There's also something equally wrong with you, because you're so fucked up - you're considering it. If he paid you enough to cover all of your debts, you could cut ties with all the bullshit your fathers debt has put you through. You could run away. Not there's anywhere for you, even after that. But at least you'd be unshackled from what makes you most miserable.

You don't want your life, but if this guy wants it so bad then...

"...How much will you pay me?"

His eyes light up when you ask this and it unsettles you further. "As much as you want. And you'd have to live with me at my beck and call."

"Like a pet." You reply easily.

Instead of denying it, he snaps his fingers and grins. "Exactly! Or maybe more like a plush toy that I take every where?"

Either way, you're not any kind of human. You're barely human now though with how much you work, so you aren't sure it makes a difference. You stare at him. And he looks back at you with a smile - all pearly white pristine teeth.

Who cares anymore, anyway? Even if he were to mistreat you, you're not sure you'd even feel it. It's all numb. He can have your life if it means you can escape what you're running from.

He looks rich, so maybe.

"Don't worry," He hums, and he reaches over to pat your head while your face is covered in tears. You don't flinch for some reason. "I don't like breaking things I've bought unnecessarily."

Something is wrong with you. Your self preservation is in total fucking tatters. But still, you want to say so you do. Maybe it's the absurdity, or the fact you truly don't have anything to lose. Nothing could make your misfortune any worse.

You sniffle and shake your head. He's dangerous and weird, but at least you could pay off your debts.

"Okay," You say weakly.

His smile gets impossibly wide.

You're wonder if you'll regret your decision.

__

He's filthy rich.

You should've expected that. You did, kinda. Because only rich people would think to do or ask something so absurd like ask to buy another persons life. Still, he had a driver waiting for him downstairs and his car is definitely a sports care. A McLaren, you think. One of the places you catered for ages ago was full of rich people with flashy cars and you remembered some of them.

He sits with you uncomfortably close in the back seat but doesn't speak to you at all during the ride. Not until you arrive at the destination, which is a giant building where the strange man certainly lives.

The driver (named Ichiji) calls the strange man Gojo-sama, which makes you feel extremely on edge. They whisper about something when you're out of ear shot, and Ichiji gives you a sorrowful look that you can't place.

The name Gojo is familiar to you, but you aren't sure where you've heard it.

After taking a long elevator ride to one of the upper floors, you end up in the strange mans condo. When you get there, he tells you take off your shoes and gives you nice slippers.

"Welcome to my humble abode," He says, still frivolous and speaking to you in what feels like a foreign tongue. "And also yours. I'll set you up in the guest room later, but you'll be keeping my bed warm mostly so keep that in mind."

The size of the place is absurd and so is the decor. What have you gotten yourself into? You must've gone insane. You're too afraid to touch anything.

"Am I like... a sex slave?" You ask curiously.

He frowns at you. "You make me sound like some kind of rapist. I guess now that I own you....it might make me one... but you agreed to come here so don't be like that!!" He huffs, childishly.

His response is somewhat incomprehensible to you. He's stranger by the minute and completely tactless - but for some reason, it's hard to distrust him. He doesn't raise any immediate red flags aside from being unusual.

You almost want to say it wouldn't matter if he was, as long as he pays you but decide not too.

"Okay. Do you want me to take my clothes off?" You reply, nonchalant. He stares at you.

"...I know your heads pretty fucked up, but don't you think you're being too blase about all this?"

Your brow furrows. A weird response for a guy who willingly understands this is a less than ethical situation "Would... you prefer I struggle and refuse you? Is that your fetish?"

"No! Well..." You look at him flatly as he thinks on it, almost blushing at the thought. You make a face of disgust "Not in this case, alright! It's just too pitiful and I'm not that type really.... Be more cautious."

"But you were planning to fuck me from the start, right? Or something."

He nods. "Well, yes. As a way to earn your living and for me get my urges out whenever. Finding people to have sex with is a hassle."

You shrug.

"Right. I can cook and clean too. I've done pretty much every job you can think of it,"

He waves a hand at you. "We can discuss it later." He puts a hand in his necktie and pulls on with a small smile. "Right now, I want to test out my new toy so..."

You should feel more disgusted by how he refers to you, but you don't have it in yourself.

"Can I shower first?"

He looks surprised but nods. "Uh-huh. Just wear one of my shirts when you come out. Everything else is in the bathroom. It's upstairs, first door on your left."

You stand to your feet, nodding.

__

It takes you ten minutes to figure out how the shower works.

His shower is nice. The whole place is nice. Nicer than any shithole you've ever lived in. He has a lot of nice bath products, though you aren't sure how you feel about smelling like him since you're borrowing his.

You examine your body a bit in the shower, looking at old scars as you wash and rub yourself clean. Thankfully, you gave yourself a trim downstairs not long ago.

It's embarrassing in retrospect but you've not had much of a choice in the first place. You're sensitive, unsure of the last time you've touched yourself given how much you work. You think of your job and feel guilty for how you're going to miss it. But you recall that you were preparing to die not even two hours ago and feel less bad.

You whimper a little as you finger yourself open under the water - getting wet easier than you thought. You have to lean against the wall, but with enough coaxing you get three fingers in. You're still horny when you shut the water off and step out.

You dry yourself and put on lotion - staring in the mirror. As told you borrow one of his shirts, but it's too big on you and you can see your nipples too clearly which makes you embarrassed.

You reason you're about to go fuck a stranger anyway, and decide to step out right after.

__

You decide against wearing underwear since his shirt fits on you like a dress, but regret when you come back down stairs feeling aware of the breeze on your went cunt.

He's sitting on the couch with his legs spread, dress shirt unbuttoned but still in his clothes. He hears you before he sees you, eyes widening. You suddenly get self-conscious under the weight of his stare.

"Better than I thought," Is his only assessment. Your skin grows hot.

He beckons you over to him and you go, unsure of what to do until he pulls you into his lap. Forcing you to straddle him, he wastes no time in feeling you up. His hands at your waist and chest. His face lights up in pure amusement when he sees you bare underneath.

He stares at your pussy for a long time.

"It's good," He hums, his hands brushing against it. Your nipples pebble in response to the arousal, a pathetic moan leaving your lips that makes him laugh. "Pretty."

You don't have anything to say to that so you keep quiet. Gojo slides his fingers along the seam of your cunt to asses your wetness, surprised surely by how wet it is. Without warning, he plunges a finger in. He looks up at your face, your hand covering your mouth so you don't moan.

"So wet," His voice can't contain his amusement. "What's this?"

"I was," You shiver half-way through as he plunges in another finger and it goes in smoothly. "I p-prepared in the shower and masturbated. I thought you'd just want to stick it in and I didn't want it to hurt.

"Haah," His voice is sharp, suddenly breathy. Something hard and big presses up against your leg. "You're talented in seducing me. I'm not so ungentlemanly, but I'll let it go this time, alright?"

You nod. He uses a sticky hand to unbutton his slacks and push his boxers away. You gasp at the size of his cock. You're not a virgin exactly, but you haven't had sex with anyone this big ever. He chuckles a little, pressing the head of his cock against your stomach and cunt as if measuring it up to you.

More wetness pulses, shame filling you - because you're almost excited to be fucking this strange man you've only met today. Weirdly, you don't feel unsafe around him. Your eyes glass over from lust.

He sticks his fingers in your mouth and you suck automatically, instinctively. His smile is predatory all of a sudden, teeth glimmering.

"So obedient," He says, sharply. "Ah, I have a good eye. It really would've been such a waste."

You're content to throw yourself at him, chasing the pleasure. His fingers taste of salt and skin, making you want something else entirely. It's not long before he pulls away though, wrapping his hand around his shaft and making it shiny. You blink down at where he fists his cock - your spine tingling at the sight.

"Look at you," He mutters, amused. "Do you always get this excited? Is it normal for you to fuck strange men or am I special?"

You shake your head. "It's only been two people."

"Then I am special," He replies. Your breath hitches at the feeling of his cock pressing against your hole - fluttering. "We have good compatibility."

Before you can say a word, you feel his length push inside of you in one swift motion and gasp. It's so big, so impossibly big - and even with how much you stretched, there's a touch of resistance that's making your entire lower half feel like it's jelly. Almost numb from the sensation. Buzzing from adrenaline and want.

You feel full. In your stomach, in your chest - your whole body feel complete. When you manage to open your eyes, you look at Gojo and find yourself taken aback. His hair is pushed back from his hand and he looks... different. He's handsome now that you realize. His face looks...pleased.

You talk before you can think about it.

"Do I feel good?"

He laughs sweetly, before pressing a kiss to your temple that feels to affectionate for people who barely know each other.

"Uh-huh," He says. His hands are strong, tight on your ass as he bucks up into you - causing you to collapse forward. The pleasure makes you shake, sensitivity through the roof. "Feel so good. Hahaha, how lucky."

You cling onto Gojo's shoulder and bury your face into his neck. He doesn't stop you. A large hand comes around the back of your head - the other one at your hips as he thrusts up into you with alarming force and precision. He feels so good it's a little scary, and you can't keep the noises from slipping out. You moan and whine each time the tip rubs against you inside, soft walls barely able to accommodate the size.

Your body feels hot everywhere he touches. It's been so long and Gojo is so careful but so intense. His expensive dress shirt rubs up against your nipples each time he moves. It's so good, so good - makes you want to cry.

"You're so sensitive." He laughs against your shoulder. "Gripping so tight every time I move. Do you want to cum so bad?"

"Yes," The words are a sob. Just a little more.

"Uh-huh. Tell me where to touch you. How should I make you cum."

You're too shamelessly pent up to feel shy anymore. "Touch my c-clit, please, please."

"Got it, got it - don't cry."

