#lean transition solutions

[johnapacheco]

Problem or Solution?......9/1/24 

At the start many of my clients spend most of their time telling me about their issues, some in pretty extensive detail.  I suspect they haven’t been able to share or get nonjudgmental feedback in quite a while (if ever).  Instead of spending 90% of their time talking about their issues, I encourage them to spend the 90% “leaning into the solutions.” It’s a tough transition but continually…

[daydreamerdrew]

The Incredible Hulk (1968) #267

[comatosebunny09]

off the grid [ snip ] | sylus

summary: he says he has some business to attend to. it's increasingly hard to follow through with you looking like that. genre(s): romance, erotica warning(s): cunnilingus, female anatomy, explicit language now playing: buzzin - alina baraz

He says he has some business to attend to. Always on the move, even while on vacation.

You don’t pose much of an argument. Offer a slight pout, clawing at the side of the king-sized bed where his body’s residual heat and indentation still reside.

Sylus promises he won’t be long, locking eyes with your reflection in the mirror. Finishes buttoning his shirt, straightening his collar, and fussing with his cufflinks. Turns with a hand stuffed in his pocket to fully appreciate the view on the bed. And what a pretty picture you pose.

You’re quiet, playing on your phone. Have the gall to be so gorgeous, hair fanned around you on the pillows like a halo, breasts swelling at the top of his dress shirt. Thighs thick as honey, legs splayed open on the ivory sheets. His fingers twitch with the need to touch, and something primal stirs in his belly.

You catch his gaze over the rim of your phone. Offer a demure smile and a wave before returning to whatever’s got you so enraptured.

His chest swells with emotion. There’s this gnawing feeling telling him not to leave. Telling him he belongs at your side for the rest of the day, drawing little sighs of his name from your mouth, touching you until the moon sits high in the sky.

It isn’t often he gets to sweep you away like this. Has you tucked all safe in a beautiful bungalow on an island far away, the air thick with salt and the idle crash of ocean waves enmeshed with the calming cry of distant seabirds.

He studies his feet. Shakes his head, sheepishly rubbing the nape of his neck while losing an internal battle with himself. He leans against the dresser, wondering how much longer he can stave off this deal he’s worked so hard to orchestrate. And yet—

You giggle, tickled pink by a video on your socials. The sound of it makes his heart pull. He pads towards you without thinking, wrapping a tender hand around your ankle. Smooths his thumb over the bone, watching you with all the fondness of the world.

Sighing, he resigns himself to his decision. Glances off to the side as if the beach outside the window can offer some sort of solution. He pulls at the buttons he so carefully fastened on his shirt. Prowls over you like a jaguar onto the bed, caging you beneath lean muscle and heat.

“Fuck the deal,” he husks with pinched brows, dipping down for a taste of your lips.

You squeak. He hums all throaty, smiling against your lips, expertly plucking your phone from your lax hands. Kisses honey-slow, committing the texture of your lips to memory whilst slowly easing your hands over your head, twining your fingers together. Pushes a knee between your thighs, stopping just shy of your muff.  

You melt into the kiss. Keen all pretty for him, and he swallows the adorable sounds you make. Chuckles low and alluring, maneuvering his hips between your legs, anchoring you to the bed with his weight half on you.

“Thought it was—oh—important,” you breathe when he breaks away to brand your neck with the heat of his lips. You even have the audacity to smell good, like night-blooming jasmines and blackcurrant.

“Was,” he parrots on a deep rasp, mouth on an unhurried excursion over your throat, and your laughter is bewitching. Heady, transitioning into a pleasured exhale when his teeth scrape your carotid. He maneuvers your hands together to shackle your wrists with one of his, freeing up the other. “Nothing outweighs this.”

He drives his point home, knuckles dragging down your belly, down, down, down to the rim of your panties. You arch, and he bows into you when his palm closes around your muff, and he’s open-mouthed on your neck, his dick thick and throbbing against your thigh.

Two fingers curl inward, teasing the seam of your pussy. You bite your lip. Throw your head back, doing that endearing sad puppy thing with your brows, and he admires the sight of you with parted lips and half-slit eyes.  

You’re so pretty like this. So perfect, your mouth kiss-swollen and wet, formed around a whine. You arch so nicely for him as his fingers play between your legs, stroking you until you’re nice and wet. Swollen and pulsing, outer labia spilling over the seat of your panties.

He wastes no time when the earthy scent of your pussy reaches him. Lets your wrists go, easing down your body and between your legs in favor of something more appealing. Licks up the span of your cunt, tasting you through the cotton of your panties. Growls something distant and abrasive, gaze flicking to yours through the headiness.

His irises burn like the flicker of a flame. And he doesn’t look away as you ruck your hips up against his tongue, chasing that sparkling edge building in your stomach. You thread shaky fingers in his tousled hair, guiding him into a maddeningly slow rhythm, your hips stuttering each time his tongue encounters your clit.

He briefly takes his eyes off you to drag your panties to one side, and his mouth waters at the sight. Your pussy is all sticky and sweet, the pucker of it beckoning him in. He spreads you nice and open with two fingers. Looks at you once more before diving in, working your pretty pussy with a wide and sweltering tongue.

You’re scrambling for purchase of the sheets. Wrap your legs about his shoulders, keening all pretty for him. Rock your hips in tandem with the slow roll of his tongue, and he reaches out to tangle your fingers together at your sides to anchor you.

continued here.

[regressionschool]

MOMMY KNOWS BEST: A NEW APPROACH TO MARRIAGE?

By Emily Dawson, Investigative Reporter

In an era of rising divorce rates and failing marriages, one company believes they have found a radical yet effective solution—one that redefines the roles within relationships rather than dissolving them.

The "Mommy Knows Best" (MKB) program, developed by Pampers Corporation, offers struggling couples an alternative to separation. Instead of counseling or legal battles, the program transitions one partner—typically the husband—into a fully dependent little.

By removing the stress, ego, and responsibility that often cause marital tension, Pampers claims to create a more balanced, harmonious household where the wife assumes a nurturing role, and the husband embraces a simpler, carefree existence.

To its supporters, it’s a long-overdue revolution. To its critics, it’s a disturbing erasure of masculinity.

“A Man Should Be a Man” – A Former Husband Speaks Out

Not everyone is thrilled with the program. Joseph, 38, once a participant in MKB, now lives alone after divorcing his wife of ten years. He remains a vocal critic of what he calls “forced regression”.

“They stripped men of everything that makes them men,” he says, his jaw tightening. “This isn’t love. It’s control.”

According to Joseph, his wife enrolled him without his full understanding. “She made it sound like therapy,” he scoffs. “Like something that would help us communicate better. But the ‘communication’ part? That was just me being told what to do while I sat there in a… in a… damn diaper.”

His fingers twitch on the table as he hesitates on the word, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if the memory itself still holds power over him.

I ask him how long he was in the program. He sighs. “Seven months.”

And when he left?

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, avoiding eye contact. “It… took a while to adjust.”

Adjust?

His face darkens. “By the time I got out, I couldn’t even remember how to use the potty—eh, I mean toilet.”

He corrects himself quickly, but the slip is noticeable. A shadow of something uncertain flickers in his expression.

Does he still struggle with… certain habits?

His knee bounces under the table. "No. No, I’m fine now.” But he doesn’t sound convinced.

Though he claims to be fully independent again, he admits that certain instincts—like waiting for permission before making decisions—have been harder to shake.

“They train you to obey,” he mutters bitterly. “And for some guys, I guess that’s fine. But me? I lost everything.”

“He Finally Listens to Me” – A Wife’s Perspective

For Claire, 34, the experience couldn’t have been more different.

Before enrolling her husband, she says their marriage was on the verge of collapse.

“He never listened,” she explains, folding laundry as we talk. “Worked late, ignored housework, expected me to handle everything. It was like having a man-child already, just without the cute parts.”

She gestures toward the living room, where her husband—once a domineering, independent man—now sits in a soft playpen, happily occupied with colorful stacking rings.

He’s sucking a blue pacifier, his thick, crinkly Pampers diaper peeking out from beneath his cozy footed onesie. When Claire strokes his hair, he coos softly, leaning into her touch like an affectionate toddler.

“Now?” she smiles. “He actually listens.”

She explains that, in the past, every conversation turned into an argument. Now, there’s no stubbornness, no backtalk, no stress.

“When I tell him it’s naptime, he lays down. When I say he needs a change, he just giggles and lets me handle it. It’s the first time I’ve felt truly respected as a wife.”

But does he ever resist?

Claire chuckles, shaking her head. “Oh, of course. He still has little moments.”

Right on cue, her husband huffs and crosses his arms. "No change," he pouts, shaking his head. "Diaper fine."

Claire sighs. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

He scowls, his lower lip jutting out petulantly—but when Claire raises an eyebrow, her voice firm yet patient, his resolve wavers.

“If you don’t let me change you,” she warns, “I’m turning off your cartoons for the rest of the day.”

His eyes widen. "Noooo!" He shakes his head frantically, the pacifier bouncing against his chest. “I be good! I be good!”

With a resigned sigh, he clambers onto the changing mat, his thick, swollen diaper squishing loudly beneath him. Claire ruffles his hair affectionately.

“See? So much easier than before,” she says with a smile.

Is This the Future of Marriage?

The Mommy Knows Best program is growing in popularity, with thousands of struggling couples enrolling every year. Pampers Corp reports that over 92% of participants choose to remain in the program permanently, claiming it strengthens marriages, eliminates conflict, and improves household harmony.

Psychologists point to reduced stress, structured routines, and positive reinforcement as key elements of its success.

And, of course, Pampers ensures that no participant ever has to worry about leaks, discomfort, or independence again.

For some, like Joseph, the program represents a loss of identity. But for women like Claire?

She simply smiles. “For the first time in my life, I’m happy. And more importantly?” She glances at her husband, who is now happily sucking his pacifier, waiting to be changed.

“So is he.”

(Sponsored in part by Pampers Corporation. Because a happy marriage starts with a happy little.)

[saeun]

professional guide on how to boyfriend jujutsu kaisen ( men ).

⤹ list ﹢ gojō satoru, sukuna ryōmen, chōsō.

﹙ syn ﹚ having near-to-zero experience with serious romantic relationships, it's time to teach them how to romance. the journey won't be easy, but the results will hopefully be fruitful.

extra. songs: betcha (bbh), seven (jk), very nice (svt).

week one : how to flirt as if you were shakespeare. note. refrain from using big words because they sound ‘cool’.

GOJO SATORU — "you're hating on my vocabulary?"

slowly, but very surely, you can feel your stress-meter rise to its peak. if someone were to animate your current expression, there will be three veins protruding out on your forehead to show your stress. it's almost as if it's second-nature for satoru to be annoying. he isn't doing it on purpose, unfortunately, it's just the way he is.

i should've ignored his call, a voice in your head speaks, i really should've. you were enjoying your own presence, simply lazing around during your off-day when three rings disrupted the peace. groaning, you reluctantly picked it up.

"hello—"

"come to enha's bakery, PLEASE," satoru's rushed voice spoke, immediately ending the call after his request-demand.

annoyance dawned and slowly transitioned into confusion. first, he needs to fix his habit of cutting you off. second, with the tone of his voice, maybe you should go.

big mistake.

not only was he chewing your ears off with talking, he also ate half of your pastry. you weren't able to get a full sentence in, he just kept going. dressed in suit and tie, hair styled and gelled up, satoru looked handsomely professional. according to what you've gathered from his rambling, he's been set up with one of the higher ups' daughter for business purposes. he needs to woo her or he's gonna lose a significant amount of pay. the problem? well, his flirting skills aren't all that. his confidence can help him, but it'll only help for a fraction of the date.

"what's the issue? you're handsome," you started, sliding your pastry back to you. "you should be able to woo her with your face alone."

"you are not wrong—"

"i'm never wrong," you cut him off.

