#i still read about it and treat it like fiction. it can be interesting. i just don't know or want to apply it to real life

[loregoddess]

saw the first volume of Cursed Princess Club in the store last Sunday as I was walking by the manga section, and the name was so unusual that I looked it up online when I got home, and found out it was on webtoons to read for free, and just finished it, and holy shit

literally one of the best stories I've ever read

[waywardsalt]

I am humbly requesting your thoughts on Linebeck

Oh I have a LOT of thoughts on Linebeck but I'll try to just get some major points down bc it would take me ages to spill all of my thoughts on him.

(plus i do have two general headcanon posts [ 1 2 ] a post abt headcanons about him being autistic [ x ] and a weird post about his coat [ x ] as well as pretty much anything in my linebeck tag with my excessive tagging of some reblogs and my original posts + whatever writing or fanfiction i have done/will do with him included so. bonus reading for headcanon-y stuff or a look at how i portray him)

added a read more bc this is long bc of course it is :) i hope it's in the right spot :)))

Linebeck is... a good fucking character. He's probably my favorite character period, and has been pretty much soon after I got Phantom Hourglass. He feels unique compared to other Zelda characters as a companion character who offers less direct support and is more just of a constant character who changes throughout the course of the story and is... well, a companion, not really a helper. He falls more in line with the types of loz characters who are more rude or antagonistic towards Link, but develops out of that, and also technically counts not only as a boss but a final boss, putting him as the only non-villain character to be a final boss, so uh good for him.

Just within the context of the games he's got a great design and a great theme (which is only heard about two times before the final boss but has a recognizable enough motif for it to be noticed in the final boss theme) and an interesting role in his game and just has one of the best character arcs and one of the most interesting places within the story as a whole. Linebeck's arc is very... natural in how you see his attitude change within both story beats and in his overworld dialogue, but at the same time seems like it stutters when he deals with Ciela's criticism and upholding his own reputation, I think his character arc is very fascinating if you consider the entire context of his character and what he interacts with, since a majority of the characters he directly interacts with seem to deny the idea that he's any more than a useless coward.

The fact that pretty much the rest of the major cast in Phantom Hourglass has basically no faith or respect for Linebeck is so fucking fascinating to me. This guy has to be doing so fucking bad over the course of the game. In relation to Ciela specifically, an idea I've been thinking of and trying to work into some of my Phantom Hourglass oneshots is that having to be around and interact with her so frequently wears Linebeck down pretty badly as the game goes on.

This guy is undeniably mentally ill and that's also something I have a specific fic planned out for but that's probably not going to see the light of day for a while. It's basically five chapters of Oshus being Linebeck's therapist or something each time Link goes to the Temple of the Ocean King.

I particularly enjoy how the game (at least twice) plays with your expecting him to be at the ship all of the time by having him be in a different spot on an island. His dialogue for islands and his overseas dialogue are fun, it gives off a sense that he much prefers exploring and is a bit less guarded overseas. His dialogue during the ghost ship fight is ESPECIALLY fantastic, the specific line of 'I'm fighting right there with you this time, kid!' not only offers some very interesting insight to his attitude towards link and his own role, but kind of also stings when considering the events of the final boss and is also a quote I took a screenshot of while reading the text dump for this game.

Phantom Hourglass is by no means an exceptional game and while the story is fine it's nothing fantastic and even most of the characters are... ok, but Linebeck is without a doubt the best part of this game and I really feel like he's the main reason why people still give this game a chance and despite everything he's easily one of the best characters in the entire series even if his game isn't one of the better ones. He honest to god steals every scene he's in, even if he barely has any dialogue- he's animated with such distinct personality and I love it. He doesn't speak at all until the end of the spirit of courage scene and yet is so fucking distracting with his fruity fucking posing and movements in reaction to what's going on.

I'm also personally a fan of the near-complete lack of backstory we get for him. The most we get is some vague implications but everyone can read the given information in different ways so it's really not much. Phantom Hourglass's general lack of lore is great for me since I can just fill in the blanks however I want. I kinda honestly don't want Nintendo to revisit this game because I don't really want them to add anything new. Just port it or something don't change it.

That's about it for surface-level specific-to-the-games Linebeck talk... on to everything else.

Linebeck is literally the reason why I found out I was autistic. I wrote this loser and realized I was accidentally making him kinda autistic and THEN realized I was also projecting and then decided to look into that. He's fun to write and he always ends up a little out of character and at this point I barely give a damn because this bastard is masking or keeping up a facade or whatever the fuck in most of his scenes anyways. Linebeck's arc feels to me more about him being most honest and open to and about his own emotions and actual personality so honestly writing him a bit out of character doesn't bother me too much.

He's my favorite little guy, and when I plan out Zelda aus he always gets a major role to the point where a lot of the twists to my aus all end up being similar. For a few of them I've had to forcibly alter his role so that I can't include him constantly. He's very interesting for different kinds of aus because he's an interesting character for different concepts and situations. His relationships with characters in Phantom Hourglass lend well to au stuff; specifically with Link, in one au they're adoptive brothers, in one they're something akin to rivals, in one their mutual fixation on each other propels the plot. I've even expanded on interactions and possible dynamics with Bellum in aus (Bellum is honestly fun since he's kind of a blank slate in canon but there's just enough there to build off of but keep it relatively the same original character).

I have a few ocs that used to be au versions of Linebeck that ended up becoming their own thing because the aus in question worked better as original stories.

With Phantom Hourglass-centric ideas, it's a lot of fun to poke around and explore stuff with Linebeck's past, his mental state, the kinds of things he enjoys or hates, pretty much anything the game doesn't elaborate on. With all of that blank space and the fact that I've known about him for a few years now, I've gotten down a whole backstory and deeper details on Linebeck, most of which I'm probably going to end up expressing through writing.

Just a few of the baseline ones are just along the lines of him being gay, autistic, touch-averse, intersex, a cat person, someone who highly values his freedom, half Gerudo, interested in music- some of it can be supported with canon (he really comes off to me like a closeted gay man, and he does have some generally autistic vibes) and some of it is really just for the hell of it (in particular the idea that he’s of Gerudo descent has no backing but is so interesting for story stuff and is generally fun) (I also enjoy ignoring parts of canon. I have not played Spirit Tracks and I do not want to play it so if I don't look at it I can ignore it).

I have a lot of fun fleshing him out in different aus or in scenarios before or after Phantom Hourglass, since there's just enough there to allow for further reasonable exploration, and his being just some normal guy actually helps with that since it forces you to keep things relatively normal and comparable to kinds of things you can experience in your day-to-day. I've more or less figured out a (mostly) full backstory for him, I've decided on a full physical description of how he looks so that I have a baseline if I want to change stuff in an au or just so that I know how I figure he looks as well as have an idea of how some physical traits can lend themselves to other aspects of how I write and portray him (for example, I figure he has long fingers, which goes right with the idea that he enjoys music and is pretty good on a piano, and also that he's good with tasks that might require a bit more finger dexterity as well as generally helping a bit with pick-pocketing or thievery)

I figure that, along with the general idea I have of him valuing his freedom, he's not particularly interested in following rules or laws and hates seeing too many of them put in place, and especially values his own identity even if he doesn't express it as much as he'd like. He likes being able to go wherever he'd like and he likes being able to do what he wants and express himself how he wants and that stuff gets bogged down when he plays into that image of someone he's not that he hides behind and doubles down on in a good bit of Phantom Hourglass.

Linebeck is fun in general he's a good character he's fun for aus he's got enough groundwork to spend ages pouring into possible avenues for his personality and background and whatever potential he could have in different aus or roles. He's surprisingly fun and interesting to use as an antagonist since you can't fall back on easy villain-writing ideas and have to get a bit more creative with it.

I think I struggle to write him in-character but it's backed up a bit by my specific interpretation of him suggesting that a lot of what you see from him is forced or fake. I still think he's a greedy piece of shit, though. He sucks and it's on purpose. I lean into him being rude and cold and a bit quieter overall.

He just... for some fucking reason when I decided to play this game Linebeck struck a chord with me whether or not I realized it at the time so he's just very interesting and entertaining and important to me and it really doesn't help that either Phantom Hourglass as a whole or just Linebeck is my special interest.

Linebeck stands out in comparison to other Zelda characters and has a very unique and fascinating role and arc and is just so fucking good.

He feels like he could be used as an example of how good character writing can save a piece of art (not that ph sucks but like. god damn he elevates it) just because his inclusion makes the story more interesting as you have this selfish asshole tagging along next to your little goody-two-shoes protagonist and fairy friend, and his arc, though not entirely the focus of the story, is another reason to keep progressing. His dialogue is funny and has some really good in-character tips every so often, he adds character to traversal and adds stakes as a character to care about and protect and is just fucking fantastic.

He's a character that can work as comedic relief but at the same time can be taken very seriously and I really enjoy that while he seems to be in the role of comedic relief a lot it never seems much like it's diegetically intentional and it still allows room for him to be taken completely seriously. Him knocking over stone Tetra is funny but there's so much character in that entire string of animations that while it's a fun background gag it also provides even more insight into Linebeck as a character.

Essentially he's my favorite character ever he was probably my gay awakening and I want to steal his gender and I think about him more than I think about my ocs.

[daz4i]

my relationship with love is more or less as complicated as my relationship with god. i think there's some symbolism here or smth i just can't put it in words

[arachine]

yes, i'm ready (to fall in love)

── ˚₊✩‧₊ genre: smut, fluff, mild angst

── ˚₊✩‧₊ synopsis: after reader is persuaded into putting herself back out there by long time friend, shoko, she successfully ends up scoring a date. unbeknownst to her, though, the gods have different plans—and one of them seems especially interested in her relationship with ex-husband, gojo satoru.

or in other words: a failed date results in a night of passion amongst former lovers.

── ˚₊✩‧₊ contents: 13.5k words, ex-husband!gojo + co-parent!gojo, slight dub-con (alcohol use), dumbification, overstimulation, vaginal penetration, unconventional form of contraception (pull-out method - don’t do this), pussy eating + one oc for the sake of plot

── ˚₊✩‧₊ note: i know this is really long and most people don’t have the attention span for it but PLEASE give it a chance! this is literally the longest piece of fiction i’ve ever written and i’m really proud of it :(

songs to listen to for best reading experience: donny hathaway - i love you more than you’ll ever know barbara mason - i’m ready partynextdoor - showing you bryson tiller - been that way

After you divorced your ex-husband, and decided to devote all of your time to being a mother, you never really considered getting back into the dating world. Not that you didn’t eventually want to settle down with someone new, but the dating world now was just so–different.

Different in the sense that meeting people organically was becoming increasingly difficult. It wasn’t like how it used to be in high school or college, and it really didn’t take that much effort then to get a man’s number by the end of your outing. 

When you were in your early twenties, a brush of your hand on a man’s arm would’ve worked. An ‘accidental’ bump into someone at a grocery store or cafe might’ve ended in a quick lay. Using these tactics today, though, might earn you some weird looks–have–earned you some weird looks. 

You’re on call with a friend from college when you begin recounting something embarrassing that happened to you recently. At first, the conversation started out about all of the professors you would’ve slept with (if given the chance), but then, one thing led to another, and she asked you something that made you wince: 

“‘How’s your dating life been since, you know, Satoru?’” 

There’s a heavy silence from your end, and she almost thinks you hung up. 

“I mean, if you want to share,” she splurts, attempting to approach this gently, “I know that after the divorce, I wasn’t there for you like you needed, but I’d like to make up for that–if you’d let me.”

Shoko’s always been like that. Blunt and charismatic, but gentle and zephyr-light in the way she cares for those closest to her. It’s a trait of hers that you admire, because not so many people would care to treat your heart with such fragility.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask, you know, it’s not this secret thing,” you start, sighing before continuing, “it happened, and it was a mutual decision.”

Shoko hums on the other side, “Well, I’m still sorry. I let us go without talking for far too long…”

“Well, I accept your apology, even if it’s unwarranted. Like I said, it was mutual and…there wasn’t really an intense grieving period for me? The only thing that hurt me is that you distanced yourself. I mean, the girls did miss their aunt Shoko…” you say, trying to make her feel bad but not too bad. 

“I know, I know, I’m a bad aunt,” she jests, then the tone shifts to something serious. “I think I was just scared because both of you were my best-friends. I didn’t want to ‘pick sides’, but I see now that it was a mutual decision, so I’m assuming you two are on good-terms?” 

Again, you pause, “I mean, yeah. Satoru will always be my best friend. We may not be together romantically but he’s such an integral part of my life, I couldn’t do this–all of this–alone.” After you say it, you feel a weight being lifted off of your chest that you didn’t know was even there. 

You think nobody would understand if you told them this. You think they’d question how a person could divorce someone who’s supposed to be their best-friend. And with the way you describe it, they’d probably think you were still in love with him. But Shoko’s different, she gets it. Which is why saying it to her came so easily. 

“He is a great father,” she chimes in, “but you two rushed into it so quickly, I don’t think either of you had time to discover yourselves after college.”

Although she can’t see it, you smile. Because she gets it. Even if time did place itself in between the two of you, she was there for most of it, when things were still touch-and-go. When things were fresh, and clumsy. 

“Exactly, that was our biggest gripe,” you admit, “We didn’t afford ourselves that time to grow, and I think that hindered our relationship. We weren’t husband and wife first, we were parents–and we were young, way too young.”

“You made it, though,” Shoko tries to brighten the mood, “you’re both amazing parents, and I know those beautiful girls that you created are lucky to have you.” 

The intimacy of the conversation sends your emotions into overdrive. You quickly realize how much you missed her, how much you yearned to talk to her. To reconnect on this level. 

A single tear cascades down your cheek, and you try not to sound like you’re crying when you say, “Ok, enough about that. You wanted to know about my shitty dating life, right?”

It happened last week, the grocery store incident. You were out picking up a few things for dinner when you spotted a cute guy standing outside of the aisle a few rows from you. He was fit beyond measure, in looks and strength, and was wandering around aimlessly in pursuit of red pepper flakes. 

Coincidentally, you just happened to be in the seasoning aisle, and like the good samaritan you were, decided to personally hand-deliver it to him. 

You wince as you vividly recall the embarrassing ordeal that ensued immediately after. 

“Hey,” you peer from behind the aisle, with a bottle of red pepper flakes in tow. “I heard you mumbling about finding this, and you looked pretty lost, so I thought I’d pick ‘em out for you.” 

The man’s brows furrow briefly before his lips up-turn into a grateful smile, “Oh, cool, thank you so much!” As quickly as the conversation started, it ends even quicker. He gives you a final nod of endearment before he’s turning around on his heels to resume his shopping. 

“God, could he be any more dense? The men today really make you work for it, huh?” you mumble to yourself, pulling the bosom of your blouse down until a good amount of cleavage is on display. “Okay, alright. You got this, you got this. This always used to work, right? Yeah, men love boobs.”

Walking up to the man again, you try a different approach–a bolder approach. “Not to be a bother but I was wondering if I could-”

“Babe? Oh, there you are,” a new voice interjects. The owner of the voice emerges from around the corner and walks up to the man with a cart and a baby in tow. You’re stunned, to say the least. All you can do is stand there and blink in complete and utter dumbfoundment. As you remain in their presence, you take a moment to analyze the woman. She’s gorgeous, and toned. A real model-type broad, with feline-ish features that make so much sense paired with the man who appears to be her partner. 

Oh, you think, and apparently say aloud, too. That’s when the woman turns to you, finally acknowledging your much smaller, and much quieter presence. 

“Hi, can we help you?” she smiles, and it’s actually genuine. Toothy and perfect, and totally not jealous. You blink once, twice, before gathering your wits to answer her question. 

“Yeah, uh, no. I actually, uhm, was helping your h-husband. He was looking for red pepper flakes,” you mutter embarrassedly, and point to the bottle in his hand. Upon further observation, you notice that she isn’t exactly wearing a ring. You find this odd, especially because his not wearing a ring is what encouraged you to pursue him. Carefully, you prod. 

“If I may ask, how come neither of you are wearing rings?” The couple gives each other a look, one that makes you feel like the odd man out. A look that is universally known, and without a doubt, could easily be translated to: ‘did this chick really just ask that?’

Still, you smile as you wait for an answer. The woman takes the initiative. “Yeah, we don’t really believe in rings, isn’t that right, babe?” she says so matter-of-factly. You blink again for what seems like the thousandth time, because of all things, you did not expect that to come out of her mouth. Her husband is quick to validate her statement. 

“Yeah, we think rings are unnecessary, you know? You don’t need a piece of metal to confirm your feelings,” he says walking to his partner’s side and wrapping an arm around her. 

Disgustingly, the two give each other googly eyes before locking lips briefly. You can tell they’re the type to probably share this information with just about any soul who asks. Today, you just happened to be that unfortunate soul. 

“Are you married?” she queries, tilting her head against her husband’s chest.

“I was, now we just…co-parent,” you purse your lips, ready for this entire interaction to be over. The woman frowns at your answer, and this time it’s not as genuine.

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It was actually a mutual decision,” you quip.

“Okay,” she smiles, widening her eyes at her husband to signal a departure, “well, it was nice meeting you, and thank you for the red pepper flakes.”

The family turns away and heads to the front where check-out is. You don’t even buy the items you intended to purchase, just leave your cart in the middle of whatever aisle you abandoned it and leave the store.

“Oh, baby, you didn’t?” Shoko asks in horror. You nod your head, still forgetting she can’t see you and the way you’re sliding down against the wall. 

“I did, and I shan't ever again,” a laugh erupts from your throat. 

“I mean, fuck, are we getting old? ‘Don’t believe in rings,’” she mumbles, “Don’t believe in rings, my ass! Is this what the youth are doing these days? Not proposing with rings?”

Now that you think about it, you wonder how that would even work. “Yeah, right? I mean, how does that even work? ‘Will you marry me? But, actually, you should know I don’t have a ring for you, so people will have to guess that we’re together purely based on vibes and energy,’” you mock, in a not-so-great man voice. 

Shoko’s laughing so hard by the end of your bit that she breaks the sound barrier, and the sound that makes on the phone sends you into your own fit of laughter. You laugh so hard it seems like a stream of pee comes out. Curse your developed incontinence after motherhood.

“God, you’re so stupid, I can’t breathe,” she says exasperatedly, and you know that on the other side she’s probably keeling over in her bed. 

“Oh, please. I bet you haven’t laughed this hard in a long time, bitch.”

“I haven’t,” she cackles. This back-and-forth continues until the two of you settle down enough to continue discussing your (pee-inducing) love life. 

“You tried any dating apps?” 

It’s a simple and valid question, but it only makes you laugh even harder. You only stop when the other side of the line goes quiet. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s what everyone’s doing these days! You’re not that old, you know.”

“Shut up,” you kid, “ it’s just that I never considered it. I mean, dating apps feel so impersonal. How serious do people even take it?” 

“Sure, there’s people who use it for casual hook-ups and stuff, but a lot of people do come out of it with a relationship. Just don’t knock it ‘till you try it.”

“Oh?” you muse, curious. You wish Shoko could see your face, and the weird little dance your brows were doing. “Shoko, have you used a dating app before?” 

The brunette kisses her teeth. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“Never.”

There’s a sense of hesitance but you encourage her to elaborate because ‘she became estranged from you for almost a decade and needed to pay her dues’. Sighing defeatedly, she eventually acquiesces. 

“Fine, fine, maybe I’ve…been on a few dates,” she starts, “–and had a few one night stands, maybe more than a few, and maybe even dated a guy that turned into my stalker–”

“Ieiri Shoko! You naughty, naughty girl! Wait, stalker?”

“To make a long story short, I got a restraining order on that creep. Anyway,” she segues, attempting to change the subject, “We should make you a profile!”

For the rest of your phone call, Shoko guides you through all of the dating app basics. She offers her expert advice as you scroll through your camera roll for potential photos to use. You go through about a hundred before you finally settle on five that she really likes. 

The one that she tells you to put first is a photo of you in a bikini. It’s a few years old but she says you look ‘radiant’ and that your ‘tits were practically spilling out of the cups’. Plus, for further consolation, she says most people on dating apps are liars. 

“Everyone’s got at least one old photo on their profile, doesn’t make you a catfish,” she quips, “just means you’re a nostalgic person!” 

“Right…” 

The next one is a selfie. You’re smiling big in it, showing your gums, and it’s genuine. Shoko says guys like those types of photos because it shows them that you’re approachable. It also won her over because it’s fairly recent, too. 

Out of all your photos, there’s only a select few that were taken within the year. You had to admit to her that you never really took photos of yourself anymore. Satoru took most of your candids. Still, she had a mission. And she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she stuck around to see your first match. 

“After the selfie you should put the one of you with the girls.”

The picture she’s referring to is one Satoru also took. You remember that day fondly, and even now, the memories feel like a warm embrace. 

about 8 years ago . . .

“Dad, mom, look! Hurry!” Hana, your oldest, shouts. Satoru and you are sitting on a blanket up on the sand dunes with Haruki, who’s trying her best to make a sand castle–to no avail. 

“What is it, hon?” Satoru and you rush over to her, snatching toddler Haruki in the same breath. When you get to the scene, a flood of warmth washes over you upon discovering the ‘threat’. 

“See, it’s baby turtles!” Hana’s squatting in the sand, watching with pure and unfettered fascination as the hatchlings crawl north to the ocean. When she looks up at you, with eyes so bright, and a smile so big that’s missing two of her front teeth, you want to cry. 

“Oh, hon, that’s beautiful,” you gasp, lowering to your haunches so that you can join her. Satoru is about to follow suit before deciding at the last minute to go back to the blanket. When he returns, he snaps a picture unbeknownst to you. Eventually, though, you turn your gaze to him and he captures–what he used to think then–the ‘prettiest’ photo of you.

“You sneaking photos of me?” you squint, pointing at him. He trods closer until he’s standing above you. Then he snaps another. Your head’s tilted up, and you’ve got one eye open, and the other closed because of the sun. He always liked when you squinted like that because it made your nose do this cute little scrunch. 

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

You’re pulled out of your daydream when Shoko says your name on the other line.

“You still there?” 

“Yeah, it’s just…”

“Just what?” she queries, waiting for a response. 

“I wanna use it, but my ex-husband took it. It feels weird, you know? And do I want to use a photo of me with the girls?”

“Hon, who cares if Satoru took the photo? It’s still a good photo, and to answer your second question, why wouldn’t you include a picture with your girls?”

“I don’t know, I guess I’m just afraid no one will be interested. Nothing about a picture of a mom with her two daughters exactly screams ‘fuck me’.”

Shoko lets out a small chuckle but you’re being serious. “Oh, sweetie. You’re so cute. Milfs are in these days, I don’t think I’m the one getting old, I think it’s just you!”

“Ha-ha, laugh at the mom,” you feign annoyance, but give her a laugh in return.

“But seriously, please use that photo. Nobody’s going to skip you just because you’re a mom. A lot of men on there have kids of their own, just gotta tweak your settings,” Shoko reassures you.

By the end of your call, the profile is set. You thank your old friend for the previous heart-to-heart conversation, and the time she spent helping you set up your profile.

“Keep me updated, and don’t talk about mom stuff, okay? Now, I’m not saying you can’t talk about them,” she begins, “but show these guys your personality! I know she’s in the closet somewhere hiding next to our old slutty clubbing clothes.”  

Then, the both of you say your goodbyes and she wishes you a good-luck on your newly established dating journey. As you lay in your bed, you give your profile a final onceover. Not too bad, you think to yourself. 

You ended up using all of the photos she had originally picked out for you. Even the beach photo. To compensate for your old photos, though, Shoko made sure that your prompts were witty and full of personality. 

“I’d match me, I think. No, yeah, these are funny. She did a good job.”

The following day, you open your phone to fifty notifications from the dating app. A tingle of excitement shoots through your body from the tip of your toes, to the top of your head. It takes all of your might not to squeal in the office. 

“Holy fuck,” you whisper at your desk. The amount of notifications that you initially saw on your homescreen read ‘50’ but when you opened the app, it showed you an overwhelming ‘100’ with a fat plus sign next to it. “Wait, are these all the people who liked me? Shoko’s gonna flip.” 

Getting up from your chair, you make a beeline to the nearest bathroom. Not that you have to use it, but so you can scroll through all the potential prospects without your boss seeing you on your phone. 

Pulling open the door to the bathroom, you close it shut behind you and lock it. A few minutes pass in the time you’re able to get through about half of the people who liked you. You end up skipping a lot of them. They’re either too young, too self-absorbed, creepy, or just downright not your type. 

Some stick out, though. Even trick you into thinking they’re potential matches, but then the other shoe drops–because there’s always another shoe. You’ll scroll through their profiles, and they’ll seemingly have all the perfect traits: intelligent, witty, handsome, tall–and then, boom. You see their ‘don’t want kids’ preference. Every failed match only discourages you more and more. 

It’s weird, because your profile preferences are set to ‘have kids’ and you even have a photo pictured with your girls. So why are men liking your profile despite that? After a few more scrolls, you’re just about ready to head back to your desk but then–you have a hit. 

Your finger hovers over the ‘x’ at the bottom of the screen, then retracts. The guy’s profile at first impression is miles better than the rest, it’s almost too good to be true. His first photo is what piqued your interest. It’s of him posing for a silly photo with his sons, and he’s got his arms draped around their shoulders. 

As you scroll down his profile, you see that there’s even more of him with his children. You take this as a green flag. He wants people to know he has kids, and that he isn’t embarrassed to show them off. You admire him for it. 

The last few remaining photos are an amalgamation of selfies and full-body photos. To the average, well-adjusted adult, looks wouldn’t be a deal breaker. But he definitely wasn’t too bad on the eyes, and you were not complaining about that–especially, after the odd men you had to scroll through to get here. In other words, he was gorgeous and still fit despite being older than you (him, respectively being in his early forties). 

Checking the time on your phone, you realize that you’re pushing your little ‘bathroom break’. Before heading back to your desk, you decide to respond to his first photo.

You: Cute! Could never get my girls to stand so still for a photo like this now haha :)

Work goes by slower than you’d like, but finishes up just in time when you get a notification from the dating app. You’re a little more excited than you’d care to admit. Tidying up your workspace, you say your goodbyes to your colleagues and head to the elevator. Absent-mindedly, you rush to answer his message but realize it won’t go through because of the elevator’s poor service.

Kazuki: Oh, they’re moody and grown now, don’t be fooled. I can't remember the last time I saw my youngest smile. 