Gojo listens to you well. Thick fingers and an angled hand find your clit with ease as he bounces you on his cock with no regard. Your eyes roll back instantly, immediately - as an orgasm washes over your entire body. Back arching, you cum hard around the base of his cock - but Gojo just keeps fucking you through it. He doesn't stop even when you come down, only moves you both so you're laying on the couch on your back.

He kisses you then, and you meet his mouth with sloppy tears running down your face from the pleasure.

"Let's see what your stamina is like, yeah? See if you can keep up with me."

__

He fucks you unconscious.

Essentially. Though you take with enthusiasm even during your exhaustion because the sex is phenomenal - you have no idea when you stop.

You wake up in a bed, and you wake up completely clean. You don't know whose bed, but there's a large figure besides you. Half-asleep and fully exhausted, you feel shy thinking about the fact he probably bathed and dressed you while you were out.

What a strange man, you think - to do that.

He's talking to someone on the phone. You don't really make out much of the words, though you do hear your name in bits and pieces.

"...A college student.......- young then -...... open a bank account for.... - debt...- pay it all off before it becomes annoying.... look into -."

You shift under your blankets half asleep. A hand comes up on top of your head on the pillow, pushing hair from your face.

"Did I wake you?" His expression is hard to read in the dark with your eyes barely open. "Sorry. Almost done. Go back to sleep."

So you do, because you can't find strength to do much else.

The bed is warm, but your sure the heat you feel is from the strong, gentle head petting your head as you rest.

[garagepaperback]

What are your favorite drarry fics?

oh. ooooooooooooh oh oh.

here are my staples:

draco, the magic dragon - libbydrew a fic i first read on livejournal (showing off the varnish of my casket here) that i thought about regularly for the almost two decades i fell out of fandom. canon to me tbh. libby invented my draco rubric: proud lil showboat even when everything around him has gone to rancid shit, sarcastic and aloof personality as a poor facade to distract from the big ol' gaping well of hurt.

Potter took a great breath, then let it out slowly – a low whistle between his teeth. "Malfoy, I had no idea. I thought—" "Why are you here?" Draco cut him off before the idiot embarrassed them both. Their shared past was water under the bridge – even if Draco had drowned in it.

nightingale - michi_the_killer

another back-in-my-day fav, even though i can only stand to read half of it. actually even thinking about it is making me stare off in a distance for upwards of three minutes. this one i would hand off wrapped in about a million miles of caution tape. + also a huge fan of michi's gory veela fic.

It was better than fighting, Harry thought, although sometimes he still wanted to rip into Malfoy, to hurt him. Other days, he thought, it was better than anything.

rookie moves - peu_a_peu

what can i say that hasn't already been said - peu is a MASTER. if you somehow know who i am but haven't read this, reassess your life choices through professional means but not until after you dive in.

“Feels kinda big,” Malfoy said, smirking. “For a guy your height.” “My height is average,” Harry said, although he was undeniably glaring upward at Malfoy’s face when they stood so close together. “And it is kinda big.”

stately homes of wiltshire - waspabi another one that crept into my heart and made a home. hard to choose between this and waspabi's other drarry fic, but there's something about the decrepit manor that just does it for me. a perfect harry and draco, perfect soft reaching towards each other.

Draco smiled and dragged Potter from the shop before he could charm any more elderly ladies with his unkept, take-care-of-me-I’m-confused-and-have-nice-shoulders aesthetic. Once outside in the drizzle, he realised he still had his hand around Potter’s forearm. He yanked his hand back immediately.

i wake up falling - warmfoothills

warmfoothills :,) just reading this moniker makes me vision go soft around the edges. their writing has made me out loud, quietly say "oh," multiple times. the prose is darling, this story is such a brief, aching glance. it was also really hard to pick just one (flashback, warm nights i also go in for).

“I love you,” he says, unable to stop himself. Draco blinks, a barely-there flinch, like Harry’s taken a swing at him. “I know,” he says, still oblivious to the reference, oblivious to the way his words scoop right into the meat of Harry’s stupid, hopeful heart. “It’s not enough, is it?” Draco shakes his head. Above, the stars watch unfeelingly on.

the pure and simple truth - lettered no one does dialogue with the mastery lettered does. my GOD. my god. i feel like this fic is drarry perfectly distilled.

“What’s he going to be?” Blaise raised a brow. “Pardon?” “You said he says Hermione should be Minister, and all those other things. What does Malfoy think he should be?” There was something much like pity in Blaise’s eyes. “He thinks he should never, ever be forgiven for the things he’s done.” Harry felt ill. “That’s not fair.” “When has Draco ever been fair?” “I meant―” Harry swallowed hard. “That’s not right.” Blaise looked more pitying still. “When has Draco ever been right?”

far from the tree - aideomai

the writer i avoid talking about the most bc once i start i cannot physically restrain myself from going on about their beauty forever. i sat for forty-five solid minutes frowning, trying to choose between this one and in the hand. and dwelling. okay anyway. i keep a doc of quotes from fics that resonate and it's 50% aideomai.

Draco wondered what Potter thought of this day, in the future the twins came from. If he had told Ginny about it. If he had forgotten it. He couldn’t forget it, could he? It felt burned into Draco’s body already, a final point that he had been moving toward for years without knowing.

i could go on but i think seven is a nice solid number tyvm for this ask!

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 12 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: life has been hectic with family drama, getting my exam results soon and making a decision for my future based on those possible outcomes. even so, I loveee writing, that’s why this took me longer than normal. enjoy reading, and goodnight or good morning wherever you are! 🫶

W/C: 3.366

part eleven

Throughout the heart-stuttering night, Jude struggled to get the full rest he needed for training the next afternoon.

He was thankful training was scheduled later than usual because he’d struggled to get even a wink of sleep.

After the sudden way the girl had launched herself into his arms, crying herself back to sleep as he whispered sweet, reassuring words to her- Jude’s thoughts were a complete mess.

Noticing her sleeping state, he'd shifted in her bed, leaning back into her pink satin pillows. Her head lying on his bare chest.

He had adjusted her head and arms carefully, making sure she wouldn’t touch his injured shoulder through the night.

And then?

He was stuck, only realizing how restricting the position was when she calmed down, especially considering how rigid his body had gone at the contact.

His mouth went dry and glass of water he had abruptly woken up for earlier was not even within the bounds of his thoughts.

Jude would not stop glancing down at her.

How could he not?

The way her bedside lamp had been hitting her face, the warm lighting giving him a clear look and emphasizing the softness of her state.

Fast asleep, trusting him in her most vulnerable state, drunk and asleep.

It all made his heart thump in his ears, her calm breaths leaving through her nose and hitting his skin.

Jude had witnessed her drunken state before, weeks ago, back in London. A night that had taken a wrong turn unexpectedly.

He couldn't lie, the entire situation had him worked up from beginning to end.

Images of beating the creep’s face bloody, even more than y/n's bag had done, flashed through his head.

Even when he when was lying in bed that night, sleepless- like this night.

Shit.

My head is pounding, pounding like I've banged my head against the wall a multitude of times.

A splitting headache was the last thing I would want on a workday.

Why did I drink the night before a workday again?

I rub my eyes, squeezing them shut, to try to combat the pain in my head.

My satin pillow was oddly hard at the moment, making me groan in annoyance.

Did my pillow transform into a rock overnight?

"Will you pretend to be asleep for another ten minutes, or are you going to wake up?"

My soul almost escapes my body at the noise. I jump up, something resembling a scream leaving my lips.

My eyes widen as I scramble, not believing both my eyes and ears as I look at a shirtless, tired Jude, in my bed.

Jude..

In my bed.

"What are you doing?!" I scream, looking down at my body, screaming even louder internally.

I snatch my blanket from the other side of the mattress, covering up my body- even when realizing I'm still fully dressed, exactly like I was last night before..

What the fuck even happened yesterday?

I watch Jude cover his ears, facial expression unreadable as I distance myself from him.

"Can you please stop shouting?" The brum accent spits. I watch the wrinkles on his forehead etch deeper, a loud huff leaving his mouth.

"What are you- Why are you in my bed?"

The sight is..

"And where is your shirt?!" I ask, voice higher pitched than I ever imagined would leave my lips.

I step back from my bed, the blanket around me like a do-it-yourself cape, seeing him surrounded by my pink, cotton, and satin bedsheets and pillows.

I run a hand down my face, my head starting pound more. I expect to see a nasty sheen of cakey makeup on my fingers- except there is nothing..

"Jude.. Say something.." I plead, urging him to spit out an explanation for- whatever this is.

"It's.." He breathes out, sitting up. I watch him wince, a hand traveling up from his bicep to his shoulder, his mouth forming a line.

I bite on my tongue, watching him like a hawk. I probably look like an absolute mess. My dress is wrinkled, hair a mess and my breath has to smell foul.

Since when did I care about how I looked in front of this douche?

"It's nothing important." He finally says, making anger course through my veins.

"What do you mean? You're half naked in my bed!”

He gets off the mattress, feet hitting the gray parquet flooring. Jude doesn't reply, instead, he walks past the bed, towards the door.

"Hey! Aren't you going to answer-"

"Get cleaned up.." He says rudely, walking out of my room. Only for me to hear the loud slamming of his door.

There's no way something didn't happen last night..

"The taxi is here.." I mumble, placing my sunglasses on my face. Dark-tinted glasses helping me with my headache and giving me a small mask to hide behind.

I looked like a rat who'd recently escaped from a sewer.

I hadn't spoken to Jude all morning after our weird screaming match.

Could he blame me?

He was in my bed, atrocious considering the weird tension between us, especially since he'd been living in my house.

What it meant? I couldn’t figure it out. Nor could I figure out if this positive or negative..

I hear him make a noise in acknowledgment, making him stand up from the couch. Blue toiletry bag- probably way too expensive for what it's worth, in his arms as he makes his way to the front door.