"let me speak. anyway, i was informed that she isn't one for looks alone. i don't care about her, but she's the daughter of some high fucker," his voice reeked of defeat.

you weren't well-knowledged in satoru's field of work, but you knew he had it against the "higher ups." well, you had no choice but to know. satoru often thought of you as someone he can be free with — so, in conclusion, you were the victim of his word-vomit moments.

the two of you fell silent, thinking about solutions to save satoru. eyeing the pastry, you pondered your brain. there has to be a way to help satoru. perhaps some walkie-talkies? no, those are too loud. follow him into the restaurant and monitor his behaviour? no, that's too much work. crash his date and ask him why he's cheating on you? no, that'll probably end in your death.

satoru himself is deep in thought, already annoyed at the date that's going to become the bane of his existence in eight hours from now. should he bring you with him? maybe, but you'll deny his offer. should he ask you to pretend to be his girlfriend? no, he'd rather ask without the "pretend."

oh he's fucked.

i'm so fucked.

"wait," you leaned into the table, sporting an expression that says 'i have an idea'.

"yes?" satoru mirrors you, eyes speaking 'tell me'.

"what if i teach you how to flirt? we should have enough time to teach you how to boyfriend, right?" your idea was good. it turned the gears in both minds.

satoru opens his mouth but presses it into a thin line. there's an obstacle in the way of making this idea perfect.

"sounds good but.. the date's... tonight."

"you are fucked."

he nods at your response, feeling the salt rubbing in his wound. i guess i should just—

"but, if we go now we'll have enough time. it's 11AM, we can do it," you tapped your index finger twice on your phone's screen, showing satoru the time. if you move now, success is evident.

"let's go then," agreeing, he stands up, stuffing his car keys into his pocket and opening his wallet.

—

you've run out of pillows and whiteboard markers. the last two hours were spent either scribbling nonsense on a mini-whiteboard or throwing objects at satoru. the teaching isn't working. every lesson you've gone through ended in satoru's failure. is it on purpose? you hope it isn't.

"satoru, for the last time, that does not sound like a real word!" your hand slapped the table, physically showing your frustration.

groaning, satoru throws his head back, "you said use poetic words!"

"what part of scrumdiddlyumptious sounds poetic to you?!" you deadpanned at him.

he slouches further down the couch, grabbing his phone to search the word on google. it took him only one minute to find the word and its definition. raising up from slouching, he leans over the coffee table, stretching an arm out to show you the word.

"scrumdiddlyumptious — adjective · informal 1. (of food) extremely tasty; delicious. 2. (of a person) very attractive."

reluctant to admit defeat, you weaponized the word being informal against him, "it's not formal! you will not use it."

satoru's high of being right dies down immediately. his mouth twitches, eyes looking at you with disbelief.

"babe, you cannot be serious right now."

"babe, i am so serious right now," you mocked him, not thinking too deep into his nickname. there's no meaning behind it anyway. you, too, use babe as platonic name.

eventually, satoru tuned out your voice. he returned back to his previous slouching position, staring at you blankly as your words go in one ear and out the other.

it didn't take long for you to notice his dejected aura. does he hate it that much? you wondered, feeling a slight pity for him.

"don't worry, satoru. it's just one date."

"i will be worrying," satoru counters you, already sour at the date-to-come.

if he were to be honest, the date isn't the problem, nor is the flirting. he believes his flirting skills to be at a decent level. he also doesn't mind spending money on others. it's just that he doesn't want to entertain her. maybe, just maybe, if it were you, he'd be more excited.

you didn't say anything after him, only shooting him an annoying smile. seriously, you don't know what's worrying him. he's basically every girl's eye candy — not to mention, he looks so much like a boyfriend right now. that doesn't make a lot of sense, but if others can see what you're seeing, they'll understand. his white fitted tee accentuates his upper body's muscles, the black sweatpants do its job, his hair that's still styled, and the silver wristwatch on his hand. simple, yet sexy.

SUKUNA RYOMEN — "i'm too old for this shit."

sukuna, your sweet sukuna. your sukuna who's most likely weighing out which option is the better one to shut you up. he doesn't know why he agreed to listen to your rambles at midnight, but he's too far in to call it quitsies.

according to what you told him, you gained the idea of teaching him how to update his romance. it all came crashing to you when you were in the third-quarter of an episode of some random dating show. you blanked out most of the episode, not paying attention as the main objective of watching it was to not stare into nothing while eating.

the show itself didn't interest you, but the concept did. the participants were blindfolded, being told to use their judgement of character to choose their date. they'd have to rely on their personalities and voices to attract someone — a pretty neat idea. looks aren't everything. unfortunately, they might just be for sukuna if he doesn't work on his attitude.

often does sukuna act like he's a fifty-five-years-old office worker named penelope in the management department: old, easily annoyed, and always has something to complain about. you're probably the only human on earth who can handle sukuna for more than a day. of course, this is due to you being similar to him — if not then exactly like him. your attitudes fit together like jigsaw puzzle pieces.

sukuna's hands are clasped together behind his head, one leg raised on the bed, and torso out in the open for everyone to view. he's actively listening to you, giving his judgement here and there.

you're sitting with your legs criss-crossed, a pillow in the middle of your thighs, and hands speaking their own language. the habit of using your hands expressively when talking will never leave you.

"...so, if you were to find a girl, you neeed to be kind! no one likes a man with a stick up his ass," you warned sukuna, moving your index finger side-to-side.

"you do," sukuna says, raising an eyebrow at you.

unfortunately, he left you speechless — but not for long! you soon regained your speaking skills after realizing you don't have a good comeback.

coughing two times, you started your lesson again, "anyyyway, always tell her she's beautiful, gorgeous, breathless, or whatever. everyone loves a little compliment about their appearance!"

almost as if it's an automatic setting, sukuna replies, "what if she's facially challenged?"

"OH—" your jaw dropped. "sukuna, you can't just say that!"

he re-positions himself, this time laying on his side with his arm supporting his head.

"if someone's visually impaired i'm telling them."

you sighed, feeling disappointed at his brutual honesty, "what do you even mean by visually impaired?"

"they're ugly," he shrugs.

his tone isn't serious, implying that he's joking but you know he isn't. sukuna's a man of his word; the truth is what leaves his mouth every time. you shouldn't worry — you really, really shouldn't, but what if that's what he thinks about you? are you facially challenged in his eyes? you've gone silent, allowing yourself to drown in the thoughts.

sukuna notices your silence, sighs, and jabs your side with his foot.

"if you're thinking that i believe you're ugly, then stop," he begins, continuing the foot-jabbing-at-your-side-movement when you don't respond. "you're beautiful, believe me. you know i don't lie."

that catches your attention. you feel a sudden heat creeping up the back of your neck. keeping your voice low, you questioned him, still unsure of whether he's being truthful or not, "are you lying?"

"i swear," his voice is firm, reaching his free hand out to your thigh. physical contact to him is very important!

you return to the silence, only this time you lock your eyes in sukuna's. it's up to you to believe whether he's lying or not, and honestly, you don't care. you know he never lies, and you rather enjoy your fantasy instead of the harsh reality ( if he's truly lying ).

CHOSO — "man, fuck all that."

throughout your entire life you never expected to meet someone like choso. he is, in your words, a bitch boy. acts like a bitch, very expressive with his facial expressions, sarcastic, a male, and the worst of all, a little thief.

you humbly thought baking with choso would've been a good idea for celebrating the end of your finals. oh you were so wrong. he's messy, ate half the chocolate chips, and has been stealing spoons of cookie batter. when you confronted him, he simply said, "we can always make more," and shrugged. the audacity!

there's only so much choso someone can handle before they explode.

"you dumb fuck, how can you get a wife with this behaviour?!" you scolded, slapping his hand away from the freshly baked batch of cookies with a whisk.

he immediately retreats his hand, looking at you with an expression that says 'have you gone insane?'

"don't look at me like that," you warned, raising an eyebrow at his very well-hidden annoyance at you.

choso rolls his eyes, this time reaching the uninjured hand for the sprinkles. he sneakily slides the packet to him, intensely watching you to make sure you don't happen to see him committing such a crime. mouthing a little "yes!" at his victory, he empties half the sprinkles in his hand and throws it into his mouth.

"an’ wha’ if i ‘on't care about a wife," his words are muffled due to his mouth being filled with the sprinkles. he tries his best to hide the crunch sound, lowering his head each time he needs to crunch on some.

your back's still turned to him, simply too busy with monitoring sugar-soon-to-be-caramel on the stove.

"you're gonna have to care soon. you don't wanna die alone!" you nagged, making a point to him.

his right eyebrow raises at your words, lips ready to move at your hypocrisy, "you yourself said you don't want a partner!"

"at this point," you stopped, turning around to face choso. "i'm gonna have to teach you how to be a romantic young man."

"what are you implying...?"

"it's time for dating lessons."

"no, thank you."

unfortunately, choso has no say in this household. he had to listen. you sat him down on the chair, making sure he focuses with all his attention and doesn't steal any of the desserts. believe choso when he said he tried to take you seriously. he really did, but your messy apron along with vigorously hand-mixing batter with a serious expression as you talked his ear off caught him off-guard.

"sometimes you even have to get on your knees, choso! i'm telling you."

"i'm not doing all of that," he disagrees.

"oh, trust me. when you're in love you will," you spoke, resting the hand-mixer down to draw an invisible heart in the air.

he doesn't give you a verbal response. instead, he squints his eyes at you. when one's gone, another is born. when one stress is gone, another is born ( your nagging ). he doesn't like it one bit, but at least it's coming from you. he'd rather have you down his ears — whether it's by using your vocals or channeling your inner mother and scolding him.

[rnnsdrms]

TELL ME, DO YOU FEEL THE LOVE?

DEAREST READER. i was supposed to publish moriarty brothers’ first but remembered that the 5th and 6th of january was mycroft and sherlock’s birthday! to celebrate their birthdays, and also the return of moriarty the patriot manga, i decided to write a little something ! if you like my work, consider treating me a coffee. it means a lot !

CONTENT SUMMARY. basically how the holmes brothers shows their love for you. this is based on a - z sfw alphabet challenge and this is the a for affection part ! so, THERE IS NO SMUT. i wrote this with female! reader in mind + sherlock is implied to be taller + mention of ‘queen’ in mycroft’s part.

CHARACTERS. mycroft holmes, sherlock holmes.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 SHERLOCK HOLMES

music to listen to as you read: i wanna be yours

Sherlock being affectionate is, perhaps, one of life’s rarest phenomena–something you never expected to witness and experience firsthand. The man, by all accounts, is crude, aloof, and generally unlikeable to most. But not to you. Somehow, in a way he does not quite understand, you have managed to see beyond the sharp edges and impossible arrogance. You will say, in a teasing tone, “It’s a part of your charm,” and Sherlock, in his endlessly logical mind, is half-convinced that there must be a small dent somewhere in your delicate skull for finding him admirable. And although he would not like to admit it, it was a good enough reason for him to return your kind disposition.

He has never cared about public opinion, but when it comes to you, it is a different story entirely. Your thoughts of him matter more than they should, more than he ever anticipated. Only in these moments that he becomes the accused, and you are his honourable judge. Words that fall from your lips–whether they are gentle praises or sharp criticisms–hit him harder than anyone’s insult about him ever could, carving every syllable into his mind like a new scripture he should abide by. What you think of him is vital, necessary, as crucial as air to his lungs. So, he listens, often with his head down in contemplation. For the first time in his life, he lets someone mold him into a shape that befits a certain vision—your vision. Because he knows that with your guiding hand, he can transition from a good man to a better man.

But Sherlock is far from a traditional Victorian gentleman. There is no flair for romantic chivalry, no polished manners or well-practiced charm to sweep you off your feet. And he knows this–he knows he lacks the grace and poise most would expect from a man in love. But what he lacks in gentlemanly qualities, he compensates for tenfold with the precision of his sharp intellect, which he dedicates entirely toward easing your life’s burdens.

When crisis unfolds, Sherlock steps onto the scene with his usual calm authority, a quiet grace that steadies the chaos around him–which in this case, the chaos is usually you. To the outside world, he is seen as the blade of reason, but beneath that steely exterior, he watches out for you, always. Anything that troubles you naturally becomes his burden to bear. Your worries are his worries, and his detective instincts won’t let him rest until he has unraveled the knot of your hardship. His mind sharpens into focus, meticulously piercing together solutions, knowing that once he is able to solve it, your relief–that gleam in your eyes as you pull him down to kiss him–will be his greatest prize. He often says he works best alone, but this time, he strives to be a partner you can lean on. For Sherlock, love is not solely about roses or sweeping gestures; it is about showing up in the way he knows best. It is in the way he says, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it. You know I always do,” that makes you feel safe in a world that often feels anything but.