You don’t answer his reply until you get home. Actually, you do just about everything but answer his reply: check on the girls, shower, prepare dinner, pour a glass of wine–you’re nervous, and you don’t know why. But you know you should probably answer soon before he becomes disinterested. So you get comfortable in bed with your glass of wine and pull open his chat.

You: Lol, know that all too well. Kids are little assholes, aren’t they?

The speed in which he reads your text is startling, you don’t even have enough time to close out of the chat. Then, he responds. 

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are! 

Kazuki: Sometimes I want to strangle my youngest. He’s at that age where he’s starting to rebel and question everything. I told him he was supposed to be the ‘easy’ one, but his knucklehead brothers are bad influences on him…Tell me, does it ever get easier?

You: Sounds a lot like my oldest. She used to cling to me like a koala but now she’s the ring leader, and I’m the enemy. My youngest still loves her mama, though (for now lol). 

You: And to answer your question, I’d like to think so? 

You take a second before continuing your response. Shoko told you to keep the mom talk limited, but this seems to be working for you so far, and he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. So for once, you’re going to ignore her advice. 

You: Kids go through phases. It's our job to reassure them that we’re not going anywhere. No matter how much they push us away or try to, that is :)

Kazuki’s chat bubbles pop up, then disappear. You think he’s deciding on what to say. 

Kazuki: I can tell we’re gonna get along great. It’s nice opening up like this, you know? Talking to another parent. If I'm being honest, dating apps have always intimidated me…

Kazuki: People see kids as ‘baggage’, and it really bothers me. My kids aren’t baggage. They’re the best parts of me. And if someone doesn’t see that, then we have no business getting to know each other. 

Kazuki: Sorry for getting all sappy. Just felt like I needed to say it. 

His apology makes you frown. It feels like a breath of fresh air to hear someone talk about their kids so lovingly, because you feel the exact same way. You’re glad you downloaded the app, and you make a mental note to thank Shoko again later (after you debrief her about this). 

You: Never apologize for speaking about your kids! And if we’re being absolutely transparent, that was my biggest gripe with downloading this app, too. 

You: I’m so glad we matched each other. I’d like to get to know you more. And I’m hoping the feeling’s mutual?

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual. 

Kazuki: Don’t want to get ahead of myself but how do you feel about dinner? There’s a cool high-scale restaurant in the city that I haven’t been to yet. Heard it’s got two Michelin stars despite opening up not too long ago. 

The prospect of going on a sit-down dinner date has your stomach in knots. It’s been a hot minute since the last time you’ve done so, but you’re eager to know the man behind the screen on a more personal level. Plus, being treated to a high-scale restaurant with two Michelin stars doesn’t seem too bad either. You’re never one to turn down free dinner.

You: I’d love to, but how soon we talkin’? Gotta see if it’ll align with my schedule.

Kazuki: How’s this Friday at 8 sound? :)

The days leading up to Friday breeze by in a blur. For the majority of the week, it feels like you’re walking on cloud nine. Eventually, the conversation transitions from the dating app to exchanging phone numbers, and since then, the two of you have been texting back-and-forth everyday.

You talk about mundane things. Work, shows, movies, books you’ve recently read, what your kids are up to–but the other things? The other messages are flirty, and sexy, and filled with so much tension that it could cut a rope in half. 

In between messages, the two of you have also exchanged a few photos. Nothing risqué or anything of that nature, just random photos of you throughout the day. The last one he sent was a few hours ago of him at work, captioned with: ‘Could this meeting be any longer?’. 

You reply to the message with the ‘ha ha’ reaction, in consideration of not wanting to get him in trouble at work (even if he was the one who initiated the conversation). As the days go by, though, you make it a habit to update Shoko every step of the way. 

Her first reaction to hearing about him was enthusiastic. That is, until you showed her screenshots from his profile. You vaguely remember her saying something that was meant as a compliment, but came out more like an insult. 

“‘Oh, he’s a dad!” was her initial response, “oh, he’s a dad…and he really loves his kids. You’re meant for each other.’” 

When you tried to ask her what she meant by that, she changed the subject. Every update since then has earned slightly more positive reactions, though.

Today, you ask her for more advice. Only this time, you’re on video call. 

“Shokoooo,” you drawl, “our date is tomorrow! You have to help me find something to wear.” The panic in your voice is so palpable, she can almost feel your shaky hands through the screen. Flipping the camera, you hurriedly pan your phone around the closet. 

“Breathe, girl, breathe,” she demonstrates first, before telling you to repeat the same motions. “Take me to that section over there–no, not that one–wait, yep, there.” You amble over to the area she’s directing you to through the phone.

“What’s that black little number right there?” She points. You prop the phone up on a shelf and scour through the section, tugging out a dress you haven’t seen in ages (which has you questioning how she even spotted it because it was pretty far back into the closet). Walking back into frame, you hold the fabric up to your body. 

Shoko nods in approval, “That’s the one, babe. Try it on!” 

It’d been about a decade since the last time you wore this dress. It’d also been about a decade since you were ever this small. Looking in the mirror, you run your hands over every surface inch, every crevice of the dress, in a newfound sense of appreciation for the adult weight you’ve gained since becoming a mother. 

The dress was always stunning but it hugged everything perfectly even more so now. When you walk back into frame, your friend gives you a look of pure adoration. She’s so enthralled that she snaps a few screenshots for keepsaking. 

“Thank god it’s Satoru’s turn to get the kids tonight,” she says, “‘cause you’re definitely getting some tonight.” 

You roll your eyes, reminding her she’s on speaker phone. “Oh, please. It’s just dinner!”

“Not in that dress,” she retorts, wagging her finger in the camera. While the two of you continue to chat about the details of tonight, a knock on your bedroom door draws your attention. 

“Mom, can I come in?” the voice sounds. It’s Haruki. 

“Come in, hon!” 

After you give the ok, you turn to Shoko and mouth to her to behave. Haruki turns the knob and enters, closing the door behind her. She sees you standing in front of the mirror before you see her, and silently utters a ‘wow’. You’re just about done putting your earrings in when you join her in the other room. 

“What do you think, bun? Does your mom look hot?” you spin around, smoothing your hands down the length of the dress. You wait in anticipation for her approval, because if anyone could tell it like it is, it was always going to be a kid. Your Haruki was no exception. 

“You look really pretty, Mom. I’m glad you’re going out tonight, I mean, you don’t really have friends so I think this will be good for you,” she elaborates, though you wish she would’ve stopped at the compliment. 

Still, it puts a smile on your face to hear her verbalize that she’s okay with you doing something for yourself. You never quite discussed the prospect of getting back out there with your kids–and not even intentionally. It just never felt like the right time. 

“You could’ve stopped at the compliment, punk!” you grab her, then wrap her in your arms, “but thank you. Love you, bun.”

“Love you more, mama.” Neither of you make the effort to pull away. Instead, you both stand there. Hugging, breathing, embracing each other’s warmth. You don’t always get hugs this good, so when you do, you savor it. Drag it out until your arms and legs get all tingly. 

Or until someone interrupts. Another knock on the door. This time it’s Hana. 

“Ew, what’s going on?” Hana feigns a look of disgust. You know she’s just jealous; she’ll never admit it, though. Which is why sometimes you have to force her to participate. 

“Get over here,” you scrunch your nose, forcefully pulling her into your tight embrace. She tries to protest but eventually accepts defeat. You squeeze them both until they whine that they can’t breathe anymore. Then you squeeze them some more because this one’s for you. 

“My special girls,” you breathe in, taking in all of their love. Soaking it all up so that tonight you have the courage to try again. To allow yourself a love of your own. When you let go, there’s a sniffle from the closet. It totally dawned on you that Shoko was still on the phone. 

“They’re so big now, they don’t even know their auntie,” she fakes a sob, blowing her nose into a tissue. 

“Mom, who’s on the phone?” Haruki queries with a confused expression etched onto her face. It suddenly dawns on you again that although you’ve been communicating with Shoko again, you haven’t exactly told them. 

“Hey, you came in here to tell me something right, Han?” Your attempt to change the subject is poorly done, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you considering deflection has never quite been an ability you excelled at. Nonetheless, the look of suspicion they give you after is fleeting before they explain to you in unison that their father is here. 

“Your father’s been waiting down there this whole time and nobody cared to tell me?” you whisper-yell, left eye twitching to emphasize your ill-preparedness. The girls only shrug their shoulders in response, like this was something you were just supposed to know. 

“Well, you did force us into a hug and make us do all that Kumbaya stuff,” Hana mumbles under her breath.

“Okay, enough about all that. Are you guys all packed? Where are your bags? I don’t want your dad seeing–” 

“You don’t want dad to see your date, right?” Hana raises a brow, all knowing. Sometimes she was a little too smart for her own good. You want to blame that on the private schools Satoru had them enrolled in, but really you just know she’s just a menace in her own right. She learned that from him. 

“I agree with the kid,” a voice chimes in. You rush to the closet and grab your phone from the shelf. There’s a huge, shit-eating grin on Shoko’s face. Somehow she’s responsible for this. You don’t know how yet, nor do you have proof, but you know it. 

“Okay, thank you, love you, bye!” Before you can hang up, Shoko blurts something. 

“Tell him I said hi,” she begins, “–andnottogetahardonwhenheseesyou!”

You hang up the call and roll your eyes, chuckling to yourself because of her idiocy. When you enter the corridor, you hear a faint sound of hushed voices from downstairs. It’s only when you round the bannister at the top, when those voices become discernible and louder. 

You stop at the top, and when your eyes meet his, it feels like all the air in your lungs have expelled. Suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of what you’re wearing, and the fabric, and the way it clings to your body. Neither he, nor you, look away–you should, you want to, but you don’t. 

And in the time the two of you gaze upon the other, time stops for a modicum of a second. In this second, you and him are the last two souls in the world. At least, that’s how it feels anyway before he breaks eye contact. 

You shift your gaze shortly after, and put on a trained smile. Those eyes of his were always so intense. You guess you forgot over the years how easy it was to lose yourself in the crystalline pools of them. Gathering your wits, you resume your movements and saunter down the imperial staircase. 

“Hey, didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Sort of lost track of time, but I think the girls are all packed,” you say, your voice coming to a decrescendo upon noticing the way his eyes trail over your frame. They’re unreadable, though. Indifferent, and honestly, you’re not sure how to feel. So, you begin fidgeting uncomfortably with the rings around your finger. 

Then, he smiles. It’s eerie and fake. “Not a problem, I haven’t been here too long. But, uh,” he begins ambling around the place, touching random objects around the living room, “Didn’t know you had plans. What’s the occasion? Going out for drinks with your colleagues?” 

You furrow your brows, confused with his sudden interests in your plans. It wasn’t really like him to prod. “No, actually,” you rock back-and-forth on the balls of your heels, “i’m…i’m going on a date,” you finish with a pursed smile. He only nods his head in response, still walking around the place touching stuff, messing with the picture frames on the mantle. They’re all crooked now. 

“How come this is the only picture you have up of me,” he asks suddenly. You know, that he knows, the answer to that. And he knows, that you know, you’ll indulge in his games anyway. 

“The girls wanted them in their rooms. Why do you ask? You want me to go grab them and put ‘em all up around the house?” Again, he doesn’t say anything. Just gives you a final once over before heading back to the foyer to ask if the girls are all set to go. 

“Yeah, but I can’t find my tablet, dad. Can I go look for it?” Haruki speaks up. “I thought I packed it.”

Satoru looks at the time on his watch, pinches the crease in between his brows. “Sure, kiddo. Can we make it quick, please?” He throws his hand in the air for emphasis, then points to his watch. Haruki nods, then runs up the stairs. 

“Actually, you go on up too and help your sister. You guys are holding up dad,” you turn to Hana and gesture for her to head up with your head. She rolls her eyes, yelling up the stairs for her younger sister to ‘freaking hurry up’. 

You and Satoru both turn to each other with wide eyes, laughing at the nerve of those children. 

“They get that attitude from you, you know,” you point to him, driving your index finger into his bicep. 

“You sure? Their mom’s got a pretty bad mouth on her, too. Or, have you forgotten?” He teases, bending his knees slightly to level his eyes with yours, intruding into your space. The smirk he dons is cheeky, too friendly–too inviting. You want to smack it off of him. 

“Oh, shut u–” the sound of your phone chiming interrupts your banter. It’s a message from Kazuki, and you open it while Satoru stands over you. Probably close enough to read the message on his own if he wanted. 

Kazuki: Hey, I hate to do this but I don’t think I can go through with tonight. 

When you read the message, your heart drops into your stomach. There goes the other shoe, you think, fully embracing your pessimism. Who were you kidding, really? To think that tonight you’d go out and have a good time. Do something for yourself. It was stupidity. 

Chat bubbles pop up on the screen. He has more to say. 

He has more to say, and you’re fighting the urge to cry–to not shake out of sheer frustration while you’re still standing in front of Satoru. Because nothing would be worse than him seeing you can’t even land a date. 

Kazuki: I recently just went through a divorce, and I know that I should have informed you about this before continuing our conversations…Especially since you’ve been so transparent with me about your own divorce and strife.

Kazuki: But if I’m being completely honest, I was scared. I genuinely wanted to see this through, at first. I wanted to forget about my ex-wife for just one night. But I realized I’ve been asking the impossible of myself…I’m still in love with her, and it’s because I’m in love with her that I won’t allow myself to lead you on any further. 

Kazuki: I think we would’ve had a good time tonight. It's unfortunate we had to meet under such circumstances because you’re a really lovely woman, and I’m sorry an asshole is standing you up right now. 

Kazuki: Take care. I know there’s a guy out there just waiting for his shot. 

Satoru takes notice of the way your face drops as you read over the messages. Part of him wants to overstep his boundaries and take a peek at the screen. But he doesn’t. He gives you your space and takes a seat on the couch, waits for you to say something first. 

In the meantime, he studies your face. Watches intently as your eyes become glossy the more you scan the messages, watches as your bottom lip catches between your teeth to hold back from crying. He thinks he knows what just happened. 

Taking a deep breath, you lock your phone and put on another trained smile, “Well, looks like I’m staying in tonight.” Satoru dislikes when you do that. When you put on a fake smile and overcompensate to make others around you feel better, even when it’s so very obvious you aren’t. He wishes that sometimes you would just be selfish–act out. 

And then you continue the façade. It makes his skin itch. 

“I was too tired anyway, guess I can just catch up o–”

“Will you stop,” he spits, rising from his seat on the couch to stand. It comes out harsher than he intended, but he doesn’t regret it. You look at him like he’s got two heads as he walks over to the mantle and leans against it. His back is turned towards you, and the palms of his hands hold the crest of it. He uses it as leverage to rock on the heels of his feet. You can tell there’s something he wants to say because of the way his jaw ticks. 

Satoru is never one to bite his tongue, so you’re not exactly sure why he’s choosing to be so restrained. If he wasn’t going to spit it out, you were going to poke. “What’s your problem?” 

He chuckles at this, rubs his chin then pushes off the mantle to stand in front of you, gets all in your space again. The movement almost sends you back but you hold your ground, tilt your chin up at him and repeat the question. Slowly, this time with more venom. 

“My problem? What’s your problem?” He breathes through his nose, his eyes flickering back-and-forth between your own. “Why do you always pretend like you’re not lonely? It’s okay if you were looking forward to having fun tonight. It’s okay to be upset and be mad at the asshole who stood you up!”

With every verbal prod at you, the gap between you decreases. His feet inch closer and closer to your own and force you to retreat farther until your back hits the wall. The coldness of it causes your breath to hitch, and you try to stay calm as Satoru encroaches more into your personal space. Being on the receiving end of his passion was always suffocating, you feel exposed under the intensity of his gaze–even more so as he continues to tear into you. 

“Why do you even care?!” you cut him off, eyes wide and veins pumping full of adrenaline. “It’s not your place to be so invested in my life anymore! We’re not together, you don’t have to get so hot and bothered about things going shitty for me. I’m a big girl, and I’m perfectly capable of fighting my own battles.” 

By the time you finish, you’re a heaving, shaking mess. He takes this as a sign to withdraw from your space, and goes to sit back down on the couch. When you finally settle your nerves, you join him, leaving a foot of space in between you. There’s an awkward silence, one that wouldn’t have even happened if he just respected your boundaries in the first place. Now he feels like the asshole instead of the actual asshole who dumped you. Taking a hesitant breath, he decides to speak up. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t…It wasn’t my intention to come off so strong like that,” he begins, “I just wanted to let you know that you don’t always have to pretend to be fine. It’s not fair, you shouldn’t do that to yourself.” His eyes wander over to you reluctantly, like he’s scared that if he looks too long you’ll disengage from the conversation. 

“It’s okay,” your voice is small, just above a whisper. You want to face him, but you know that if you do, you'll break into a million pieces. So you keep your gaze downward, busy yourself with the stray pieces of thread on the bottom of your dress. “You’re right, you know. I think I just…I think I just tell myself to expect disappointment so that when something bad happens, I’ll know it’s not because I got my hopes up.” 

Satoru turns to you, and you can see him frown through your peripheral. Still, you don’t face him because you’re not done talking. But you thank him silently for listening without interrupting. 

“Even though you’re right, I don’t appreciate the way you came on so strongly. We’re not married anymore, we’re not a couple–we’re co-parents. So if there’s something I want you to know about that’s outside of the scope of our kids, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, leave it alone.”

Satoru’s face softens. For once you’re being selfish, putting your foot down. This is the side of you he likes. “Okay. I respect that,” he says, “But can I ask you something?” The smile on his face is mirthful, like he’s got something else up his sleeves this evening. Skeptical, you finally face him with a raised brow. 

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.” 

You laugh in his face, even go as far as smacking his arm because you want him to know you found the joke really funny. He doesn’t budge, and that’s when you realize he’s being serious. 

“Wait, what?” 

“Let’s go to dinner,” he stands up, crossing his arms across his chest. You tilt your head in disbelief. You’re just waiting for someone to tell you you’re on that old reality show punk’d. 

“Funny, I just poured my heart out to you and now you’re making fun of me,” you roll your eyes, feigning annoyance. 

“I’m being serious,” he reassures, “you’re already dressed up. It’d be a shame for it to go to waste.” His eyes are twinkling with hope, and once again, you find yourself falling victim to their persuasiveness. 

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating. 

Giving in, you ask, “So what are you gonna do? Drive all the way home to get dressed?” 

The question is genuine, but the bastard just grins. “I’m a little hurt,” he throws a hand over his heart, “don’t you know me by now? I’m a businessman. I keep pressed blazers and slacks on me at all times.”

He swings his keys around his index finger, hoping that the promise of a spare change of clothes being in his car is enough to convince you to say yes. 

“I don’t know…” you trail. 

“C’mon, let me take you out. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Somehow he was able to persuade you into going out. After he changed into his spare clothes, you ended up telling your girls that there was gonna be a change of plans, and that they’d go home with their dad tomorrow. 

Of course, before leaving, you made sure to leave some money on the table for pizza, and you also made sure to drill into their heads not to open the door for anyone except the delivery guy. You knew they knew the drill already, but it didn’t feel right to leave without saying it anyway. 

“Be good, listen to your sister, she’s in charge,” you pinch Haruki’s cheek. Hana smirks, nodding her head in agreement with you. 

“I will mom, I know,” she huffs, crossing her arms.

“And you,” your finger wags at Hana, her smirk drops. “Don’t provoke your sister, be nice. Act like you love each other, please.” 

“Fine, whatever. I guess,” she grabs the knob to the door, ready to kick the both of you out already. “So does this mean the two of you are back together, or?” 

Satoru and you turn to each other before answering in unison, “No.” 

“Okay, cool. Well, have fun,” she practically closes the door on the two of you, locking it after. Satoru is just as dumbfounded as you are, but then you break into a fit of laughter. 

“Those kids, man.”

“Your kids!” you correct, pushing him playfully as the both of you walk down the pebbled pathway. He finds his equilibrium in time to unlock the car and open your side of the door. You pause before ducking inside.

“Oh, how gentlemanly of you,” you jest, “And they say chivalry is dead.”

“How could it be when I’m alive?” He says matter-of-factly, closing your side of the door. He taps the top of the car before sliding across the hood to the other side. Nice to see some things never changed. 

When he gets inside and turns on the car, he puts his hand on the back of your seat to back out. The proximity sends a shiver down your spine, and you have to physically refrain from letting your eyes linger on his jaw, and his arms, and the face he makes when he’s trying to concentrate. 

You try to dispel these less-than-friendly thoughts by looking somewhere, anywhere else but him. But you can’t, and it’s irritating. 

This is the second time tonight you’ve been this close, and it’s only this time that you realize something about him is…different. Earlier, he didn’t really smell like anything, but you quickly notice his smell has changed. 

There’s a sort of piney scent coming from him. It’s not strong or obnoxious enough to blind your nostrils, but it’s enough for you to just barely pick up on it. You almost think it was premeditated, that he took the liberty of spritzing some on before walking you to the car. Before you separated, he’d made it a habit to wear variations of woody scents for you. If you can recall correctly, a passing comment you made about the cologne he was wearing that day is what sparked the habit. 

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental? 

“You smell nice,” you blurt, filling in the silence. 

Satoru glances at you, “Thank you.” You hate that from the corner of your eye, you can see his stupid little smirk growing bigger by the minute. He already had a big ego, it didn’t need to be stroked any more. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, though. You usually smell pretty rank.”

“Ohhh, is that so? Guess I gotta start wearing this more often then, huh?”

“Sure, do what you want,” you say, trying to remain indifferent even though you’re failing terribly to hide your smile. When the car approaches a red light, you finally decide to ask the big question. “So where are you taking me?” 

“You’ll see,” he glances over, “Just know I’m good friends with the owner, so last minute reservations weren't a problem.” 

The rest of the car ride is silent, save for the low hum of the music playing on the radio. When you arrive at the location, Satoru makes sure to walk all the way around to your side of the door again and open it. Immediately after, the two of you are greeted by a young male. He’s wearing a white button down, black slacks, and a black vest with a red tie. Judging by his appearance, you assume he’s a valet driver. 

Satoru drops his keys in the driver’s hands, and escorts you towards the entrance. The boy bows and goes to park the car. Looking around, you start to wonder where exactly this place is supposed to be. The area is dark and secluded, and from where you stand outside, it doesn’t sound like there’s supposed to be a restaurant here. You don’t hear any voices, you don’t even see any security or other passerbyers. 

Still, you follow behind him like a duckling, only coming to a halt when he leads you to a door taller than the both of you. He gestures for you to back up, then raises his knuckles to blow a strong, single knock. You’re taken by surprise when a set of angry eyes appear behind a slot in the door. 

The pair of eyes first scan over you, then Satoru. A gruff voice is second to accompany them, “Where can I get a good drink?” 

“I heard the bar down the street is nice,” Satoru answers. The hatch to the door closes, then swings open the door, and the man behind it moves aside to welcome you in.

“Follow me, please.” Once he closes the door, he begins guiding you down the dimly lit hallway. After making what seems like your hundredth turn, you eventually reach a staircase. The man gestures for you to go on ahead, and you think this is him implying where the three of you will depart.

“Thank you,” you say softly, disappearing down the stairs. Satoru isn’t too far behind, keeping a pace between you. As you near the end of the long, narrow hallway, a stream of white light brightens up your whole path. It leads you down to another door like a beacon of light, and when you reach it, you can hear voices, live music, and dishes clanking on the other side. It’s bustling with life. A huge, joyous smile plasters across your face. It’s almost child-like in appearance, like you haven’t seen something this cool in a long time. 

Satoru stands beside you and winks. “What d’ya think? Any idea yet where we are?” 

“I think this is fucking cool, and hm,” you take a second to mull it over, “are we at a speakeasy?” 

“Smart girl. Now come on.” Stepping back, you allow him to pull open the door, and when he does, there isn’t a word to describe the atmosphere of the place you step into. All you can do is stand there in astonishment. Before long, a man walks up to you. 

“Welcome, what is the name you reserved under?” 

“Gojo.”

Nodding, the host instructs you to follow after him. He leads you to a private seating area, somewhere far in the back that’s secluded from the other patrons. The space is much bigger, and much more extravagant. You know you’re only sitting way back here because Satoru is who he is. And in all the years you’ve known him, his connections were just another party trick in his arsenal. 

The hostess seats you, then Satoru, and tells you that a waiter will be with you shortly. 

“This is nice, really nice, but is it–”

“Legal?” he finishes your sentence, “don’t worry. It’s a modern speakeasy-style restaurant. There’s nothing illegal going on here, promise.” 

While you wait for your designated waiter, your focus shifts from the man in front of you to the man singing on the stage. Up until now, his voice was white noise in the background, but then he started singing a tune scarily reminiscent of your past–and your breath catches in your throat. 

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

Turning your gaze back to Satoru, you squint your eyes mirthfully in disbelief. You wonder if this is just a funny coincidence, if this is the universe playing her tricks, but you know deep down, that coincidences and Gojo Satoru don’t belong in the same sentence. 

You open your mouth to speak, but quickly close it when you see the waiter approaching from the corner of your eye. He greets the both of you with a polite smile, then sets down two glasses of water. 

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter for the night,” he says, placing a menu in front of you, “Can I get you fine folks started off with a bottle of wine?” 

Satoru nods, tells him to bring the best bottle of red they have and then gestures for him to come closer so that he can whisper something in his ear. All the while, you sit back in your seat observing, clicking your nails on the table until the server pulls back and bows. 

When he departs, you immediately lean in over the table, and ask, “Just how much time did you have to plan all of this?” 

Satoru feigns aloofness, taking a sip of his water, “What do you mean?” 

You roll your eyes, gesturing at the stage with your eyes. Then, as if suddenly coming to a realization, he goes, “Oh, that? Yeah, I had nothing to do with that. But isn’t it funny they’re playing our old song?” 

Now he’s smirking, with his elbow leaning back on the chair, and a gaze so piercing, you’re certain you’ll crumble into nothing unless you look away. So you do, avert your gaze back to the stage and sway calmly. 

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter. 

Eventually, the server comes back with a bottle. “1982 Chateau Latife Rothschild,” he holds it out to present, “Is this alright?” 

Despite the years spent with Satoru, and the many elitist events you often attended with him, your knowledge on wine had never surpassed anything but surface level. You knew the difference between good wine and cheap wine was the taste, but your taste buds had grown accustomed to store-bought, so if anything, store-bought tasted like heaven to you. Anyway, though, you nod your head and urge him to pour a glass. 