We annoyingly had to take the taxi to the training grounds this morning, mostly due to my hangover.

But also, because I'm not sure I could drive Jude to the training center without threatening to leave him at the side of the road if he didn't fess up about what happened last night.

I shouldn't be trusted to drive in this state.

I step into the taxi, greeting the driver before shutting up and resting my eyes for the rest of the ride. Though, my interest gets peaked when he begins chatting with Jude about the football club.

"Champions League very good- big chance for Madrid." The driver speaks in limited English.

Again, there is a jumble of mutated Spanglish being spoken.

I tune out Jude's reply. It's probably something egoistic and stupid, like usual.

Of course, my biggest wish every season is for Real Madrid to do well.

But my judgement was clouded when it came to Jude speaking of winning.

My eyes shift back to the driver when we arrive at the training grounds, making me step out immediately as the two of them take photos together.

The fare?

Jude could pay, and I'd be happy to make him pay for the rest of the rides we took together.

I should make him pay for gas, right- I have to..

I adjust the sunglasses on my face, looking around swiftly before practicing running into the training center.

I greet everyone haphazardly, my black trench coat making me look like a vilanized inspector gadget.

This will be a long, long day..

"So, any reason you were stepping out of a taxi with a certain someone?" I hear Lina say, making me raise my brow. The painkiller I had taken earlier helping me a little more than I expected.

I had the nosiest colleagues ever. I thought I made sure no one else saw us.

"Oh, I noticed him in the taxi, so I just caught a ride." I explain, a shitty lie definitely too easy to catch.

"Sure, not like you’d rather be caught dead than share a car with him.." She trails off, the corners of her mouth twitching in amusement as she twirls a lock of her hair with her finger.

"Yeah, didn't expect he would stop at the light next to the train station.."

Fuck, was there a connection between a hangover and not being able to lie?

Even a child could spot my bullshit from kilometers away.

"So, on the most random day you take the train, you spot him in a taxi?"

"Yeah." I mutter, looking away from her, chugging my leftover coffee.”

"And why did you take the train again?"

"I'm hungover from last night. Was out late with Luis." I explain shortly, pointing my fork towards the bored cameraman.

I watch him fidgeting with his camera lens, across the room, not looking very happy.

"He doesn't look good at all." She observes, opening up a pack of gummies.

"He was hitting it off with this girl, but I spilled my drink on him." I wince at the last memory of last night, still trying to rack my mind for the other memories.

"She asked if I was his girlfriend." I add, wanting to hit my head against my desk, but it was pounding enough from earlier anyway.

This was probably my punishment for not letting him have a good time..

"That's shitty.." Lina disapproves, clicking her tongue at me.

"I was drunk, okay? I'm the first person rooting for him and his love life, you know that."

"You need to root for your own love life. You’ve literally been single since I've known you."

Here we go again.

"I don't need a man. I need money, so stop talking and please continue helping me with this draft.”

"You look tired, man. Did you rest properly?"

Jude looks up from his seat in the cafeteria, teammates surrounding him as they all chat about what they did on their days off. 

"No, I'm good- just thinking of what to eat." He replies, looking at Brahim. Sending him an appreciative smile at how observant his teammate is.

Throughout his months in Madrid, he had been having an absolute blast bonding and becoming familiar with his new teammates.

Even with the barriers of language, he had found it interesting how everyone could understand each other so well- even with the jumble of languages thrown around during training and in the locker rooms.

He had his Spanish lessons, of course, and they were helping immensely. But Jude had to admit to himself, though his ego- not speaking the language fluently did make him feel left out of certain things on occasion.

Small jokes, little silly comments. Things he could only understand after someone was nice enough to translate them quickly.

He didn’t think anyone would notice, not like they’d care, but from a short distance, y/n did notice.

When she would step onto the pitch during training, interviews, even the small chats in the gym.

He was unaware of it, even now as, she sat on the other side of the room, having lunch with her own group of colleagues.

Jude hadn’t picked up on the pitying look on her face, or the way she would glance away when he’d look in her direction.

Slowly and unknowingly, the translating became a habit. Some things she would even say in English unconsciously when talking to the team.

It wasn't anyone's fault, obviously. Only a matter of time and practice could make sure he'd fit even better with his new team. Undoubtedly, his new home for the next couple years.

"What's with her, though? I thought she was capable enough to murder me with her stare alone.."

"I've never seen y/n look like that."

Jude perks up at the name, though not understanding every single word. His eyes scan the table to see who's decided to speak about the girl he couldn’t stop thinking about since last night.

His eyes land on the guys he's closest to, the very much loved French duo in the team.

Leaning in, and taking a sip of his water, he speaks to them.

"What is with her?" He asks, trying to sound as clueless and uninterested as possible, but the two men glance at each other. A knowing, teasing look in both their eyes.

"y/n, she looks bad today.." Aurélien speaks, informing him.

Jude frowns at the words, probably a translation mistake, he thinks.

"Know about it?" Eduardo jumps in, sending a questioning look to the number five.

"No, just curious about what you guys are talking about.”

He mutters, keeping his volume down, not to attract the attention of the other players.

He didn't want anyone to speak about this, about what she looked like, what she did, not about her.

He pokes his tongue into the inside of his cheek, mind pondering. A stinging and burning sensation of jealousy and protectiveness twisting his thoughts.

It’s just the sleeplessness, he thinks, it’s making him go insanely delusional. He huffs, shaking his head in dismissal.

"My dad is coming back home in two days.."

"Okay.."

"He will handle your case as a first priority. Tell your mom."

"Okay."

y/n twists her neck in annoyance, scrolling through her phone. Ever since those rumors, from back in London- she had a crazy feeling of being actively witch hunted online.

Even so, she had decided yesterday not to give a fuck anymore. Scrolling through her Instagram explore page and blocking every single football drama account she saw.

Out of sight, out of mind.

"Will you respond like a normal human being? Ai has better responses than you."

"What do you want me to say? Jump up and celebrate?"

She sighs, kicking her feet up and making herself comfortable on the couch.

Should she bite the bullet and ask again?

"Jude.."

An annoyed grumble is heard in response.

"Did we, you know, do something. Is that why you're being so, awkward?"

She practically dies inside at her own words, obviously sexual in undertone. Wanting to smack herself right in the face.

Really? That's what she asked?

She resisted the urge to walk into the bathroom and grab the superglue to glue her mouth shut.

She should just never speak again. Problem solved.

y/n raises her head reluctantly to watch his reaction, surprise clad all his face. 

"Are you crazy? I wouldn't touch you- especially, when you're drunk, and wailing out for your mother.."

Jude stops, mentally cursing himself for blurting out those stupid words.

Had he gone too far? Confessing to too much information he didn't have to share?

Was it something he should have kept between himself and whatever deity or anything that watched over the universe?

Her blood practically stops pumping, and the shock of his words make her stop mid-overthinking.

Her mother?

She'd let herself get that vulnerable, to the point of speaking of her mother?

A silence falls between the two, the both of them wishing they'd kept their mouths closed.

"When did I?" She cuts the tension with her shaky words, avoiding eye contact as she sits up.

How could she let that happen? Yes, of course, the absence of a mother could be noticed in her life, and others not very close to her could be curious.

It was a very sensitive matter to her, and the wound of grieving could be one that would feel fresh years and even decades later.

"Last night- No, the day before yesterday.." He says, voice deeper than usual.

'Idiot, you should go on a detox and never, ever touch something as simple as a shot of vodka.'

The thoughts and assumptions brew in her mind, and she takes a breath before asking.

"Was it bad?"

Night terrors, they weren't something she had carried into her adult life, at least not lately.

They became a thing after the fact, and therapy sessions during her teenage years in England had definitely helped immensely.

She did notice changes in her behavior when confronted with the idea of not having a mother, even later in life. She could have as many women in her live as possible, but eventually she felt as if nothing could ever compare to a mother’s love.

And that, that was still confronting to know years later.

It brewed jealousy in her mind and soul. Seeing Luis go on brunch dates with his mother. Amira talking about the fashion shows she'd attended with her mom.

And Jude..

The relationship he had with his mother was absolutely beautiful, so beautiful she couldn't help the pit forming in her stomach when they interacted.

Even when his mother came over to her house to check up on them. Not that the two adults needed it, a mother's love is to care for her child. In more ways than just saying, 'I love you' or 'Do you need any help?'.

It was also watching and observing, allowing your child to grow up into a beautiful human being while staying healthy and being there for them.

"No, not at all." He lies, it's for the best, he thinks.

Judging from her expression, there is no need for more embarrassment or honesty that will turn sour.

y/n nods her head, and realizing her slipping mental state and thoughts, she stands up.

"I'll go to bed early tonight.." She mumbles, not bothering to hear his response, feet hitting the staircase with haste and impatience as she retreats into the comfort of her own room.

Leaving a confused, conflicted Jude behind in the living room.

Pity, is all he could describe the empty feeling. Words he wants to say, like bile, rising up to his throat, only to never leave his mouth.

"Make sure you have your dress ready, y/n. I don't want you scrambling to the mall the day before the party." My dad speaks, placing his apron on the hook beside the kitchen counter.

"Come on-"

I huff, rolling my eyes as if to dismiss his words.

"You did it last year, and the year before that."

He had been back for- not even twenty-four hours, and all he did was; nag, complain, and nag some more.

Thankfully, I had cleaned up the house a little before he arrived, so that would be a topic avoided today.

"Did you vacuum the stairs too?"

Or not.

I open my mouth to give him a snarky reply, but he beats me.

"Never mind that, just make sure you have everything you need on time."

With the end of the year coming closer, the annual co-hosted New Year’s party between Real Madrid and my dad's firm would take place.