While he might be a man not possessing great ambitions, he does, however, aims to be the best partner you will ever have. Good is no longer good enough. He longs for your recognition, your acknowledgment of his efforts, no matter how significant or simple they might be. And when you give it to him–when your eyes light up at something he has done or your words affirm his care–he practically glows, like a happy child, even if he hides it beneath that trademark smirk you know so well.

Sherlock holds your individuality with reverence, and loves the way you shine differently among the other ladies. He loves the way you tell him random facts about life, the way you bombard him with a lot of questions that he is only too happy to answer, or the way you try to prove him wrong even if you always fail. It comforts him to know that he sees himself in you, that you are just as stubborn as he is. When you achieve success, it sparks something within him that he cannot suppress: pride. Though he won’t erupt in grand applause, you can still catch the tender radiance in his eyes when he holds your gaze, a small smile forming on one edge of his lips. His praise comes in soft, sincere words. “I knew you could do it, honey. I never doubted you for a second.”

Sherlock may not always get it right. He stumbles, he overthinks, and sometimes his temper gets the better of him. But in those moments when he catches you smiling—really, truly smiling—he swears it’s all worth it.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 MYCROFT HOLMES

music to listen to as you read: young and beautiful

People who do not have the pleasure of knowing him will never know how this cold, stoic man is actually a hidden walking-green-flag on earth. When you first met him, you thought he exuded a daunting and untouchable aura, a common characteristic you find in men who wanted to steer themselves clear of any romantic alliances. Of course, that didn’t stop him from looking desirable in the eyes of many women–including yours. In the end, by some strange luck or fate, you piqued his curiosity, held his attention, and the next thing you know, he has got himself wrapped around your little finger of his own will. Everything that he does never fails to surprise you, in a way that makes you think, ‘I didn’t think he would be this kind.’

Because, as it turns out, here is a man who has been anointed with the title of a provider. Mycroft does not just give, because he knows that is what any respectable good man is supposed to do. He provides with purpose, with intention, with an almost acute type of meticulousness that mirrors every other part of his life. Yes, his wallet is loaded, but he is not the kind to randomly shower you with expensive gifts or empty sweet words. His generosity is calculated, deliberate–every act of giving is carefully chosen to mean something. When Mycroft decides to give you something, he wants his gifts to be of use to you. He likes gifting you your favourite brand of personal care products or that specific perfume with a scent he likes so much that he thinks you should spray them on your skin again.

A romantic dinner? He won’t spoil it with unnecessary fanfare or lengthy explanations. Instead, he will step into your space, gently disrupting whatever it is you are doing, place an elegant outfit in your hands, and simply say, “Wear this. I’m taking you to dinner tonight.” No further explanation needed, because the evening will speak for itself. You only have the highest regard for his immaculate tastes, for it never once disappoints you. You can trust that he has chosen only the finest restaurant, a place where every detail–the ambience, the wine, the food–meets his impossibly high standards. For Mycroft, perfection is not luxury; it is a necessity when it comes to you. This is his kingdom, and you are his queen.

He is not one to smother you in repeated declarations of love. In fact, the word “I love you” rarely ever leaves his mouth. But when it does leave his lips, it strikes a chord deeper in you than the most lavish gift or flowery phrase. Mycroft doesn’t simply say I love you. Little do you know, even these three words tugs at every string of his core, threatening to undo him. There was something about the word ‘love’ that strips him bare, and with the combination of your soft gaze on him when the word teethers in the edge of his lips, Mycroft realises he is not as formidable as he thought. He is not above love after all–while the word itself gives him the power to live his days, it was, at the same time, his bane, knowing that the word itself resonates with your name. So, he often rephrases them with other words: “I will take you home,” “What would you like to eat? I’ll pay.” “Is everything alright?”–are the words that decorate your days. And you understand that those words, spoken in his low, steady tone, are his heart laid at your feet.

Publicly, Mycroft is all composure, all restraint. Mycroft is known for his headstrong manner and his solemn words, but watch him listen and obey the second words leave your mouth, for he knows that you care for him, and only have the best of intentions for him. He may not indulge in the frivolity of public displays of affection. But behind closed doors? He is a different man entirely. In private, your existence becomes his gravity, pulling him away from his mountain of work, reminding him to rest. He may need you to distract him, but other times, he will find you himself. You are the soft chaos in his carefully structured world–the calm after the storm–and it’s exactly what he needs. His hands envelop your frame without hesitation, tracing the edges of your presence like he is memorising you all over again.

Mycroft is far from being a master in the kitchen or a patron of words, but he will always save the best slice of food for you. Watching you savour something delicious—shaking your head in delight and doing a small dance—becomes one of his simplest, purest joys. It’s in these moments that his carefully guarded walls lower, letting himself bask in the quiet and intoxicating joy of loving you.

RNNSDRMS ©. SUPPORT WRITERS BY REBLOGGING THEIR WORK. DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR POST MY WORKS ON ANY SITE. I WILL POST MY POSTS ON OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA SITES MYSELF AND THAT’S ALL YOU GET.

[c1nna1nmyr0ll]

At Your Service

Kento Nanami x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: lingerie, service kink, oral sex, blow job, praise kink, pet names, nipple play, sir kink, begging, vaginal sex, p in v sex, cumming inside, and aftercare

a/n: another old fic, and it's nanami so i had to share <3

Also, maybe consider signing up for the 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐅𝐨𝐫𝐦!!

Nanami has given you everything you could ever want. Everything. He loves spoiling you. So, you always try to find ways to repay him. He always says there’s no need, but today, you have found the perfect solution.

You had gone shopping and went inside a lingerie store. You found a set that will be perfect for you to show off to Nanami. It’s blue and tan with a lace bra with straps all over the front and back and a cute short skirt. Something you know he would love. So you bought it without any hesitation.

So, this leads you to now. You sitting on your shared bed wearing the set, waiting for your Kento to return home. He always comes home late because his boss always gives him work right before he’s supposed to leave for the day. You’d think he’d be winded after such a long day, but if you want to be serviced, he is more than willing to provide for you.

You jump in your seat from the surprise when you see the bedroom door open. You see your tired Kento walk in, and he removes his outer suit jacket and tie, placing them on a chair near the door.

“Welcome home,” you greet him.

“Thank you, Y/N, dear,” he says, rubbing his eyes and forehead, still not seeing your new outfit. You wait for him to finish his routine of transition from work to home as you sit still. When he finally looks over at you, his eyes wander silently over your body, and he gazes at you hungrily. “Is that for me?”

“Of course, Kento, I wanted to repay you for everything you’ve done,” you tell him. You get up from your seated position and walk over to him. You beckon him to lean down to your face and whisper in his ear. “You can do whatever you desire. I am all yours. Here to serve you.” You hear him groan, look at his slacks and see a tent forming.

“Oh, Y/N, dear,” he says. “You always know how to serve me.”

You invite him to sit at the chair where his blazer and tie sit. He does so, and you kneel in front of him. His cock right at your level. You unzip his slacks and lower his boxers to reveal his hard cock. The tip is a bright pink from how strained he was in his slacks. You use your hand and move it up and down his cock, and his breath hitches slightly.

You look up at him, and he continues his hungry gaze upon you. You keep eye contact with him as you lick his tip, watching as his eyes flicker down to his cock. You don’t want to tease him, so you open your mouth and begin to bob up and down. You hear him grunt above you while collecting your hair away for you. You swirl your tongue around his tip when you reach it every time, and Nanami keeps himself composed to not thrust into your throat.

You continue raising and lowering yourself on his cock. Nanami pulls on your hair slightly to get you to speed up. His hold on you drags you along his cock while your jaw goes slack. You hear some grunts and curses as he controls your pace.

You suck as you feel his cock twitch within you. He’s usually not this close. You knew this lingerie set was the best thing you could give him. He pulls you off his cock to make you look at him. When you make eye contact with him, his blonde hair is slightly messy, and his cheeks are slightly pink and puffy.

“You truly have an amazing tongue, darling,” he praises. He leads you to the bed and has you lie down. He thinks about what he wants to do with you now that you’re entirely at his mercy. “I won’t restrain you tonight, angel. I want to really enjoy all of you.”

He joins you on the bed and hovers above you. He uses one hand to clutch at your head as he leans down to kiss you. You eagerly open your mouth to him, and he politely slips in his tongue. You feel how hot his mouth is, making your cunt gush. Everything he does is so hot. He kisses you once more before moving to kiss your neck and chest. Your breasts are only somewhat covered with the straps and lace.

“God,” you hear him mutter. “So perfect. And all mine.” His tongue licks at your laced-covered nipple, making you clutch at his shoulders. He raises his head to look at you as he uses his fingers to tweak your nipples. He watches your reactions, and you can’t help but squirm under his touch.

“Ah! Ken-Kento,” you moan. Then, you hear him click his tongue as he stops touching you all together.

“We talked about this, dove,” he starts. “You call me sir, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” you say.

“Just because I did not bind you does not mean all formalities are put aside,” he explains.

“I’m sorry, sir,” you apologize.

“Good,” he says. “Now, beg for me.”

“Please fuck me, sir,” you plea. He gives you a small smile.

“Good girl,” he tells you. He gives your neck and chest one last kiss before he sits between your legs. Then, he removes his shirt to reveal his perfect upper body and along with his slacks and boxers.

“Are you not going to undress me, sir?” you ask. He chuckles.

“I think I’m going to leave this on you,” he says. He lifts your short skirt to reveal your dripping cunt that’s been waiting for his cock. “You’re dripping for me, darling.”

Nanami moves your thighs and settles his cock at your entrance. He pushes himself in, and you moan at the feeling of his cock filling you up. He groans from the sensation.

“You always feel so good wrapped around my cock, dove,” he praises. You moan again as he begins to move his hips. You grip the sheets under you, and Nanami holds your hips as he thrusts into you. His cock drags against your spongy spot, and you feel your eyes begin to roll back. “Getting fucked out already, darling?”

His hips don’t stop, and he continues hitting your spot. He moves one hand from your hip to your clit and begins rubbing. You scream out at the new feeling of his fingers, and you meet his thrusts with your hips. You chase your orgasm as Nanami watches you.

“Ah! ‘M gonna cum!” you shout. “Please let me cum, sir!”

“Go ahead and cum, sweetheart,” he offers. You can’t hold back, and you cream on his cock. Nanami continues his thrusts and sees the white ring around his cock.

Nanami grabs your legs and places them on his shoulders. You cry out as you feel him shift positions. He’s able to thrust faster and reach your cunt deeper. You feel yourself burn with tears as Nanami uses you.

“You…You look so beautiful, darling,” he praises. “I…shit, love you in that.” His hands are clutching your thighs and keeping them close to his body as he chases his own orgasm.

His hips never stutter or stop as you moan out from the overstimulation.

“Just bare with me, love,” he says.

After more of his hard thrusts, you begin to feel his cock twitch within you. Then, his hips start to thrusts into you chaotically as his grunts become louder. Finally, he cums into your pussy as you moan at the feeling of his warm cum getting in you. Nanami doesn’t pull out of you immediately and instead checks in with you.

“Are you alright, beautiful?” he asks. You nod breathlessly.

“I am,” you reply.

“Good, let me get you a warm towel and a glass of water,” he says and slowly drags his cock out of you and walks out of the bedroom to get you what you need.

He will always continue to spoil you.

© c1nna1nmyr0ll 2024, all rights reserved. do not plagiarize, use for ai, copy, translate, or repost my content on any platform. comments, reblogs, and likes are loved

[p1utofairy]

PICK A CARD: BARBIE edition.

★ which one of your manifestations is coming towards you?