“Thank you,” you smile, before gently swirling the glass and bringing it up to your nose to smell (something you only know to do after being the odd man out at so many company banquets). Satoru waits for you to sip your glass before he sips his. The way you melt into your seat is a silent assurance that you’re pleased. 

“This is great, you’re amazing,” you tell the server, who seems pleased by your compliment. 

“Glad to be of service, miss. Are you ready to order?” 

Dinner goes by smoothly. In fact, it goes by so smoothly, you and Satoru finish the entire bottle of wine. Now you sit at the table, bellies full, faces flushed and sore from laughing, and now you find yourself telling him about the grocery store incident. If you had half a mind (a sober one), you’d shut up right this second to save yourself from the embarrassment. But you don’t. And Satoru’s very persuasive when you’re tipsy. 

“Keep going,” he leans in, hand nestled under his chin. He’s completely invested in the story. Actually, as soon as he heard the words ‘store’ and ‘cute guy’, he just had to know more. And you begging him to change the subject didn’t help, not when the sadist in him loved to see you so embarrassed. 

“Fine,” you hiccup, “It was so - so bad, Toru.” He doesn’t miss the way you slip and call him by the nickname you’d always reserved for him. It makes his heart race, and god, does he miss the way it sounds spilling from your lips. But he ignores the feeling, and refocuses on your story instead. Which, by the way, was proving to be a task in itself because his eyes couldn’t stop drifting back down to your lips. So soft, so–

“And then she said ‘we don’t believe in rings,’” you whisper, fist coming down on the table. The sound it makes nearly sobers you up, and you realize just how loud you’re being despite your table being secluded from others. Giggling like a kid, you continue, “I mean, how fucking insane is that?!” 

“Something as bizarre as that could only ever happen to you,” he replies, laughing along with you, “those people were crazy.” 

“The craziest,” you agree, throwing your head back in another fit of laughter. Gradually, the two of you begin to settle down, and once again, you find your attention being drawn back to the man on the stage. Only this time, he’s making an announcement.

“Good evening ladies and gentleman. Tonight I’ve got a special request,” he says, looking out into the audience. Looking at you. “This one’s for a very special lady who, from what I’ve been told, is a great mother that needs to start doing things for herself.” 

The singer steps out of the spotlight and hands the note to a server. Your server. Then he begins to sing, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach. It was your wedding song. 

[...] I don’t even know how to love you

Just the way you want me to

But I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

Yes, I’m ready (ready) to learn (to learn)

“Now this one? This one was me,” Satoru leans forward, and you swiftly turn your head to face him. He smiles as he watches your face go through ten different emotions before ultimately softening. It warms your heart to see how incredibly planned this evening was, despite the amount of time he was given to work with. Even so, it kind of scares you–because then that meant this was a grand gesture–that this was his way of saying something. And you weren’t too sure if you wanted to hear it. Your gaze drops to your lap, and Satoru frowns. 

To fall in love 

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

“Look at me,” he says softly, but you don’t. “Hey, look at me.” He reaches over the table to take your chin in between his fingers. The touch alone feels electric. Sends liquid hot lightning down the column of your spine. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze, and like always, it’s suffocating. They’re so wide with hope, and so, so gentle in the way they hold you. The longer you gaze upon them, the more you convince yourself it’ll be okay if you surrender to them. 

“It’s been years since we’ve divorced,” his voice is shaky, almost strained, like he’s actively thinking how to choose his words carefully, “and when we sat down that night, I thought it was what I wanted, too, you know? And for a while, it was,” he reaches a hand across the table to rest atop your own, “but you gotta know…you gotta know–you’re it for me. There’s no one else on this Earth that I want to start over with. You’ve always been the beginning and end of my story, and I’ll be damned if I let another man start one with you.”

Your heart is beating faster than you can even process what he’s saying. The only thing you’re focused on is not passing out in the middle of this damn restaurant. But then he’s squeezing your hand, and your focus is drawn back to those piercing, pale blues that even put crystals to shame. 

“So what do you say?” he says, so softly, so tender. “Can we try again?”

Waiting for your reply, he squeezes your hand again. It’s like your soul is wandering the line between death and the living, and his touch is the tether that brings you back. In the background, the tune of the song sung at your wedding gives you a push of courage. 

I don’t even know how to kiss your lips (kiss your lips)

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do 

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

The walk back to the car is hurried. Aided by both, years and years of built up tension, and the liquid courage currently bubbling in your systems. 

The race back to his apartment is even faster. You thank the gods silently that it’s within close proximity to where you just were. 

Once you get there, make your way past the doorman and concierge (who both give the two of you a knowing look), go up the elevator, and finally get into his loft–it’s over. Years of restraint, years of pretending, wanting–yearning, come crashing down. 

There’s barely any time to close the door before he’s pushing you against it. His lips trail down the column of your neck, then come up to kiss your jaw, until eventually, they find your lips. And when they do, it’s instantaneous–that familiar feeling, the feeling that feels almost like falling. 

Once again, for what felt like centuries, you feel again the rush of helplessness. The push and pull of the tide. It brings you down, down, down to the bottom of the ocean floor, and it’s unmerciful. 

Kissing Satoru is like being shocked with ten thousand volts of energy. Like all this time you’ve spent not kissing him, has been costing you your life, and he’s the only one who can deliver you salvation. It’s all teeth and tongue for a minute. Messy, and sticky, and nasty. A true testament to the desperation brewing in the pits of both your stomachs. 

The sensation of it all has your knees going slack, and that’s when he says–

“Jump.” 

Obeying, you do just that. Jump right into his arms, and wrap your legs around his torso like you’ve done so many times before. The way you feel now is the way you used to feel before then, too. Like you were made to fit like this. To be held in his arms like you were molded from the same clay. 

Carefully, he adjusts his grip on your body. Keeps his palms planted on the bottoms of your ass, and begins the trek to his room. He struggles a bit getting there because you haven’t stopped kissing since entering the apartment, but he figures it out after a stumble or two (which resulted in a bitten lip and you apologizing profusely through giggles). 

“The turbulence up here is crazy, don’t blame me, blame the pilot,” you jest, kissing down his neck to make up for it. 

“I’ll make sure to let him know,” he jokes back. As soon as he gets to the bed, he sets you down at the edge of the bed. You try to bring him down to your height but he stops you, wags his finger in your face playfully before using it to push you back into the bed. His fingers start to play with the fabric of your dress, and then his face takes on an indifferent expression. The same one from earlier that night when he first saw you walking down the stairs. 

“Can’t believe you were gonna wear this for him…” he trails, lifting the fabric up slowly, eyeing you while doing so, “as if this dress doesn’t mean something.” 

Of course, when Shoko chose it, its significance did make you falter–but in your defense, not once did you ever anticipate for him to see you in it. And you especially didn’t expect for him to remember it, the last time you wore it was almost a decade ago. 

“I didn’t…” you start, a smile creeping on your lips, “think you remembered?”

“‘Course I did, how could I not?” He says more sharply than intended, taking offense. He takes offense because he spent the better half of the night showing you he remembered. The little things and everything else in between. Couldn’t you see that?

“It was our 4th anniversary. Bought you this dress and fucked you in it that same night. Funny how the second time I’m seeing you in this dress, the circumstances are the same except only this time we’re divorced,” he says, crawling over your body. “Guess I gotta show you just how much I remember.” 

With that, he slips a hand under your dress, pulls your panties to the side and runs a finger down your slit. Oh-so-willingly, do you spread your legs for him. It’s almost subconscious, the way your body responds to him. And he revels in it. Lets his fingers work you, feel you, bring you to ecstasy. Then he heightens your pleasure tenfold when he kisses his way down your body, and takes a seat before you on his knees. 

Unceremoniously, he pulls your body to the edge of the bed. Takes his time slipping your panties down the length of your legs, then kisses the insides of your thighs, before finally stopping at your mound. 

Slowly, he lowers himself to your cunt, kisses your clit softly. Once, twice, three times. The pace in which he’s moving is killing you, to say the least. But you know he’s savoring the moment, making up for all the years he spent not kneeling like this between your legs. So you let him; let him caress you all over before he comes seeking the honey-sweet salvation dripping from your core. 

The second his tongue makes contact with your heat, you find yourself clamping a heavy hand over your mouth. “Fuck, Toruuuu,” you drawl, back arching off the bed. Pleased with his abilities, he smiles smugly, using this as an opportunity to push himself even deeper. Up and down, he licks at your slit, uses his fingers in tandem with his tongue to prod at that spongy spot he knows you love. 

“Tastes,” a harsh suck, “so good,” another, “better than I remember.” 

You know he’s talking, but his words fall on deaf ears. You’re so caught up in your own high, you don’t even take notice of the obscene sloshing sounds coming from your pussy, or the moans you’re making. All you can do is lay there and take it as he takes, and takes, and takes from you. 

Soon, you find your orgasm cutting through you like a knife, and you come with a strangled cry that has you biting back tears. Satoru talks you through the whole thing. He lays his head down on your thigh and continues working you with his fingers until you start to shake from the overstimulation. 

For a few, you lay and stare at the ceiling. You think you can see the Milky Way–and all the constellations that make it up. It feels like your soul is floating beyond your physical body, and you don’t come back down to Earth until a sharp, stinging sensation brings you back. Did he just?

“Did you just bite me?” you lift your head, peering down to see the evidence. In all its glory, there it was; a red ring smack-dab in the inside of your thigh with teeth imprints. Looking at Satoru, he grins. 

“Had to get you back from earlier,” he says, sitting back on his knees. You attempt to kick him with your foot, but he grabs hold of it. Pretending to be wounded, he gasps, “Is this how you treat the man who just gave you a soul-shattering orgasm?” 

You roll your eyes, but to your dismay, it only encourages him to continue. 

“Fuck, Toru,” he mimics, “oh my god, Toru. You fuck me so goo–”

“Alright, enough!” you manage to kick him this time, laughing as you bring up your hands to cover your face. “Keep carrying on like that and I won’t let you fuck me…” You’re serious in your bite, but he’s smirking. Like he knows you’re full of bullshit. 

“Yeah right. You and I both know I make you feel too good.” 

Feeling bested, you scoff, though, there’s no real weight behind it. While he begins to remove his shirt, you sit up and replace his hands. He relinquishes control and allows you to unbutton it until the item falls haphazardly to the floor. 

He’s so beautiful, you think. Still so chiseled, so perfect after all these years since you’ve last seen him like this. At his most vulnerable. The only difference now is that there are more freckles littered across his skin. Back then, he’d say they were signs of aging, and he’d hate them. 

But he’s older now. More mature. So much so that he even winks at you when you trace your fingertips over them.

“They suit you,” you whisper. 

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.” 

Continuing your ministrations, you begin removing his belt. He holds your gaze the entire time it takes for you to unzip his pants and pull them down–and he doesn’t once shy away when you discover the wet spot on the front of his briefs. Slowly, delicately, you remove the soiled item and let it fall down to the floor with the rest of his clothes. 

Still looking at him, you take hold of his length and fist him once, twice, experimentally. A dribble of pre oozes from his slit and you bring it to your mouth. All the air in his lungs expel into the air when you lick it off with your tongue, and god, he thinks he could come from that alone. 

God, he’s missed you. Missed your touch, your lips–the way you hold him with your eyes like he’s something worth being gentle with. Nothing could ever compare to you, not even his own hand. 

As soon as you’re about to take him in your mouth, he stops you. Pushes you back down onto the bed and slots himself between your legs. “No more playing, I’m tired of playing,” he breathes, lowering himself down until half of his weight is on top of you. 

Guiding his cock to your entrance, he pushes past your folds with little resistance. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him in has his arms wobbling like jelly, but he musters enough strength somehow to stay up. You, on the other hand, are close to tears. 

The more he eases himself in, the more you feel like you’re being stretched open (despite him previously prepping you). If you were being truthful, this wasn’t a complete shock to you. You’ve known that he’s always been big, but something about tonight feels different. Or maybe it’s just been too long since you’ve had something more than just your own fingers. 

Even so, you try your best to ignore the burn of the stretch. You throw your arms around his neck and invite him deeper into you, hooking your legs around him so tightly that it renders his limbs useless. For a minute, all you can feel is the weight of him inside of you, and his chest against yours as they rise and fall asynchronously. 

“Toru,” your voice is just barely above a whisper, but enough to make the hairs on the nape of his neck stand. “Make love to me.” 

Heeding your request, he begins moving. Painfully slow, he unsheathes himself from you until only the head of his cock is inside, then pushes himself all the way back in with force. Again, and again, he repeats this motion. Pulls out, pushes in. Pulls out, pushes in, until he decides to increase his pace and set a steady rhythm. 

Every thrust into you is meticulously calculated. Sharp, and forceful, and not once does he disrupt the rhythm. He listens carefully to the sounds you make. Even listens to the way your breath hitches when he hits a spot right. Everything he’s doing is perfect–and it’s to no surprise. Deep down, you know that Satoru knows your body like the back of his hand. He’d know it if you were all old and wrinkly. He’d know it if his soul reincarnated. Hell, he’d know it blind. 

“Missed this,” he grunts, burying his head into the interstice of your neck, “missed you,” a kiss to your neck, “missed us.” 

The veracity of his words render you speechless. He’s already professed his feelings for you tonight, but it feels even more real now that you’re beneath him. To be loved by Gojo Satoru was a feeling many couldn’t say they had the consolation of knowing. Only a few in his circle could hold that position–but only one person in this world could truly ever know his love to its fullest extent. You. 

Satoru continues his mindless rambling, “I love you,” a thrust, “it’s always been you,” another, “was always going to be you.” Leaning back on his heels, he pushes your dress all the way up to reveal your breasts. Now it’s him who sits back and admires this time. As if he were reacquainting himself, he traces the planes and pastures of your chest with an eager hand. He runs it up and over each mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh experimentally. 

Then, he dips down and kisses the space between them. Sucks and licks until the skin bruises, and he has evidence to prove tonight actually happened. Eventually, he withdraws from your chest and returns his focus on easing his cock in and out of your cunt. 

“So beautiful,” he says, but it’s more to himself than anything. You’re so lost in your own pleasure, he doesn’t even think you can hear him. “Want you to cum on my cock, know you can do it, baby. Know you can,” he grunts, taking your hand and intertwining it with his own. Letting his head fall into your neck, he begins to quicken his pace. Fucks into you with everything he’s got and willing to give. 

“Toru,” you finally manage to say, “‘m so close, keep going. Do it - do it inside.” 

Do it inside. Do it inside. Do it inside. The thought is tempting, too tempting. It makes his dick twitch inside of you, and he swears if you say it again, he’ll actually do it. But he knows better than to listen to anything you say out of delirium. 

“Trust me, sweet girl,” he cradles your face, to which you lean into, “I want to - I want to so fucking badly. But we both know you’d regret it later.” 

Whining, your lips form into a pout, and the sight is so cute, he can’t help but to kiss it off of you. Compared to your kiss earlier, this one is much sweeter. Slower. More relaxed. He kisses you with the intent of making you dizzier than you already are, and it’s scary. Even so, you don’t pull away. You allow him to drink you up. Like your lips are the only source of water around, and he’s been quenched for days. 

Finally, with a few more thrusts, you reach your climax. The pressure building in the pit of your belly pops like a balloon, and everything goes white. “Toru!” you shriek, arching off the bed and trembling in his grasp. 

Using your arch as leverage, he keeps his hands underneath your back and continues to ram into you without abandon. You’re a babbling, wet mess at this point, and your cunt squeezing around him only encourages him more. 

“Fuckfuckfuck, ‘m gonna - ‘m gonna,” he curses, balls beginning to tighten. Quickly, he unsheathes himself and fists himself the rest of the way. With an impassioned moan, he climaxes–spurting thick, white, ropes of seed all over your abdomen. Then, falls onto your limp body with a grunt, chest heaving rapidly, and slick with perspiration. 

By this time, you’ve settled down enough to form a proper sentence. “That was…”

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.” 

Still spent, he continues to lay atop you. And you, having nowhere else to go, let him. The two of you lay comfortably in silence like this for a long time. Just you tracing shapes into his back, and him purring into your neck. Both of you know you should be getting up, but neither of you make an effort to do so. In this moment, time is transcendent. There is no rush to move when time stands still for you. 

Soon, that silence is broken. 

“I love you,” you say, and there’s no elaboration. Not even a recant. In fact, you say it so nonchalantly, he’s not even sure it was real. You say it like you’ve never been more certain in your life, like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever had to do. 

“Really?” he queries, almost pathetically like the mere idea of you loving him is something unattainable. You look at him like he’s got two heads. 

“Yeah, you’re my best friend. I’ve always loved you,” you admit, pausing your ministrations on his back, “I just had to relearn how to love you.” He smiles at this, hums into your neck to keep from crying. 

“I’m glad we found our way back to each other,” he mumbles into your neck, “so where do we go from here?”

“From here we take it slow. We’ll learn together what it means to be individuals, and then from there we’ll see where it goes,” you say matter-of-factly, “no more repeating past mistakes.”

“Agreed,” he nods, “what will we tell the girls?”

That’s when your eyes widen and you sit up, forcefully pushing Satoru off of you. 

“What did I say, what’s wrong?” he queries, sitting up on the bed. He watches you rummage around the room maniacally, head on a swivel as you run out of the room and return with a purse. You pull your phone out to see a slew of missed calls and messages. 

“We forgot to call the girls!” You yell, showing him your phone screen of missed calls. Gojo jumps up to join you, one leg already sliding into his pants. 

“Shit!” 

Noticing the state of your appearance, you pinch the skin between your brows. “Satoru, I can’t wear this! You got cum all over it,” you groan, pointing to all the splotches of white. He tells you to wait a second before disappearing into his closet, then he comes back with a fist of clothes and throws it at you. 

“I can’t wear this either, they’ll wonder why I’m wearing your clothes!” 

Satoru runs to you and pull the dress off of your body, “We’ll wash it!” he screams, disappearing again out of the room, and to where you imagine, the laundry room. When he returns, he’s out of breath and panting. It’s only then do you realize how insane he looks with half his shirt buttoned, and his pants twisted around his hips. A giggle escapes your lips.

“What are you laughing at? Chop chop,” he claps, ushering you into his bathroom. 

Yeah, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this idiot.

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

© arachine 2023

[lilmashae]

🤍 pretty boy — s.jy

smut

shy, nerdy jake who's never been too focused on a girl — until he met you. jake spent most of his day studying or working inside of the small campus cafe.

but, you walked in and everything around you suddenly froze. sure, pretty girls had come in to order before — but none like you.

"hi," you looked down, reading the name tag adoring his apron. "jake, is it?" he nodded and you smiled — your lips were glossy as you beamed up at him. "hi jake, can i order... one iced americano?"

"yeah, that's $3.59... and what's your name?"

"y/n, here you go." you spoke, handing him your change, the both of your hands brushing against one another. "oh, i'm sorry, i —"

"it's fine, jake." a soft giggle escaped your mouth as you took your receipt and your coffee. "thanks, see you around!" you waved on your way out.

he couldn't stop thinking about you after that — the beautifully charming girl who knew his name. his interest only grew more as you became a regular. though, his fondness of you exceeded past a normal 'customer-server' relationship.

"jake!" you walked up to the counter happily, "what's up?" he blinked through his glasses. "i passed — my exams, i passed!" full of joy, you hugged him over the counter, still laughing and smiling passionately. "i knew you would, so what can i get you?"

"something sweet..."

"how about a pastry? i know you like strawberry," jake began. "it's on me, since you did well on your exams."

"i couldn't, i'll pay." but, he just shook his head — "really, y/n, you deserve a treat." you'd be crazy to think jake isn't attractive. not only that but he's smart, respectful — and you may or may not have a thing for shy guys. "well," you nipped at our bottom lip. "how about this, i'll pay... and you can come over later to celebrate. then, you can really treat me." you stared at him with pleading eyes, unsure of what his reaction'd be. "ah... s-sure thing, y/n."

"great! i'll text you, bye jake." you left happy, big smile plastered on your face.

you thought he was cute in his uniform, but jake was even cuter in his low cut sweater, exposing his collarbones and neck. "come in." you welcomed him inside, warmly. however, the two of you could only make small talk for so long — before you were perched in his lap, hickeys and marks trailing down jake's skin.

"fuck..." he huffed from under his breath. "i thought... i thought i was supposed t-to be... shit! treating you?" smiling against his chest you lifted yourself up. "still want to, pretty boy?" and without a second thought, he was buried between your thighs.

"jake..." you squirmed under him as he lapped your cunt. "fuck, wait!" he was hungry — he's been waiting for this, to taste you on his tongue and have you come undone on his fingers. "so good, y/n... pussy's so good..." jake hummed into your warmth, sopping hole swallowing his slender fingers so well. "please, please jake, m'about to cum!" his pillow lips latched onto your clit, tongue still dancing between your fluttering, clenching hole and your needy clit.

"you taste so good, been waiting to taste this pussy for so long, baby." he wasn't so 'shy' in between your legs. jakes fingers hit that spongy spot — perfectly rubbing your gummy walls as you came on his face and fingers.

this is a work of fiction, guidelines and disclaimers! i'm writing this to make up for the shitty jake chapter 🙁

[elfwreck]

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.

[transexualpirate]

hot take but i think that "fictional characters are fictional and liking or disliking them have no real life effect" and "the way you treat certain characters can be an indicative of your character in real life" are statements that can and should coexist

example: character A is violent and makes misogynistic comments. they're still charismatic and their arc is interesting to read/watch. person A acknowledges that the character is bad but they still enjoy consuming content from the character and they do so unapologetically. they're allowed to like the character, especially considering that literally everyone the character has harmed is also fictional. they don't pretend the character isn't violent, or misogynistic, they just like the character despite that. they post about it constantly. this is a neutral action that shows nothing about person A.

character B is a white man that makes racist comments, treats a black person in the show badly and gains money through anti-ethical means. they're still charismatic and their arc is interesting to read/watch. person B claims the character is flawed but overall misunderstood and all their actions are entirely justified. they're allowed to like the character, especially considering that literally everyone the character has harmed is also fictional. person B claims the black character that character B treated badly either had it coming or overreacted. all of person B's favorite characters are white men. person B goes out of their way to justify that all of their favorite characters are actually misunderstood and good people, and more people should like them. this shows that person B likely has some favoritism for white men.

just. you're allowed to like fictional characters even if they're awful fucking people but. and im not sure why this is controversial. the way you interact with media says something about you. this isn't necessarily a bad thing. does this make sense please

[depravitycentral]

Yandere! Asahi Azumane NSFW Profile

Yandere! Asahi Azumane x fem! reader

TW: kidnapping, mentions of non-con, light somnophilia, masturbation, panty sniffing, breeding, lactation kink, mentions of pegging, Asahi wears lingerie, size kink but remember that Asahi is very large and it's written with the idea that everyone is smaller than Asahi, one very, very brief mention of reading not eating enough, fem reader, MDNI

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy!

WC: 12K

HABITS:

Before having you in his life, sex was something Asahi wasn’t super comfortable with. Despite coming more out of his shell with the passing years, he’s never truly shaken off his shyness, and so the prospect of casual sex is absolutely not something he’s interested in.

He’s had a girlfriend or two and is thus not a stranger to women’s bodies, but he’s found that he’s simply just not that sexual of a man. Sex just wasn’t important to think about – he gets easily flustered even as a fully grown adult, and while he can handle mature conversations about intimacy, just the thought of being so lewd and bending someone over to have his way with them gets his ears turning red, his knees buckling and his words coming out all slurred and distorted because he can’t think clearly.

It’s embarrassing, if he’s being honest, and so he finds himself simply avoiding sex and, in turn, partners. And this extended into his personal sex life and habits as well – he’s not the most regular in terms of touching himself, preferring to just let the bout of horniness or the occasional incessant boner pass on its own.

He’ll do it occasionally to relieve tension and because he enjoyed how it feels, but it’d only happen a few times a month, if only because the embarrassment was difficult to overlook. After all, how lonely is it to look down and see his own hand wrapped around his cock? Familiar fingers gripping his red, swollen length in the comfort of his own room, the lame background music he’d put on to feel better doing absolutely nothing.

The reality is that Asahi is actually quite lonely before you step into his life – he's not quite smooth and suave enough to be successful with women or even be willing to put himself out there, and the realization that the only way for him to get some sort of sexual relief is via himself makes him too sad to indulge often.

And even once you step into his life, this is still true – except now there’s the addition feeling of yearning, wishing so strongly that it’s your fingers instead of his own (or perhaps your mouth, your breasts, or – god forbid – your pussy) that touching himself becomes even more of an emotional struggle.

And as time passes, Asahi sticks to his typical pattern of seldomly masturbating – but then his feelings grow deeper, his infatuation with you festering more and more, his thoughts about you delicately toeing the line between sweet and only slightly disturbing to downright depraved.

After all, how can he not imagine fucking you in every position he’s ever seen?

How can he not imagine the sight of you perched in his lap, pretty body bare for him to ogle while you scoop your hips up and down, moaning his name and guiding your lips to latch onto a bouncing nipple, your cunt squeezing down on him like a fucking vice?

The embarrassment is still there, of course, as is the shame and loneliness, but his feelings for you are just too strong to ignore, his desperation too insistent to quell. And with every gasping, toe-curling orgasm that wracks his body, Asahi comes closer and closer to deciding that he needs you, that just his hand or his pillow aren’t enough to satisfy him.

No, he needs you – your touch, your body, your pretty, tight, warm walls sucking him in so hard that you never let him go.

As the frequency with which he gets off increases, Asahi finds that he has a particular system for how he pleasures himself - and it involves a secret that he is not proud of.

He’s not especially proud of the fact that he relies exclusively on the (now a bit ragged) pair of panties you’d accidentally left at his apartment in order to get off, but it’s too late to change now. You’d had a rather serious dental procedure, and had turned to Asahi to request that you stay the night at his place to minimize your driving and responsibilities while the anesthesia wore off.

Asahi had of course jumped at the chance, ending the phone call with shaking fingers, a blush covering every inch of his face, and his heart practically beating out of his chest at the prospect of sharing a roof with you for a night just like couples do. And he’d been attentive to your every need; cooking you a warm soup, getting the best sheets he had and letting you sleep in his bed rather than the couch.