It was absolutely grand every time, and this year wouldn't be that much different from what I had heard from my father.

"Actually, you know, since I'm not a teenager anymore.." I begin, batting my eyelashes with sass.

"I planned my outfit with Amira's help, so don't you worry about last-minute mall runs."

"Good, I just hope it's not too short- even worse if it has ten different cutouts." He says, the exhaustion in his face way too visible.

His business trip, and the situation with Jude had probably been keeping him busy and up until late.

At least the party could help him unwind a bit.

"I assure you. No ten cutouts.."

"Alright, dinner is ready. Go ahead and call Jude down for me."

I grab the kitchen marble in annoyance, nails grazing it and making small scratching sounds.

"Can't I just shout from here?" I ask, pleading eyes looking at his.

"Now.." He warns again, pushing me away from the counter.

Jude and I hadn't talked more than five sentences, respectively, a day since that day. It felt weird, like I'd just been stripped naked and vulnerable, all for him to see.

But I'd been curious about him, even if I tried to deny it.

He'd been going out of the house more often, hanging with friends and teammates at their houses. Mostly, since I'd warned and threatened him early on about bringing people over, let alone anyone knowing we'd been living together for the past few weeks.

With a heavy heart, I walk up to his door, knocking harshly and jumbling out a 'dinner is ready' before dashing down the stairs, back into the kitchen.

So much, too much had happened within a short period of time, and I honestly couldn't even begin to process it head-on.

At least I had a warm meal to keep me occupied for now.

Oh, and lovely tension at the dinner table..

[tvlandofficiall]

i really like seam. with a sizable amount of dialogue, a wonderfully composed theme song, some very interesting connections, and a sharp personality that lends well to thinking up interesting character interactions, they’re a character who more than deserves to be recognized in their own right. surprisingly though, i don’t see a whole lot of analysis out there when it comes to this slept-on stuffed animal, especially when compared to more recent introductions to the speculation scene like dess holiday or big plot movers like the knight. a lot of the analyses i have seen, both the kind that aligns with or has informed my own reading and the kind that does not, has either been long-deleted or lost to time. but tucked away inside seam’s seap is one of the most interesting characters in the game to me, and i want to shine a light (or perhaps, more fittingly, take a step into the darkness) on just what makes them such a fascinating addition to deltarune and its writing here, since most of the other seam analyses i’ve seen around are either long-deleted or are few and far between. 

ANALYSIS

FATE

to start talking about seam (or any darkner, for that matter) we’ve got to talk about fate. 

after all, fate and agency are all but literally the name of the game here. and seam has quite a bit to do with both of those things. right away, they tell us a couple of very important things. the lightners, they tell us, are like gods to the darkners, and they’re the ones who give the darkners their purpose.

they are actually the first to bring up the concept of a darkner’s purpose to us, and for good reason. 

purpose is a concept set up all throughout chapter one, and then paid off at the end of it – once we see that the darkners are all objects, it all comes together. 

an object’s fate is to serve and assist the person using it, much like kris’ fate is to serve and assist us as a player in using the game deltarune. (you need a player character to play, after all.) this setup lets the concept be further explored in chapter two, especially with spamton, but we’re here to talk about seam.

seam, being a darkner, is an object – a stuffed doll, to be exact. they’re actually the one ch1 darkner with a unique sprite in the light world, interestingly enough – so even if you end up missing their seap, there’s a little clue left to catch your eye and prompt you to seek them out. this is something that will come up again in later sections – they’re someone that’s made out to be quite important to a certain segment of the game.

but seam isn’t the soft and fluffy sort of personality a stuffed animal might typically be assigned as. (that honor goes first and foremost to the prince of the dark himself.) no, seam is a fairly snide old cat, and they certainly don’t have any pretense of considering you heroes when you first meet. they’re a doomy, gloomy, type of person;

and they do it all with a smile on their face to boot. they’re also quite a nihilistic personality, making no secret of the fact that nothing much here matters and that they sure aren’t too bothered about that. unlike their king, they don’t express much anger at their situation nor struggle against it in any way. they’re plenty content to stay right where they are – they don’t even come out to celebrate with everyone when the party goes to seal the fountain! 

and there’s an additional reason for that, too –

seems they not only know the kingdom’ll vanish, but they know it’s fate that our party’ll make it happen, too. (lancer, as a contrasting example, doesn’t know until it’s already happened.)

as for the fate of an object, though – well, they tell us themselves. neither light nor dark hold anything for them.

as demonstrated through the other characters; be a useful object, and you’ll be rewarded with fulfillment, love, and attention. be a useless object, and you’ll be left abandoned, unfulfilled, and desperate. but either way, every object becomes useless eventually – no matter how many times you’re patched up without a choice in the matter. either way, you’re still an object – and either way, your fate is a pretty bleak one.

so why try fighting against something as steadfast as fate? it’s fate, after all! seam’s certainly not spamton – they don’t bother themselves with any pretense of breaking strings or defying destiny. and unlike the companion that led their worldview down such a dark path in the first place, they don’t find any freedom in their nihilistic outlook or in the kingdom’s purposelessness. 

though such nihilism does, in an ironic twist, cause them to be the one who poses the question – if they’ve lost any care for the light or for its absence, could they find “purpose” in another darkner instead? could they find meaning in what little is their own? 

TELEGRAPHED IMPORTANCE (OR; GAMEPLAY AND STORY INTEGRATION) 

jevil and seam used to be quite close. before the knight arrived and all four kings ruled together, the two of them were a part of their court – seam the court mage, jevil the court jester. one day, jevil met a strange someone, and the things he’d told seam since that time have led their worldview to grow – in their own words – darker yet darker. this seems to have been the cause for the mindset described above – if the seeds of such a mindset hadn’t existed already. 

seam doesn’t exactly know if they’d consider him a friend. but he was the only one who could match them in the games they’d play together – but match up to what, exactly?

through the power of setup and payoff, we can find out. when talking to jevil before his battle, the jester mentions wanting to play one of his games with everyone once he’s out. and he’s happy to play this game with the party, too. 

the game itself is, of course, his boss battle. it’s a deadly “numbers game” where he holds most of the cards as one of the (if not the) strongest bosses in the game. and so when seam mentions playing games with jevil before he began to see the whole world as such, we can infer from this context what those games were. it’s a payoff to what jevil set up during his fight – like two people throwing a ball back and forth in narrative form. 

we get some good characterization out of this, too. seam’s not just a fan of the games they played with jevil, they’re downright ecstatic about them – even asking the party eagerly to tell them what happens when they meet with jevil, saying they almost wish they could watch! a little chaos is nothing short of thrilling to them. 

but this isn’t the only setup and payoff seam’s got going on. jevil’s fight also introduces the secret bosses’ main throughline – the shadow crystals. after the party defeats jevil, a crystal is added to our inventory, and talking to seam lets us do something with it. 

the shadow crystals are a popular point of speculation, and seam is sitting at the very center of the mystery. it’s they that collect the crystals, supposedly to stitch together something incredible for us. there’s also the added mystery of the unused purecrystal item – seemingly, seam may also have the ability to purify these crystals too – but i’ll get into that in a later section. for now, let’s talk about the crystals.

to bring seam the crystals at all, we’ve got to talk to them in their relocated shop. they’re the only shopkeeper who retains their full shop menu in castle town – spamton is absent from town altogether, rouxls and swatch do not have menus at all, and sweet cap’n cakes’ shop is remodeled into a jukebox with limited options. as such, they are the one to retain the updating, lengthier talk menu afforded to the shopkeepers. they also retain their unique shop theme – a waltz remix of the battle theme, “rude buster”. already, they’re set up to stand out. 

and when we do talk to them, they has a number of varying reactions to the crystals based on the order in which you collect them. many of these contribute to the mysterious nature of seam as a character, as the context in which they occur changes what would otherwise be quite similar dialogue. 

if you defeat jevil and bring his crystal to seam, they’re surprised to see that he had one. but, if you haven’t, seam pesters you about it – clearly implying they know you’d have gotten a crystal from him if you had. still, they’ll say the same surprised dialogue once you do bring jevil’s crystal to them – causing you to wonder if they were playing coy about it or not the first time around too. how do they know how that mechanic works? was there some strange intuition how they’d learned his defeat gave us the crystal, or did they know all along?

regardless, we know one thing’s for certain – seam knows what a shadow crystal is. they recognize the first crystal you bring them immediately, explaining what a shadow crystal is, that they’re held by powerful darkners, and later, implies they may come from special connections to the lightners. they’re obviously quite familiar with these crystals, leaving us to wonder just how they did and what the extent of their familiarity really is. what exactly do they want with these crystals? why do they know so much about them? why do they act so sketchy when we talk to them – there are quite a few moments that read like they’re trying to scare or bore us away given how often they say such things. 

(seriously, they do this a LOT.)

and there are a few more moments where they allude to knowing things they shouldn’t, too – like the power of the next foe we’ll face and the nature of the neo body.

this mystery is, as mentioned before, another way in which setup and payoff are used to keep seam within the loop of the secret bosses’ storyline. seam prompts us to discover more crystals and tells us how to do it, we go to discover more crystals and meet spamton (who has both incredibly important thematic stuff and a difficult boss fight in his arsenal), and we bring spamton’s crystal back to seam. this sets seam up as the connecting thread of the “secret boss” arc of the game. (in other words, similarly to how ralsei and susie are central characters of the main story, seam is the central character of this section of the story.)

(and if you've ever played slay the princess, these segments are another good point of comparison.)

overall, they’re telegraphed as an important character both thematically and to this storyline of the game in a more strictly mechanical sense. 