NOTE: take what resonates, leave what doesn’t. i feel like people are in need of some positivity and encouragement so here you go! 🍬

pile one.

hi pile 1 🌞 wow i feel like you have a very bright personality! it's so potent and beautiful. you can light up any room you walk into, and once you start seeing your beauty for what it truly is, that's when you'll really become a magnet for the things you desire. i feel like you've come out of some deep situations that left you confused or wondering about your true purpose in this lifetime – but don’t let anyone or any situation ever dim your light or take away your power. your soul purpose is really special and i think you’ve been looking for clarity or some sort of answer/solution to this lack that you’re feeling in your soul. you will definitely receive a message and/or an answer to what you’ve been seeking to find. i see this manifestation being a dream come true, pile 1.

you’ve put the work in and now you’re about to reap the benefits of your labor. this could be a new job, career path/major, business opportunity or an increase in your finances. your spirit guides want you to put yourself out there and say YES to whatever this message might be. you already have the motivation and desire for it, so it just requires you to take action and be confident in your choices in order to receive it. you might downplay yourself a lot or make self-deprecating jokes that ultimately put you in a lack mindset. i’m hearing “psh…yeah right. i doubt something as extravagant and nice as that would happen to me.” but why? whose to say what tomorrow will bring? your guides want you to lean more into your optimism and have faith in yourself, and understand that you truly deserve all the great things that are about to unfold in your life.

you know how to make light of situations, so use that to your advantage. i feel like you have a great sense of humor lol but be kinder to yourself okay? it can be really tough when life starts throwing curve balls at you, but it’s what you choose to make of it. as phil dunphy from ‘modern family’ said, “if life gives you lemonade - make lemons and life will be all like whaaaaat?!” so go out there and show the world what you’re made of!

pile two.

heyyy pile 2! i feel like you're coming out of a period of grief or a loss of some sort – a powerful transformation. i feel like this is more about letting go of a toxic mindset and freeing yourself from negative energy/situations rather than on a physical level. for some of you, a loved one could have recently passed or a connection you had with someone ended but i think it’s more so that you’re in a period of transition and starting to accept things for what they truly are. you’re no longer letting anything or anyone hold you back. you’re gaining momentum in your life path, and your spirit guides are so very proud of you!

they see how much it’s taken you to get to this point in your journey. it’s taken a lot of patience and discipline, but you’ve persevered and made it through - and for that you will be rewarded. i feel like you’ve been trying to manifest a change of some sort…whether that be physically moving out, going on a vacation/traveling, going out more or just a genuine change in your everyday life; i’m happy to say that you will be receiving that! you’ve been slowly but surely focusing on yourself and nourishing your mind, body and soul. you’re now starting to realize that you can accomplish anything you set your mind to…you might be seeing a lot of signs/confirmations like angel numbers, repeating patterns, symbols or animals.

you’re starting to realize that surrender is key - not everything can be in our control and sometimes that’s a tough pill to swallow but that’s just the way of life and it usually works out in our best interest in the long run. a flow of abundance is on its way to you. you can manifest anything you want in this lifetime, it just comes down to your mindset and the power of your words. continue to be at ease and let your actions speak for itself, you don’t have to prove or explain yourself to anyone. you’re on the brink of success and it’s coming in fast, just make sure to always stay grounded and remember where you came from. heavy is the head that wears the crown; you know what you’re capable of and what you deserve so don’t let the pressure and weight of life hold you down. keep moving forward, it’s all going to work out in your favor.

pile three.

pile 333 i just wanna give y'all a hug 🥲 y'all are really going through it right now. heavy water sign energy. do y'all have any pisces, cancer or scorpio in your chart? i get the sense of someone laying in bed…just staring at the ceiling like why? why me? you're trying to process a lot of intense emotions and center your energy, but it's taking a toll on you right now. you feel very alone and and unsure if you can talk to anyone about this. not even trying to be funny, but yeah it's giving existential crisis barbie.

if you've seen the ‘barbie’ movie, you know the scene where barbie just gives up and lays down flat on the ground and they're like "she's not dead. she's just having an existential crisis." 😃 real AF but no no no you gotta quiet down your mind. you can 100% feel and process your way through these emotions, but don't let them take control over you and make you feel like you’re doing something wrong or like you’re not doing enough – release that negative energy! i feel like your mind is going a mile per minute, and you can’t even form a rational thought without getting upset. in terms of your manifestation, i feel like you’re really craving love right now. you’re ready to go out there and bag the person of your dreams, but your guides just want you to first take this time to quiet your mind and trust in them & second believe that love is going to find you no matter what. don’t force it…don’t question it — believe it.

you could’ve had a couple of instances where you thought it was the real thing, but it turned out to be really disappointing and not what you wanted. that’s your spirit guides telling you that you can’t force it. this new relationship will find you naturally and it will be everything you’ve ever dreamed of plus more! this person will not only be your lover, but they’ll be your best friend and your confidant. you will feel absolutely liberated and comfortable to take on any challenge with them by your side. however, you need to let this wave of emotions pass and understand that what’s meant for you will NEVER pass you. you got this my pile 333's 🦋 it will be in reach soon.

[yexthiccxa]

Secrets of the Second Shift - (Part 1)

summary: By day, you are a strong, independent, and dominating force at a successful tech company. By night, you live a second life as an escort at Blinded Bliss, a high-end hostess club. Here you relinquish every ounce of control you hold during the day. It isn’t about the money—you don’t need it. You’re there because you crave freedom of letting go. But when you meet a mysterious client leaves you wanting more, you discover his hidden life might be more similar to yours than you think.

wordcount: 4.7k

full fic c/w: choso smut, choso/fem!reader, choso/oc, modern!au, some plot, plot what plot, porn with plot, gentleman!choso, soft!choso, praise kink, blindfold sex, oral, fingering, vaginal sex, enemies to lovers, fingering, oral, multiple orgasms

Tumblr Master List | Read this chapter on AO3!

✦✧✸✧✦ 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT ✦✧✸✧✦

This week has been long, the type of week where minutes feel like hours and hours feel like days. It’s thirty minutes to five and each tick of the second hand feels like it’s crawling to meet the finish line. Thankfully it’s Friday—the one day a week where you can let loose and finally feel free.

The thought of this type of bliss only brings forth anticipation, but before you can even think of turning off for the week, an email hits your inbox and your stomach drops.

Subject: Acquisition Notice - Zenin Tech & CurseCore Solutions 

It’s from Naoya Zenin, your manager—charismatic enough to climb the corporate ladder, but smothered with an ego that thrives on undermining the women around him. You click on the email with disdain written all over your face.

As you may have heard, Zenin Tech Inc. has successfully acquired CurseCore Solutions. Their team will be joining ours, and we will be having a team meeting to discuss logistics and the integration of both companies first thing Monday morning. Please be prepared for the transition and be ready to contribute to the planning process. I expect full cooperation from everyone.

You read it again, trying to process the information but the words blur your mind. You knew this acquisition was going to happen, but not this soon—just weeks before your promotion. This was supposed to be your moment, but knowing the financial state of the company, this would push the review cycle and send everything into chaos.

Your heart sinks as the frustration rises within you. Naoya’s name alone sends a ripple of irritation through your veins. It’s no secret that he never plays fair. But this, this is personal. Your promotion was in the bag, and now? Now it’ll be anyone’s game, and you’re not willing to let that go.

The anger boils over, and before you can talk yourself down, you're already standing in front of Naoya’s office door. Your fist knocks sharply against the wood, and you don’t even wait for a response before you enter.

Naoya doesn’t look up from his desk as you storm in, his eyes still glued to the screen. His usual self-satisfied smirk is plastered on his face.

“You have 2 minutes. I’m about to pack up,” he states—voice laced with annoyance as he finally glances up.

“This is going to mess with everything and you know it” you snap, unable to hold back the frustration anymore. “I’ve spent months in this uphill battle with you trying to build this product and this entire team with the shitshow that you handed me. And now we’ll have to bring on all these people who have absolutely no idea what they’re doing?”

Naoya’s gaze turns cold, and he leans back in his chair with the casual arrogance that makes you want to slap him. “What can I say, the company came with a great manager and his team was the deal breaker. It’s just business.”

My jaw dropped to the floor. No words could describe the rage that coursed through me.

“If you’re as good as you think you are, your promotion will still come through. If you think CurseCore’s manager is a threat, then maybe you should reevaluate,” Naoya sneered.

You narrow your eyes, knowing this is just another attempt to reclaim his power. The words linger in the air between you, unspoken but clear: try all you want, a woman like you could never reach the top.

You force a smile, tight-lipped and brittle. "We'll see about that, Naoya."

With that, you turn on your heel and leave, your mind racing. This felt like you were climbing a slippery slope, but you’ve worked too hard to let him win. Determination fills your heart and you’ll do whatever it takes to secure your place.

As soon as you step out of the office, you close your eyes for a moment, drawing a slow, deep breath to center yourself. The anger you feel from the encounter with Naoya is just a shadow, fleeting and unimportant. You can’t afford to let it control you. Life working at Zenin Tech was only half the battle. The other half outside of work is a whole other story.

As you pack up your belongings and make your way to the car, you feel your shoulders lighten and the furrow between your brows soften.

Outside of the office, you’re not the sharp, dominating force who claws her way through Zenin Tech. Instead you’re the woman who offers herself to the thrilling sensations that await you behind the platinum doors of Blinded Bliss—a high-end club where clients come to indulge in everything they can’t have in their daily lives. Here, your power comes from relinquishing control.

You could say Blinded Bliss is a hostess club, and you could call yourself an escort, but it doesn’t feel anything like that. You don’t do it for the money—thankfully Naoya pays you enough to keep you stable. What you truly do it for is the escape. For once in your life, it’s a space where you don’t have to fight for every inch of respect. You can just exist and bliss naturally follows—plus, getting paid a little extra never hurts.

You walk through the platinum doors and take comfort in the entryway’s soft curves and dim lighting. The transition in your demeanor is always a smooth one. The change of clothes, the makeup, the deliberate shift in posture. By day, you are calculated, efficient, in charge—but by night, you are dripping in sexual prowess.

Your manager, Satoru Gojo, meets you as soon as you walk in. His presence is immediately soothing, as always. If there’s anything Satoru knows how to do, it’s how to take care of his girls. 

“Ah, there she is—one of my favorites,” Satoru croons.

“You say that about all your girls,” you playfully chuckle.

Blinded Bliss may have started out as your typical hostess club, but Satoru has turned it into something that feels out of the norm. While client satisfaction at the club is important, your satisfaction is non-negotiable . No scrubs, no duds, only suitable matches allowed for each of the girls—otherwise they’re banned until a new recruit comes along who can match your style. After all, what else can you give a man who has all the money in the world? Apparently nothing, except the satisfaction of knowing how and who will pleasure his girls.

"Big night," Satoru says, his eyes sparkling behind his signature blindfold. "We’ve got high rollers on the client list, and I’ll be handling your sales personally this time around.”

You smile, the tension in your chest loosening.

Typically everyone switches off when it comes to sales negotiations and matching clients—one girl acts as the sales assistant, while the other presents herself in the hot seat. When a deal is made the sales assistant may step away.

It’s always nice when Satoru’s in charge. His easy confidence makes you feel like you can just relax and let everything else fade away. The world of Zenin Tech, the pressure of the job, the promotion—none of it matters here.

After getting ready, you head to your assigned room and Satoru greets you at the door, “Welcome my dear, your throne awaits.” He opens up to allow you in first and follows shortly behind you.

The room is large enough to house various drawers, a vanity desk and cloud cushioned loveseat, but still small enough to feel cozy and intimate. The walls are dark with leather clad panels that bounce off waves of diffused lighting (and provide excellent soundproofing). One end of the room features a mirror that practically spans the entire wall. The other has a bed, the hot seat , with a canopy frame—which looks like it’s meant for decor, but is not-so-secretly meant for restraints.

You make your way to the bed and brush your fingers against the delicate blindfold you’ll wear for the night.

“New set?” you ask Satoru.

“Like I said, we’ve got some heavy hitters tonight—needed to do a little refresh. Plus this one is thicker so you can truly see what I see—or rather don’t see.” Satoru’s words feel like velvet. 

He picks up the black cloth and ties to cover your eyes. Your view instantly turns black and you feel your mouth tug into a slight grin.

The warmth of his breath hovers over your neck as he unties your robe, revealing your supple breasts and smooth curves. Satoru gently slips it off your shoulders and your nipples begin to harden—whether it be from straight arousal or the cool air surrounding you, you’re unsure.

“Tonight, just focus on how you feel ,” he whispers. “...and let me handle the rest.” He kisses your forehead and directs you to the edge of bed.