(Of course, he still hasn’t washed those sheets after you’d slept in them – if he tries hard enough to thinks he can smell you in the fabric, occasionally finding strands of your hair by his pillow and letting each one sit on the tip of his tongue for just a moment, savoring the taste of you.)

You’d forgotten a pair of underwear in your overnight bag, and while Asahi had meant to tell you, curiosity got the better of him and before he knew it he was picking them up, swallowing thickly, and thumbing at the double-layered section that rubs right up against your folds. It was all too easy to imagine how you must look in them – the mental image of you making a shiver erupt down his spine, needing to lean on his desk for support.

He felt a bit guilty for not returning them, but he couldn’t help it - they were so utterly you, your favorite color and a style he just knows would frame your cute little ass perfectly, your plush thighs and creamy skin sitting on display and practically begging to be kneaded, squeezed at, marked up and bruised with hickeys.

And that night, as he lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, thinking of your face and how he’d quite literally give up his own life just to kiss you once, just to feel your lips pressed snugly against his own, slowly the more risqué thoughts are drifting into his mind.

What would it feel like to have you kiss other parts of his body? How would you taste if he kissed your collarbone, gently suckled on a nipple, licked a long stripe up the puffy lips of your cunt?

How would you react if he were to teasingly kitten lick at your clit, or if he whispered a heated, honest I love you into your ear as he pushed deep inside of you and filled you to fucking brim with his cum?

His mind slowly drifts to more lewd areas, his body growing hot as he imagines you riding him like your life depended on it, bouncing up and down and making your entire body jiggle, your tits bouncing in his face and your voice thin and gasping as you tell him that it’s too much, I can’t Asahi, please, need you to fuck me now…

And soon, he’s deciding that he can’t just ignore the stroke of luck he’d gotten that day, that he’d somehow managed to come by a pair of your panties, something he’s only been able to dream about. And as he locks his door and dims the lights a bit, he’s snatching the pair of panties he’d neatly folded and placed on top of his dresser.

Immediately, he notices the slight fresh stain against the crotch, and his eyes go wide - you had already worn them? They’d already touched the slick, warm place between your legs, the place that gets Asahi salivating and bright red with just a mere thought?

With shaking hands, he timidly brings the cloth up to his nose, inhaling and moaning aloud as the smell he can only describe as you clouds his senses. They’re pungent, proof that you must have had a long day with them adorning your pretty body, and immediately his cock is standing at attention, his tip flushed and oozing precum in copious amounts, his balls occasionally twitching in desperation, practically begging to be touched. He lays the panties down against his face, tilting his head back slightly so that the cloth stays against his nostrils, the smell of you filling every breath his takes.

He gulps, wrapping his fingers around himself, hissing slightly at the pressure and letting his eyes drift closed. He gently squeezes, bringing his hand up to the tip, using his thumb to swirl around his slit for a moment as he brings the material once more up to inhale again.

He groans, the pleasure sending shivers down his spine, and before he knows it his fist is pounding down against his pelvis, long strokes against his rock hard cock as he grunts and lowly moans your name, airy breaths of oh – oh you’re so pretty, I love you – hah, love that pretty pussy of yours.

The pace is purposefully slow, his movements still a bit timid because he’s worried he’ll come too fast, that he’s too pent up, that the smell of you will send him over the edge way too soon.

He doesn’t want this moment to end – the pleasure, the exploration, the feeling of having you the closest he’s ever had. He continues to sniff and whine, absolutely amazed at the wonderful, musky scent of you, fantasies running through his mind about the way you’d react to him touching you, to him sinking his cock inside of you again and again and turning you into a trembling, incoherent mess all for him.

He can’t help himself from imagining what you’d smell like when you’re finally in front of him, a groan slipping from his lips as he imagines the way you’d feel perched on his face, your thighs caging in his head and your fingers raking through his hair as he slurps and sucks and moans against you, desperation lacing his movements because god he wants to make you come.

He can’t help but imagine you taking every inch of him inside that warm little pussy of yours, sucking him in and gripping onto his swollen length so tightly he’s sure you must never want to let go. And his eyes flutter close his lips part slightly, drool pooling in his mouth as he loses himself in the pleasure, the feeling of his hand so much better than normal now that he has something to smell, something that’s so clearly you rather than just his thoughts. His hand picks up a bit, and as his tongue darts out to lick his lips, panties still draped over his face when he stops short, eyes flying open as his hips buck wildly.

Tentatively he sticks his tongue out once more, rolling it against the crotch of your panties. Immediately his eyes are flying open and he’s whining your name, hips bucking up as he runs his tongue along the fabric once more, relishing the taste of you against his tongue.

Curses and whimpers of your name along with yes, o-oh yes yes yes, god feels so – so good fly out of his mouth. Suddenly a particularly hard clench of his abs makes him gasp, the words slurred and nearly incoherent as he moans out ‘m gonna – I can’t hold it in, a-ah oh god ‘m-!

His whole body tenses, every breath he takes smelling like you you you as warm cum spurts up and onto his chest, the t-shirt he’s wearing utterly destroyed as it just keeps coming, rope after rope. He’s moaning your name, eyes squeezed shut as he loses himself in your taste, imagining he’s buried as deeply in you as possible, stuffing you full of his cock that he’s all you can feel, all you can see and hear and taste and think of.

It takes him a few minutes to recover, and once his breathing is steady once more he’s staring at his ceiling, in shock of how good it felt to have your scent and taste, to make it seem just a bit more realistic. He’s careful with your panties as he delicately picks them up off of his face, chest still heaving with the residual pleasure of his orgasm, dutifully and carefully folding up the cloth.

After much debate he ends up slotting the panties neatly under his pillow, swallowing heavily and practically giddy with the knowledge that he’ll be sleeping so close to something of yours, his face mere inches away from you, basically.

And that night, as he lays in bed, he’s breathing in hard, hoping to get even the slightest whiff of you from below his pillow, sleep eventually lulling him into dreaming about you laying in his arms, his cum still leaking out of you.

FAVORITE BODY PARTS:

Your hands

Asahi’s always found himself drawn to your hands. Perhaps because his job requires so much of his hands between sewing, measuring, tailoring, and everything else, or perhaps because he’s simply attracted to them.

Regardless, Asahi quickly discovers that every time he’s with you, he’s always aching to reach out and intertwine his fingers with yours, to feel your palm pressed against his own.

And really, they’re just so small compared to his own rough, calloused hands – so soft and delicate, something he can stare at for hours without growing tired.

He’ll trace every line, every mole and mark, memorizing each and every detail because it all just feels so important. He doesn’t care whether your fingers are long and dainty, shorter and wider, veiny and pale, anything and everything is pure perfection to Asahi, and he’ll be worshipping your hands no matter what condition they’re in.

Even in the early stages of his obsession with you, he’s always been interested in them – the way you idly crack your knuckles, how you mindlessly tap random rhythms against your desk when you’re bored or waiting for something, how you run your fingers over your hair when you’re focusing.

He has a tendency to stare, and while he thinks that you don’t catch him often (you d0, but based upon the fire engine blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes immediately dart away, you figure it’d be kinder to not confront him about it), he’s been fascinated since day one with how they could possibly feel, how soft your fingers would be, the exact lines on your palms, whether they get clammy easily or not.

And once your relationship moves to the point of any sort of affection, Asahi’s preference for your hands will quickly become apparent – he’s trying to hold them at any chance he can get, intertwining his fingers with your own, bringing them up to kiss each knuckle individually, listing off a thing he loves about you for each.

He loves the way they feel against his own calloused palms, how your fingers are so much shorter than his own, how when you hold your palm up against his, you barely reach his last knuckles.

It only furthers his perception of you being so in need of protection, and he loves to feel those hands against him, touching him. He loves the sight of your fingers wrapped around his thick cock, barely able to wrap fully around, such a stark contrast to the hard, pulsing, veiny expanse of his length. He loves the friction as you thrust your hand up and down, biting his lip and knitting his brows together because even though it’s just a simple handjob it feels so much better when it’s your hands and fingers wrapped around him.

He loves how they feel against him when you’re touching him, running them along his front and down below his v line, how it sends shivers down his spine just to have you ghost a fingertip against his sensitive skin.

He likes holding your hand while he fucks you, keeping his grip on you firm as his hips steadily thrust into you, the pleasure slowly mounting. His fingers clench onto your own progressively tighter, until they nearly crush yours as he stares down at you with wide eyes, his lips falling open into a desperate moan of I – coming! while he buries his face in your neck, filling you with spurt after spurt of cum.

He loves the way you scratch his down his back as he hovers over you, the pleasure and pain mixing together while he focuses on holding off his orgasm for as long as possible, not wanting to end the feeling of being inside of you, not wanting to end the way you’re clutching onto him and moaning for him, begging for him and telling him that he feels so good Asahi ‘m gonna come-!

Asahi loves your hands, and at any given time he’ll be touching them in some capacity - whether it be holding your hand, resting his cheeks against your palm or sucking at your fingers while you toy with him and make tears well up in those pretty eyes of his.

He just loves them. 

His hair

He’s long harbored fantasies of you playing with his hair, to feel you giving it attention and mindlessly running your fingers through it.

He’s absolutely convinced that it would be the most comfortable, wonderful thing in the world, that it would be the single most amazing experience he’ll ever have, to have your attention solely focused on him, you touching him, maybe even telling him how lovely his hair is, how you’re jealous of how soft and smooth and pretty it is…

Just the thought of you complimenting his hair is enough to have him wildly blushing, his dark eyes staring at the floor in embarrassment and bashfulness, secretly yearning for you to tell him more, to compliment him again and again until he faints from all the blood rushing to his cheeks.

(And, though he’d never tell you, to his cock, too.)

And once you’re trapped with him in your new shared ‘home’, Asahi is still harboring the fantasy, even more so than before – and yet, he will never ask for it, never request for you to play with it, to run your nails against his scalp and gently tug on the roots.

He wont’ ask, if only because it feels wrong to request anything of you after he’s kidnapped you, when you’re so obviously still afraid of him.

So he waits in silence, praying for the day when you mindlessly start playing with his hair – he’ll always position himself so that his hair is accessible if the desire overtakes you, a small flame of hope igniting in him chest and extinguishing out every time you move and don’t come any closer to his head.

(He goes to bed on those nights with a heavy heart, his own tangling into his hair and tugging, your name slipping past his lips.)

But Asahi is a patient man, and once you do start absentmindedly playing with his hair, Asahi is beyond pleased to know that you don’t stop. You seem to grow an affinity for running your fingers through it, for braiding it, styling it, really doing anything at all.

He knows that you enjoy his hair – it becomes his favorite thing in the world to feel you play with it, and he spends hours with you sitting behind him with his head leaning back between your knees, his body starting out stiff because holy shit, he’s so close to you, but eventually relaxing, even falling into a slumber because the feeling is just so calming. He wants you to braid it, mess with it, do anything your heart desires with it because he loves the attention and the relaxing feeling it brings.

But of course, he also loves his locks for other, less wholesome reasons - the way you tug at it when he’s got his face buried between your legs, for example, and how your grip tightens against his scalp as you get closer and closer to release.

Sometimes you synch your cries with the tugs, something that Asahi is sure you’re unaware of, but he can’t help the way he forces himself to work harder, to focus more in order to get you off, in order make you have the most Earth shattering orgasm, the best feeling you’ve ever experienced, and with each hair tug he only becomes more determined.

He loves the way you get rough with it, the slight tinge of pain that accompanies it, and it never fails to make him groan, to sigh out your name against your cunt.

(Sometimes, when he’s in the mood but you physically aren’t in a position to touch his hair, he’ll reach up and tug at the strands himself, imagining your fingers instead of his own. It gets him whimpering, desperation for you so thick that he can nearly taste it, but Asahi just can’t help it. It’s an obsession in and of its own right, and he can’t deny how much he loves it.)

DRIVE:

Asahi’s drive is really quite average – he’s not an incessantly horny man by any means, and while he does have the occasional passing fantasy or wet dream, he’d never categorize himself as a hormone-driven man. He doesn’t watch porn, doesn’t follow any social media influencers whose content borders on the edge of distasteful, and he sometimes even fastforwards through sex scenes in movies simply because he finds it uncomfortable to watch two people having sex – even if it’s fake.

And so Asahi finds himself mostly avoiding intimacy on that level, though it’s not entirely on purpose. He’s by no means a saint, though; he’s still human, and when he sees a woman with particularly large breasts or perfectly manicured fingers there’s always the fleeting thought of what if, the fantasies clawing in the back of his mind of how he’d love to latch onto a nipple and suck, to imagine how much better those fingers would look wrapped around his cock or cupping at his balls.

He rarely touches himself, sure, but he’s not a stranger to sex, his limited experience still experience nonetheless.

And so while it’s very, very easy to fluster or rile him up,  he generally isn’t hard and desperate to fuck you at all times. He values you for much more than just your pussy – you’re his dream woman, the person he views as his life-long partner, the one he wants to spend every waking moment with and share every last breath. He’s content to just hold you, to press a soft kiss against your temple and whisper a little confession of love rather than pin you down and fuck you until you’re crying.

(Of course, he won’t say no if you were to beg him to touch you, his face only turning red and his voice cracking a bit as he rushes out a quick yes! Um, yes of course, I’ll uh, be right back… and then leaving the room to take a few deep breaths and whisper to himself that it will be fine, she wants you, you’ll do well, don’t overthink it.)

Asahi is very dependent on what you want, always concerned about your opinion and vote and desires, and so while there are times that those wild hormones do in fact take over and his body starts begging him to slip down that cute pair of panties he bought for you and sit you directly on his cock, to bounce you up and down and use you like some life sized sex toy, watching as your breasts jiggle and your face contorts up into that sexy, perfect little ‘o’, Asahi won’t until you make the move to do so.

(It’s out of respect and lucidity for your consent and state of mind. He already feels guilty enough from having stalked you and stolen you away to live in his modest apartment with him, and forcing himself onto you is absolutely the last thing he wants to do.)

He’s not constantly horny, but it doesn’t take too much to rile him up. A few suggestive words and lingering touches can have him needy and eager to touch and please you in mere seconds – casually tell him over dinner that you feel so empty, Asahi, won’t you come fill me up and watch the way his entire body stiffens, brown eyes meeting your gaze and immediately looking at the table in embarrassment, his face flushed a bright red and his knee bouncing under the table as he mutters out a are – are you sure? I don’t want to leave you hungry – not that you haven’t eaten enough! That’s not what I’m saying, I just – um, I uh… Do you really want that?

(His voice gets a bit vulnerable at the end there, his tone higher and his eyes daring to meet yours again, his mousy brown hair falling around his jaw like a halo.)

Leave a hand on his bicep and gently squeeze, biting your lip and making a show of raking your gaze up and down his body and you’ll see the way he gulps, the sound audible as he shudders a breath, his pants already growing tight and nudging against you.

(You can actually feel the warmth of him through his jeans when he does this – cock warm and ready and throbbing.)

For him, your pleasure is the number one priority, and as such it’s his duty to prioritize what you want when you want it, rather than his own desires. You should be in charge, should be the one calling the shots and telling him that you’re okay with him fucking you like he so desperately wants. You should be the one to tell him that it’s okay each time he nervously and compulsively asks you if it’s okay for him to kiss you or touch your waist or unclasp your bra or moan your name or come -

And even once you’re both naked and touching one another, he views his own orgasms as a background to yours. He mostly just wants you to feel good, and he’s pretty much at your beck and call for whenever you’d like to feel the euphoric high that only an orgasm can bring you, in whatever way you’d like him to get you there. He’s game to finger you, to eat you out, to fuck your cute little pussy that makes him moan and whine every time, even your ass if you bring it up.

Asahi never fails to deliver, and he’ll never, ever complain. He loves to touch you and get you moaning, even if he’s a bit shy and flustered the whole time. It makes him so, so happy to know that he’s the one touching you, that he’s the one making you feel so good and satisfied.

But before you begin feeling any desire to be with him in an intimate setting, Asahi still has urges. He still very, very badly wants to touch you and feel you against his skin, to trace out the map of your body and chart every mole, hair, blemish and roll.

You’re just so fucking perfect to him, and he can’t help but desire you physically when he sees the way your breasts bounce as you try to reach the top shelf in the kitchen (he’s more than happy to come to your rescue and grab the jar off the top shelf, secretly smitten with himself because he’d put it there with the hopes of creating this moment).

He can’t help but want to taste your saliva when he sees you sweating on a particularly hot day, the bead rolling down your temple and following the curve of your cheekbones, his tongue coming out to lick a long stripe along his lips because fuck, he bets you taste sweet.

These urges are still present and strong, but because of his commitment to not force you into anything, Asahi finds that he has to satisfy himself in other ways. That is, it doesn’t necessarily feel good to sneak into the extra bedroom he’d transformed into your personal room, but as soon as he catches a whiff of your scent and sees your sleeping, relaxed form on the mattress, his mouth goes dry and he’s shuffling forward before he even realizes it.

You’re sprawled out on the mattress he’d bought especially for you, the soft t-shirt and short set he'd gotten you sitting haphazardly on your hips and riding up to expose a bit of your stomach. It makes him gulp, his eyebrows drawing in a bit as he slowly, carefully, sits down onto the empty space beside you on the bed.

He can’t stop staring at you – you’re so pretty, and as your lips part slightly and you breath, he can’t help but whimper slightly – he can only imagine how it would feel to kiss you, to feel your lips against his own and feel your tongue brush against his.

Would you bite his lip, tease him with a bit of pain before kissing him harder, pushing your tongue inside and moaning into his mouth because it just feels too good? He hopes so, and it’s not long before he’s imagining all of the other things that mouth of yours could do – he’s sure your kisses would feel like heaven against his chest, lips wrapped around a nipple and sucking lightly, tongue flattening out to run over the pebbled skin again and again and making him shiver.

He’s sure that your lips would feel even better lower, pressed against the juncture of his hip and thigh, moving up and to the side, slowly – so fucking slowly – moving towards where he really needs you, where he’s pulsing and throbbing and leaking so much precum that it almost looks like he’s already reached his high.

He closes his eyes briefly as he imagines the way you’d suckle on his tip, your pretty lips puckered and those eyes of yours staring up at him from between his knees, how you’d pull back to press small kisses and kitten licks against his sensitive skin.

The thought has him groaning lightly, a hand coming down to carefully push his boxers down just a hair, just enough to let his cock spring free, slapping heavily against his lower stomach as he bites his lip. He makes sure to settle the waistband just below his balls, a hand idly moving to grope and squeeze as he continues to stare at you. It feels wrong to be touching himself while so close to you, while you’re totally unaware, but he just can’t help it – he’d been furiously pounding away moments ago in his own bed, eyes squeezed shut and flashes of you playing through his mind, but the knowledge eats at him that you’re only a wall away, your pretty body ripe to ogle and fantasize about and right fucking there…

Guilt weighs heavily in the back of his mind, but as he wraps his fist around his base and slowly pulls up, the heaving breath he lets out has the shame creeping to the back of his mind. It’s so much better with you in his sight – he watches the rise and fall of your chest, your breaths and soft and light, matching the pace of his fist with it.

His toes curl and his lip catches between his teeth, the dull, teasing pleasure from such a slow pace making his head tilt back. He stays like this for what feels like hours – his eyes never moving from your sleeping form, his pace matched to your breathing, just simply breathing in deeply and letting his eyes flutter closed as he exhales, the scent of you you you filling his lungs and making him feel dizzy.

Some forty minutes later, Asahi’s breath is hitching, little whimpers and bitten back moans filling the otherwise quiet air, his fist slowly speeding up out of his control, his orgasm slowly building and mounting, his cock so sensitive and hard and wet –

He comes with a strangled, too-loud I love you, his eyes struggling to stay open as he strokes his way through it, his hips bucking up into his fist and cum landing in ropes along his fingers and wrist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he’s chanting under his breath, his breathing uneven and labored as he tries his best to be quiet, terrified to wake you up.

You’re still so ethereal in front of him, looking like an angel as he slows his fist to a stop, his entire body trembling at the aftereffects of his orgasm. He swallows heavily, shaking fingers stained with cum reaching out and nearly, barely brushing against the soft skin of your forearm, clenching his teeth tightly at the contact as it sends one last, final push of pleasure through him, a few final beads of cum oozing from his tip and making him whimper your name.

He doesn’t touch you any more than that, scared to wake you up or cross some invisible line of privacy and consent, but thus starts a pattern. He’ll sneak into your room every week or so, spending far too long simply staring at you, moving to every angle imaginable just to see you, to see all of you, all the while furiously pumping his fist, doing his best to bite back every moan because god, what would you say if you saw him?

(He hopes you wouldn’t stop him, that you’d instead berate him for being so dirty, that you’d reach out and stop his wrist, telling him in that lovely, sweet voice of yours to earn it, Asahi, show me that you deserve to come. And god, the fervor and desperation in his movements as he’d lick and suck between your legs is too good to be embarrassing.)

MAIN THREE KINKS:

Praise

As a general rule, Asahi absolutely crumbles the moment any sort of positive comment towards him falls from your lips. He’s never been the most confident man on the face of the planet, and while time and a successful career have helped mitigate that a bit, he’s still a bit doubtful about himself, always just slightly insecure and unable to believe in himself.

And for the most part he doesn’t mind, but he always, always appreciates your support in the area of his lacking – declrataion of you being happy or grateful or pleased with him leave Asahi’s throat feeling tight and his palms clammy. But specifically, Asahi has little to no confidence in himself in the bedroom – and to hear you say anything even remotely positive about his skills in bed gets him hot under the collar, the desire to please you making his fingers itch and his pants feel much too tight.

His lack of confidence between the sheets stems from the belief that he’s sure that he won’t be able to satisfy you, that his touch and love won’t be enough to get you off, that you’ll end up just using your own fingers because he just wasn’t good enough.

He’s convinced that you’ll grow to prefer your own touches and ministrations over his own, that you’ll simply sigh and roll your eyes when he asks you in that timid voice if you’d sit on his face, if you’d let him play with you, if you could just please let him taste you, he’s been thinking about it all day…

It’s never ending cycle of negative thoughts and assumptions, always absolutely sure that things will go the worst possible way once he becomes intimate with you,  and honestly you’ll quickly pick up on this.

When he’s hovering over you, brown eyes staring wildly down at you, impossibly wide while his mouth opens and closes like a fish, unsure of what to say or do because you’re finally right in front of him, like he’s been dreaming of for months, you’ll notice the way he’s too stiff to move, his every muscle tense and his eyebrows knitted together so tightly that he almost looks like he’s in pain.

(A few soothing words will have him instantly relaxing, though – run your hands up and down his arms, cooing at him that he’s so handsome, that he looks so good over me Asahi, you’re so pretty, and maybe tell him that you’re so excited, you’ve already made me feel so good baby, and you haven’t even touched me yet and you’ll see the way he visibly perks up, embarrassment written across his face but this sort of shy, boyish joy taking over as he leans down and kisses you. The kiss is too sloppy, too needy, too wet, but it’s the push he needs to finally press himself against you, your slick folds against the sensitive underside of his cock making him hiss into the kiss and his arms nearly give out.)

He’s too nervous to try fingering you or eating you out the first time he’s got you naked in front of him, but he also knows that you need prep before you take him, his girth enough to stretch your walls out to a painful degree if you don’t get some aid.  

(Take the initiative and guide his fingers down your body, going slow and making all sorts of keening and sighing noises, until he’s finally pressed up against you. Tell him that his fingers feel good when you’re helping him rub slow circles over your clit. Overdo your hips bucking at the sensation just to give him that extra assurance that he’s doing a good job. Gasp his name as he slips a finger inside and purposefully clench down on him, letting him hear you babble on about how he feels so good and he’s so big and he’s exactly what I’ve been imagining… You’ll see the determined purse of his lips, every ounce of concentration going into making you cry out his name, making you squeal out more praise, getting you to gush on his fingers and tongue and give him what he’s been dreaming of for months – the sight of your pretty body convulsing up in an orgasm, your cunt spasming and clenching down on him like a fucking vice.)

Towards the beginning of your sexual relationship you’ll find that more often than not he’s at a  standstill, something that is more than obvious to you, and in moments like these it’s best if you just tell him what to do. When you take off your bra, breasts bared for him as he unabashedly stares, his lips parted and his eyes wide, guide his hand to squeeze at one, sighing at the sensation and telling him that it feels good baby, you can go a little harder if you want, too.  

When he’s carefully (and almost tentatively) rubbing your back, giving you a massage and doing his best to relieve your back pain without hurting you, moan out his name and tell him right there, god Asahi you’re so good at this. It’ll leave him blushing and squirming, his cock growing hard and suddenly he’s hearing your moans as moans, seeing the pleased expressions on your face as being expressions of pleasure.

You need to follow his every action up with a bit of praise the first few times you fuck – when he slips a finger or two inside, bite your lip and make a show of gasping, telling him that he feels so good, please Asahi, just like that!

When he’s going down on you for the first time, tangle your fingers through his hair and tell him that he’s doing so well, it feels so – so good Asahi, mmm please don’t stop! And when he fucks you for the first time, gasp sharply and moan, tell him that he’s s-s0 big! Stretches me out so good, ngh –

(Asahi has always seemed gentle to you, even after having kidnapped you – tall, sure, but more afraid of his own shadow than anything. But once you moan that out, that gentle man you’re familiar with is gone – you realize just how strong he really is as his hips crash into yours, your cunt stretched and nearly split open with the sheer power and vigor of his thrusts, each one seeming to reach deeper inside of you, coming faster and faster until your moans at all forced, genuine incoherent nonsense slipping from your lips because god, you’ve never been fucked like this before – this fully, this desperately.)

He loves to know that he’s the one making you feel so good, making you cry out and curl your toes. When you say things like ‘so good Asahi’, or ‘yes, just like that’, he’ll become a blushing, flustered mess, but it’ll only drive him even further in his mission to please you, to get you to come.

After all, in his mind, your pleasure is so much more important than his own, and he’ll give you anything and everything he possibly can to get your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your pussy clamping down around him.

His actions will pick up speed and eagerness, and if you weren’t so fucked out while he’s got his tongue against your clit or his cock stretching you out, you’d be able to practically feel the desperation to get you to orgasm rolling off of him in waves.

He just wants to know that what he’s doing is feeling good, that you’re enjoying him, that you’re loving this wonderful intimate moment as much as he is. He loves your vocalness, and it helps his confidence to hear you so openly praising him and his body.