EXTRACANONICAL MATERIAL AND OTHER LOOSE THREADS

EXTRACANONICAL MATERIAL

to really get into the weeds of why seam is being telegraphed as an important character, i’d like to talk a bit about some extracanonical material as well. this information, while less immediately relevant to the game itself, is recent enough (specifically, it is all official content published after ch1’s release) that it’d like to consider it here – albeit in its own separate, much smaller section. 

there are several pieces of extracanonical material and one or two unused items that are relevant to seam. the first of those is the seam ripper, a weapon detailed in the undertale cross-stitch book.

there isn’t much to say about this that isn’t explained in and of itself.  

the second of those is this answer from the twitter qna that followed the spamton sweepstakes;

“cat/puppet” seems to match up to seam pretty accurately. plus, in addition to the obvious “puppet” status that darkners have at the whims of fate, “poppet” can be another word for “doll”.

finally, there is this unused item that draws a fair bit of speculation.

because it remains unused, it is far more dubious than the former two in terms of relevancy. it could end up remaining unused due to not making sense with the presented version of the game, or it could end up being implemented later due to it seeming like something to be introduced later as opposed to an older concept that got scrapped. however, because it is such a dubious item, i likely won’t be dwelling on it in this section as much as the former two things i’ve mentioned. still, i feel it’s worth mentioning. seam may have yet another trick up their sleeve when it comes to the crystals.

UNDERTALE

keen-eyed players may have also noticed another thing cueing seam as important – namely, their similarities to a certain character from undertale. deltarune, being a game not only about us as players but about us as players of undertale, uses symbols and signifiers of it to induce a variety of reactions in the player. although they are not identical to these characters – nor should they be, as this is a story about a new cast first and foremost – the cues still let us know these new focal characters can at times be similar to ones found in undertale. think of it a bit like how a character losing their shoe on a staircase can often be meant to make you think of cinderella.  

seam has a few of these cues. the first is their eye – a dead ringer for one of flowey’s creepy faces. it spins clockwise just like a face flowey makes before his boss fight at the end of a neutral run. this cueing makes a lot of sense, given flowey’s also a bit of a nihilist (i’d suggest going back and watching flowey’s monologue at the end of a no mercy route – the whole thing is very relevant.)

they’ve also got a face that, when flipped horizontally, looks much like the mysteryman sprite – often speculated to be gaster – as well as the aforementioned drop of the infamous “darker, yet darker” line in reference to their descent into madness. 

the secret bosses all seem to have more than a few signifiers of the man, and it makes perfect sense that the darkner standing at the center of the mystery would have them too. perhaps such a strange person is a part of what motivates them… 

CONCLUSION

overall, however, we don’t yet know much about seam. they’re keen to tell us a lot of things about a lot of people, but their own story and motivations remain unknown at this point in the story. however, that doesn’t mean they’re unimportant – i’ve detailed here why i think they’re set up to be a central character to the secret boss arc, and i think that they’re far more worth keeping an eye on than they might seem at first glance. 

[the-kaedageist]

I used to be a lurker. I was painfully shy online, and I spent 20 years being changed fundamentally as a person by fics and not saying anything to the authors. It was such a deeply private thing, and I was terrified to leave comments or interact in any way, so I just carried these offerings around in myself. 

Discovering how to become healthily active and involved in fandom - and learning how to overcome my fear of online interaction - has been incredible. I’ve made so many friends and built an amazing community over the last six years. But this post isn’t about that.

There are days I have to remind myself - I have no idea how many readers like my former self are out there. You will never truly know how your creative work - whether it be writing, art, crafts, etc - touches most people who stumble across it. You will never know how many people utterly loved your creation and were too shy to say anything.

This post is not shaming lurkers - nothing you could have said to me at the time would have changed me, and shame and guilt from knowing I should be leaving feedback and not doing so just fed my fear. It didn’t have anything to do with not wanting to participate in fandom or share my experiences with authors so they’d know they made an impact - it was a block in myself that I had to work through and overcome.

Because I was one once, I know they’re out there. I know they’re reading my stories, having their lives changed by them, and not saying anything. Just because they didn’t leave feedback doesn’t mean they loved my writing any less than someone who did. I will never know how many people I’ve touched with my writing, but because I put it out there, I know I have touched them. 

I want all creators to take that with them when they’re feeling tired or unappreciated or like nothing they create matters. You put something incredible out into the world, made from your beautiful, creative human brain. Every comment is the tip of the iceberg. Yes, this post is about you. If you’re a popular artist or a prolific writer with tons of comments and kudos, or if you’ve written one short fic for a small fandom and received two comments: they’re out there, loving your work. You’ve touched someone, and this is what it means to create and be human.

[meichenxi]

Language learning: slow learning versus toxic productivity

Or: the process in crisis

Five years ago, all of the productivity advice I read (and gave out) as a successful self-learner of many different languages had one basic premise: that I was not doing enough, and that I could always be doing more.

Several burnouts later, running headlong from one mental illness into another, I'd like to invite you to entertain the exact opposite idea: there is a limit to what you can do. I have run face-first into mine on multiple occasions, and burnt out. At many points I've stopped learning the language at all. Most importantly, I've learnt to be distrustful of the very premise that all of the so-called productivity or optimisation advice is based on.

More is not always more.

Listen to a podcast in the target language whilst you exercise. Exercise to give yourself more energy to learn your target language. Talk to yourself in the shower in your target language. Do Anki whilst eating breakfast. Listen to Glossika whilst walking to work. Change your phone settings to your target language. Bullet journal. Manage your time. Make friends in your target language. Control your time. Write a diary. There's always enough time. These are all things I have done myself and recommended others do, to increase exposure to the language, to increase productivity.

Productivity? What productivity? What, exactly, is it that we are producing? I am producing sentences and words but - for who? Who is listening? Nobody's here, in my room, at 7am on a Sunday. If productivity were just speaking or writing, I'd be productive in my native language too, by virtue of speaking out loud. Or conversely, in language learning circles, should we measure it in terms of input? How many hours did you spend listening to Chinese yesterday? What about today? Is there anything you do in your life, in your daily life, that you could optimise? You're wasting time. There's time here, for those that want it. If you want to get ahead, to be successful, to be a good language learner, you have to know how to use that time. Go online, and debate over which tools are the best; watch your videos. What exactly is it that is being produced?

Productivity is a measuring tool for concrete output: the productivity of a field means how much crop it can yield per harvest. The productivity of a factory is how many mobile phone chargers it can bring to market per year. There are direct and measurable ways to increase this sort of productivity. But what is productivity when it comes to knowledge work? Cal Newport's work, The Minimalists, Essentialism: they all run into the same problem, which is that nobody seems to know what 'productivity' for knowledge workers means at all. You can look at a factory line and see which parts need greasing up, figuratively or literally: it is very difficult, on the other hand, to look at the work of a self-contained writer and tell her where she is going 'wrong'. (And by 'wrong', I mean - slow.) And language learning is an even more particular subset of that particular subset of work.

You could judge a novelists' productivity two ways: by the 'busyness' of her daily writing routine, or the amount of novels she produces. But what exactly is being produced when we learn a language? What is the end product?

In some ways, language learning as a hobby is even more playful than traditionally thought of arts and crafts. (By 'play' I mean something which is done for its own sake, and which is pleasurable, and which may yield next to no monetary reward.) We might think of the poet as sitting on a tree and dangling his feet in the river, a vision of artful indolence, but at the end of the day there is output - a poem. A knitter has a jumper. A potter has a pot. But language learning doesn't follow this [work] + [time] = [tangible output] structure. We can't even use the second metric of 'productivity' to measure it at all. Something is being done, of course - I can learn to speak Greek, and speak it markedly better after two months than one - but my point is you can't look at a day's work and say, this is exactly how much I learnt. Learning is not memorisation in the short term - it's receiving input, and practicing how to wield and use a structure. It doesn't happen over the course of a ten-minute podcast.

Learning happens - encoding happens - when the brain is doing other things. In other words, much like every creative process, you need downtime. You need rest, and sleep, and fun, and brightness and joy in your life. You might 'remember' a bunch of words on Anki, but you need to sleep before you can review them again: that's the whole point.

There is a much wider problem here, a culture of goals and optimising your life and glowing up, and to be honest, I find it disturbing. I think that for a very long time my language learning metrics were a stand-in, a relic, for the kinds of unhealthy and obsessively perfectionist thinking that gave me an eating disorder. How many of us truly believe - genuinely, with every inch of our heart - that we are better people if we 'better' ourselves? Learn more. Exercise more. Study more. How do you feel about yourself at the end of a day, exhausted, because you've completed day 75/100? Do you feel better about yourself because you've achieved? I'm guessing that you do.

For many people - including for myself - this wider culture has spilled over into their hobbies. Hobbies like language learning in particular are a target for this because they are so easily quantifiable - and we are encouraged, if we want to succeed, to quantify them. How else will we know how to improve?

Over the last few years, after burning out, after living off grid and without wifi and doing extreme minimalism and a lot of other lifestyle experiments to try and understand why modern life is so fucking hard, it's become clear that most systems of 'productivity' measure 'optimisation' by getting the most done in a day, but they don't stop to question whether you should be doing those things at all.

They don't stop to ask: what matters? They don't stop to ask: why am I trying to write a novel, finish my dissertation, pursue a romantic relationship, get healthy, learn ice-skating, learn to cook, look after my aging parents, and learn guitar at the same time? They don't ask: how do I prioritise, and where do I find silence? They ask: how do I cram more time in the day? They don't ask: how do I slow time down? They don't ask: how can I know what matters, if I never give myself space to think?

In other words: 'productivity' in language learning is measured by 'busy-work', by how much you can see from the surface.

You can't measure how well the learning is going, exactly, but you can measure how many hours a day you show up and grind. Whether or not that struggle is the best use of your time, or whether you're spending the time on things that will truly bring you value and quality, is a different question altogether.