You’ve done this dance with Satoru countless times, but each time, the sense of anticipation still rushes through you. All you have to do now is wait.

Satoru makes his way to the seat of the vanity desk to your left and you hear his muffled voice speak into his mic, “Let’s begin.”

✦✧✸✧✦

The sound of a creaking door filling the room and heavy footsteps settling in lets you know that bids have started. You can sense each client’s presence, their eyes on you—evaluating, appraising—despite the blindfold shielding you from their gaze.

Normally, the thought might unnerve you, but here in this room, a sense of calm washes over you. Though he may sit silently, you know Satoru is doing the exact same thing to them. He’s been with enough women and men to know what constitutes the best of the best.

He tells you when someone is particularly interested, but none of them have what he’s looking for. Not yet. There is occasional back and forth questioning, but he ultimately rejects the first few—his commentary light but cutting.

“Pass. Too boring.”

“Too aggressive.”

“Nope—aura’s all wrong for you.”

“Could use a little work—visually.”

Finally, the door opens with a slight creak, and a new presence fills the room. The energy is different this time—sharp, commanding, but strangely composed. 

“Hmm.” Was that Satoru’s hum of approval? Intrigue? Or Both? 

The silence shifts as you feel someone approaching.

“Haven’t seen you around town,” Satoru starts. “Passing by?”

You hear a male’s voice, his tone is low and rich. “No, I’m new—just moved here for work.”

“Welcome, we’re so delighted to see you here tonight. What do you do for work?”

“I work in tech—you can say I always keep busy. But while I’d love to chat, I seem to be a bit distracted. I think we have more important things to focus on." You’re still seeing black, but you sense him shifting his gaze. "Like the gorgeous woman who’s in front of us.”

He makes his way towards you. His footsteps are deliberate, and before you can register the sudden tension, you feel him pause. “May I?”

Typically clients direct their questions to Satoru, but you feel the rumble of his voice flow straight to you.

You tilt your chin upwards to signal your agreement, exposing the area between your neck and collarbone. 

As you feel the man motion towards you, Satoru interjects, “Above the waist only—below will cost you.”

Your senses tell you that his focus never wavers. Despite the cover over your eyes you feel the heat of his gaze burn right through you.

His voice is tender, but resolute, “Oh no worries, I have every intention of following through, but first…”

Goosebumps crawl across your skin as you feel his breath nearing. But to your surprise, you feel his hand gently take yours. His grip is comforting and steady. He runs his thumb gently across your knuckles before pausing directly on the three delicate stars tattooed between your thumb and pointer finger—a reminder that no matter what path you’ve chosen, the stars will always align for you.

His lips press a delicate, respectful kiss into your skin. “Such a pleasure to meet you today,” his voice is low, but clear.

There’s something about him—something both powerful and unnervingly calm—that makes you shiver. Even Satoru seems to pause for a moment, his usual playful demeanor slipping just enough to notice the shift.

This is no ordinary client.

“Love, why don’t we give the man a taste?” Satoru’s cue to move to the next phase.

“Gladly,” you purr as a devious smile sweeps across your face.

You feel the mystery man kneel down towards your center. The thought immediately tightens your core, causing yourself to drip with desire, but you stop him just short of his destination.

Your hands meet his hair, but you notice that your fingers are blocked from running them through. You feel one…no—two, hair ties around his hair and gently guide him up until your breaths mingle and your foreheads touch. “No need to rush, we’ll have all the time in the world for that.”

“Forgive me,” he apologizes. His words are not guarded, accepting of the fact that good things come to those who wait.

The man’s head nudges as the sound of Satoru scraping his seat across the room fills the quiet air.

“Take a seat and you can have a taste. Play your cards right and you’ll get your fill.” Satoru directed to the man, his tone slightly edged with menace. Satoru takes a spot next to you at the edge of the bed and it’s your cue to open your legs.

You scoot back just enough to have your heels rest on the edge and knees bent above—giving the man a full display of all you have to offer.

“Such a pretty little pussy you have there,” the man murmurs—each word sending a wave of ecstasy to your folds.

You tilt your head slightly towards Satoru to signal that you’re ready. Within milliseconds you feel Satoru’s slender fingers swipe the pool of liquid resting on your flesh and bring it towards your clit. The initial shock sends chills, but the sensation is hot to your core.

A quiet moan escapes as he circles the sensitive area of your body. Without a second thought, you take your hand, the one still warm from the mystery man’s kiss, and gently slide two fingers in and out of your entrance—perfectly matching Satoru’s pace. You two have mastered this song and dance. Countless attempts with only a handful of successes.

Your breath becomes shallow and hurried while your insides begin to coil. Heat builds from within and each touch gets you closer and closer to your peak.

Your craving for desire causes your naughty inner thoughts to leave your mouth, “Satoru I love when you touch me like that.”

Satoru loves this tactic because it makes or breaks each man who comes through this room. He lives to prey on each client's unique mix of power or vulnerability. Do they become impatient, possessive, and retaliate? Uncomfortable, uneasy, and eventually break? Or do they simply remain secure and patient knowing that whatever Satoru does to pleasure you, they can do it ten times better?

When you hear the subtle thud of the man leaning onto the back rest of his seat, you know you have a winner.

Silence fills the room as he watches—eyes locking onto each stroke. His hums echo your moans every time he sees the wetness cling to your fingers. You could feel him studying every bit of you—the way your star tattoos flex with every pulse, the way your pussy twitches when Satoru strokes your clit. Your yearning for lust only leaves him wanting more.

“I could watch you do this all day,” his voice carries a smoky edge.

You feel a steady pull in the air, the energy swirling between the two of you. Without a word, Satoru yields, his approval evident in the subtle lift of his hands. You follow his lead, lift your own and gesture to the man in front of you. Are you ready to have a taste? You don't need to speak—he's been waiting for this since the moment he set his sights on you.

Despite your lack of vision, you can hear the faint rustle of fabric and his steady breathing draws closer. Finally, the warmth of his mouth closes around your fingers, sucking every last bit until he’s satiated. “You truly do taste as good as you look” he praised.

You smile and sense Satoru’s nod of approval. The air is cool around you as he lifts himself off the bed and makes his way to the door. “Enjoy,” he croons as he departs from the room.

The door clicks and you realize you two are finally left alone. 

As he releases the hold from his lips, the man moves towards you. You feel the warmth of his body guide your back onto the bed. The faint scent of his cologne—spiced and earthy—fills your lungs, grounding you even as your heart races. You can almost feel the weight of his gaze on you, dragging across your skin like a whisper. The intensity sends a shiver down your spine and an ache between your thighs.

“Does he always make you feel that good?” the man asks. His teasing tone suggests that he already knows the answer.

You feel your brows lift and get ready to challenge, “Think you can do better—”

Before you can finish your thought, you feel his grip secure your waist and his lips press against your neck. The instant heat that floods through you tells you everything you need to know.

As the initial shock settles, he kisses his way down to your collarbone while his hands slide towards your folds. His hands are strong, and his fingers are thick. Even the slightest swipe causes you to whimper.

He slowly glides two fingers into your entrance, filling every crevice with erotic delight. The feeling curls through your stomach and radiates to the tip of your toes. If his hands could make you feel this way, there's no telling what other parts of him could do.

You’ve felt the touch of many men but something tells you that this one is not like the others. His touch is commanding, yet not aggressive. His cadence is gentle yet still purposeful. It’s as if he’s giving his everything, but with only your pleasure in mind and asking for nothing in return.

“Oh fuck, yes, ” you moan loudly—grateful for the sound proofed walls. You ride his fingers in hopes of him going deeper.

“You’re so fucking wet. Do you like it when I do this to your pussy?” The timbre of his voice vibrates through you.

Your lips part, but no words come out—they’re caught in the tension coiled tight between you. All you can do is let your touch roam his body. His arms were honed to perfection, his chest solid and firm, his abs defined and sculpted, all reflecting the build of a mythical god. You don’t need to see him to visualize this beautiful man and all the filthy things he could do to you.

The silence draws a chuckle from him—soft, rich, and entirely too confident . How could he not be? Every move left you speechless.

“No words? I’ll take that as a yes.”

His rhythm doesn’t cease, but you feel his warmth drift away, gradually moving towards the lower half of your body.

“If you enjoy that, I have a feeling you’ll love this even more.”

He situates himself right in between your legs, planting kisses on the insides of your thighs. As he works his way towards the center you feel your body climb to its peak.

The first touch of his lips sucking against your clit immediately sends your body into euphoria. From there, his tongue and hands work in tandem to pleasure you in ways you didn’t know you could comprehend. His mouth is wet and warm—mixing with your fluids to effortlessly slide his fingers inside and out. Each stroke builds upon the last, until you're on the brink of eruption. 

Your back arches, causing you to grab hold of the ties on his hair, momentarily pinning him as close as you can get him. You continue to savor the pleasure by grinding against his tongue. “Fuck, that feels so good. I’m so close,” you cry in delight.

The grip your thighs have on him grows tighter by the second, but he lifts his head just enough to whisper into you, “Yes that’s it. Louder. Let me know how much you need it.”

His words spark a fire and immediately send you into a spiral. Your moans intensify, growing louder, more insistent and raw.

“Oh yes, don’t stop—F-fuck, don’t stop.”  

In a final crash—the tides of ecstasy flow through you as you come undone and lose control. You feel your entire body shudder as he slips himself in for one last time. His tongue keeps moving but his strokes pause so he can feel your inner walls pulsate against his fingers. Your thighs clench around him as you let out a symphony of pleasure. 

When you release him from your hold, he kisses his way back up your body—ending his trail with a kiss that claims your lips with undeniable authority. He pulls away—you get the feeling that he’s trying to get a good look at you, but you grip his collar and bring him back to echo your claim. 

Your tongue travels through his mouth, allowing you to taste the subtle notes yourself coming undone. He catches a nibble of your lip while he grabs your ass. Instantly, you melt. The ache between your legs returns and it longs to be filled. You do everything you can to strip him down until you can feel his length graze your skin.

In all your time at Blinded Bliss, you’ve never cared to see or get to know your clients. Usually the blindfold comes off at their request, never yours. But today, you want this man—no, need this man. At this point, there’s not a single ounce of decency or control left in your brain. All that’s left is your body’s desire to test the limits and see who this man is and how good he can make you feel.

Between the tumbling to undress and the ravenous kissing, you momentarily break the connection between your lips. His breath felt hot as you both lingered for a moment.

Instinctively you asked, “Am I able to see the man who’s been keeping me in the dark or will all of this remain a mystery? 

“Hmm, someone is becoming a bit hasty, I see,” he teases—placing one more delicate kiss onto your lips. “Personally, I enjoy anonymity,” he whispers—fingers traveling back down to your slit. He buries his head into your neck before returning his exploration of your mouth with his tongue.

“Are you scared I won’t like what I see?” You smirk.

He pauses, deliberately sliding the trickle from your center onto your clit—echoing Satoru’s move from earlier that drove you crazy. “On the contrary, I think you might like it a little too much —or so I’ve been told.” his tone laced with a low, modest confidence.

Between the rumble in his voice and his movements on your clit. This man sends you in a complete frenzy. 

“But that’s not the point,” He continues. “Keeping it like this means no pressure. No attachments. No strings. Just us in the moment–and this .” He plunges two broad fingers deep inside you, stretching you from the inside.

You try to speak but your words come out breathless. “For the record, I’ve come across many individuals with bold claims. I can assure you that you don’t have to worry about me getting attached.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you—I’m worried about me.”

Butterflies in your stomach form, keeping you irresistibly drawn to him. Though he remains unseen, you feel the prolonged connection of his gaze.

He finally moves to position himself to your side. You feel him pull away as if he’s extending his reach, unfazed as the tip of his flesh grazes across your thigh.

No stay, please. You whimper as the needy thought crosses your mind. You’ve become addicted to his touch and will do anything to keep him close. Little do you know, he has the same idea.

The distinct crinkle of a condom wrapper fills the room as it falls to the floor. Moments later his warm touch lands on your knees, gently guiding your legs further apart until he can fit in between them. You feel him tease your entrance and instantly begin to gush.

The shock turns your whimpers into moans. “Fuck, please—” you plead, shifting your hips to show him just how much you crave him.