 So tell him, while he’s hovering over you, his cheeks flushed, his hair falling in waves over his shoulders and a few beads of sweat rolling down his temples, how big he feels inside of you, how you’re sure that nobody could fuck you like Asahi can, and he’ll make the cutest little gasp, before he’s thrusting into you even harder, burying his face into your neck and chanting your name over and over.

He loves it.

Breeding  

But unlike a lot of men, this kink doesn’t stem exclusively from a sense of possessiveness or ownership over you. (Of course, he very much is possessive over you and hates the idea of another man interacting with you, but still.)

Instead, Asahi’s fascination with the concept of breeding you mostly stems from a genuine desire to knock you up. Asahi craves a domestic life with you; the mere idea of being one big, happy family is something that makes his heart melt, that makes him giddy with excitement and an embarrassed flush spread across the bridge of his nose. There’s so many cute, wholesome things that Asahi wants to do with his future children; family pictures, reading to them before bed, dressing them up in his latest fashion designs, making them go eww! when they see Mommy and Daddy kissing…

And when you step into the picture, this natural desire for children only steps up, increasing astronomically because Asahi genuinely believes that you’re his soulmate, the woman he’ll spend the rest of his life with, and he couldn’t be happier.

 And while he’d never force it upon you, he really loves the idea of getting you pregnant and giving you the family that you both deserve. He wants to give you the baby he so desperately wants you to have, to see you softly rubbing your tummy and smiling at him, showing the world exactly who you love, who you choose to be with, who you’ll be spending the rest of your life loving and loyally staying alongside. He thinks he’d be a good father, in his oh so humble opinion, and that he’s completely, absolutely sure that you’d be a wonderful mother, and that together the two of you could have a happy, perfect family.

But of course, Asahi is no pure angel saint – he may not be the most possessive over you, but he can’t deny the wonderful side effects that come with pinning you down and breeding you. That is, there’s something about the fact that it’s his cock emptying load after load inside of you that gets him harder than he’s ever been in his life.

There’s something about the fact that it’s his name you’re moaning out to finish inside of you that makes him hot under the collar, his fingers twitching and his thighs flexing involuntarily because god, you’d sound so fucking good moaning his name.

The idea that it’s because of him that the cute little bump throwing your body off proportion even exists makes him feral, hands eagerly ripping at your clothes and slotting you in his lap, grasping at your hips and physically bouncing you up and down on his cock until he’s groaning your name and stuffing you full again and again and again, leaving you dripping white and smelling his cum, like him.

He’s not the most possessive yandere, sure, but even Asahi can get behind the idea of marking you as his own, of claiming you in the most natural, animalistic way. It satisfies something deep within him – the same thing that urges him to rush forward and keep you from getting too close to the open flames on the stove, the same thing that urges him to buy the pretty flowers on his way home from work and tuck one behind your ear. He’s never given much stock to gender stereotypes, but it just feels right to have you be his sweet little housewife, to be your big, strong protector, to be your provider in more ways than one.

And while bringing you gifts and keeping a roof over your head and warm food in your stomach are certainly ways he loves to provide for you, he’s more than willing to provide for your more carnal needs, too.

He’s more than happy to fill you to the brim with his cum, the sticky white dribbling out of you in big globs that he pressed back in with a thumb, voice shaky as he jokes about having to buy some sort of a plug just to keep everything inside.

(The next morning you find a pretty, purple plug on your bedside table, Asahi looking sheepish as he tells you that it’s the only way to really be sure, you know? Can’t have you wasting anything…)

He’s more than happy to keep his cock inside of you after he’s come, to make sure you’re plugged up, to keep you laying so that you’re hips are elevated, so that his cum will surely reach your womb, so that your body will have no choice but to give him exactly what he wants.

And during sex, the thoughts racing through Asahi’s head absolutely reinfornce this – as his high approaches, there’s a mantra repeating over and over in his head to  come inside her, fuck a baby into her, get her pregnant so she’ll never leave you.

His hips will speed up, the sound absolutely obsene as he throws your legs over his shoulders, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he watches your tits bounce with the force of his thrusts, the mental image of you swollen and round and so fucking fertile leaving his head spinning and oh fuck fuck fuck –

He’s coming with a whine of your name, burying his face into your neck and grasping tightly onto your breast, chanting your name under his breath and pressing himself just a bit deeper inside, anything to try and increase the chances of it taking.

The idea of knocking you up clouds his senses as his hips plow into you, the sensation so overwhelming that he’s nearly crying, but fat tears welling up and streaming down his face to land on your own while he clutches onto your hand, the emotional end of realizing that he might get you pregnant hitting him at full speed and making him dizzy with desire and love.

He’ll oftentimes whisper sweet nothings about how beautiful you’ll look, how much he wants to give you children, how deeply he wants to come inside while his hips are pounding away, practically ramming into your cervix with each powerful, passionate thrust.

He loves the idea of having a baby with you, and it’s just an added bonus that giving it to you feels so good. 

Size kink

No matter your size, Asahi will be taller, stronger, bigger.

He’s six feet tall, muscular, and despite his timid disposition, he’s very much a force to be reckoned with. Despite transitioning to a career less focused on physical prowess, Asahi largely retained his physique.

He’s a little softer now, the muscles covered by a small layer of fat, but he’s still got definition lining every inch of his body, the short-sleeved t-shirts he wears doing very little to hide the outline of his biceps. When his shirt rides up as he pulls his hair back into its signature bun, it’s impossible to miss the way he seems to tower over everything and everything, his presence something commanding the room, making everyone else just feel so small.

And while none of it is on purpose, Asahi slowly notices with time just how pronounced this difference is.

He sees it in the way that your palms compare as he timidly snake his hand against yours, swallowing heavily and avoiding eye contact because god, not only are your hands soft and warm, they’re practically engulfed by his, the sight making something scratch at the back of his throat.

He sees it in the way that your arms just barely wrap around his torso when you hug him, your fingers lacing together. (Of course, this took him a very long time to notice – he was too flustered by the fact that you’re hugging him to really notice any details, and even then he’d been too preoccupied by the feeling of your clothed breasts pressing against his chest, willing everything in himself to not get hard, to not let the blood rush to his cock as he imagines the way your legs would feel wrapped around his waist.)

As time passes, Asahi discovers that not only is he noticing these things, but there’s something about the sight that gets him hot under the collar, his breathing more strained than usual and his voice coming out a bit crackly.

And really, this kink stems from his protectiveness of you and his need to feel like your savior, but there’s just something about having you underneath him, seeing how small your body is in comparison to his own that really gets to him.

The idea of you being a fraction of his size, of your body being so much cuter, tinier, and softer than his own is something that makes Asahi blush, the red spreading from the tips of his ears all the way down to his collarbone, the idea that you’re such opposites yet so perfect for one another simultaneously warming his heart and begging him to fuck you because he just loves you so much.

And while your size difference is something that Asahi has always rationally known about, it’s so much different to actually see it, to be physically forced to recognize that he’s just so big compared to you.

When you’re naked below him, looking up at him with those vulnerable, beautiful eyes while you clutch the pillow underneath your head and shakily swallow, Asahi is hit with the sudden realization that you so clearly need him, need his help to do everything, and that includes turning you into a panting, drooling mess with his fingers, tongue and cock.

He loves the foreign surge of dominance he feels, how powerful and manly it makes him feel to see you under him, looking up at him like that, your lips swollen and puffy from kissing and biting them, from enjoying the pleasure he’s so focused on delivering to you.

He loves watching you take his cock; how it stretches you out to the point where you’re tensed up, fisting the sheets and telling him to slow down because you need time to adjust to his massive length.

(Of course, Asahi immediately stops, panic eating away at him because what if he hurt you? There’s not a sadistic bone in his body, and when you have to tell him things like that it only reminds him how easily he gets lost in you, how quickly he succumbs to the carnal urge to just fuck you so hard that you’re screaming his name and showing everyone exactly who owns the tight little pussy he’s fucking and filling with his cum.)

He loves to intertwine his fingers with yours while he thrusts into you, marveling at how his fingers dwarf your own while his cock stretches you out so fully, so completely that it’s almost visible against the skin of your navel.

He’ll purposefully fuck you in positions that really showcase this difference in size, too – of course his favorite is missionary, getting to look at you while he slowly rolls his hips into yours, but there’s something exquisite about folding you into a mating press, too. The way he’s strong enough to practically force your ankles up to your ears, his entire body hovering over yours as he pounds into you, watching the way you seize up because the angle is just so fucking deep.

It’s not his favorite, but he’ll fuck you from behind, the position slowly morphing from doggy into prone bone as he becomes more and more desperate for you, soon laying almost completely on top of you while his hips stutter into yours, the sensation of warm cum flooding you and the feeling of Asahi in every inch of your space making your head spin.

Even non-penetrative positions have this effect on him – watching you settle between his legs and eagerly jerk him off gets him clutching onto the nearest surface, the sight of your fingers, so small and sweet and pretty compared to his own, making his knees feel weak because fuck you’re so delicate compared to him.

And god, your mouth? It’s over for him the moment that your lips wrap around his tip, the sight of a much-too-big cock forcing its way down your throat threatening to bring him to orgasm much, much too soon.

Every part of him is bigger, and he just loves how obvious his muscles and height make it that he’s the protector in the relationship, that he’s the one providing for you, keeping you safe, keeping you happy.

Because after all, he’d do anything to keep you happy. 

OTHER NOTABLE KINKS INCLUDE:

Hair pulling

Quite honestly, Asahi’s not sure where this kink came from. His scalp has always been a bit sensitive, his hair silky and in remarkably good shape for little he brushes it, for how poorly he cares for it. And while he’s kept it long for all of his adult life, he’s still just the slightest bit insecure about being a man with long hair – the lingering stares of others making him slump his shoulders a bit, wishing they’d stop staring.

And so, he’s never really viewed his hair as something sexual – no girl has ever really pulled it, and on the rare occasions when he’s touched himself, a hand never manages to travel north of his chest.

And even on the more practical side of things, he’s never really been one for pain, for enjoying the stinging sensation of sharpness against his skin, of feeling the dull throb of a bruise being pressed on. He’s never really found it to be sexy, and by extension he’s never bothered to explore hair pulling.

But then he becomes intimate with you and as he’s kissing you, tongue tracing the shape of your teeth and moaning into your mouth he feels it –

Your nails scraping against his scalp, digging in and grabbing a fistful of hair, pulling and tugging.

He actually moans, the sound high and whiny and so girly it nearly makes him cry, but he can’t help but beg you to do it again, a hand coming up to secure your place against his scalp.

There’s just something about the your fingers tunnel into his hair, gripping the brown locks between your nimble fingers while his tongue works fast, desperate circles against your clit, his fingers curling and arching just the way you told him to. Every tug at his hair drives him to work harder, to suck harder and lick faster because he just wants to please you, and the way you’re mixing pain with pleasure is making his hips buck against the mattress, unable to control himself as he whines against your cunt.

When your nails lightly scrape against his scalp, Asahi can’t help but close his eyes and moan, the vibrations going straight up your spine as he doubles his efforts, wanting to get you to come to an almost unhealthy degree.

And yet, as your hands pull harder, coaxing him into fingerfucking you harder, moving in the specific motion against your clit he knows you love, all you can do is throw your hair back and moan, little gasps of oh Asahi, oh please – I’m so close, don’t stop!

There’s something about the light touch of pain that makes him shiver, that makes the excitement stand up at the back of his neck, his eyes growing dilated and his efforts even more vigorous because fuck, you deserve to come, and by god is Asahi going to be the man to do it.

It’s become a staple of him giving you head – you always burrow your fingers into the loose, flowing brown locks, pulling him ever closer to your sopping cunt, something Asahi couldn’t be happier about.

And if you really want to leave him a flustered, panting mess, lightly tug at his hair without any warning in a non-sexual context – reach over during breakfast and give a light tug and you’ll see in real time as his face turns red, gaping like a fish and letting a hand drop his fork and wander down to his crotch, the table covering his motions. (Though the sound of a zipper slowly undoing is hardly difficult to identify, nor is the way the slick, clicking noises echo through the room as he shakily tells you to f-finish your breakfast…)

Lingerie

Perhaps it’s a result of his heightened attention paid to fashion, or perhaps it’s just Asahi’s nature, but as his infatuation with you develops, so too does his desire to see you all dressed up for him.

He doesn’t view you as a doll, per se, but Asahi finds that one of his guiltiest pleasures is to put you in clothing he designs specifically for you – pretty colors and cuts he thinks accentuate your curves, always sucking in a sharp breath and muttering out this awed, overtly genuine wow that makes you too embarrassed to respond.

And it’s sweet, more than anything, because the dresses and outfits he creates for you really are flattering – except that as your sexual relationship develops, he starts taking certain liberties, his creations becoming more and more risqué.

The lingerie he designs for you is tasteful, at least – it’s flattering as well, always in shades of pinks, reds, and white to enhance your natural coloring, his fingers always trembling when he helps you put them on, catching a bit of lace between his thumb and index finger and sighing out your name in a tone much too airy to be normal.

You look absolutely stunning – and he finds that fucking you with the lingerie still decorating your body only makes his kisses more heartfelt, longer, more needy because you’re just so damn pretty all dressed up and practically wrapped up like a gift for him.

But really, where’s Asahi’s true lingerie kink lies is not in you wearing it, but rather in him wearing it.

It’s beyond embarrassing to him and something that would take a long time for him to admit, but there’s a certain part of him that would actually like to try on a few of the lingerie sets he sees in magazines, tv and social media. Some of them are just so fucking pretty, soft pastels with lots of lace and ruffles, things that scream feminine and soft, pretty and fuckable.

And while Asahi knows he’s supposed to be the ‘man’ in the relationship, it’s a guilty pleasure that he just can’t shake – and so, when you one day catch him staring at an ad for a brand new baby blue two piece set on his phone, you ask him if he’s going to get it, cocking a brow at him because it’s rare for him to ever buy you lingerie sets rather than make them himself.

(He’d told you once that he can fit them to your body better than any manufacturer can. And what he hadn’t told you is that there’s a certain allure to knowing that you’re wearing something that he made you, not some unknown, random worker with no appreciation for you or your beauty.)

Immediately Asahi is scrambling to cover it up, nervously chuckling and denying your words, but when it shows up the next day and Asahi mumbles if you’d be willing to um, give me an opinion about something, you’re intrigued. And as you open the door to reveal him, familiar brown eyes are unable to meet your own gaze, his body language clearly nervous at your scrutiny.

But really, the sight of the six foot tall, burly man clad  in the soft material hugging his body and bringing out the natural tan color of his skin leaves you oddly breathless, the sight strangely bizarre and erotic.

The bra cups are a bit loose, though you can still see his pretty, pink nipples hard as a rock underneath the sheer material. The bra may be loose, but the pair of lacy, red panties most certainly are not – his cock threatens to burst out of it at any moment, his balls hanging on by a thread to stay inside of the dainty fabric.

And when you take a few steps forward, looking at him with wide eyes, he feels his heart drop when you say oh Asahi, you’re so beautiful.

(If you look closely enough, you can see his balls visibly clench at the compliment, the skin angry and red at the tightness of the panties.)

So while it’s not the manliest thing, Asahi can’t deny that it makes him feel good, and you’re always so touchy and sweet when he’s wearing it.

And so when he’s in more of a submissive mood, wanting you to take care of him, dote on him, love him and show him that you’re just as desperate and hopelessly in love as he is, he throws it on and sits patiently on the bed, waiting with baited breath for you to pull the strap out and make him feel like a good little boy.

(And god his moans are pretty, his little gasps and whines when you toy with the fabric making you power-hungry, the sight of his cute little hole clenching as you toy with him, bent over and panties pushed to the side is the stuff of fantasies – he’s just so fucking obedient when he’s all dressed up for you.)

BIGGEST FANTASY: 

Going hand in hand with his breeding kink and his want of starting a family with you, Asahi has a few guilty pleasures when it comes to the idea of a pregnant you.

He just can’t help it – his biggest domestic fantasy is having a family with you, and every time he sees a pregnant woman out and about something inside of him just snaps, the flood of images of you all knocked up making his knees nearly buckle.

(Of course, in these images you’re sometimes clothes and sometimes not – the clothes, when included, are always too small, making your breasts look even bigger and your stomach ever rounder.)

Something about the roundness of your body, how your curves are enhanced, how you look so fucking fertile really gets to him, especially with how your breasts begin to swell.

Something about watching as your nipples begin to darken, your areolas get larger, and the way the flesh begins to hang heavier, looking so full and ready to be emptied really gets to him, sparking some odd, primal instinct in him that he didn’t even know he had.

He’s staring constantly, brown eyes darting to the way his t-shirts are stretched taut against your belly bump and engorged breasts, how you look so perfect and domestic and like a real mother.

He’ll be much too shy to say anything, too nervous at your rejection of the fantasy he holds close to his heart, but he really wants nothing more than to just latch onto a leaking, aching nipple, wrap his lights tightly around it, circle his tongue over the sensitive skin, and suck.

He wants to taste you; feel the white liquid against his tongue, nurse off of you in such a human, natural way.

He almost feels as if it’s his reward - he put the baby inside of you that’s causing you to produce, he’s the one heading to work everyday, making money to bring back to you and your slowly growing family.

He’s the one that spent hours between your legs, fingering your pretty cunt and giving you load after load after load of hot, potent cum.

He’s your protector, and it’s his deepest fantasy to be rewarded for all his hard work with your breastmilk. He’ll never, ever admit it, but when he fondles your breasts and nibbles at them, sucking at them with a vigor you’ve never experienced before, those are the thoughts racing through his mind. 

              “I’m home!” Asahi calls, closing the front door and letting out a small, satisfied sigh at the sight of his little home. Touches of your style are everywhere - the couch has your favorite color throw pillows, your favorite art is on the walls, pictures of the two of you hanging in frames on the shelf above the fireplace on the far side of the living room. It makes him smile, something warm and fuzzy settling in his chest.

              He slips his shoes off, shrugging off his coat and venturing further into the house. Normally you’d be in the kitchen by now, preparing dinner and wanting to have a nice meal while the two of you discussed your days, telling one another how much you missed the other. When he doesn’t find you in the kitchen, his brow arches and he calls your name once more, a small pang of panic bolting through him at the thought of you not responding.

              “Oh! You’re home!” He hears you exclaim from behind him, and heaves out a small sigh of relief. He turns around with a soft smile on his face, but that smile vanishes as soon as he takes in your appearance. 

              You’re wearing one of his old tee shirts, the material a bit light and comfortable, and a pair of your favorite panties peeking out from under the hem. You look so fucking pretty that it takes him a moment to register your words, brown eyes dilating and focusing on the sight of you in his shirt, the smooth expanse of your thighs, the smile on your face that gets his knees weak. But as he takes in the full sight of you, something else catches his eye – immediately saliva is pooling against his tongue, his fingers twitching and his tongue flicking out to lick over his lips.

Two small, uneven pools of wet form right over the swell of your breasts, staining the fabric a darker shade and making his mouth water slightly. The sight of your chest straining heavily against the shirt has him taking a step forward hastily, aching to get closer and closer.

              You notice his staring, and you scratch the back of your neck a bit awkwardly. “Welcome home, love. Sorry, I was just about to go start pumping but the laundry had me busy. I lost track of time.” 

              He just nods, not able to take his gaze away from you. You blink, before quirking the corner of your lips up. Although your husband had never asked, you’d noticed his affinity for your chest increasing tremendously after you’d begun lactating - he thought he was smooth when he’d oh so innocently walk in on you with your pump, watching your milk fill up the bottle, but you knew better. The fixation in his eyes as he stared was telling, the way he’d play with his hands and fingers, struggling to keep eye contact with you making it oh so apparent. And so, with a confidence that only he could allow you to develop over the years, you realize that maybe it was alright that you hadn’t started dinner quite yet.

              You bite your lip and slowly walk up to him, until you’re close enough to hear the slight wheeze in his breaths. You watch his Adam’s Apple bob as his eyes dart between your face and your breasts, trying to decide where to look. You almost laugh. “Asahi...I have an idea, if you’d be willing to try it out.”

              His gaze meets yours with a bit of reluctance, and his brows tighten. “S-sure! What did you have in mind?”

              You smile, leaning up on your tippy toes and placing a kiss against his cheek. “Well, since I haven’t started dinner yet, and I didn’t get to start pumping, and you’ve been gone all day, working hard and making me proud, I think you deserve a little reward.”

              Asahi visibly flushed at this, and his eyes widened a bit. “A reward? What do you mean?”

              You bite your lip, reaching out to take one of his large hands into your own, before carefully placing it over one of your breasts. He gasps sharply, his entire body tensing as he feels the wetness underneath his palm. You look up at him, doing your best to give him as seductive and sultry a look as you can muster. 

              “Well, I was thinking that maybe I could give you a little treat? As a thank you for everything that you do for me. It’s been waiting all day, and I’m so, so full… would you like that? Do you want a little snack as a reward?” You ask, watching his reaction carefully. His brown eyes are so warm, so genuinely shocked, and for a second you almost wonder if he’ll say no, or push you away. But before you can take back your words, he’s eagerly nodding, walking you backwards into the living room and settling you down into a sitting position on the couch. He crouches below you, on his knees in between your legs, still in the nice clothes he’d worn to work today. You grab the hem of your shirt, carefully lifting it over you and throwing it to some unknown part of the room. The cold air hits you, and you feel your nipples harden and the skin of your breasts tighten up. 

              Asahi lets out a mix between a moan and a whimper at the sight of your bare chest, staring in awe with his mouth open. When you see him not moving, you carefully reach your hands up, cupping your breasts and gently squeezing, causing a small stream of milk to leak out of each nipple.

              “Darling, don’t you want your reward?” You ask, squeezing extra hard, sending a spurt of liquid out, his eyes following the arc as he licks his lips.

Asahi gulps, a low growl escaping him as he gently pulls your hands away, instead latching his mouth around a nipple and sucking -

              You sigh softly, the feeling of his lips applying pressure and his tongue swiping over your nipple much more erotic than you had been expecting. His lips work against you, tongue swirling against your sensitive areolas as his cheeks hollow. He moans against you, the taste of you overwhelming his senses and setting his body alight with pleasure. He can feel his pants growing uncomfortably tight, but he just sucks harder, listening to your coos and cries above him. 

              His hand reaches out to cup your other breast, squeezing a bit more firmly and watching the milk leak, before he leans back, releasing the nipple from his mouth with a popping sound, and squeezes once more, harshly, watching as a stream of milk arcs through the air and directly into his parted, awaiting mouth. You both moan, and he swallows. He rubs his fingers over your nipples, and looks up at you, licking his lips. 

              “I think it’s time you showed me just how good you taste down here, too.” He says, grinding his clothed erection against your crotch. You moan, nodding your head and tangling your fingers into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed at the sensation.

            And, thirty minutes later as he’s pulling out of you, hissing slightly at the overstimulation, Asahi can only pant, a hand once again coming up to lightly squeeze at your breast, the kiss he gives you heated enough to have you melting against the mattress, too relaxed to even notice the way he pushes himself back in again, gasping into your mouth and pushing through the overstimulation because he needs this, needs you.

            After all, he can never get enough of you.

[neobomb]

give into things i (dont) want to [lee haechan]

bully! (yandere) stalker! Haechan x innocent! church girl!reader Part of the give into things i (dont) want to series. Word Count: 1.2k Inspired by this drabble made by @neocentral Warnings: mature themes, toxic/inappropriate behaviour, stalking, forcing??, slut shaming, masterbation, choking & breathplay?, hair pulling, manhandling, MDNI, there will be smut in part 2 [Pt.1] [Pt.2] Summery: bully!Haechan is secretly in love with you and loves pulling your hair as it feeds into his perverted fantasies. btw, donghyuk is haechan's real name © 2023 @neobomb. Unauthorized copying, translation, manipulation, or alteration of this work is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.

Haechan is hopelessly in love with you, a secret he vowed to take to his grave. However, his misguided attempts to gain your attention had spiraled out of control. What began as innocent teasing morphed into malicious intent. He has gone too far now. There is no going back. Over the years, he subjected you to relentless bullying: mocking you with derogatory names, spreading false rumors, and cornering you against his locker to threaten you. For as long as he had known you, he couldn't recall a single moment when he had treated you kindly.

“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to..” he loves hearing you plead for forgiveness. Tears welled in your eyes as he pulled your long luscious hair, your eyes looking up at him with an innocence he couldn't ignore. 

“A slut like you should know when to keep their dirty mouth shut.” he says, looking down on you. You looked like a mess. A hot mess. You’re on the floor, tears running down your face as heavy breaths left your lungs after the assault. When he goes home, he would picture this exact image of you in his head while mercilessly stroking his dick. He would imagine ramming his dick into you while pulling your hair, forcing you to meet his gaze. It was the primary reason he enjoyed pulling your hair during confrontations.

Everyday, he would follow you home after school. It didn't appear unusual since his house was only a few blocks away from yours. You never thought much of it. Each time you entered the safety of your home, you assumed he would just keep going until he reached his own. But oh…how you were wrong. 

Haechan would always linger around you at a close proximity. Your bedroom is on the first floor, facing a large oak tree, his favorite hiding spot. Peeking through the leaves, he watches you through your bedroom window. You’re sitting on your bed, reading a book. You look so peaceful. So beautiful. Whenever your hair gets in the way, you tug the strands behind your ears, revealing more of your neckline each time. Occasionally, he would take photographs of you as you undress, showing it to his friends as "evidence" of your supposed slutty behavior, but primarily keeping them for his own twisted satisfaction later on.

Haechan knows better than everyone that you’re anything but a slut. He doesn't even think that you have had your first kiss yet. Over the past year, he's spread rumors about you sleeping with countless older men, intending to dissuade other boys from showing interest in you. In truth, you're a devout church-goer with a deep love for immersing yourself in books and fiction. But still, he loves calling you a slut. The humiliation that marks your face each time he calls you those names does wonders to him. 

—

An intense heatwave has gripped the town. The scorching sun felt like it was searing your skin as you used a book to fan yourself. This summer break, aside from working at your cousin Kun's restaurant, you hadn't accomplished much. During your shifts, Haechan would consistently appear, each time accompanied by a different girl. What a manwhore, you thought to yourself. 