And it's not one most 'productivity culture' will ever ask.

There will be things in your language learning journey that, to borrow from self-help terminology, no longer serve you. Habits and relics and resources and mindsets that worked for you once, or no longer did. Those books that are too advanced that you feel like you 'should' be able to read. That textbook that's been sitting beside your bed for a year. That habit of scrolling social media in your target language that was helpful when you were at a more intermediate level, but does little for you now that you're advanced.

Take stock of these. Simplify. Do less, but do it better. Productivity culture never stops to ask: what can I do without? It always asks, instead: how can I do more? But maybe - just maybe - the way to do more is to focus on fewer things, but do them well.

Multi-tasking isn't multi-tasking, but switching quickly between different focuses of attention. The average American owns 300,000 things, and watches television for 4-5 hours a day. On average, if you are distracted, it takes you 20 minutes to reach the same level of deep focus: but the average American office worker opens an email within six seconds of receiving it. Are you any better with your phone? How much time do you spend there? If you meditate, that's wonderful, but do you have any time to let yourself think? To walk and to understand how to feel? I don't want to sound like a boomer, but: can you name the birds? Do you live in a place, not just a room?

Stop trying to be 'productive'. Do less. Do it well.

I am now facing a wall in my learning of Chinese, and I'm still not sure how to get around it. The reason for this is because so much of the advice I gave others around language learning, and so much of the advice I found online, is focused on this sort of optimisation. But I no longer want to be listening to something, to be watching something, every second of every day. I have a partner to love and a house to appreciate and I want to spend time, humming and pleasant, alone with my thoughts, and it's summer, dear diary, and I don't want to stay indoors. Routines can keep you afloat, but they can also drown you. Do something different. Do something new. Do something that is not productive, that produces nothing, idle away, walk to work without music and perhaps when you sit down to your language learning that evening, you'll be filled with a renewed vigour and love for it. Do it because you love it, not because you scheduled it in your calendar.

A lesson, related, from my martial arts teacher. He said:

If you are tired, do not train. If you do not train, rest. 'Rest' does not mean go on your phone.

The same principle applies here. If you are tired of learning, which you may well be, rest. Not going on your phone, not watching Netflix. I mean taking a walk and sitting under the tree and looking at the patterning of the sky. I mean lying with your dog and absently scratching his tummy. If you're tired, and you have the luxury to stop - stop. Let yourself be tired. Don't drink caffeine. Sleep.

Last year, I was able to write 340,000 words of fiction because I focused on one thing: writing my book. Apart from things that I literally needed to do to survive and maintain my health and relationships around me, I didn't set a single other to-do. My daily list looked like: write for three hours. Not a word limit. Not exercise, though I ended up doing that, not learning a language. I imagine that if I had tried to focus on Chinese at the same time that I wouldn't have achieved anywhere near half the result. I still learnt Chinese, a very decent amount - I went to China and Taiwan for three months in total! - but I did it because I wanted to, of a whim, on a Sunday, something fun. It wasn't a must, or anything I was forcing myself to do. Many days I didn't do any Chinese at all. It was so immensely freeing to be able to think, at 11am: I'm finished for today. Even when I was at work, because I knew I was just there to pay the rent, I felt serene. Stressed on a day-to-day level, certainly, because all work is stressful, but - there wasn't any striving. I just did the best I could. And that was enough.

I am writing this, now, as I come out of my first ever information-overload burnout. I've burnt out, but I've never experienced one of these before: even looking at a book, at a phone, physically hurt my eyes. I couldn't bear to listen to people speak and would lock myself away in my room. I physically felt I could not talk, and had to take extensive time off work. Even looking at a pen and a blank page was too much; listening to podcasts was too much; reading the instructions for dinner was too much too. The only way I could heal was by doing absolutely nothing at all. That period shocked me deeply, because it showed me how absolutely dependent I was on having some input of information all of the time. No wonder I was tired.

I know, now, that there are lots of movements built around this same idea, by frustrated learners all over the world: the growing realisation that metrics and Excel and polylogger and tracking tracking tracking can't be the only way to learn. That a list of the number of books you've read in one year is hardly indicative of how well you understood those books, and what you learned from them. You've read 20 books this year already - good job. When do you think about them? What time do you spend on reflection? Why did you choose those books? Which chapters, and which characters, hit you the hardest? Why?

Minimalism, deep work, 'monk mode', essentialism, every writer's dream to run away and write in a cabin in the woods, slow learning, Buddhism, Stoicism, Marie Kondo-ism, the art of less, project 333, my no-buy-year, slow fashion, slow food, slow travel:

What all of these philosophies have in common is the idea that doing things deliberately ('mindfully') means 1) doing things slowly, 2) doing things well, and 3) doing things one at a time.

I am now at a place in my life where I understand the value of time alone with my thoughts. I don't want to listen to podcasts every minute of the waking day, because I need time to think about them. I need time to let the ideas for my novel grow in the dark. Nothing can be heard in noise; so make space for silence. I am a member of the real, living, breathing world, and that means I cannot devote 8 hours a day to Chinese television shows like I could when I was 20. I have to call my father. I have to do the dishes. I want to flex my creative muscles in other ways. Alternatively - I no longer believe that my worth is tied up inherently with how well I do my hobbies.

You're just some guy. There's freedom in that. You, my friend - you suck <3

Let yourself be bad. Let yourself be mediocre. Let yourself 'slide backwards' or regress, because all that means is that you're putting focus somewhere else. It'll come back. It always does.

I'm no longer comfortable, therefore, with the way that the language learning community tackles productivity. Please don't misunderstand; a lot of us have time spare that we could use to do things 'better' for us. I know. But I just believe now that getting rid of things, like the time you spend on your phone, is going to be more helpful in the long run than trying to force yourself into some gruelling, achievement-centric regime that collapses from within after two months of struggle and self-flagellation.

The other realisation I have had is just how much happier I am spending more time being alive, really alive, and less time in front of a screen. For a language like German or Gaelic that's much easier, because you can study with books, but with Chinese you always have to study to some extent with audios, flashcards, computers. Especially if - like me - you can read novels without a dictionary, but cannot handwrite even your Chinese name. So where next?

I don't have any answers. I'm not sure how to pair the two things together, to be honest, because almost all of my language learning has traditionally made use of technology. It's all been goal-orientated, systems-orientated, and despite the fact that I've failed at using these systems every day for years, despite the fact that Anki has NEVER worked for me, despite the fact that I have spent hundreds if not thousands of pounds on courses here, there, a wealth of overwhelm and five thousand words saved on Pleco, did I read that right? Five thousand. No wonder I'm stressed.

Regardless of happiness, it's much easier to achieve a state of deep focus and work when you're not online. After my period of information burnout, I feel actual physical pain from the weight of choices online. It's exhausting. I'm watching a Chinese show, but I want to go on tumblr. I'm on tumblr, but I feel guilty for not watching the Chinese show. I'm constantly torn between doing this and that, never fully committing to anything, seeing a post by Lindie Botes and thinking, damn, she's good. I should be better. But I don't want to compare myself to her. Do you know what? She is good. I admire her immensely. But I don't want to judge my self-worth by some imagined scale of productivity anymore - and, the more time passes, the more I'm not sure what 'productivity' in the context of language learning even means.

Try slow, focused, deep learning. You might just find it works.

There's something refreshing, almost counter-cultural, anti-capitalist, anti-consumerist, anti-rat-race, about this thought. Slow learning. I think there's an answer here, somewhere. It's a problem I've been dancing around for a while; and do you remember how you learnt your first foreign language? For me, it was on the floor, absolutely absorbed in German comic books, flicking through the dictionary furiously and scribbling things down in a notebook. I only had one book, and one dictionary, and one grammar book. I want to go back to that sort of simplicity. There was joy in that.

One again: I don't have any answers. I don't know exactly what direction this blog is going to go in, as I wrestle with these sorts of meta-problems. I'd love to hear your thoughts. And for now, if there's one thing I'd like you to take away from this long and frankly absurdly rambling post (thank you for bearing with me!) it's an alternative answer for the question I get so often, about what you can do to learn the language when you're tired, because:

Yes, you could watch reality TV shows in Chinese, or you could give yourself permission to be human. You could rest.

Thanks guys. Meichenxi out <3

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I’m glad I decided to leave Wattpad and stop using it as my main posting platform when I did years ago, because looking at it now, the censorship and the unfairness the platform gives its users are insane.

apparently your book could get shadowbanned if it contained violence, even if you rated it properly and gave your readers proper trigger warnings for them to decide for themselves if they wanted to go ahead and read it or not.

porn is allowed there but it has to be porn with plot. so porn without plot is banned if one of your readers decided they didn’t like what you wrote and reported your book to the platform. 🤡

listen… I wasn’t going to put 2 platforms against each other (if you like Wattpad and are okay with how they treat you as a writer and/or reader, then good for you), but meanwhile over here in AO3 we don’t have to deal with any of these censorship issues (and I hope it stays this way)

AO3 has a team of lawyers protecting its users.

AO3 doesn’t let any ad pop up on their site ever, because it’s a non profit organization, not one of those big corporations where you have to subscribe and pay for premium service if you want to keep using the app without an ad popping up every chapter.

AO3 — unlike Wattpad — is run by fans. for fans.

AO3 thrives solely on volunteers and donations because people appreciate how fairly it treats its users and how the platform refused to let censorship stop anyone from creating art.

you can write the wildest, most fucked up works on AO3 without having to fear your works might be reported. as long as you tag your works properly and make sure all the trigger warnings are there for your potential readers to decide for themselves if they want to read your works or not, you’re good.

*hence the “Dead Dove Do Not Eat” tag, which is very common on AO3.

just… if you’re looking for a sign to join AO3, I think this is it.