“For someone so eager to see what's going on, something tells me you’re enjoying the suspense a lot more” he quips.

His remark leaves you speechless, but so impeccably turned on.

“Do you want me to fill you with this dick?” He growls.

“Yes—” you breathe. “Please—”

His dick enters you, causing a momentary flash of pain as you adjust to his size. You don’t know how big he is, but if his hands were any indicator, you know that this is only the beginning.

“God you’re so tight,” he grits as if he’s trying to hold back his own release.

He slowly slides into you and you can’t help but moan as your pussy takes him inch by inch.

“That’s my good girl, we’re almost there.” His grip on your waist tightens, making you feel safe as he draws closer to you.

There’s more? He’s already budging against your cervix and you don’t know if you can take the rest.

When the gap between you closes, you exhale—feeling completely filled by his shaft. Your body is searing with pleasure but you try to hold back the tension winding up inside of you.

He rhythmically thrusts himself into you, filling the air with nothing but the sound of your skin slapping against each other. He palms your breast, rubbing the knot of your nipple which causes you to release a cascade of shaky whimpers. You knew this was coming, but you weren’t prepared for the euphoria it would bring.

His breath becomes labored, but the way he glides in and out tells you that he’s enjoying himself. “Fuck—you feel so good. I can’t believe I get to fuck this pretty little pussy.”

Unraveling, there’s no other word for it. You’re starting to unravel and you can’t control yourself.

Without warning, you feel his other hand grab yours—moving it towards your mound. He keeps his hand over yours, resting his thumb gently over your tattoo. as he guides you to massage your clit. This definitely doesn’t stop you from coming undone, but at least he’s giving you back the sense of control you secretly yearn for.

“I’m so close, I think I’m gonna come,” you cry out.

“Show me how beautiful you look when you come,” he replies.

His vibrating timbre triggers your release. Once again a surge of pleasure washes over you, like a flood of light piercing through the darkness of your blindfold. Every nerve in your body seems to come alive, a warmth spreading from your core to your fingertips. 

“F—fuck yes, I’m coming!”

His breath is unsteady but his tone does not waver, “Come for me.”

You feel him jerk his hips for a final thrust until you both become a mess of pulsating flesh. Your insides are milking every last bit of him and he roars with desire. After fully draining himself into you, the weight of his body covers you—the firmness of his chest contrasting the softness of yours. The moment settles and you feel your breaths gradually syncing to a calm rhythm.

You both lay in silence until he finally lets out a deflated sigh. 

What was that—disappointment? Frustration? Regret? Your stomach turns, but not in a good way. “Is everything ok?” you ask.

He lets out a nervous chuckle—more a release of tension than humor. “So much for no strings,” he mutters, almost to himself. “This is gonna be harder than I thought and we've only just begun.” Hmm, attached so soon?

Clients getting attached isn’t new; in fact, it’s honestly great for business. You’ve heard this sentiment countless before. But this time, something feels different. For the first time, you’re scared you might agree.

[goths4gambit]

Hi! Could you possibly write a Bg3 fanfic where Tav comes out as a trans male to the rest of the party? (Astarion, Gale, Halsin, ect.) Preferably he was already fully transitioned and tells them about his past. Maybe someone in town calls Tav by his deadname and the party is confused so Tav explains and it’s slightly angsty at first but ends super fluffy?

Sorry if that’s too much to work with, lol

Hello! I'm so sorry this is so late. :( I have been insanely busy, plus some not-so-awesome stuff happened! But I can get to my requests now! I hope this is what you were hoping for!

(Im also trans, so kinda writing this from a POV of how I feel after this happens.) 

(The main scenario in this will be the same, but the character's reactions will be different)

(Also very sorry if this wasn’t exactly what was wanted:’])

Triggers: Transphobia (But comfort and fluff at the end!!)

Pairings: BG3 Male Companions x reader 

It was supposed to be a normal day in Baldur's Gate, a typical, simple day in Baldur's Gate to restock supplies, so why did it have to turn out like this? Hearing his dead name yelled at him in the middle of the day while they were walking around, how did they even recognize him like this? The walls felt like they were closing in, but he had to just play it off. he felt the curious glances from his companions, but they didn’t outright say anything at that moment until they got to camp…

ASTARION:

“Well... I'd say that was an eventful outing, hm?” he spoke, setting down a few of the things they had bought beside his bedroll. He was trying to keep a light mood in the air; however, when his eyes landed on your quiet and tense form, his smile fell, “Do you… Want to get something off your chest?” 

Silence was what his words were met with until he snapped you out of it again with a concerned look and genuine care in his eyes, “Darling, if you’re worried we’ll judge you, you don’t need to worry about that, look at the group of weirdos we all are.” He spoke softly without his normal teasing tone.

“I don’t know” he replied to Astarion in such a quiet voice, “I feel like I need to explain but I don’t know where to start either” He looked down at his feet quietly, Astarion sat quietly beside him with a soft sigh, “Listen, I can’t begin to act like I understand what you’re going through darling but you must realize im here for you, and as much as I don’t wish to admit it,” he paused for a moment, “I love you.”, he glanced at astarion quietly and just silently leaned into him. That night, they both just enjoyed a moment together of silence and comfort, even if he didn’t fully explain what Astarion understood.

GALE: 

When they got back to camp, Gale was talking about some books he found in town that day, he knew something was off with reader even before they got back, however distraction he thought was the best solution until he suddenly saw the silent tears falling down his face, he immediately went quiet and walked over. 

“My love?” he spoke, his voice filled with concern, and he gently sat beside him in the tent, when no response came from his lips, Gale gently cupped his hands around the other man’s face. 

“My love, please speak to me.” A choked sob escaped his lips at Gale’s words, but he finally managed to stumble out the words, “Im sorry..- I just- I didn’t want that to come out like that, and now im just I-” He paused when another sob escaped his lips.

Gale quietly listened to the anxiety-ridden words falling from his mouth, but then he silently hugged him. “My love, I don’t care..I don’t care who you used to be, I care about you now.”

WYLL: 

I couldn’t do it anymore, I stumbled back to camp, everything felt too overwhelming, it was all too much, why did that have to happen? I managed to keep it so secret, I managed to not let anyone know, and now- 

“I know that look, lover, nobody in this camp views you any differently.” he gently took his hand into his own and spun him gently,

He subconsciously leaned into Wyll, just needing the support after what happened in town. 

“Wyll- thank you,” he spoke softly, and Wyll flashed him a gentle smile,

“No need to thank me, I want you to know im here no matter what, no matter who you are.” 

The rest of the night was spent with kind words, and gentle touches of comfort.

HALSIN:

Disappearing into the woods right after getting back into camp was not supposed to be the plan, however after everything that happened it was all too overwhelming and too much for him, so he disappeared not knowing a certain druid followed him, the walk through the forest to the stream was relaxing enough but all he could think about was the stares from his companions he knew they weren’t negative stares, but they still didn’t feel good. He sat silently beside the stream's edge on a rock until he heard a branch snap behind him. He jolted to look behind him, but was greeted by the sight of a bear. Not thinking much, he just sighed and looked back down at the stream until he heard the familiar voice,

“My heart, is everything alright..? Shadowheart told me you ran off in this direction.”

Not looking up, he just curled closer into himself, “No..im fine- I don’t know why she is so concerned..” he whispered. he felt Halsin sit down and gently grab his hand. He looked at their hands intertwined, and something in that moment just broke; he couldn’t stop the tears that fell down his face silently. 

“I-I don’t know anymore, I wish that didn’t happen- and I just-” He stopped talking to try and catch his breath, but it was all so overwhelming, Halsin didn’t need any more words and just silently took him into his arms.

[leviitome]

5 — After | Suguru Geto

AO3 / Masterlist / Moodboard

EDITED | COMPLETED

Wordcount: 3.7k

cw: 18+, mature audiences only.

Minors DNI.

Newly promoted and chronically late, you unknowingly take the last elevator available to only the highest-ranking executives and apparently, it's him. Suguru Geto. Who promises himself to give you, your exhausted, frustrated self, some type of relief every time you take his elevator.

The HR conference room feels sterile under the fluorescent lights, all beige walls and corporate motivational posters that ring hollow in moments like this. You sit across from Suguru at the long table, maintaining professional distance even though every instinct tells you to reach for his hand. 

Shoko Ieiri from HR adjusts her glasses, a stack of policy documents spread before her like evidence in a trial. Ijichi sits to her left, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, as always. The third person at the table is someone you don’t recognize, a stern-faced man from Legal whose presence makes your stomach clench. 

“Thank you both for coming.” Ieiri begins, her tone carefully neutral. “I’m sure you understand why we’re here.” 

Suguru speaks first, his voice steady. “We do. And we’d like to address this directly rather than dance around it.” 

“Go ahead.” 

You take a breath, finding your voice. 

“Suguru and I have developed a personal relationship outside of work hours.” A partial lie. “We understand this creates complications given our professional dynamic and we’re committed to finding a solution that works for everyone. 

The Legal representative, his nameplate reads K. Nanami–leans forward. “The concern isn’t just about complications. There are liability issues, potential claims of favoritism or a hostile work environment. When there’s a clear power imbalance–” 

“I understand,” Suguru interrupts smoothly. “Which is why we’re here to discuss alternatives, not to defend something that clearly violates policy as it currently stands.” 

Ieiri nods approvingly. “What kind of alternatives did you have in mind?” 

“Transfer one of us to a different department,” you suggest. “Remove the direct reporting relationship entirely.” 

“That’s… actually reasonable,” Ijichi admits, sounding surprised. “We do have an opening in Strategic Development. Same level, same pay grade, but different chain of command.” 

You feel something ease in your stomach, “I’d be interested in that position.” 

“It would mean working more closely with external clients,” Ieiri explains. “More travel, different responsibilities. Are you sure you’re prepared for that change?” 

“Yes.” The answer comes without hesitation. You’ve already risked everything, what’s a little more change?

Nanami makes notes on his legal pad. “We would need to establish clear boundaries. No interaction beyond what’s professionally necessary during work hours. Separate projects, separate meetings when possible, and certainly separate elevators.” He eyes you both sternly. A familiar knot forms in your stomach, forcing you to look down in shame. Suguru takes notice and his jaw clenches. 

“And outside of work?” Suguru asks. 

“Outside of work, you’re both adults,” Ieiri says carefully. “But any hint that your personal relationship is affecting workplace dynamics, client relationships, or team morale, we will have to revisit this conversation.” 

The meeting continues for another twenty minutes, covering documentation, transition timelines, and the kind of corporate liability language that makes your head spin and your eyes glaze over. But the core message is clear: they’re willing to make this work. And you couldn’t be more relieved. 

As you all stand to leave, Nanami adds one final comment. “For what it’s worth, the fact that you came forward proactively rather than making us discover this through complaints or incidents… or even denying it simply, it speaks well for both of your characters.” 

-

Three weeks later, you’re settling into your new office in the Strategic Development wing. It’s smaller than your previous space, but the work is engaging—more creative, more client-facing, more aligned with where you’d eventually wanted your career to go anyway. 

The transition hasn’t been seamless. There were awkward moments the first week when you’d instinctively head toward the fourth elevator, muscle memory from months of routine. Colleagues asking casual questions about the sudden change in department. Learning new systems, new team dynamics, new responsibilities. 

But there are unexpected benefits too. Your new supervisor is brilliant and supportive in ways that feel refreshing after navigating the politics of the executive floor. The work challenges you differently, stretches skills you’d forgotten you had. 

And the best part? No one here knows a damn thing about you and Suguru. No whispers, no knowing looks, no weight of shared secrets. You’re just the new Strategic Development specialist who’s surprisingly good at client presentations. 

The hardest part is the distance. Suguru is only three floors up, but it might as well be three cities. Your text conversations are limited to logistics–when to meet, where to go, careful not to leave digital trails that could be misinterpreted if anyone ever cared to look. Everything about you two when it comes to the workplace has been all about strategic, and stolen moments feel more precious now. You share brief encounters in the lobby when your schedules align. Careful smiles across crowded conference rooms during company-wide meetings. The thrill of secrecy has been replaced by something deeper and connected–the satisfaction of choosing something real over something easy. 