“If you feel as though he is bothering you, I can take his table. Just slice the salmon for me and keep an eye on the fryer.” Jaehyun offers, extending his knife to you. As your fingers lightly touch, a swarm of butterflies stirs in your stomach. You've harbored feelings for Jaehyun for some time. He's tall, amiable, strikingly handsome, and an exceptional chef. He embodied everything you desired in a boyfriend. Though only a few years older, he appeared to have everything figured out. 

From a distance, Haechan observed your exchanges with Jaehyun. Not paying any attention to the girl he was on a date with. He took note of your hearty laughter at Jaehyun's jokes and the way your face flushed crimson with every compliment he paid you. Saying Haechan was jealous would be a severe understatement; he was profoundly possessive over you. 

—

The community you live in organized a grand gathering, and by chance, your parents had offered to host the entire event in your backyard. Such events were never to your liking as you would panic at the social interactions. Worst of all, lee donghyuk was present at the event. You seek refuge in your room, after hours on end, having to endure awkward conversations. 

“Why did you cut your hair, Y/N?” Haechan stands in front of your bedroom door. He stared at you intensely, noticing how your hair falls right at your shoulder, revealing your pronounced collarbones. He suspected you might have cut your hair based on the conversation he had overheard between you and Jaehyun a few days ago, where Jaehyun expressed his preference for girls with shoulder length hair. It seemed evident to him that you were attempting to align with Jaehyun's preferences, which angered him greatly. “Yes, why do you care?” 

“Is it because you can’t just grab onto it as easily anymore?” The words you just uttered struck him with the realization that you might have uncovered his dirty little secret. He restrained himself from showing any emotion. Keep it cool. Keep it cool. You’re probably just being paranoid, he tells himself “Huh, What a big mouth. Why would you say that?”

“You obviously have something against me. I mean, every day at school, you pull my hair and shove me against your locker," you state, setting your book on the surface of your nightstand. He steps into your room, wearing a deeply unsettling grin, and closes the door behind him.

"Why do you think you can just come into my room, DongHyuck?" You ask sharply, rising swiftly from your bed. You urgently sought an escape from the situation, but Haechan's imposing stature blocked your exit.

“You’re not going anywhere, Y/N.” He gets a rough grip around your neck, pushing you into your bookshelf. Once again, he noticed the familiar panic in your eyes, a sight he disturbingly loves.

“You think I won’t be able to man-handle you just because you cut your hair short. Well, think again.” His grip around your neck gets tighter and tighter. You were no longer registering his words. His words became a distant echo as your mind retreated to a different realm. He has never grabbed onto your neck before. It was certainly a new sight for him, a sight he was going crazy for. The way your hands grab onto his wrist, desperately trying to ease his grip, and the way your eyes almost fall shut by the intensity of the situation. It all turned him on so much. 

He gradually loosened his hold on your neck, observing as you gasped for air and color that returned to your face. As you caught your breath, Haechan abruptly pressed his lips against yours. The fervor of the kiss was overwhelming. He bit down on your lips with force, leaving a faint metallic taste behind. His patience has ultimately run out.

[sesshous]

random dating hcs ᰔ mona, alhaitham, gaming

genre: fluff (no prns)

a/n: dating headcanons... drabbles... blurbs (not rly sure what to call these) also mona in the new cat event!! i love mona, she was the first five star i ever wanted and the first one i ever got, so i'm happy she's at least getting some more screentime haha ♡

mona

mona isn’t the most… responsible with her money. while she does have money set aside, the vast majority of her income goes to her life’s interest: astrology. but even with her lack of money, mona still wants to do things with you! … just without a hefty price tag.

mona loves to stargaze — befitting of an astrologist. she loves taking you around different heights of mondstadt! mona knows all the best spots that have a good view of the night sky — pointing out all the constellations, rambling on to you about what they mean… she’ll even make some copies of her own star charts to give you for future reference.

not really a known fact about her, but mona is actually a pretty decent cook! she'd want to prepare you a filling (and cheap), but very delicious meal rather than go out to eat. sometimes, she’ll end up lecturing you on market prices and ways you can prepare meals for a low cost — she wouldn’t want you buying overpriced ingredients when you can get just as good ones for a cheaper price!

and yes, if you ask her nicely she can create and show you reflections other than constellations with her hydromancy… just for you though. she wouldn’t want people to think her hydromancy is all just for show.

(brownie points if you share the same interest in astrology. you’re basically a match at that point.)

“hm? of course, i knew we were destined to be together — the stars never lie.”

gaming

the absolute sweetest! with how much he talks about you, people of liyue have to be living under a rock if they don’t know the two of you are together.

no has no shame with pda gaming will want to hold your hand everywhere you go. or have his arm around you. or hug you — he literally never gets embarrassed about giving you affection! he’s very into physical touch, he finds it’s comforting. i’d like to think he’s warm to the touch too — with or without the pyro vision. great cuddling material for cold days! (… hot ones too — you just have to wear breathable clothes so you don’t overheat.)

you don’t have to be into it as much as he is, but gaming would definitely want to teach you the basics of wushou dancing! he’s always there to help show and guide you through the movements — he likes to think he’s a pretty good teacher! he'll joke about putting on a duo performance… just a joke of course, haha… unless—?

oh, and man chai loves you! i like to think man chai acts more well behaved for you than he does with gaming, (he blames it on all the treats you give him) but he’s so glad you too get along! … even if man chai does steal take more of your attention when you’re together...

“y’know, i'm starting to think man chai likes you way more than he likes me! … but it's you, so i don’t blame him though, haha!”

alhaitham

alhaitham as quite the reputation for being… unapproachable to say the least. to people, his words and gaze seems judgemental, so how could someone stand to be around someone like that? lucky for you, you're able see past what those people seemingly think of him!

the books alhaitham reads aren’t made for the average’s person leisurely reading — their complex and lengthy — but alhaitham feels a kind of… fondness when you ask him to read out loud whatever book he's currently reading to you! …even if you do end up becoming a bit sleepy due to the content of the book (he thinks it’s cute. will he say that to you? … maybe teasingly.) he also will read and take book suggestions from you if you have any for him! he doesn’t just read non-fiction (and if it’s from you, really he’s open to anything. anything.)

because of alhaitham’s day consisting pretty much on a schedule, he finds himself finding ways to incorporate you into it with his free time. he prefers to spend time with you in more quiet and secluded places around sumeru away from people, but i actually feel like he wouldn’t be opposed to dates in public! going to the likes of places such as the grand bazaar to see what people are selling or watching performances that are put on in the theatre (though most of the time it’s you dragging him out… he does find it entertaining to see your face light up at all of the sights)

on some occasions, he’ll bring you along with him when he’s invited out for drinks with cyno, kaveh and tighnari. (try your best to tease him in front of them, but he’ll always have a playful quip right back at you.)

"really? because sometimes i think you love using me more as a pillow than an actual boyfriend. i’m only joking dear, i love you too.”

[atzfilm]

— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [1] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader (this chapter); seonghwa x reader; 10.6k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: murder, manipulation, blood, blood drinking, torture references, dark magic, kidnapping references, emotional turmoil

You keep your head down, grip tightening as you make your way through the marketplace. Conversations are hushed, eyes warily rolling over your figure. It's enough of an irritant for you to pull your hood over your head. It's easy to spot strangers around here. Unfortunately, you are still one. Despite your relationship with Soobin, none of them have treated you as part of the community. And it’s not as if you haven’t tried. Inviting them over to your shared apartment, greeting them each time you passed by. All of it was met with blank stares, scowls curving their lips. You're sure if you strained your ears enough to listen you'd hear side comments about you; how you don't belong, how you've brought the faeries into the city. None of it is true of course, you stepping foot into town and the sudden disappearances happening at the exact same time are just coincidences.

It's what you hope, at least.

"Hiding in plain sight?"

You step into his shop, catching him placing a book lightly on the shelf. He glances at you, a soft smile on his lips. He steps around the counter and despite the now leaning stack of books in his hands, he leans around it to press a light kiss to your lips, then your forehead. It eases your anxiousness briefly, your hood slipping off your head as you lean against the counter. In moments like this it reminds you of what you’re here for, why you tolerate the silent isolation they give you. If it weren’t for Soobin you would have left town long ago.

"Think it'll keep their eyes off of me?" You murmur. He sends you a sympathetic look, enough for you to think otherwise. You sigh, pulling at loose strands. "I know I know, long shot.”

“They will learn to love you as easily as I have,” he moves back in front of the shelf, glancing at the titles before placing them in the correct spots. “I know that their words are alarming, but you moving in with me has no effect on the town disappearances. Some people just don’t find their way home,” he shrugs, watching as your eyes narrow. “It’s the truth!”

“Bin, they won’t accept me until the people are found. You know that.”

“Then we wait until they are found, y/n. Don’t worry yourself over things like this. It’ll be fine.”

You nod only to calm him down for the moment, your thoughts otherwise. From what you hear, faeries haven’t been seen around this town in decades, most targeting the large metropolitan areas rather than cities with populations in the lower thousands. Interestingly enough, despite your move from the city to here, you have yet to spot one faerie folk. Unlikely that you would. Though, you do hear the older residents speak of them.

The Fae folk are often mischievous, luring their victims into the thickened woods with soft words, tempting sounds. The Rowan trees at the edge of town are often the type of forestry that they reside in, stealing unsuspecting people from their lives. You’ve avoided the path since you’ve learned of it. Moreso now due to the vanishings. Who would have known that the tales of the past were riddled with truth? It only unsettles you more, knowing that there’s other things out there not yet discovered. But still, the information on the Fae is limited. All you’ve found is minimal, unimportant. No human has yet to figure out a way to stop them entirely – or if they are even real at all. There’s a myth that four-leaf clovers stop them in their tracks, so you see the paintings across every part of town. It has done nothing to stop the disappearances. The attempts are all in vain.

What is known is that you do not pray in circumstances like this. The ones that will listen are not who you would like to grant your wishes. You were never religious, your upbringing leaning towards a more lax nature. But even you think that you should keep the missing in your thoughts. At least enough to hope they return safely. You doubt it's the mysterious unseen faeries, but you can't help but try and aid somehow.

“How’d the interview go?” He asks, grabbing your attention.

You slowly sink into one of the seats. “Remember when you told me Ben and you were friends? And that he’d go easy on me?”

He groans. “What did he do?”

“Told me that he’s only doing this interview for you and shut the door. Loudly by the way, then I left. I’m pretty sure he lit some type of spiritual incense to get rid of my bad energy.”

“It’s not that. You know that.”

“Well, I did,” you murmur. “Not so sure anymore. It’s fine, don’t worry too much about it. I’ll get over it.” You strongly do not think you’ll get over it, but you just hope that the thoughts don’t linger in Soobin’s mind too long. He’s insisted weeks ago that the two of you move away from this town and open his bookstore somewhere else, but you’ve convinced him otherwise. The two of you aren’t even married yet nor engaged. You wouldn’t want him to pick up his whole life just because you feel slightly uncomfortable with the stares on you. Or the whispers each time you enter a room. You can handle it. You just need to let out your grievances occasionally.

“Telling me not to worry will only make me worry more, love,” he places his hands on either side of the chair you sit on, lightly nudging your forehead with his. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not going to leave you because some townsfolk are scared of a woman who made a popcorn bag catch on fire in the microwave.”

“Soobin!” You nudge him and he laughs, moving away from you and back to his tasks. “You’re such an ass.”

He rolls his eyes, continuing to stock his shelves and tend to customers. You’ve noticed that some are startled when they see you, so you decide to hide out in the back of his store, headphones over your ears to drown out the whispers of disdain and dread. Soobin scolds them each time they do it, but it only seems to drive their intentions. After a few minutes of hearing him argue you decide it’s best to no longer listen.

-

“It’s your turn, Seonghwa. Continuing to tuck yourself behind literature will not slow down time. Soon the others will come and find where you’ve hidden yourself.”

Seonghwa sighs as he listens to San’s words, peering over the stack of writings. Its grown since the last time San entered his room; piles upon piles of literature is littered around him, some of it very close to the entrance of the room. The others never really bothered to enter his personal space because of it, but San was just in here yesterday. How is it already crowded? Especially considering how neat Seonghwa is. “Must it be tonight? We’ve delayed it for longer.”

“We’re all hungry. You know what happens when it’s taken too far. I’d rather not clean up any of our messes again,” San points out, Seonghwa’s frown only deepening. “It’s our second to last one for this town, then we’re moving on. Too many disappearances will make the authorities search the Rowan. It’ll only cause more slaughter.”

“Then so be it,” Seonghwa says. He hides himself behind the stack once more. The sound of pages flipping fills the quiet.

“Hwa…” His voice drags now, whining, twisting each syllable. “The Seelies are on our backs."

“Fine,” Seonghwa places the book on the top of the stacks, stepping around it to meet San’s eyes. His sleepwear wraps around him, glasses resting at the edge of his nose. For a moment, he finds the sight endearing. “There’s a fair tonight to ward off faeries with their limited resources. Enough of a distraction to steal another.”

"Great!" San replies happily.

-

"It's a bit cold to have a festival, no?" You say, passing Soobin his bag. He thanks you, placing it on his back. "The harvest will be fine like it always is. And you're a bookstore owner, not a farmer. Ever think about not attending one?"

"It's to support everyone in the neighborhood, y/n. We know everyone, and they'll know I'm not around. Plus, it'll bring a great harvest of customers to the bookstore," He grins at your eye roll at his pun."Come and you'll see. It'll be fun."

That's the last thing you want to do. Be around people who hate you in the middle of the night around burning logs? A recipe for a disaster. "I don't know…"

"They said you wouldn't show," he adds, grabbing his hat off the coat hanger. "This will prove them wrong. Maybe it'll stop the weird rumors that are spreading for no reason? They'll see you're kind and pretty and safe, and have nothing to do with the disappearances. They'll love you like I love you."

You shouldn't care what others think. In fact you really don't care much at all. But Soobin cares deeply, and having you around the bookstore meant that you would have to care. So you give him a brave face, following him out the bookstore and twisting the lock behind you. The two of you have had prior discussions, most ending in a moot point. You care for each other more than anything – you'd give him the world if asked. And he consistently, without falter, told you that he would leave this all behind if you couldn't take it any longer. You've thought it over. If tonight doesn't somewhat boost your position in this town – you're not sure you'll be able to stand it any longer. There's only so many snide remarks one could take.

Soobin and you pass by closed shops and darkened porches, making your way to the gathering. You see the clovers painted on walls and doors, handing up along roofs and banisters. He catches your eyes, smiling.

"Think it makes the faeries go away?"

You purse your lips, "Probably not. They're more clever than we make them out to be." If they're real, you finish in your head. "It stumps me a bit how a formation of leaves would stop them in their place. They love nature don't they? Why would they hate a perfect formation of it?"

"A folktale," he shrugs. "That's why I keep it in my sign. People around here heard about a woman being saved because she had one in her pocket, so they think it'll save them when a faerie comes crawling around." He rolls his eyes. "Doubt it'll stop them."

You laugh along with him, meaningless conversation exchanged between the two of you. Eventually, you make it into the clearing. Most people you recognize already, all giving greetings to Soobin. Some even say hello to you, much to your surprise. You stand a bit away from the crowd, thanking Soobin for passing you a marshmallow and stick. You chat along with him for a while, until something from the corner of your eye bothers you. You don't look, at first, a creepy feeling crawling over your skin. Eventually, you decide it's best to get it over with than continue to feel uncomfortable.

A man across the fire shifts your attention for a moment. He holds a cup in his hand, sipping slowly as he stares into the flames. You’ve never seen him before. Strangers do often enter the fairs to enjoy a vacation away from their homes. Ordinary in itself, yet there seems to be someone odd about him. He wears a long, black overcoat despite the temperature, hair pulled back by darkened frames on his head. His eyes slowly move, almost meeting yours until you look away.

The air around you feels a bit colder.

“You’re going to break the cup if you hold it any tighter,” Soobin laughs, tilting his head to block your view. His smile slowly drops, concern in his gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, just feeling a little chilly,” you murmur, moving a bit closer to the fire. Soobin pulls you into his side, giving you a chance to send a fleeting glance at the man. Unfortunately for you, he no longer stands there. And even more odd, it feels as if he's still there, watching you.

You’re not the superstitious type due to you never seeing faeries, a part of you doesn’t believe in them at all. But rarely did anyone ever come to these celebrations that didn’t live here. The way that the stranger stands out makes your insides twist. Him fading into the darkness – no human could do such a thing.

Perhaps you should have stayed home after all.

"It is a bit chilly tonight," Soobin agrees, tucking you closer underneath his arm. "The winds must be telling a story." You know he's trying to comfort you. You're not hiding whatever is bothering you at all. A bit comical that you're attempting to. You were never one to conceal your emotions, face as literal as a child's painting. "Are my reassurances that boring?" He teases.

You pull yourself from the grip of your thoughts, shaking your head. "I think I should go," voice barely louder than the buzzing of the fireflies. "I don't want you to freak, but something feels off."

"Off?" His brows furrow, glancing around. "Like?"

You're thankful that he always believes in your intuition. "Like there's something in the crowd that doesn't belong. I know it sounds stupid, and I know I'm the last person to believe in that stuff but I just feel it, you know?"

"We should leave then." He stands up, hand sliding into yours with ease. "We've hung around enough already. No need to stay longer than necessary."

"I don't want you to feel like you have to follow."

"I wouldn't let you walk back home alone."

He agrees swiftly and you're thankful for it. Soobin guides you around the crowd of people, exchanging goodbyes as you leave the gathering. Soon enough it's only the two of you leaving the woods. You walk swifter than him. sparing a glance every once in a while to make sure he's close.

-

“One.”

“One.”

“Two…”

“Soobin, come on,” You try peeking through the mask he holds over your eyes, but he secures his hold, giggles echoing in your ear.

“Two,” you groan, though smiling.

“Three!” He pulls off the blindfold, stepping away from you. At first, you’re a bit confused, at least until you look at the counter. Your own eyes widen at the sight, looking between it and Soobin. A very unlike you squeal escapes your lips, running over the carpet and piles of books he has yet to put away. You grab the small journal, hand dragging over the ridges and markings. It’s one you’ve had your eye on for months now, hoping and praying (and saving) that no one would be able to buy it before you. Just a week ago, you complained to Soobin – very much on the verge of tears – that you saw it was sold and couldn’t handle it. He comforted you in that moment and told you that things happen for a reason. Back then, you were too distraught to notice the slight grin on his lips as he held you close. You look back at your partner.

He stands there proud, hands on his hips, chest puffed out. Without another word you stumble over the books and things laid about, throwing yourself into his arms. He laughs at the sudden push, steadying himself against the wall. Once he stabilizes himself, he holds you close, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“Like it?”

All you can do is nod into his chest, overcome with emotion. It might be a bit silly to other people, the way you’re reacting to a mere journal. But it means a lot to you. It’s something you’ve dreamed about holding in your hands for years, and he fulfilled your wish. You’re not sure anything else could top this. It's been a few days since the incident in the forest. Your life is as mundane as ever and you're thankful for it.

“I love you,” you whisper. “I really do love you."

  “I know,” he murmurs back. “I love you more.”

“Shut up,“ you punch his chest lightly, ignoring the tears falling down your cheeks. “I can’t believe you spent so much – “

“Ah ah ah,” he presses his pointer finger against your lips, shushing you. “You’re not allowed to talk about the price. I know how you are.”

“But it’s so –“

“Beautiful, yes. It’s beautiful just like you,” he agrees, laughing at the frown on your face. His thumb wipes away your tears, “y/n, I know you’ve been trying to hide it. I know you don’t like it here. And I know you’ve been struggling with being ostracized by the townsfolk. I’ve noticed how it’s been affecting you. I’ve asked so many times if it was okay and you insisted that it is even though you feel otherwise. So, spending money on something you can enjoy is the least I can do. You’ve sacrificed a lot for me to have this bookstore. If I can make you happy, I’d do anything.”

Without another word you press your lips against his, a laugh escaping him as he holds you tight.

-

Seonghwa slams open the door, throwing his coat against the rack. He doesn't bother picking it up, majik floating it back to the hook. The others soon pour in, groaning at the lack of a sacrifice behind him another day more. Just as they begin to scold, Hongjoong enters first. Seeing the anger rising in Seonghwa, he tells the others to leave the room with a brief look. San looks the most worried, but Hongjoong pats him, a silent comfort. Once they’re all gone Hongjoong moves to his potions. He doesn't bother waiting for Seonghwa to speak, knowing that he would just let it brew until he explodes.

"Is it about that human again?"

Seonghwa meekly nods.

"What did you see?" He asks simply.

"A human, there was a human woman. But it wasn't like any other…" He trails off, mind lost. "I cannot explain it. But it didn't even flinch at my attempts to shift its mind. It only blinked at me, Hongjoong. I thought it might be because I haven't fed, so I tried it on another and it worked. How is that possible? Tell me.”

Hongjoong frowns, delicately balancing a glass between his fingers, “Delusions?”

“It was real!”

“Alright, no need to yell,” Hongjoong waves the steam from the glass through the air. “A human woman, you said? And you’re sure it wasn’t a Seelie teasing you?”

Seonghwa begins to pace back and forth. “There was no majik used while I was attempting to enter her head. But there was a wall, something blocking me from it. I tried to penetrate but stopped once I noticed my majik draining rapidly. No one was ever able to do anything like that to me. Never. In all honesty, I would have dragged her here to be tested but her human partner intercepted.”

“It made you out to be a fool,” Hongjoong teases, ignoring the glare he shoots at him. “It’s a human, Seonghwa. There isn’t a shield in their mind that you cannot penetrate. But it doesn’t matter now, you’ve brought the other with you, right?”

"The other…?"

"The human, Hwa. The one to feed on."

“Yes, but –”

“Then let the others feed. We can figure out this strange human later. Look in your literature if you must, but it shouldn’t be anything too odd. Perhaps it’s just an anomaly. Though it happens once a millennia, it is possible.”

“...So I shouldn’t worry?” His brows furrow, looking at his friend. Hongjoong places his glass on the side, moving closer to Seonghwa. He rests his fingers on his collarbone, slipping them beneath his cloak. Said man shivers at the touch, eyes shut. Hongjoong presses his lips against it. “Don’t distract me Joong.”

He grins into his skin, lightly pecking the skin before drawing back. “Don’t worry. After they feed, I can ask one of the others to see what’s wrong. Perhaps Wooyoung, he does enjoy mingling around humans. It might let something slip and we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Seonghwa frowns, “He’s the last one that should go. San always has to chase after him when he does something unsightly.”

“First of all,” Wooyoung peers into the room through the crack in the door that he created several years ago (long story short: chasing after Jongho with a potion), “I am very well-behaved around humans. I haven’t done anything remotely unapproved in centuries, a millennia, even! One night out to woo the human isn’t going to cause a national tragedy.”

“Ah, do you recall Pompeii?” A voice from the hallway, Mingi probably, fading into the distance. Wooyoung glares, stepping into the room.

“That was one volcano.”

"You are a risk," Seonghwa says simply, turning back to Hongjoong. "It's fine. I’ll go. I’ll monitor and see if there is anything of concern, and I'll report back. It will be simpler that way," he glances at the pouting Wooyoung. "And much safer."

"Whatever," Hongjoong shrugs. "Not this time Wooyoung. We can't risk it. The human might already know more than we think. We have to play it safe for now."

Wooyoung frowns, "Mistake. He'll gut the human before we'll ever get the chance to meet her."

"Hey–"

"He won't," Hongjoong adds. "At least not yet. We have to convince her to come here so we can do testing. He can do it. Now let's go enjoy the feast with the others. The mood is too low around here." Seonghwa tries to catch his eyes but Hongjoong avoids them purposefully, fingers entwined with his as he drags him from the room, Wooyoung close.

Their home is rather large to house the leaders of the Unseelie. Meetings are often conducted from their parlor or garden. Maintained by the majik flowing through the air, they glide along the marble floors, vines curling around their furniture and sculptures. They can hear the music as they move closer to the others, need filling their minds. Feeding is scarce these days – humans are more wary of faeries now than ever. Balls and masquerades are rare, if ever. They've settled for one human every few weeks shared amongst them. Hongjoong encourages his friend to step forward, a sigh escaping his lips as the doors open.

The two enter the room, a disgruntled look on Seonghwa’s face, Hongjoong trailing after. The others sit in a circle as the human dances with San, twirling around in circles over and over again. Seonghwa slides in his designated seat next to Wooyoung, ignoring the grin he sends him.

“You’re tainting my good mood, Wooyoung.”

“Are you ever in a good mood? Weren’t you upset earlier that the special edition of that kit you wanted didn’t arrive yet? Before you left for that human again.”

Seonghwa widens his eyes, “It’s been over a year. They said it would ship out last week, but I never got a notification!”

“Oh woe is you,” Wooyoung teases, leaping from his seat when he sees Seonghwa’s arm rise. “Hey! You said no more flora!”

“It’s fungi this time,” Seonghwa frowns, but drops his hand. Wooyoung lets out a sigh of relief, glancing at the two dancing. The human’s feet are bloodied now, stumbling over the jagged rocks on the ground. It cries, San’s laugh in juxtaposition at the sound. The smell of blood fills the air, Wooyoung's eyes darkening at the scent. The others begin to match his expression, surrounding the human. It does not understand what's happening because of the majik. They die as happy as they live. Seelie have more morally sound ways of killing humans but it is all the same in the end. The Unseelie just like to have more fun. San pulls the human’s face close to his, breathing in its essence. The human grows paler, slowly surrounded by the eight.

The echo of a body falling to the floor surrounds them.

-

"Sales have gone sour," Soobin reads over the end of day report, his frown creating lines decorating his forehead "Barely hit even today. It's like everyone's forgotten we exist."

"It will get better," you say softly, nudging him with your knee. He would usually give you a reassuring smile, but he doesn't react at all, narrowing his eyes. "Bin…"

"We can't continue like this," he murmurs. "Sales just keep going lower and lower. I've been here forever and it's never been this bad. I mean… Hell, my opening day I made more sales than today. And at that time no one knew I even opened the shop. I just don't get why they're not coming around anymore."

You. It's all you. They're afraid of you.

Soobin seems to read your flattened expression, shaking his head. "It's not you."

"It's been going downhill ever since I've been around. I’m the cause of it, Soobin. We can't just ignore that."

"It's a correlation, not causation. And people came in anyway. There's no valid reason why this would be all your fault, y/n. I promise you that."