[ms0milk]

obanai's nsfw alphabet

thank you @eevees-hobbies for sponsoring this alphabet for the @ficsforgaza initiative! i had a ridiculous amount of fun writing for iguro (and accidentally fell in love) MDNI.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Obanai’s a total loverboy and takes a staggering amount of pride in caring for his partner. His aftercare is like nothing ever recorded by human hands; he has the time. He's got the moxie. He’ll exhaust himself for you on any occasion, but where Iguro really gets his pleasure is from pleasuring you and that doesn’t always take an army. He looks forward to the structure aftercare provides and has a set menu to cycle through, caresses, reassurance, eye contact always eye contact, maybe a bath, a walk if you can manage it, but no matter what he likes to finish your nighttime routines for you. Wrap up your hair, moisturize, fresh clothes, lavender balm at the temples, you know just all the things that only take this long when he does them. 10000/10 aftercare, 1/10 time management.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Screams leg-guy to me and should to you too. He’ll call for you from his desk on the floor to ask about your day with god’s perfect vantage point and four fingers tracing shapes down your calf. napping, reading, eating, whatever has you sitting together, you know iguro is sat opposite with an ankle in his hand and thigh up his chest just tenderizing that shit until you start making noises he can’t sit through. he’s a fidgeter with a great masseur excuse and an obsession for where legs lead. adoration to injury, if you prefer to shave no you don’t, iguro prefers to balance a blade in his hand in the bath, giving special attention to the clefts of your ankle and curves of your knees

(kaburamaru is a tummy snake; likes to warm under a pillow on your lap)

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

could fire a cannon off his head and it wouldn't bother him, this guy is not fazed by mess he is flattered by it. if you’re cumming for him, dripping, squirting, leaking, job well done. if he is not soaked, if he’s not painting his face with you, losing his grip on shit from the slip, sliding down the hallway like a cartoon character on a banana peel, something’s misfired. his cum doesn’t matter quite as much but yours is totally essential, delicious, and life sustaining. it’s not hard for him to cum at all, but more on this later

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

mm iguro’s a panty sniffer i’m sorry. he is a gentleman with you, all class, poise, a moral compass (totally baffling to his coworkers and every servant in his house) but your smell transports him and there’s more than one reason he insists on taking care of your laundry.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

i don’t think he has much sexual experience at all, but he 1) isn’t stupid 2) has a healthy imagination and 3) works with his hands for a living. being his partner means you will communicate all the goods mehs and bads to him– will as in you have no choice because he’s grilling you like a perp. “Tell me, just say the word my love it’s yours.” “Is this– here right? Right here, I know Y/n, I know.” “Anything, ask everything of me.” mmmmm

F = Favorite Position (this goes without saying)

any position that gives him the most access to you, on top or underneath doesn’t matter, on his knees, curled behind you– he wants to hear you just as much as he likes to see you and the only real priority is pulling the orgasms out of you. grinding against his face? fantastic, lovely, he’ll knead your thighs and groan when your desperation starts to tip him over. restrained upright? excellent, all the better to test in real time what makes your knees fail quickest. flat on your back in his sheets, his name off your tongue– timeless classic, perfect, you know how deeply he loves to make you writhe with suckled kisses on those delicate thighs and how much he looks forward to slipping a hand between your legs and putting his biceps to good use

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

not goofy, kills goof, BUT big but, he absolutely dissolves when your huffs turn to whimpers or your directions get more desperate and smiles like a dope as he talks you through what he’ll do and how beautiful you make pleasure sound, how quickly he’ll cum if you just keep looking at him like that. He’s got a surgeon’s precision and a simp’s bedside manner and isn’t above (cannot physically resist) showering you in praise to the point it’s a little silly how nothing ever gets old for him.

(what to do with kaburamaru does get overtly goofy sometimes and while he was sensitive about it at first, Iguro will chuckle about the periodic logistics of a snake babysitter)

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Iguro is tidy but not overly fastidious (with anything besides (at first) keeping his bandages secure. once your desire to kiss him clashed for long enough with his need to please you, those became less important). Iguro isn’t a very hairy guy, some fuzz on his arms and cute facial stubble, and doesn’t have a particular grooming routine. No trimming but not really a need to. Every hair on his body is soft, pin straight and black as night <3

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Iguro wouldn’t consider himself an overly romantic person which almost sends Tengen into a coma upon admittance because to everyone with eyes he is inconveniently doting, in a coworker sense. He is so grossly sweet with you compared to the way he treats his literal we-need-to-work-together-to-survive team (like shit on his shoe, to clarify). Sanemi’s not surprised by the change and doesn’t bring it up. giyuu doesn’t know what to say when he’s this confused so he also choses to say nothing.

When Obanai has you alone, finally just you, he enjoys preparing food and just sitting in your company much more than he’s ever liked saving lives. In the bedroom he is a chatter. The compliments and narration are a slight contrast to the Iguro you get in public (signif less talkative) but you know it’s just more of the same– another way he articulates his love. personally, i think this guy thinks about romance more than he realizes he performs it because like,, he doesn’t consider any partnership without adoration legitimate. he gets to be inside of you wtf, to fill you with his food, his cum, only his, he just– it’s something he gets to do with you by nature of your relationship, it’s something that comes naturally, it’s inherent. it’s not for everyone ofc but he can’t fathom a relationship dynamic without worship so don’t bother trying to supplement his knowledge, waste of time. tengen is totally married, yeah, normal family. giyuu? no way, iguro just assumes some people are naturally not built to find love. to you and everyone iguro is very romantic, to him, just heeding the call the of destiny

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

doesn’t feel like a big jerker but certainly doesn’t need much to get off if he’s in the mood. i think iguro’s an emotional ovulator; he gets a little pent up once a month and a few times here and there he’ll catch a whiff of you or you’ll make a cute sound when you sneeze and he tucks it away for missions.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

oh oh he loves rope play and restraint! not always necessary or full body but that is a nice treat for special occasions. loves the anticipation he can build up with methodical knots or a gentle touch and he totally gets off on your being at ease; being tied down subdues any concern you might have about reciprocation (we’ll get into that later) and he’s left to focus on these things he loves to do with some extra peace of mind about your peace of mind, feel me?

spoken restraint is a nice tool too and comes into play every time get gets to have his way with you no special occasion required, “hold onto me” “quiet as you can” “bite down” “don’t let go” you know, just 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

the “wear what you want, i've killed before” mentality does a lot for him as a partner here because I think Iguro is down to experiment with locations. he knows he’s more capable than any worst case scenario. he’s a planner, not too spontaneous with public sex (more on that soon) but happy to see how you’ll act for him depending on a change of scenery or who you think might be around. every expression you make is extra cute when you’re either trying to be quiet or so sure the place you’re camped is remote enough to just vocalize to your heart’s content.

specifically something about trips to the hot springs, strands of hair slick to your cheeks, a healthy flush, how easy it is for you to soak too long and get a little hazy, sensitive, just absolutely fries his circuits and he’s slipped your leg over his shoulder at the edge of a bath more than once. as for his hands down favorite place to have you fall apart is anywhere, on anything, he’s paid for, owns, gifted or made for you. every corner of his home is fair game, against a tree in that yukata he brought back from a mission..outrageously, and almost the most immature he gets, he’ll fuck you as a guest in someone else’s home on a gift he purchased them (rip the kotatsu he had commissioned for tengen’s pregnancy announcement). that’s a little extreme though and reserved for days of pent up frustration, in general he just likes a private place where no one will disturb the moment. snakes comes off for sex sorry kabu

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

you, it’s you, he can almost always be coaxed into at least some heavy petting if you just ask. he is not in charge and is under zero pretense that he ever has been because he loves it most when you imply or outright say that you trust him to make you feel good again and would like a demonstration. He doesn’t have a voracious or insatiable sex drive (pls refer to Y) but you can get him pretty close to Rabid Dog if you greet him at the door after a mission and just wrap yourself around him. “iguro you’re home, thank god.” ☄️💥🎆🔥❤️‍🔥

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

vouyerism, and that sounds awfully specific but walk with me. obanai’s not controlling of you but he is possessive, and the heat from his thoughts of someone else enjoying all the pretty shapes and sounds you make without proper direction could fission an atom. specifically, people can listen but they may not look. if you’d like they can participate under his guidance or yours, but he does not stand for peeping toms or an accidental view through a window or cracked door– no no. he is not that careless, and it absolutely has something to do with control but not in a classic way.

sidenote: He really doesn’t enjoy hurting you, sorry if you’re looking for a sadist. he’s not a spanker, or real fan of hot wax, or that whole genre of pleasure. doesn’t even like it when his ropes leave marks and you have to be SURE you’re really putting on a good show or else he’s gonna stop giving you hickies for fear they’re too ouchie

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he’s a giver, is that a trauma response? totally. it is also a perfectly healthy compromise :) giving pleasure is what pleasures him and he cums giving head regularly, but receiving anything is just, awkward. your lips could probably get him off but what hassle, please don’t make him play emotional olympics. he hasn’t always been, and sometimes still isn’t, comfortable using his mouth on you but when he does there’s nothing to complain about and I mean nothing bc you couldn’t form a thought if you wanted to. A rockstar long tongue and that strong jaw from frowning so hard at work all day. my friend. he is taking creative liberties. Plus his mouth is just one tool, you’re never without his fingers too and the combination could very well fell a beast

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

I think Iguro likes to mix it up depending on what route the evening takes, but always, 100% if he slips inside of you he prefers to stretch you slow around him. Every slight centimeter, any point of pressure could be a new knee trembling spot for him to find and you to fall apart on. Sink and pull out again, rolling against you, deeper and harder inside like a drum with that agonizing slow pull away and forever forced to make eye contact. he demands nothing else, you just have to try your best to keep your eyes open for him