There’s no guilt anymore. 

-

It’s already been six months since the transfer when Suguru texts you on a Thursday evening: Free tonight? Want to cook for you. 

You’re at your desk, finishing up a client proposal that’s due tomorrow, but the message makes you smile. Your place or mine? 

Mine. I’ll pick you up at 7. 

I can drive myself. 

I know. I want to pick you up. 

The distinction matters now in ways it didn’t before. Every gesture feels more chosen and intentional. You’re not just fucking your boss in secret, you’re building something that exists outside the building entirely. 

Suguru’s apartment is a sleek high-rise downtown, all floor-to-ceiling windows and modern furniture that probably costs more than your monthly rent. You’ve been here a handful of times now, but it still feels surreal, like playing house in someone else’s life. 

“How was your day?” he asks, taking your jacket and hanging it in the closet. The gesture makes your chest feel all warm and you smile at him appreciatively. 

“Good. Challenging. Gojo has me leading the Henderson account presentation next week.” 

“That’s huge.” His pride is genuine, uncomplicated by the workplace politics that used to color everything. “Henderson’s a major client.” 

“I know. I’m scared.” 

“You’ll do great.” He guides you to the kitchen, something that smells incredible is simmering on the stove. 

You settle onto one of the bar stools, watching him move around the kitchen with surprising competence. This domestic side of Suguru still catches you off guard, the man who commands boardrooms and has his own elevator, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce with the same focused attention he brings to everything else. 

“I’ve been thinking,” he says, not looking up from the cutting board. 

“About?” 

“About us, and how well this is working. The separation, I mean. It’s been good for us.” 

You shift in your seat to make yourself comfortable. “You sound surprised.” 

“I am, a little. I thought it would be harder. Not seeing you every day, not being able to…” He glances up, something heated flickering in your eyes. You nod and laugh. 

“The elevator sessions?” 

“Among other things.” His smile is soft, fond. “But this feels more real. We’re not sneaking around anymore.” 

You nod, listening to him. 

Suguru sets down the knife, giving you his full attention. “When we were sneaking around at work, there was always this element of inevitably. Like we were caught in something we couldn’t control. But this, choosing to be together when we don’t have to be, when there’s no forbidden thrill driving it, it feels different, a good different.” 

You know what he means. The urgency has been replaced by something steadier, more sustainable. The hunger is still there, but it’s something accompanied by genuine affection, by the kind of comfort that comes from actually knowing someone beyond the confines of stolen moments. 

The timer goes off, and he turns back to the stove, but not before catching your hand before bringing it to his lips. The gesture is casual, easy, the kind of unconscious intimacy that speaks to how naturally you’ve settled into this. 

Dinner is excellent, some kind of pasta with homemade sauce that makes you think he stole the recipe from his mother. You eat at his dining table, city lights flickering beyond the windows, conversation flowing easily between work stories and weekend plans and the kind of mundane details that somehow feel significant when shared with the right person. 

“I have something to tell you,” Suguru says as you’re clearing the dishes. He leans against the doorframe at the end of the kitchen as he watches you. 

Something in his tone makes you pause. “Good something or bad something?” 

“Good something. I think.” He walks near you and leans against the counter now, suddenly looking less certain. “I got offered a position. Different company, but a really big step up. Senior VP of Operations.” 

Your heart does something complicated. “That’s… wow. That’s incredible, Suguru. When?” 

“The offer came in yesterday. I haven’t responded yet.” 

“Why not?” 

He’s quiet for a moment, studying your face. “Because it would mean relocating to Tokyo. And because I wanted to talk to you about it first.” 

The words hang between you, loaded with implication. You set down the plates you’re holding, needing something to do with your hands. 

“Tokyo,” you repeat. 

“I know it’s complicated. Your career is here, your life is here. I’m not asking you to drop everything and follow me. But I also can’t make this decision without knowing where you stand.” 

The honesty in his voice makes your chest tight. A little over a year ago, you were two people sneaking around in elevators. Now he’s considering job offers based on your opinion. The growth feels dizzying. 

“How long do you have to decide?” 

“Two weeks.” 

You nod, processing. “It’s a good opportunity.” 

“The best I’ve been offered. Complete operational oversight for a company twice the size of our current one. It’s everything I’ve been working toward.” 

“Then you should take it.”

The words surprise you just as much as they seem to surprise him. “Just like that?” 

“Just like that.” You move closer, reaching up to touch his face. “Suguru, this is your career. Your future. I won’t be the reason you turn down such a great opportunity.” 

“And what about us?” 

The question you’ve been avoiding since he started talking. You take a breath, finding courage you're not sure you even possess. 

“We’ll figure it out. Maybe I can find something in Tokyo. Maybe we do long-distance for a while. Maybe this is exactly the kind of challenge we need to figure out how serious this really is.” 

His expression shifts, something like wonder replacing the uncertainty. “You’d consider moving?”

“I consider a lot of things.” You smile, “If it means Tokyo, then we figure out Tokyo.” 

The words are out before you can second-guess them, hanging in the air between you like a bridge you can’t uncross. You’ve never said something without carefully thinking about it before, it feels strange. 

Suguru’s response is immediate and wordless, his mouth on yours in a split second. He cups your face like you’re something precious. The kiss is soft and reverent. 

You laugh, surprising yourself. The sound is bright and genuine. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He rests his forehead against yours. 

You kiss him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of possibility lingering in his mouth. When you break apart, the future feels less daunting. 

“So,” you say, straightening his collar in a habitual gesture. “Tell me about Tokyo,” 

-

The conversation about Tokyo continues over the next hour, sprawled across his couch with the city painting patterns on the window. You talk about logistics and timelines, career opportunities and cost of living. But underneath the practical considerations is something else, the giddy excitement of planning something together, of choosing each other completely. 

You settle against him, head on his chest, breathing in his scent that’s become your sense of comfort. 

“Can I ask you something?” you say after a few minutes of comfortable silence. 

He nods. 

“That first day, in the elevator. Was it planned? the stopping, the—” 

“No.” You can feel his laugh vibrating through his chest. “God, no. I was genuinely just going to the ground floor. But then you walked in looking like you were about to fall apart from stress, and something about the way you held yourself together, I knew I had to do something instead of just admiring you from afar.” 

You think about yourself in that elevator months ago, frazzled, insecure, desperate to prove herself. You feels like a different person now, someone you remember fondly but have outgrown. 

“I should probably head home soon,” you say, though you make no move to get up. “Early meeting tomorrow.” 

“Stay,” Suguru says quietly. “Stay tonight.” 

The invitation isn’t new, you’ve spent the night here before, and he’s stayed at your place plenty of times. But something about tonight feels different, it felt more significant. 

“Are you sure?” 

Instead of answering, he shifts beneath you, guiding you to straddle his lap. The movement is fluid and natural, your body already knowing how to fit against his. His hand settles on your hips, thumbs tracing small circles through the fabric of your work dress. 

“I’m sure about everything when it comes to you,” he murmurs, voice rough with want. “All of it.” 

The certainty in his voice makes something flutter in your chest. You lean down to kiss him, slow and deep. His response is immediate, hands sliding up to your back to tangle in your hair. 

The kissing builds gradually, heat simmering between you like it has all evening. There’s no urgency now, no risk of being caught or interrupted. Just the two of you and all the time in the world. 

Suguru’s mouth trails down on your neck, finding that spot just below your ear that makes you gasp. His hands find the zipper at the back of your dress, he slides it down slowly, the sound loud in the quiet room, making you shiver. 

You help him slide the dress off your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist. The air conditioning makes your nipples firm, but it’s the heat in Suguru’s eyes that makes your breath catch.

His hands cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks through the lace of your bra. The touch is gentle, exploratory, like he’s rediscovering familiar territory. 

“Tell me what you want,” Suguru whispers in your ear, voice low. 

“You,” you answer without hesitation.

The honesty seems to break something loose in him. His hands become more urgent, more possessive, pulling you closer until there’s no space between the both of you. You can feel him hard beneath you, pressing against your core through layers of fabric that suddenly feel like too much. 

You grind down against him, relishing the sharp intake of your breath it draws from his lips. His grip on your hips tightens, guiding your movements, creating friction that makes you both groan. 

“Bedroom,” he manages, the word more growl than speech. 

“Here’s good,” you counter, not wanting to break the spell of the moment. 

“Bedroom,” he insists, but his action contradicts his words as his mouth finds your breast, tongue flicking over your nipple through the lace. “I want to spread you out properly. Want to see every inch.” 

The promise in his voice makes you weak. You let him carry you to his bedroom, his mouth focusing all of his attention on your tits. 

The space is dimly lit by the windows, casting everything in soft silver. Suguru turns to face you beside the bed, hands framing your face as he catches your lips again. This time there’s nothing gentle about it, it’s hungry and desperate. 

Your hands work at the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling with urgency. He helps you, shrugging out the fabric and tossing it aside. In the dim light, you can see a landscape of shadow and muscle, and you take a moment to simply appreciate the view. You’re not even bashful about it anymore. 

“Like what you see?” He teases, mouth quirking upward at the sight of you admiring him. 

His hands find the clasp of your bra. Letting it falter down to the side before his mouth is on you once more. You find yourself pinned beneath him, your back pressed into the soft mattress of his bed. His hips nestle between your parted thighs, the hard length of his arousal pressing insistently against your core through the thin fabric. You can feel the heat of his skin radiating on you, the weight of him bringing you into a haze. 

Suguru’s hands roam your curves possessively. His tongue delving past your lips to claim you thoroughly. You moan into the kiss, fingers tangling in his hair that he managed to tie up into a small bun during work hours. You hold him close as you lose yourself in the taste of him. 

The rest of your clothes disappear in a tangle of eager hands and whispers of sweet nothings. When you’re finally bare before him, Suguru takes a step back, eyes drinking in every inch of you. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. 

The reverence in his voice makes you bold. You reach for his belt, fingers working the leather until you can push his pants down his hips. He kicks them aside, and then you’re both exposed, bathed in the small light of the windows. 

Suguru reaches the apex of your thighs, you’re already wet and wanting, body responding to his touch like it was made for this. 

“Suguru,” you gasp as his fingers find your clit, circling with just the right pressure. “Please.” 

“I know, baby,” he cooes, lips brushing your ears. 

He works you with patient skill, fingers and mouth and whispered words of love until you’re writing with pleasure under him, balanced on just the end of release. Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls back, leaving you gasping and desperate. 

This is one of the most frustrating things he does, and now you’re annoyed. You glare up at him, making him smile in a way that makes you know he does this for pure joy and amusement. 

“Not yet,” he says, ignoring your cussing complaints. He settles between your thighs, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re so ready for him that he slides in easily, both of you groaning at the feeling. 

“God,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours. “Every time. Every fucking time,” 

You understand exactly what he means. You make your way towards his shoulders as he begins to move, slow and deep, each thrust delicate and measured. You make eye contact with each other the entirety of the time, never looking away once. 

Suguru’s pace increases, movements becoming more urgent as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, bodies moving in perfect rhythm, everything else fading away until there’s nothing but this. The sound of skin against skin, the whispered endearments, the building pleasure that threatens to consume you both. 

When your orgasm finally crashes over you, it’s with Surugu's name on your lips and his body pressed tight against yours. He follows you over the edge moments later, face buried in your neck as he shudders through his own release. 

Afterward, you lie tangled together in the aftermath, breathing slowly returning to normal. Suguru’s fingers trace lazy patterns on your shoulder, and you can feel his heartbeat gradually slowing beneath your cheek. 

“So,” you say eventually, voice soft in the darkness. “Tokyo?” 

His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Tokyo,” he confirms. “If you’re serious about considering it.” 

“I’m serious about a lot of things.” You say. Smiling sheepishly against his chest. 

“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. 

You close your eyes, already half-asleep, and you let yourself imagine Tokyo. It feels less like an ending, it feels good and legitimate. You’re not running away from anything anymore, you’re chasing life as is. 

-

One year later. 

The Shibuya building is all glass and steel, reaching toward a sky that’s perpetually and devastatingly grey. You’re early today, a luxury you’ve learned to afford yourself since moving to Tokyo a year ago. You decided to live separately from Suguru for now, learning how to adjust to life in a new city without any of his help. It’s good. It builds character. But you don’t let your individuality get in the way of the both of you, so you make efforts to see each other often.