“What else could it be then, Soobin? They’ve all told you that they don’t like me. You know that they avoid me every chance they get. People see me in the shop and turn the other way. I’m the one that’s continuing to burden you, and you know it,” you rub your face. “I thought in the beginning, coming here would somehow help you, bring this shop to where we want it to be. But it seems to be the opposite. It seems like… like my presence is everything wrong about this place–”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself,” he protests. He takes a step to you but you take one back, shaking your head. He drops his outstretched hands, a sigh escaping his lips. “Then what do you suggest? If you think it’s true?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Leave? Not you, just me. To see if the sales pick up. To see what’s really going on around here.”

He slowly shakes his head, “No.”

“Soo–”

“It’s like…” he furrowed his eyebrows. “It’s like you’re ignoring everything I tell you. I’ve told you so many times that we can leave if you’re uncomfortable. That we can leave together, but you insisted on staying here. Dealing with the people. And I know you’re doing it for me y/n, I know that. But I don’t want you to be miserable, and I don’t want you to live like this. I know we’re not at the stage of being life partners yet. I know we aren’t married. But sometimes it feels like you put your feelings below mine, and I just don’t think that’s okay you know? All it does is make me feel worse, and make you feel worse. I want us to talk about things. I don’t want you to leave the neighborhood by yourself. If you’re leaving, I’m leaving. That’s how it’s going to be. We stick together.”

“Soobin…” You close your eyes. “You love it here.”

“And I can find somewhere else I love. It’s not that hard.”

You want to listen to his words. It all makes sense. But he’s dreamt of having this bookstore here forever. In all honesty, even if you had to commute to see him every other day, you would if it made him happy. You’re just not too sure if he would be able to find somewhere else he loves as much as this small town. You’ve never seen him happier, except for right now.

“It is hard, Bin.”

The breath he lets out now feels more irritated. “You’re not even trying to compromise.”

“You love it here, Soobin! I don’t want to be the person to ruin your dream because people around here hate me and are isolating you from the neighborhood–”

“Fuck, y/n,” he slams his hand on the counter. “All we’re doing is speaking in circles. You want to leave me here alone, then what? What will happen when I thrive? Will you just never come here again? What? What’s the solution, hm?”

You open your mouth, then close it. He stares at you waiting for a response, but you have nothing. What would you do if it’s successful? Would you just leave him alone, never coming back? Are you holding him back? There’s so many questions without answers but you know one thing: everyone in this neighborhood hates you. And it’s ruining his bookstore.

“Would you break up with me?” He asks softer this time.

Without question you shake your head, “No. Of course not.”

“You mean more to me than this bookstore, y/n,” he says softly, picking his words carefully. “Plans are often disrupted when we least expect it. I can love somewhere else. We can be somewhere else, anywhere. I’d move across the ocean for you without question. That’s what love is. We compromise, we make choices for us, not just one of us. I’ll be happy with you, wherever we are,” his eyes soften as they look into yours. “Do you hear me?”

You nod slowly, letting him move closer and pull you into his embrace. His touch is comforting, despite the lump in your throat.

-

“We kill him.”

“He’s well-liked around town. It will be noticeable,” San points out.

“Is he really that significant?”

“Enough so that people would suspect the woman.”

Hongjoong pinches the bridge of his nose. “Maybe it’s a good thing they suspect she’s the reason. She’s upset and we use it to our advantage. Humans need comfort when something unexpected happens in their lives, much more so than us. Her mind will be more open to change. It’ll be wise to have Wooyoung enter her life then. Convince her to come with him after a few weeks of getting to know each other.”

“Wooyoung,” San raises his brow. “Out of the eight of us, you believe that the trickster would be of comfort to a human woman mourning a relationship? What happened to Seonghwa going?”

“He’s a bit preoccupied with affairs from the Seelie. And what’s wrong with Woo? He’s silly, no?” Hongjoong says. “Humans enjoy humor.”

“I doubt she would enjoy it. His silliness is not in line with a human’s. We are Unseelie for a reason.”

“He’s your mate and yet you doubt him.”

“He’s our mate so you should doubt him in this case as well.”

Hongjoong pauses for a moment, thinking. Though he does not know of you as well as the others – they’ve researched your every move since you’ve stepped foot into existence – San has a bit of knowledge when it comes to humans. Hongjoong doesn’t often meander around the outside world. And his duties prevent him from doing so anyway. “Would Seonghwa suffice? We’ll just wait until he comes back?”

San deadpans, only causing Hongjoong to sigh.

“Well I know you hate being around humans, so who else do you suggest?”

There’s a knock on the door, before it hits the wall completely. The two of them turn. Yunho holds Wooyoung by his collar, the younger glaring at him before looking at the two in the room. His grin widens when he meets San’s eyes, a sigh escaping the latter.

“What have you done?” Is all that San utters.

Yunho speaks for him. “Perhaps Wooyoung was the best choice, since he broke orders and went to see her first.” Yunho lets go of him, stepping to the side. “Mingi caught him in the act before anything else could happen. We’ll have to produce another plan.”

“What did he do?” Hongjoong frowns.

“Perhaps,” Wooyoung slowly walks around the room. “I made the decision for us. He will no longer be a problem.” Yunho glares at the shorter man as he meanders around the tables, touching things he absolutely should not be handling. It takes a moment for Hongjoong to realize exactly what he means by his shallow words, a laugh escaping his throat.

“You killed him?”

He shrugs, “It was an issue that needed to be solved quickly. We can decide how to move forward now that the human is dead.”

“Does she know he is dead?”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, “Of course not!”

“Joong, you should be more angry about this,” Yunho interrupts the conversation. “He blatantly went against our orders and did something that we were forbidden to do without knowledge. He should be punished.”

Despite Hongjoong’s leader position, he’s had a soft spot for Wooyoung since they’ve known each other. Since this Spark began. He was the last to be bound with the others, only making the leader more protective of him. Thus, spoiling him much more so in comparison to the others. It hasn’t truly been a problem. But in instances like this, when they’re so close to human affairs, they need to be more careful. So, despite his softened heart when he gazes at Wooyoung, Yunho is right. Hongjoong had to make an example.

“No stepping foot onto human land until I say.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, beginning to protest until he saw how serious Hongjoong looked. He meekly nodded, shooting Yunho a quick glare before exiting the room. Just as the door closes, Hongjoong rubs his forehead, thinking.

San stands in the same spot, glancing between the two. “Was it bloody?”

“Better to not describe it,” Yunho murmurs. “Mingi is there now. He’ll fix it.”

“Great,” Hongjoong sighs. “Well, now we have to conjure up something else.”

–

Days prior

The door creaks as you slowly open it, the smell of wet plywood and a distinct musk of cotton balls fills the home. Your eyes roam over the broken furniture, smashed television and endless amounts of shattered glass across the floor. You hold your breath, stepping into the empty spaces as you make your way around. Soobin is one of the kindest men you know; it’s almost comical to see everything destroyed. He valued everything that was broken. You just can’t wrap your head around the fact that he ruined it all. Because of a silly disagreement? You’ve had plenty of those. Why is this time different from the rest?

It seemed like it was solved that day. But the pressure between you two escalated. Each time the topic was brought up, he’d get angrier. Hated your explanations for wanting to go, and didn’t like the option of you wanting to stay. Nothing the two of you came up with satisfied the other, so it just climaxed into curt greetings in the morning, silent conversations in the evening. But you didn’t think it was this bad. This terrible, for him to leave your shared apartment like this.

Between the destruction, you spot a letter crumbled up on the floor. It takes everything within you to pick it up and see what it says. His words are scrawled, almost unrecognizable. As if he wrote it in a hurry. But it’s as clear as day.

I’m done.

Your eyes begin to shake, fingers gripping the paper so tightly it begins to rip. Without another word you take out your phone, dialing his number over and over again. It sends you to voicemail immediately – until at some point it says the line has been disconnected. He blocked you? He destroyed your shared home, your things, left a crumpled-up letter on the floor and then blocked you?

“Fuck,” you drop to your knees, staring at the disaster around you. You reach for your phone, immediately dialing the non-emergency line to report it. As the operator explains the steps for you to take, your own thoughts making her voice fade. So many questions rattled in your head, one stamped in the front of your mind.

What will you do now?

-

Now

Mingi rests on the branch, wings tucked to his sides as he observes your home another day in a row. From where he sits, he can see how anxiety ridden you are; cabinets opening and closing, drawers overflowing with clothing, tears staining your cheeks as you try to clean the mess. The others told him that humans felt emotions differently than fae. That they mourn for months on end, possibly years. It's not something he can quite understand, but he empathizes. At least he thinks he does. His head tilts as he watches you. He surely hopes you will forget the human sooner rather than later. Hongjoong promised he wouldn't attempt to coax your mind to fall for their charms. Insisted that you'd do it on your own. But this destruction, it makes him worry.

Not for himself, of course. He feels nothing for you. What he worries about is his spark. About how much they care about you. So even if Hongjoong promised he'd never bind you to them with a spell… well.

Mingi never gave such a promise.

It’s true; he didn't like you. He didn't like that you were in his family's life without even knowing it yet. He didn't like that you were making his spark so happy. How could a human who barely interacted with them have such a pull? It makes no sense entirely. But what else would he be able to do? Coax you into leaving? The others would be angry with him, furious even. The thought of binding you to them immediately vanishes the more he thinks about it. Humans being involved with faeries only lead to bad outcomes. He wouldn’t dare make that certain with a spell.

He knew that humans felt emotions differently than fae. He knew that you were still grieving the loss of you and your partner’s relationship despite it being weeks ago. But he didn't care. He watched as you paced back and forth, your hands shaking as you swept the floor. He watched as you cried, your tears staining your cheeks. He watched as you tried to clean your destroyed home, and he still felt nothing. Well, annoyance, maybe. Having to watch you to make sure nothing strange happens.

He can remember how he came to Wooyoung, noticing the smell of blood over him mixed with majik. Mingi didn’t say a word about it at first, until he noticed the strange look on Wooyoung’s face. The way his eyes dilated, the scattered look in his gaze. Faeries, you see, Unseelie like them, feeding off a human gives them this sort of increase in energy. Makes their abilities much stronger than before. But there are times when an Unseelie feeds too much, too often. When the feeling consumes them, it makes them much more dangerous than before. Mingi hasn’t seen it in a while so it was easy to recognize it consuming his mate. The distant look. Immediately flying to your home, seeing the blood everywhere. It took him so long to fix it up enough so that you wouldn’t notice a thing. Wouldn’t notice the strong smell of death in the apartment. And just as a precaution, he decided to stay and watch you. To make sure he didn’t miss a thing.

You fall to the floor, sobs echoing around the small space. His eyes narrow for a moment, a strange thought almost escaping his parted lips.

He wonders if you will be alright.

-

“Did she take it well?” Hongjoong asks Mingi, lips quirked when he sees the frown on his cheeks. “It is only a minor setback. It should be over soon.”

It’s several days later when Hongjoong calls Mingi into his room. Mingi doesn’t really like entering, the mess is a bit overwhelming sometimes. But he sees that he fixed it up enough for him to tolerate it. A small gesture of kindness in a strange situation.

“She will be devastated for months on end.”

“She will get over it.”

Mingi’s brow furrows. “Though I don’t know humans well enough to make a judgment, I think it’s safe to say that her getting over it won’t happen for a while. You’re overestimating her emotional state, Hongjoong. She was crying over a photo of them together. She cried over human utensils.”

Hongjoong snickers, shrugging, “What can I do? Her human partner is already deceased somewhere along the valley. It’s not like I can bring him back to life again. Playing with Death isn’t wise, you know. Even for an Unseelie. Plus,” he wiggles his fingers. “I promised that I wouldn’t manipulate her mind to care for us. Nothing else I can do. Maybe Yunho or Jongho could cheer her up, they seem to care for her the most.”

“They don’t know her. None of us do.”

“They seem to know enough.”

Mingi could read between the lines. Hongjoong’s dance around the truth is almost humorous now. The word seem. He lines his sentences with it often, using it to twist a lie enough to be partially true. Though Seonghwa was the one who was most interested in the beginning – mostly to dissect her – Hongjoong’s interest is slowly rising. Especially since the others are focused on her more now.

What is this human doing to his spark? None of them even know you in the slightest except for some background details. What is this quite random obsession with a human? Especially one as mundane and ordinary as you?

“You look irritated,” Hongjoong notes, flipping through his papers. “Letting those emotions dwell isn’t good for you.”

“You all care for this stranger too much, it’s infuriating.”

Hongjoong grins, “Or do you just care for her too little?”

Mingi closes his eyes for a moment, a harsh gust of air escaping his nose. He pinches it slightly, eyes flicking back to his friend. “We aren’t supposed to care for humans at all.”

“And yet here we are, doing that exact thing.”

“Stop saying we,” Mingi frowns, Hongjoong’s eyes lighting up.

“So is it not true, then? Do you not care for her?”

“I care that she is affecting everyone."

"Not unlike a faerie, twisting your words," Hongjoong giggles.

"Hongjoong," Mingi sighs. "We can't continue like this. There has to be something done. I can't continue to pretend like everything is fine when it's the opposite."

This time, the giggle slowly disappearing from Hongjoong’s expression. He nods solemnly. "And it will be dealt with. It will take time, Mingi. We can't mess up. Not now when tensions are so high between us and the Seelie. If there is something different about her, majik or otherwise, we have to figure it out. It may ease the tension if only momentarily. She seems like a decent human no? I can bet that she will be willing to sacrifice her well being for an important cause."

"You think a human would care about faeries that feed on humans?"

Hongjoong shrugs, "Either that, or we take her unwillingly. It's her choice in the end."

"Not much of one."

Hongjoong grins, "Well she doesn't need to know that."

-

Seonghwa picks up his book, flicking through the pages. Nothing stands out. There isn’t any record of a human being that has resisted the charm of a faerie from what he can see. Not any ordinary humans, at least. But he found you unextraordinary. Nothing makes you stand out from the crowd, nothing that catches his eye. You just happened to be at the right place, right time. Interesting how circumstances led him to gloss over these pages, desperate to find a reason why you are the way you are. Is it a natural defense? Has human evolution created subspecies that are resistant to the charm of a Unseelie?

If that is so, they’re existence on this Earth will begin to fade.

His fingers grip the research papers, jaw tightening. The words running through his head annoy him, but there’s nothing else he can do. He must dissect you. But how will he get you here? How will your disappearance go unnoticed in such a small town? How will he separate your mind from that tall human you call your partner?

 “Your thoughts are plastered on your face, Hwa,” Yeosang steps into the room, tailed by San. Seonghwa has noticed that they are often together, the eldest of the two ignoring San’s presence most of the time. But all of them can see through it. Despite how aloof Yeosang is, he adores the attention given to him. Swims in it, even. So, as it always is, Yeosang barely gives the man a glance, sitting on the edge of the sofa. “I heard about this human you found.”

“It’s resistant, Yeosang. I can’t have it roaming around without us knowing why we can’t charm it. There must be a reason.”

“Like in the movies,” San widens his eyes, nudging Yeosang. “The one person who has the cure!”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes, “This isn’t a zombie flick.”

“You don’t know that. We could be in one right now.”

Yeosang snorts, San puffing up his chest. Despite how irritated Seonghwa is, his lips crack into a small smile, only boosting San’s ego. He closes his notebook, rubbing his face. “I have to know why.”

“Have to, or want to?” Yeosang asks, brow raised. “We could just leave it as is. If another human found out about it, it could lead down a rabbit hole.”

“Let her go?” Seonghwa frowns. “Wooyoung already interfered. Letting it all go won’t end well.”

“You will take her then? Run tests to see why she’s resistant? It would be difficult to pull her from her life, but humans already suspect that she’s a bad luck charm in her village. It’s not like they’d be unhappy she’s gone,” Yeosang sniffs a jar, face contorting at the smell. “Rancid.”

“It’s frog intestines boiled in a rat’s tail and mermaid essence,” Seonghwa murmurs, Yeosang covering his face to keep from gagging. “But how do you know about that? Were you researching?”

San speaks up this time, “Jongho visited her at the bookstore her partner owns. Well, owned. It wasn’t long until he heard whispers of the villagers talking about getting rid of her because of the disappearances that have been happening ever since she arrived in town. And now it's her partner.”

“It’s not even her fault,” Yeosang adds.

“Humans are disloyal,” Seonghwa tsks. “But it is best for us I suppose. They will probably bask and rejoice in her disappearance.”

"That's a bit pitiful. It doesn't come as a surprise that she wanted to leave so badly. I wouldn't want to be around people that hate me either."

"But now she won't leave because she doesn't know what happened to that Soobin. The mystery of his disappearance may cause her to stay for a long time. A lot of humans aren't able to move on from partners that are gone," Seonghwa rubs his face. "It's difficult to know what to do without seeing her."

"Go," Jongho enters the room, Mingi just behind him. Both drenched in sweat from their training session, Seonghwa's nose wrinkles in disgust when he sees fluids drip onto his floor. "Visit her. I'll join if you'd like."

"Not necessary. Mingi," Seonghwa's focus moves to the taller of the two. Mingi raises his brow. "Was she distraught?"

He nods slowly. "Very much so. That was a few weeks ago though. She may have calmed down. But there is no guarantee; we all know how emotional humans are."

“You’re sensitive to emotions Seonghwa, are you sure you’re willing to go there? Humans irritate you to no end,” Wooyoung murmurs. “I can go –”

“You messed up the last time, Wooyoung. And back then we didn’t even tell you much about her. There’s no telling what you’ll do now. It’s better if you’re not interested at all,” San wraps his arm around his neck, tugging him out the room. The door closes slightly behind them. Yeosang, Mingi, and Jongho remain in the room with Seonghwa.

Idle conversation swirls around the room as they speak softly, Seonghwa gathering up his belongings. His curiosity greatly surpasses his lack of care for humankind. If there is someone like you out there, how many more are the same? He can remember the conversation you had with your partner - how you were afraid of something being off. It was Seonghwa of course, but rarely has a human ever felt the chills of faeries around them. So many things don’t come to proper conclusions in his head and he needs to know. For the safety of himself and every person in this home. Perhaps for the fate of the Unseelie entirely.

He leaves the library, book tucked underneath his arm. He enters his room, barely giving Hongjoong - who rests in his bed - a glance. He listens as he stands up from the sheets, an arm wrapping around his waist, tugging him closer.

Hongjoong presses his lips against his back, humming. “There’s no need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders. The human probably doesn’t even know of its resistance to your lure. It may just be one in a billion.”

“I have to make sure. It’s for all of us, not just me,” Seonghwa says, pulling away from his hold. It’s something they often do - Hongjoong tries to pull him closer only for Seonghwa to pull away. It’s happened ever since the beginning. “You know that. You should be more worried than me.”

“Why worry about a silly little human?” Hongjoong snorts. “She will die in a few decades anyway.”

“It seems like I’m the only one who cares about her existence,” Seonghwa lifts his clothes and tosses them, replacing them with a more human-like outfit. He barely gives himself a look in the mirror, a scowl etched on his features. How humans have not moved past such hideous outfits is beyond him. “I would kill her if it weren’t for the unknown.”

“Everyone and this little human,” Hongjoong sighs. “Fine. Do whatever you’d like. Just be back for the council meeting. The other Unseelies don’t quite approve of the recent killings we’ve done.”

Seonghwa furrows his brows, “Since when did they care about our dealings?”

“Since they’ve begun to notice the pattern of disappearances. Humans are not exactly happy with us, even though they don’t have a method of killing us.”

“Then me interacting with her now is important,” Seonghwa quickly grabs his bag. “I’ll be back with my findings. And I won’t kill her. At least not right now.” he glances at his leader. “Don’t wait for me if I’m not back for the meeting.”

“Hwa-”

He disappears just as Hongjoong begins to speak. Hongjoong stares blankly at the place he once was, brows furrowed. Just what is it about this human that has everyone losing their minds? He purses his lips, lifting himself off the bed. Soon enough he’ll find out for himself.

-

Seonghwa slowly enters the bookstore. The bell rings against the glass pane of the door, his steps hesitant. There isn't anyone around the bookstore, soft music playing. He tucks his hands into his coat pocket, unaccustomed to the cold environment. His eyes roam around, books neatly stacked, signs arranged in alphabetical order. It warms his heart a bit to see organization – his own library doesn't see it as much as he'd like. The quick steps of a human running pulls his thoughts away, eyes flicking over to you.

You hold a couple of books in your hand, hair unkempt and eyes filled with exhaustion. A pen tucked behind your ear, you give him a sincere smile, placing the books in a neat stack on the counter.

"Welcome to our bookstore!" You say happily, meeting the eyes of the stranger. Just as you do, your thoughts move back to over a month or so ago. The festival. The stranger in the woods. Your smile wavers for a moment as you look at him. He looks as ordinary as a man with unreal beauty can look. Perhaps you were a bit out of it at the time. Still, you remain wary, inching closer to the counter behind you.

"Hello, I’m Seonghwa," he says softly. His voice is deep, eyes dark as he stares at you. His hair is darker than any black you've seen, even the shade of brown in his eyes more black than anything else. His clothing choice is odd as well - a thin graphic tee and slacks covering sports shoes. Completely and utterly different from the well-dressed man in a cloak you witnessed in the forest. He looks uncomfortable in it as well, tugging slightly on the fabric. You swallow slowly, forcing another grin on your lips.

"Hi, I’m y/n. How can I help you?"

"I'm quite new to venturing out into town," he steps around, fingertips stroking the top of a stack of new hardcovers. "The others told me of a bookstore and a café together in one. If you don't mind, I'd like to look around and perhaps have a drink. Whenever you are ready to prepare?"

You push the eerie feeling away, agreeing. "Of course. What would you like, then?"

Seonghwa sits himself at your favorite spot - a small loveseat situated near the front windows. The same place Soobin and you would rest after a long day, counting tills. The light shines on him as he ponders, eyes flicking over the assortment of sweets and drink displays behind you. You take a step to the side and he sends you a small thank you in the form of a smile. He leans, gazing at your open cabinets. "Anything with saffron. Or sweet, I do quite enjoy that."

You ponder for a moment, before opening your cabinet and retrieving your tea leaves. You take out the honey as well, not noticing how his eyes widen at the jar. You take out the milk as well, glancing at Seonghwa. "Milk tea with honey? I should have some cookies around…" You mumble, digging through the drawer. "Soobin usually eats it all."

"Soobin?" His brows furrow.

You pause.

"Yes, my partner. Former partner. The person who owns this place," you raise your brow. There's an unreadable look on his face, but it doesn't linger long enough for you to consider what it was. Setting the water to a boil, you slide back into your seat, humming. "There's a small farmhouse just next to the Rowan trees that I'm looking to buy. Just a few more days until I find out if I get it or not." It’s outside of the town enough that you’d still be able to live comfortably. Moving into the city right now is on the bottom of your list. And even if you do decide to leave, at least you’ll have a place to fall back on. It isn’t too expensive since it’s been abandoned for years now.

"You're married?" He asks, thanking you as you pass him his tea and the honey jar.

"No, it’s complicated right now. I’m not too sure where he is if I'm being honest.”

You see the puzzled look on his face, and quickly clear it up.

“We had a falling out not too long ago. That’s why the shop looks this way. But yeah, I planned on moving soon. At least when I found something more stable," you think. Though the two of you were friends before partners, Soobin always gave little answer or thought to marriage. In fact, he said he started to consider it only when you brought it up. That was three years ago. Now, you don’t even know where he is, or if he’s coming back.

"Are you sure about that?" He raises his brow.

“About what?”

“Finding somewhere else. I remember you mentioning that this place looks a bit…” he trails off. “But it looks fine to me. Perhaps a bit too orderly for a small town bookstore.”

You blink quickly. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Not a problem,” he shrugs, taking a sip of his tea.

You move away from him then, grabbing your stack of books off the table and going back to work. The fear of him being around you has subsided. Though there is still a mysterious cloud around him, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before in your travels through the city. You curse yourself for even mentioning Soobin, placing the books on the shelves. You probably drove away another customer in your whines to the stranger.

 You glance back at him and see that he's reading one of the magazines you've left on the table, sipping his tea. How someone could look elegant while sitting in a t-shirt is beyond your understanding.

"Do you enjoy the town?" You ask, finishing your task. He looks up from the magazine.

"It's quite alright. Just like any other small town. Intrusive townspeople, curious eyes following you wherever you go. Clovers to drive away mysterious creatures of the night," his lips lift. "Ah, speaking of that…"

The bell rings, your focus on the door. A few patrons enter, distracting you. Just as you finish helping and guiding their questions away from your missing boyfriend, ex-boyfriend, whatever he is – you look over to the loveseat and see it empty. Seonghwa must have slipped away while you were distracted. Resting beneath the teacup is way too much money. With a small note wrapped around it.

Thank you for the tea.

Next to the sentence lies a small drawing of a four-leaf clover.

—

You stare at the computer, frustration growing. The webpage doesn't help you in the slightest. Lines and lines of retellings of the same old tales. Faeries are dangerous, stay away from the fae. Don't listen to the fae, don't accept gifts from them. The same things over and over. Words that have been embedded into your very being. Nothing of which is news to you. Your eyes flick to the small list you've created, summarizing everything you've read thus far and narrowing it to a few points.

How to survive an encounter with an Unseelie fae [fǣġe]:

Do not eat what they offer. Do not drink what they offer.

Majik always has a price, do not risk a deal. Do not ask for them to save a loved one. Do not ask for them to take your firstborn. Do not accept any offer they may give you.

Do not invite them into your home.

Faeries cannot lie. Because of this, they are eloquent with their words. Do not be fooled.

Do not summon an Unseelie.

If you see something strange, leave immediately. Four leaf clovers are a sign of a faerie near.

Do not celebrate with faeries. Under any circumstances.

Do not enter the forest at night.

If you are followed by a crow or raven, enter the nearest home and do not leave until it is gone. The Unseelie are following you.

Do not fall in love with a faerie, they will not love you the same.

"This is so insane," You put your head in your hands. Maybe that's why Soobin left. He saw how you'd turn out before you even did. You snort at the thought, rubbing your face. Seonghwa's drawing of the four-leaf clover could be just a coincidence. It's not like it isn't an obvious symbol painted and carved into almost every building around town. And yet, the way he's acted, the stares you felt on you when your back was turned – something was off with him. Even if he isn't a faerie, he's something.

Or you're truly just being silly.

You stare at the list again, adding one more point.