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

quickies are in quickies are hot i want some quickies give me some quickies, yes iguro is totally fine with quickies. bite-sized cum time for his love? awesome, quickies are great. he’s not the horniest hashira there ever was but he’s never opposed to your pleasure

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Iguro isn’t a risk taker but his idea of risk compared to any normal civilized definition is so disconnected. He calculates what you’d like to have done + what he’d like to see + how well he could handle problems arising from said activities = he could probably conquer a nation if said nation tried to interrupt your orgasm so like, if you suggest it he’s gonna say ofc.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

he hardly cums enough to ever run out of stamia and maybe we need to add masochist to his kink list bc his cock will be leaking at the sight, the sound of his name and praise and gasps for air, and he just cannot stop devouring you long enough to realize he would actually, very much, like to cum (whereas you might be considering the reality of death-by-orgasm). canonically he’s the hashira that lasts longest in a fight so…y’all are good on stamina. you’ll get hours out of him when he’s in the mood and your satisfaction is a requirement even if he’s only got a spare 15

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

the question to split the nation. yeah yeah I think he has toys but just one or two, and a reliable length of rope. Obanai doesn’t need to be the thing that’s fucking you and in fact, enjoys using something else from time to time to watch how your body reacts when he hits those sweet spots since he’s often to buried in the crook of your neck to see much when he uses his dick. a vibrator is also a wonderful treat for more involved evenings and please don’t get me started again on his love of physical restraint

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Obanai is so much more complicated than I thought before getting into this alphabet wow, i don’t think he has the wherewithal to tease you from a control standpoint, hes is not a big bad dom daddy (truly isn’t a dom), but gets such crippling monkey brain when you’re worked all the way up by his hands. when you can’t say anything but please, please, so sweet, too sweet for him, more than he deserves, he’ll sometimes stop to enjoy the show. 50/50 chance in any given fuck you get dreamy distracted iguro or pump— tongue, fingers, cock, iguro that can’t stop until your sobbing and often wont stop even after that.

I’m sure he teases you without meaning to half the time because frustration and begging and dripping leaking shaking 🫱🏼‍🫲🏽job well done

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

ive been waiting for this one baby bc he can be chatty “I’m here, let go” “Tell me again” “You can hold onto me, just hold right here” but he’s a noooiiisyyy cummmmerrrrr. not above or really in control of, cumming in his pants, against the mattress, in the friction from dry humping with his head in a crook of you, inside of y– and he’s a whiner. it’s involuntary, brief, and so ridiculously hot. his voice starts low, rapid irregular huffs, and just breaks to pieces when his balls clamp and cock spurts. he’s not trying to form any thoughts, it’s just sweet pure climax, and when he finishes you get to try to survive deep, spent, groans

W = Wild Card (a random headcanon for the character)

need to rectify some contradicting info and please forgive my terminology usage (im a lesbian and I just can’t conjure up a word better than the ones I use in my relationships), he’s a boy stone top. on top of that, less of a label thing and more just an iguro quirk, he’s never opposed to your pleasure (ref Q) bc your pleasure isn’t inherently sexual, if that makes sense.

when he’s barely holding it together rutting against his bedding with a mouth full of you, it certainly has a more sexual tone yeah. but if you gush over his home cooked meals or seem genuinely so excited about a gift he’s prepared, that makes him feel a similar way to a stolen moment in the bath where you’re gasping against his lips. like,, it’s a spectrum for sure and I supposed you could claim the complete opposite right? maybe everything he does for you is sexual and his worship service kink is just soaring off the charts– he is not thinking that hard. his coworkers cannot fathom (or maybe can picture a little too well to be comfortable) what this grumpy guy does to you at home.

tldr; iguro gets off (emotionally or physically) on your pleasure and doesn’t really like or need manual reciprocation. just lay back, beautiful. eat well

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

clocking in at a whopping 162cm our short king is actually packing quite a muscular build. he’s a little stocky and honestly prone to a little muscle tightness. iguro’s cock is a modest 5” with a pornstar soulmate curve made literally just for your sweet spots and more importantly than that his hands are ridiculously well kempt and strongmgokjfjhsd, the grip strength girl. his thighs? mama. all the better to grind against, that milky toned muscle slips perfectly between his favorite legs to give you the pressure you need

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

again, not the horniest hashira and really a visual guy. without motivation he’s not thinking about sex too much and certainly not often when he’s alone. he equates a lot of things though, and it’s easy for him and his partner to have mismatched ideas about what’s sexual. when you’re shy in the new jewelry he’s probably spent a fortune on, that’s the same as when you’re trying to hold back moans with your fingers tangled in his hair. same thing, same type of intimacy, just lowercase vs Capitalized. he’s never going to give you a gift in the company of others because he’s ‘not a pervert’ lmao.

slightly more in tuned with mainstream, when you tie your skirts up to walk through puddles, when you pull your hair back to do work or wipe sweat from your brow in the gardens– guilty pleasure, when you’re flushed with fever 😬– he’s more likely than not to get at least little hot. hot enough to start some shit. you guys have a mutual initiation thing going on, call that instigation. if his partner has a high sex drive he’ll certainly do his hashira best, and if it’s lower than his you might have a hard time because he’ll find that most mundane things totally erotic and now you have to cover both of your mouths against a wall in the supply shed cuz theres tsuguko outside

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

gets a star whatever the opposite of gold is for sleeping. D-grade sleeper. iguro always has troubling falling or staying asleep but it is infinitely easier to relax when your head is on his chest or his yours, and he can listen to the steady beat of your heart. it’s rare that he’s ever totally exhausted after sex (you’re the once testing endurance be so real) but a nice workout, a good meal, and a filled appetite for your teary nods goes a long way in helping him wake up content

[fluff-n-cookies]

Randomly off the bat Dabi, Shigaraki and Spinner (separately) With a quirkless girlfriend Who has an Ex that wants to get back with her, BUT……. The ex turns that “HE BROKE UP WITH HER” because she “had no quirk” and that she was “useless to him”

(Those are the quotes she says to them while telling them the short version of the story) Dabi, Shigaraki, Spinner, deals with the situation themselves.

(I love those boys😍 and I thought it be a good idea story for you, so go crazy and have fun with it😅)

Okay, girlie, while I love the fact that you're sharing this stuff with me, I don't think you read this. the yellow paragraph. I hope you send this request to some other writers, @honeybubblebeeeeee is one of my personal favs. I do however like the idea of a reader having no quirk and being abandoned because of it, so I'll put a platonic spin on it.

AND I ALSO DON"T WRITE FOR SPINNER SORRY!!!

Reader was abandoned by their family after being born to a quirk marriage meant to provide children with strong quirks only for their first child to have no quirk. not wanting their reputation destroyed they abandoned our dear reader at 5 leaving her in an orphanage and a note to near come find them less they wanted a bounty on their head. (reader is now 16)

Dabi likes children, he likes how they have this innocent aura, he likes that they, hopefully, have not gone through the horrors he has. Hopefully. On the other hand, he hates quirk marriages, he hates hero's, in fact, I'd even say he hates fathers in general.

To tell Dabi that your relationship with your father or your mother is bad is to get them at the top of his hit list, VIP shit. Endeavor is just a couple seconds behind them.

but what hurts him more, what hurts him the most is if you actually believe them, if you push yourself through hand to hand combat, sniping, and other such practices not for the sake of improving yourself but to prove to them (not that they care) that you are not useless.

Oh how it pains him, to wake up in the dead of night to see your tear stricken face as you berate a poor punching bag to death on the roof. The wind is cool as you swing, and swing again. It's as if you dance for the stars of the night and the stars alone with not a thought for the trees or the mountains. Only ever the stars. 

The sting hurts, the impact of thinly wrapped fists against a leathery wall, but that anger that drains with it is enough to make the pain worth it, is it not?

That anger you feel, is an anger that Touya knows all too well. The type of anger that makes one want to yell of the heavens, yell that they are not a sinner despite being imprisoned in hell. He’ll watch as you swing with fury, fury of not being enough, fury of being thrown away like trash.

one man's trash is another's treasure though, right?

In that case, you're Touya's most darling treasure. Oh the urge to hold you close and tell you everything's going to be okay, as he pets your head, whispering promises of vengeance on your behalf. To give you a reason to smile.

Oh, it's strong.

Oh, the blood he's shed for you.

he won't say anything, if you see him get you water after you nearly faint from mental and physical exhaustion, no you didn't. if you saw him undo the bandages on your arms from training and replace them with new fresh ones, you're delusional. If you saw him stalking your family's socials and calling someone to leak their crimes, shhh, don't tell.

----

"I mean, yeah, you kinda are."

Was his genuine first thought.

I mean, what do you want him to say? that your quirk doesn't determine your worth, like what?

and darling, when I say correct him, I mean correct him, please correct him. Please look dead into his eyes and say "I'm not useless!". for when I say it will escalate, trust me it will Escalate.

this boy has never had a true friend, and on top of that, he was teased as a child for, well being him. So the moment he gets a friend, his heart will swell, for once he feels cherished, and my poor boy, he doesn't show it correctly.

he's just so happy to finally have someone to talk to and joke around with, but doesn't realize just yet what is a joke and what is not. so he'll keep pushing it, it supposedly is an "inside joke" so he'll keep doing it.

So please correct him! tell him that it hurts, and tell him lightly to not risk breaking his heart.

Because he wants to make you happy, he can't stand the fact that you go quiet whenever he calls you quirkless, and that you're progressively distancing yourself more and more. And believe me when I say, it's painful for the both of you.

Please be his friend, and please let him make you happy correctly, you are just so perfect, we can't have such a perfect thing so sad now can we?

---

yeah, done admist some weird shit, and did I mention that I'm a horrible writer?