Faeries are not affected by four-leaf clovers.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hello! I would like to leave a request for ghost and alejandro (I don't know if you write for him, if you don't, then leave the request with ghost only). maybe where if s/o is a bookworm, she loves to read, every time that she can, she buys books and only spends her money on them. Until they (ghost/alejandro) pick up out of curiosity the book s/o was reading and falls into a smut/hot chapter and now they tease her about it and make fun every time she buys a new book.

Or something like that, you know. Thank you.

I will gladly write for Alejandro! This kind of took on a mind of its own, I hope you like it!

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

You always had your nose deep in a book for as long as he’s known you. Whenever there’s down time and you’ve accomplished all your tasks, you’re in your room, reclined on your bed, hot tea streaming on your night stand, and a small bowl of your favorite fruit. Simon had to commend your focus, it was downright impressive.

He was a man who valued his privacy, so naturally he’d respect yours. Still he couldn’t help the curiosity that tugged at the back of his mind, what could possibly be so interesting?

One day while you were reading on the couch, you were so comfortable and wound up dozing off. Your book was held loosely in your hand and Simon couldn’t help but be endeared at the sight, and then the silence broke when your book slipped off your lap and onto the ground. He knew how delicately you treated your books and he’d hate to see you get upset over bent pages, so he leaned down and picked it up off the floor.

Unfortunately, Simon is cursed with the ability to read things quickly. And as he slid your bookmark into place, he was met with paragraphs full of descriptive and erotic literature. He didn’t mean to read it, he really didn’t, but now that he saw the books contents, it all seemed to click. It made sense why you’d never read around others, but in the comfort of your room or the comfort of your shared home. He couldn’t blame you though, the words seemed to stir something in him as well. Still, he slipped the bookmark into place and set the book on the small table beside you.

The next time you went to the bookstore together, he decided to have a little fun himself. Simon tracked you down in the fiction section and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on yours.

“Struggling to find something?”

“Sort of, nothing’s really standing out to me.” You leaned back against him as you reached out and grabbed another book,

“Not titillating enough for you?”

The little shit knows.

“What do you mean?” You feign ignorance, knowing full well he can feel your heart hammering in your chest,

“Just wondering if it’s interesting enough for you.” His hands have started wandering, smoothing down the curves of your waist, squeezing the push of your thighs,

“Just spit it out, Simon. I’m not an idiot.” Your face started running hot as his lips ventured the column of your neck, nipping the skin of your jaw, kissing along the shell of your ear,

“Just sayin’ you might have developed a preference for a reenactment, pet.”

Alejandro Vargas:

He loved seeing you read, it brought him so much peace to watch you. Coming home from the hectic chaos that is dealing with the cartels was made significantly more soothing when he saw you in the kitchen, making dinner with one hand and holding your book in the other

He’d always go with you to the store to get more books, he loves going with you. He loves seeing how meticulous and thorough you are when you’re picking your books, you’re so focused, it’s impressive. He honestly wished his men had a quarter of that focus you possessed, god only knows what they could accomplish. He’d always tease you about it, and you’d playfully shove him with a deep blush on your cheeks.

One day, you had to step away from your book to take a phone call, so you set it face down and walked away to take it. Alejandro came into the dining room and saw the overturned book and heard your voice carry down the hall. Being the chismoso that he is, he took the opportunity to take a peek at what you’ve been reading. He felt the heat rush to his cheeks, his ears, and everywhere else. Dios mío, is this really what you’re always reading? That would explain why you tuck the book away when you fall asleep. He was so enthralled by what he was reading that he didn’t hear you hang up and come back in, until he saw you in the corner of his eye,

“Mi vida, is this what you read constantly?” He asked with a smirk on his lips, he sees you start backing away, your face losing and gaining so much color. He set the book down and walked over to you, you were rooted in place, stuttering and stammering. His hands snaked around your waist, his hips pressing against yours, he can feel your heart thundering in your chest, and god he could swallow you whole. He rested his forehead against yours, lips molding against yours, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth,

“Corazón, I’d be happy to recreate those scenes if you want to.”

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

How is no one talking about how the brar valley senate is only in slight dislike tier? I thought the fandom had unanimously agreed they were even worse than Riddle’s mom when that chapter 7 update came out. Surprised to see Riddle’s mom isn’t lower either, most people don’t like her for what she did to poor Riddle.

[My TWST character tier list can be found here!]

Ah, yes 😂 The TWST fandom’s top two enemies, the Briar Valley Senators and Mrs. Rosehearts... I find it kind of funny that on one hand we have some pretty politically powerful people to hate on but on the other hand we have someone who is comparatively very average and just your typical displeased angry mom that we also hate on… though in the end I guess both parties have harmed characters we care about, so they have that in common 💦

While I do think what the senators did to Lilia was (to put it as simply as possible) a dick move, I only slightly dislike them because this kind of political intrigue and social sabotage is what I looove to read. You can always count on old, conservative fictional politicians to stand in opposition to the change that the plucky young protagonists champion or represent. Terrible and alienating as the senators are, it sure does make for some tasty drama and informs a lot about why some of the Diasomnia boys turned out the way they did. I appreciate that worldbuilding, even if it does come at the cost of the senators not really shown to have a personality beyond being mad/intolerant of Lilia and sheltering Malleus.

I also slightly dislike Mrs. Rosehearts for similar reasons as the senators; yes, how she treated Riddle was rife with issues. However, I do believe she actually has a personality beyond being cartoonishly evil and genuinely cares for her son (but just uses very questionable methods). I think it's really interesting to consider their relationship--since Riddle appears to still love her--and the no doubt messy aftermath of it following their "talk" in book 4 (which we never got more details on). I talk at length about Riddle and how he may view his mother in spite of his trauma here; I'd recommend giving it a read!)

In my eyes... I can still enjoy a character even if they do or say deplorable things, so long as their words/actions provide something new or interesting to the lore or to other characters' backgrounds.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

#JusticeForYuu

Warning: long rant coming up. Mentions of PTSD and Trauma.

So I recently read this manhwa called ‘Ashtarte’ and let me tell you, compared to other manhwas that I’ve read, I’ve never felt more vindicated or satisfied by the way it handles trauma and forgiveness.

Basically, the main character is a young princess, about ten or eleven or twelve I can’t remember, who has spent her entire life being treated like nothing by her entire family for no pretty much no reason at all. Trust me when I say that the neglect and emotional abuse she undergoes is awful and after a while, she realises that she doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. She mentally and emotionally emancipates herself from them and makes a family with her small handful of servants that live with her in her broken down house (let me tell you, they all love and protect her so much. Her mother figure/ best friend/ maid is the absolute GOAT), telling them that she won’t waste any tears on her bio family anymore. And when her bio family beg for forgiveness after she makes a very obvious effort to ignore and stay as far away from them as possible, she tells them that if they want her to even consider forgiving them for all the pain they put her through, they need to wait 10 years just like how she spent ten years all alone, trapped in that house, waiting for someone to love her. Even after the 5 year timeskip, she still doesn’t give them the time of day whilst they send her letters and mountains of gifts (that she never opens) and when she meets them again because of some obligatory family thing, she tells them point blank that there’s a chance that she’ll never forgive them and there’s nothing that she wants from them so just leave her alone and just walks out as they all suffer in their guilt.

And, let me tell you, as someone who has read a lot of female lead manhwas, I’ve never seen a FL not forgive a neglectful family - either they end up forgiven after an apology that lasts for like one chapter, or the MC gets her revenge and completely ruins them, or it’s an isekai story so now that a new person is possessing the main character, they finally decide to show interest and since the new character is either scared of them, is trying to gain their favour or has never undergone their horrible treatment of the host body, they just get off scot-free (A Match Made In Mana is a good example of this. Like the romance. Hate the fact that the older brother only started treating her right when another person isekaied into the main character - same thing with There Is No Place For Fakes)

Now what has this got to do with anime Disney boys you ask. Let me get to that.

Now I’m the kind of person that can hold a grudge - not that much in real life but very much so when it comes to fictional characters. If I was Jo March, I wouldn’t even be in the same room as Amy March after she burned the manuscript for at least a year. There are some characters that I just can’t stand because they never get the full consequences for what they put others through and I hate that so much (I’m not going to name names because a lot of them are fandom favourites and I don’t want to start a war). 

What I’m trying to say is that why can’t there be a Yuu that doesn’t forgive the overblot gang/dorms for what they put them through? Because you have to admit that they way that they treated this homeless, magicless human with absolutely nothing to their name and that is, in every instance, at the bottom of the food chain was awful. And I’m not talking about the overblots - they were clearly in the midst of a mental breakdown and weren’t in the right state of mind. But how would you explain everything that they did pre-overblot? When they are fully conscious of everything they did. Riddle even admitted after his overblot that he knew that he was being harsh but he still did that stuff anyway.

I know that we have to forgive everyone for the sake of the plot since we need Riddle in Book 2, Leona in Book 3, Azul in Book 4 and so on and so forth but when I remember the torment that Yuu faces, I just want to tell them all to take a hike. 

I know that these boys had horrible lives. I know that these are deeply traumatised individuals and that them overblotting was the only way for them to heal. But guess what? Going through trauma doesn’t excuse giving trauma to someone else? As Jake Peralta once said:

Confession Time - I was the anon that sent this: https://www.tumblr.com/shiny-jr/716948600309137408/hi-i-just-want-to-say-that-ive-read-all-of-your?source=share

And I still stand by what I said.

I just find it really annoying that when I search for angst fics it’s always the boys’ trauma or unrequited love or death or break ups - or maybe even something mentioning an overblot but I’ve never once found anything about the boys asking for forgiveness for what they did to Yuu prior to the overblots because once, just once, I want to read someone asking Yuu to forgive them and for Yuu to be selfish just once and say ‘no’

I know that I portray my fem!Yuu as this person that’s so sweet and forgiving and kind and soft and gentle but that’s because I’m obsessed with the dynamic of this sweet sunshine bubbly girl being a breath of fresh air to these villainous boys (and also because I kind of took some inspiration from my favourite princess, Snow White, and I based her a bit on Wendy Darling because I wanted her to be that ‘mature young girl’ who is very motherly but is still very much a fun-loving, imaginative child) but I just want a Yuu that is given the respect that they deserve.

I want a Yuu that actually experiences PTSD because of the treatment that they’ve undergone. I want them to hate the fact that their experience in NRC has changed them. I want them to hate that they’ve developed claustrophobia and a fear of the dark after they were forcefully imprisoned in Scarabia, I want them to hate how anything can trigger a PTSD-induced flashback, I want them to hate how Riddle’s jabs at their character and parentage still ring in their head after all this time, I want them to hate how whenever they’re submerged in water, all they can remember is what Azul, Jade and Floyd put them through in their attempts to get their home and family back. I want them to hate how often they get nightmares, how any second could be the day they finally get killed by any of these magic users who are far more powerful than them. I want them to look in the mirror and despise every single scar that litters their once unblemished body. I want them to hate how they had to ask the people who stripped them of their home and the only family they had in NRC for help in Book 4 because now they are indebted to them and they have no idea when Azul would want to cash that.

I’ve seen fics that have Yuu go through heatstroke during the marches in Scarabia and, as someone that not only has had heatstroke before but also had a really scary fainting experience I headcanon that as well so how about a Yuu that turns down Kalim’s invitations because the sight of Scarabia reminds them of the hostility that they faced when they were the most vulnerable. How about a Yuu that tries not to hate Kalim because he’s a genuinely nice person and was the only one to welcome them with kindness but can’t help but feel bitter whenever they hear the housewarden excuse Jamil’s behaviour when they still remember how they were locked up against their will.

This fic by linawritestwst and this fic by the-hearteater portray what I’m talking about really well. (taxonomize our differences by Jemimimi does a really good job of illustrating how being in Twised Wonderland affects Yuu’s mental health - there’s an incredible scene where Yuu has a panic attack and teaches Grim how to help them out of it. I nearly cried because their sense of self worth is so low and suicidal tendencies are so unstable that in multiple points of the story they try to get other students to kill them and Yuu my baby 😭)

When I go through the Rollo x reader fics, the majority of them are either yandere or the usual fluff. But Rollo can actually be a good friend for Yuu to have. Whilst their mentalities are different, they both agree that magic is dangerous - with Yuu being a victim of said magic. I honestly think that, if he wasn’t written as the big bad of the event, he could’ve been a really good ally that would understand Yuu’s pain of not only facing overblot after overblot but their helplessness of being surrounded by magical individuals and not knowing whether they’ll be able to survive another day.

Everyone’s always like #Crowley Slander (which he rightfully deserves, I am thisclose to punting him) but don’t forget everything the boys did. I see fics where they stand up to Crowley for Yuu but the most they do is reference the overblots but never that they did horrible things as well. Crowley may have told Yuu to stay behind during the winter holidays but Jamil was the one who imprisoned us and prevented us from contacting our friends for help. Crowley may have made Yuu stay at Ramshackle (although to be fair Ramshackle is kind of the safest option - who knows what would happen to Yuu if their magical self was in an actual dorm, especially all of the female Yuus. I think living in isolation is kind of the best option for them when the universe is out to get them. Plus, the ghosts are amazing company.) but Azul was the one who made us homeless and had a shady business (that he still has even after the overblot). Crowley may have been blackmailing Yuu with food, shelter and money but Leona was the one that was sabotaging the students and Vil was the one that tried to point blank kill an innocent child in cold blood after making his childhood trauma and personal one-sided rivalry everyone’s problem for the weeks leading up to the VDC.

Everyone only treated them with respect after the overblot incidents - so they literally had to put themselves in danger and nearly die for them to be treated as not a nobody. When Riddle made those completely uncalled for jabs at Yuu, an innocent bystander, nobody said or did anything. Not Trey, who enabled Riddle’s reign of terror and quietly observed the suffering all of the Heartslabyul students (and then had the gall to tell adeuceyuu not to get angry at Riddle because of course tragic backstory = forgiveness), not Cater, who canonically has a hidden side so Yuu has more of a reason not to trust him, not any of the other card soldiers - no Ace, the one everyone writes off as a stupid tactless jerk that does badly in school and only causes trouble, was the only one that had the emotional intelligence to realise that Yuu’s feelings were hurt and was the only one who cared to do something about it via sucker punching the tantrum-throwing tyrant.

(I can’t remember if Deuce did anything but he already stood up for us during the egg debacle so it’s okay he’s still my number one love)

(Also: Riddle is known to be incredibly strict with his dorm. It’s been said that Heartslabyul has the best academic record because of Riddle’s incredibly high standards. He also doesn’t take excuses from anyone even if they aren’t even in the wrong - which is seen when he exiles adeuceyuu from the dorm during the Mont Blanc Tart Incident where Trey tells Riddle that he was the one who told them to make the tart for the party and Riddle says that it was still their fault for not knowing the rules beforehand because of course a first year would have memorised all 810 rules by their like third day and it would be perfectly normal of them to ask a senior for advice on what to do. My question is: how many dyslexic students or anyone else with learning disabilities do you think Riddle has sent crying? How many students with less than stellar family backgrounds joined NRC only to find that they were sorted into a dorm that had a leader who not only holds their abusive mother’s teaching methods on a pedestal but is more than ready to hurl insults at anyone that disagrees with him? How many times had Trey seen an innocent student receive unfair treatment and kept quiet about it despite it being his job as a vice dorm leader and upperclassman to look after them?)

I know that so many people want Yuu to overblot or go through their villain arc so that the boys can be put in that place but why do we even have to go that far? If Yuu did have magic they would have overblotted ages ago but even so why do they need to have a mental breakdown so that others could see where they went wrong? Remember an overblot can kill its host and Yuu doesn’t need another near death experience. 

I want Yuu to be like Ashtarte and just have a small circle of friends and family in Ace, Deuce, Grim and the Ramshackle ghosts and tell everyone else to bog off. I want Ace, Deuce and Grim to be like the maid, Leona/Loena - different translations have different spellings (she is such a protective mama bear I love her so much. She literally calls out royalty to their faces, is ready to throw hands with the entire world and is willing to risk her own life for Ashtarte’s happiness) and act as Yuu’s guard dogs to prevent anyone from coming near them. Ace, Deuce and Grim have been there since the beginning, they’re Yuu’s ride or die besties that know what they’re going through, they’re platonic soulmates who can clearly see the emotional turmoil on weighing down on them. I want them to witness how Yuu is affected by their PTSD with their panic attacks and nightmares and bouts of depression and dissociation and then doing their best to learn how to help them. I want Yuu to refuse to step foot in another dorm and just go to NRC for classes and then disappear into Ramshackle. I want Ace and Deuce to run interference in case anyone approaches their friend because can’t you see that they don’t want to talk to you, who’s not afraid to stand up to anyone be it teachers or upperclassmen because haven’t they done enough damage. 

Yes, Ace is a jerk but he’s not a mean bully of a jerk. He’s just a stupid tactless teenage boy who just needs to be humbled once or twice - he’s completely harmless unlike Sebek and his humanphobic bigoted butt who should definitely keep his comments to himself because Yuu already has enough troubles without someone reminding them of how inferior their species is.

I want these boys to feel guilt - not because of their overblots but because they were actually horrible people before they tried to kill a defenseless, magicless human. I want Yuu to not only lose trust in the main characters but also with everyone else because they never know who would hurt or betray them next - who would be like Trey or Rook and enable bad behaviour, or who would be like Azul and take advantage of their weaknesses, or who would be like Jamil and pretend to be their friend and then stab them in the back. I want a Yuu that’s tired of being manipulated and used by everyone and is just done with everything.

As much as I love parental!Staff, you have to admit that canonically, they’ve done a pretty bad job of looking after Yuu so how about a Yuu that doesn’t trust adults because they’ve shown no interest in actually being someone that Yuu can open up to. Also, Azul was able to get away with everything he did was because he had Crowley in his pocket - who’s to say that he doesn’t have other adults under his thumb as well? (We know he doesn’t but how can Yuu be sure)

I want Yuu to be friends with Neige because he seems like such a sweetheart and I really don’t like how I see fics putting him down just to make Vil look good. As I mentioned above, Snow White is my favourite Disney Princess and sharing a spot with Pooh Bear as my favourite Disney character so a darling boy that is inspired by her would be an awesome friend to have - and he has never caused Yuu physical, verbal, emotional or mental harm.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that this is making me come off as a hater but I just want some justice for Yuu. They deserve absolutely nothing that they go through and I want happiness for them.

Also, on a completely unrelated note, I may have been listening to Numb Little Bug a tad bit too much.

[tavyliasin]

Villain-Fucker Angst Hours

Good timezone, darlings~ Are you ready to get all up in your feelings? No? Me neither, loves, but here we are regardless so the words are going to flow as they usually do... This is focused on Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3 and his fandom, but the latter section can easily apply to any villain fandom.

Self-Analysis of Devil-Fuckery, Or Why Do I Adore Raphael When He Is Very Obviously Evil: A Short Essay by TavyliaSin (Who Still Cannot Name Anything With Less Than A Full Paragraph) ((NSFW)) (((Game Spoilers)))

The following may discuss heavier topics, but without specifics, so whilst it should be safe for most to read without triggering any difficult memories please be aware of Raphael's entire vibes, the content and context of his story, and I'd also like to mention that this isn't a "woe be us for we are terrible people" piece, it's actually more about:

"There is an inherent kindness and warmth to much of the Raphael fandom, and I think there could be some common threads behind that, pulling us all in closer in a comforting blanket that we wrap around each other to keep out the cold of the world."

So, what in the nine hells am I on about? Well. Raphael-fandom is a wild and wonderful place to be. The rest is in sections, so feel free to skip through to what you feel is relevant to your interests. I am so prone to waffle I should open a restaurant~

Who Are Fans Of Raphael? What Do They Want?

We are feral, unhinged, all sheets to the wind "I want that devil man, carnally, and there is no force in all the planes that could stop me". There's the vanilla to the extreme and every level in between, tops, bottoms, versatiles, Doms, subs, and switches - there are a whole lot of people who would love to get their hands on either (or both) of Raphael's forms, for a simple smooch or something far more spicy~ [edited in] To add on to this, not all of us even desire him in a sexual way, for many it is romantic, soft, or even just the rather pleasant thought of spending an evening with drinks by the hellfire because he would be fascinating company. Aces, Aros, and AroAces may all find themselves well within the devilish corners of fandom too~ which is a whole other essay~ [end edit] So, I see you. I'm one of you. Extremely loud and utterly hingeless in my fan appreciation for Raphael. He's one of my favourites to write about, I seek art of him, and the same goes for his mirrored other half, Haarlep, who I arguably love more despite there being far less content of them in the game.

And the Fandom? The Vibe?

From my experience in the Raphael Fandom areas, we have a very deep and abiding understanding of consent, respect, and treating each other with an absolute and uncompromising kindness. We've had talks about keeping each other safe in fandom, exchanged details of people we have encountered who need to be avoided, even shared details between moderators of different fandom servers to pre-ban people proven to be creeps and/or art thieves. We've also discussed consent, including the issues with it in the game, and how areas of the story can only really be considered dubious at best and could easily be triggering for people. And these discussions have been open, honest, fair, and with the acknowledgement that most of us love these scenes anyway. So there's a sense of care that runs through everything, behind the horny-posting and fan content, behind the endless thirsting after our favourite fictional characters. We have a depth of kindness that warms my sinners soul every time I see it.

What Does This Have To Do With Self-Reflection, Raphael, or Villainy In General?

Well let's look at Raphael. He's a villain, obviously. He's manipulative, devious, and inherently evil by his very nature. He keeps Hope chained in his basement, constantly subjected to endless torture. There's also mention of how Gortash was sold into his service at a young age, clearly not an enjoyable experience given the other details and how things turn out (particularly as Raphael would need Gortash's own plans to fail entirely in order for him to succeed in his own and get that crown). And as fans, we accept that. We don't sit making excuses, or trying to say "well actually Gortash is a little shit and Hope probably deserve it", and we don't shy away from or conveniently ignore those darker sides of him with malicious intent to enable more evil to flourish. What I noticed, when I allowed the thoughts to continue, is that there is a theme here.

If Evil Can Be Loved Then So Can I

That's the core. Of course, darlings, I am not claiming to be a heinous monster. I certainly do not have a laundry list of crimes that would make the devil himself say "Uh, that's a bit much." But I sure as fuck treat myself like I do sometimes. You see, I think a lot of us have that tendency, to judge ourselves far more harshly than anyone else. Our patience, understanding, and forgiveness for others runs deeper than the Mariana Trench, but when it comes to our own flaws? One minor mistake and we think ourselves to be the worst beings ever to disgrace the earth. Thus, the villainy we see reflects how we are treating ourselves. So by loving and accepting all of those things that should be terrible, hated, we are actually learning that no matter how poorly we think of ourselves that we can be worthy of that same love and acceptance. We are extending the affection we are unable to show ourselves to someone we see the worst parts of ourselves amplified within. And that's why villains attract the people with the most kindness. The most forgiveness. Because it takes someone with a truly huge amount of empathy to find love for the embodiment of evil.

Or, IDK, maybe villains are just hot and we're too far down to care.

But wait, before you go!

THERE'S SOMETHING WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT.

All of this is about FICTION. We should never be accepting of the kinds of evil we see in the game irl. We do not owe anyone kindness if they do not show it to us.

What is hot in fiction is not always OK IRL.

Look after yourselves out there, remember that consent is key in all things, and please do try to learn to love yourselves, darlings, you are worthy of it and you should judge yourself by the same standard you judge others. If you are in doubt, if you are worried, if you feel afraid - reach out, talk to someone. There are many who will listen.

Treat yourself as you would treat a friend. You deserve that much.

Oh, and all Raphael fans who understand kindness are welcome around me, any hour of the day, I adore our little fandom circles and would gladly collect all of us together. I'm following a lot of you as soon as I find you, like hunting shiny pokemon~

See you in Avernus, my darling Little Mice, may we all find joy in the Cambion's Embrace~

[olderthannetfic]

Have been having such a time lately trying to commit to this fic im writing because it's. Incredibly cathartic and is the start of me finally starting to explore the concepts im ashamed of being fascinated by.

Mpreg jokes have become so ubiquitous that it feels like people just roll their eyes or look at me like im a weirdo for trying to take the idea seriously? not just as a physical reality for the m getting pregged in question, but also as an Emotional reality for the character. Pregnancy and pregnant characters are still treated So fucking weirdly in General, and. i understand people having a trigger related to it, thats not what im talking about ofc, but at the same time its like. Its Pregnancy. Its how Life happens. And men irl Can and DO get pregnant. Even men that dont "look like" they would enjoy it. It's always "dont pigeon hole effeminate men as bottoms/omegas/subs!!" Until someone comes out and actually wants to see and read about The Most Stereotypical Guy to ever Dude experiencing 1.) what it means to be a vessel for life, and 2.) How that changes the way people will treat him.

Bc! as soon as i bring it up, no matter how tactfully and Chaste i try to be about it, the atmosphere in the conversation always Shifts, and there's this feeling that everyone just wants me to shut up and stop being a pervert because the mere premise makes them uncomfortable. Like im sorry thinking about men in fiction undergoing women's lived reality gives me a way to articulated an understanding of what it means to be capable of having a child (all the good, bad, and ugly parts of it) that is still not otherwise allowed in Polite Discussion irl, even in the closest of relationships??

Ill keep writing it for sure but like. The shame is rearing its head and im trying to fight it my getting Mad at the pervasive (and probably just perceived) puritanical judgements dished out my the rest of the world, instead.

Why is the idea of pregnancy never taken seriously. Why is it always shoved in a corner to be ignored till it Happens and its Forced into relevance. And then why is it treated as pointless or worse just straight up Bad if it isn't "done right"/arousingly/humorously while being relevant, either on the character's part Or the author's?

It's getting better more and more with time but im just. Wracking my brain about it today. I cant stop thinking about it, its all i want to talk about, but even In my nicest and most opem circles i can feel people pulling away, and all i can think is its because im doing it to the Wrong character (major macho man villian with a Lot of daddydom themed xreaders...) or something. and its so hard not to let myself get discouraged 👽

--

A lot of my fandom circles act like that, and it's because all pregnancy is somewhere between a massive squick and massively boring to them.

I find pregnancy more interesting now that I've experienced it, but I was definitely like "Why would anyone ever talk to me about this?" before, and it wasn't about picking the wrong character.

Some things are just unpopular with some audiences. Try not to get too discouraged.