The marble lobby echoes with the click of your heels and the low murmur of conversations in what sounds like three different languages. 

You adjust your blazer, navy this time, paired with a soft silk blouse that actually fits perfectly. 

Your phone buzzes. A text from your colleague. Onecorp team arrived 10 minutes early. Conference room B will be ready in 15. 

Onecorp. Even seeing the company he works for in professional correspondence makes something flutter in your chest, though it’s anticipation now rather than anxiety. 

The elevator bank is busy with the morning rush, but you spot an opening in the fourth elevator just as the doors begin to close. Old habits. You almost feel nostalgic. 

You slip inside and freeze. 

Suguru stands against the back wall, exactly where he always used to position himself. Nothing about him has changed, but you act like you didn’t just eat dinner at his apartment yesterday. He takes note of the bit.

“You’re early,” he says, voice warm with amusement. 

“I’ve been practicing," you reply, the doors slide shut behind you. 

The silence stretches, but it’s different now. Charged with history rather than uncertainty. You’re both aware of other people in the elevator, the cameras, the professional distance you meet to maintain. But underneath it all is the electric current of everything you’ve built together. 

The elevator dings on the 58th floor. But as soon as you step towards the doors, his hand catches yours briefly. The touch is quick. Professional to any observer, but his thumbs brushes across your knuckles in a gesture that’s entirely personal. 

You smile, squeezing his hand once before letting go. “See you in the conference room, Mr. Geto.” 

The doors slide open, and you step out into the hallway. But this time, you glance back, just once, to catch him watching you go with something that looks like tenderness. 

As the elevator doors close, you realize you’re not burdened with secrecy anymore. You’re walking confidently toward a future you’ve chosen. 

The receptionist greets you with genuine warmth, and you have ten minutes to spare before the meeting starts and you get to see him again.

That’s ten minutes to remember how far you’ve both come since that first morning when you almost didn’t make it. 

[divinationsanctuary19]

Your school year- Pick a picture

1 2 3

Let's see what's in store for you

1. Four of swords

This school year might feel like a blend of warmth and nostalgia, where golden moments of calm and reflection balance out the daily grind. The soft light streaming through the windows suggests that while the days may sometimes be long and tiring, there are quiet, beautiful moments of peace and connection. The setting sun hints at the passage of time, making this year feel both fleeting and significant, as if it's a chapter nearing its close but filled with the lingering warmth of friendships, shared experiences, and personal growth.

There’s a sense of introspection, with students leaning over their work, perhaps worn out by the challenges of learning but still present, still engaged. The classroom environment feels both familiar and comforting, with details like the plant on the windowsill and the chalkboard full of notes evoking a sense of routine. Yet, the light creates an atmosphere of change, signaling that this is a year of transitions, of small yet meaningful transformations, as students move toward the future while still soaking in the last moments of the present.

In many ways, this school year feels like a slow, reflective afternoon, where the pressures of academic life are softened by the golden glow of lasting memories being made—times of laughter, quiet study sessions, and shared frustrations, all colored by the light of a new beginning waiting just beyond the horizon.

I might ask: is this your last year?

---------------------------------

2. Eight of pentacles

This school year feels like a challenging puzzle, full of problem-solving and deep concentration, much like the image of a student facing a chalkboard filled with complex equations. The blackboard represents the countless tasks, assignments, and hurdles students must navigate, with each equation demanding focus and perseverance. This suggests that this year is intellectually demanding, pushing students to their limits, forcing them to think critically and tackle difficult concepts, much like how solving an advanced math problem requires multiple steps and layers of understanding.

The student standing at the board reflects the weight of responsibility that comes with this year, where everyone is expected to engage directly with the material and take ownership of their learning. The open book symbolizes both guidance and the need for preparation—students need to keep studying, reviewing, and sharpening their knowledge to make sense of the more intricate lessons they face.

At times, this year may feel overwhelming, as if the answers are hard to grasp, but there’s also a sense of growth, where every solution found represents another milestone reached. There’s progress through perseverance, much like how working through a math problem builds resilience and sharpens skills. This school year, though tough, is a journey of learning to solve the problems that will ultimately lead to mastery and achievement.

---------------------------------

3. The hermit

This picture indicates a school year marked by both challenges and growth. The winter sunset symbolizes the dwindling energy and long days of study, reflecting the fatigue and pressure that come with academic demands. Yet, the girl's determined stance atop the desk speaks of resilience and focus, indicating that despite the cold and darkness of winter, she remains committed to her goals. This year will test your endurance, pushing you to confront obstacles, but it also offers the promise of growth and deeper understanding. As the sun sets, it reminds you that even in times of difficulty, there is beauty and transformation waiting on the horizon. Embrace the struggle—it will lead to personal and intellectual strength. This year, expect periods where motivation feels dim, and progress seems slow, much like the lingering twilight before darkness. However, the card is a reminder that this is a temporary state. The key to navigating these challenges lies in harnessing your inner discipline and resilience, as represented by the girl's unwavering posture. Her determination in the face of adversity reflects the strength within you to persevere through difficulties, knowing that each step forward brings you closer to mastering both your studies and yourself. The winter sunset signals that while the external world may be harsh, there is an inner warmth and light—your own drive—that will carry you through the darkest days. The journey may be tough, but it promises a rewarding transformation, both academically and personally, as you grow through the process.

If you need a reading, reach me out

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[jakeofheartz]

Aphrodite's Reward II

⋆˚࿔ PAIRING: Jake / Jaeyun Sim x OC (Y/N)

⋆˚࿔ GENRE: Modern Greek Mythology AU

⋆˚࿔ SYNOPSIS: But Gods aren't meant to fall, and mortals? They break too easily.

⋆˚࿔ WC: 2.6k (Part 2 of n)

⋆˚࿔ PART ONE HERE

Jake Sim was not normal.

Y/N had known this for a while — but knowing and admitting were different beasts. Denial had been easy at first: chalk it up to charm, to charisma, to unusually good cheekbones and oddly perfect timing.

But now? Now he was folding origami heart bookmarks with a glow-in-the-dark pen while Wonyoung dramatically whispered behind her.

“That’s not a man,” Wonyoung muttered, squinting. “That’s a guy who knows way too much about everything and still somehow smells like fresh laundry.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, arms crossed as she watched Jake chat with an elderly customer like he’d known her since birth.

“He reorganized the entire astrology display based on Venus transits,” Wonyoung added, sipping from her lemon water. “I caught him quoting Sappho in Greek to a stranger yesterday. Greek. Like. Fluently.”

Sunoo slid in beside her, snack in hand. “I’m just saying, he knows way too much about romantic tragedy and how to pronounce 'ephemeral' without sounding pretentious.”

“Maybe he’s just smart?” Y/N offered.

“No,” they said in unison.

She hated how they were right.

Jake had walked into her life like a solution to a question she hadn’t asked. Too present, too aware, and too invested in who she flirted with. Every time she talked to someone with the slightest romantic potential — whether it was Jeno from the café or that one hot dog vendor with the biceps — Jake would materialize beside her like a concerned guardian angel with great hair.

At first, she found it funny. Now?

It was weird.

Today she was going to ask.

The store was quiet after lunch rush. Wonyoung and Sunoo had retreated to the back with snacks and whispered theories ("he’s probably cursed" / "or a fallen angel") while Jake alphabetized love poems with a focus she hadn’t seen in a person who wasn’t being paid to do it.

Y/N leaned against the counter and cleared her throat.

“Jake.”

He looked up, eyes warm as always. “Yes, goddess?”

She frowned. “Can you not call me that?”

He blinked. “Why not?”

“Because it’s weird. Because I never asked you to. Because you’re… weird.”

He set the book down. “Okay. Honest moment. What’s up?”

Y/N exhaled. “What’s your deal?”

He tilted his head. “My deal?”

“You don’t blink. You show up everywhere. You know things about me I’ve never told you. You quote poetry like it’s breathing. You reorganized the romance section by 'emotional vulnerability' level. Who does that?”

Jake smiled. “That system slaps and you know it.”

She stepped closer. “You’re too charming. Too helpful. Too... present. Every time someone shows interest in me, you insert yourself like some kind of relationship bodyguard.”

He paused.

And Y/N, sharp as ever, caught the micro-tension in his jaw.

“I don’t know what you are,” she said, quieter now. “But you’re not just a guy who temped at the right time. Are you?”

Jake hesitated.

Then he turned his gaze downward, flexing his hand.

“Okay,” he muttered. “I was hoping this would come out differently. Or... not at all.”

Y/N crossed her arms.

Jake looked up. “Just… don’t freak out.”

That’s when it happened.

The air around him shifted. Not dramatically — no thunderclap or slow-motion wind — but subtly, like the moment before lightning strikes. The light in the store flickered, catching something behind his eyes that didn’t look human. Golden light shimmered briefly beneath his skin, like sunbeams pressed under the surface.

Y/N blinked.

Jake looked... divine. For a second.

Then it was gone.

She took a step back. “What the hell was that?”

Jake ran a hand through his hair, the charm gone, replaced by something heavier. “Okay. So. I’m not, like… normal.”

“Understatement.”

“I’m… the son of Aphrodite.”

She stared at him.

He smiled sheepishly. “You know, goddess of love, beauty, birds, bad decisions?”

She blinked. “Are you joking?”

“I wish.”

BACKROOM.

Meanwhile, in the back office, Sunoo paused mid-chip-crunch.

“Did the lights just flicker?”

Wonyoung glanced up. “Probably. Or your brain finally short-circuited from eating six bags of corn puffs in one shift.”

“No, like… divine flicker. Like Zeus-lite.”

Wonyoung narrowed her eyes toward the stockroom door. “If Jake just revealed he’s a minor deity, I’m going to scream.”

BACK AT THE REGISTER.

The shop was too quiet.

The hum of the refrigerator buzzed faintly behind them, and outside, the city moved on — buses rolled, heels clicked, coffee orders were shouted with half-hearted urgency. But here, between the bookshelves and coffee-scented silence, Y/N felt the world slow to a surreal crawl.

“I was sent here to help you,” Jake said quietly. “You did something… kind. You saved a dove. That dove belonged to my mother. She wanted to reward you. So she sent me.”

His voice was steady, but his eyes — those traitorous, glittering eyes — searched hers with something closer to fear than fondness.

Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

She couldn’t.

Her brain was doing somersaults, trying to land between logic and the completely unhinged reality that Jake was not just a bookstore assistant with a thing for poetry, but a celestial favor delivery boy from the actual goddess of love.

She blinked.

“To help me… find a boyfriend?” she asked, unsure if she was angry or baffled, or both layered like a very sarcastic cake.

He winced, just barely. “Well… yeah.”

Y/N scoffed, the sharp edge of it surprising even herself. “So you were spying on me. For your mom. Like a divine wingman.”

Jake winced harder. “That’s… a very harsh way of putting it.”

“And you’ve been sabotaging guys who flirt with me?”

“Not sabotage,” he rushed to clarify. “Just gentle... redirection.”

She let out a laugh, brittle and incredulous. “Unreal.”

She took a step back, not because she was afraid — but because the space between them suddenly felt too heavy, like it wasn’t just physical. There was history in it. Magic. Lies tangled in affection. It made her stomach twist.

Jake looked like he wanted to say more but was weighing every syllable like it might detonate.

“I didn’t expect to—” he paused, swallowing hard. His voice cracked just slightly, cracking through the polished confidence he always wore like a second skin. “I didn’t expect to care this much.”

Y/N froze again.

Her heart, despite everything, did something traitorous in her chest.

She looked at him — really looked at him — and saw the truth etched into every worried line on his face. He wasn’t lying. Not now.

“...You care?” she asked, voice low.

Jake nodded, slow and certain. “Too much.”

And in that moment, he didn’t look divine at all.

He looked human.

And that terrified her more than the golden glow ever did.

THE ROOFTOP. (Later That Evening)

The sky was bleeding into dusky pinks and golds, the city glowing beneath it. Y/N sat on the rooftop of her apartment building, legs crossed, a bottle of iced tea sweating beside her. The wind tugged at the hem of her hoodie, but she didn’t move.

Wonyoung appeared first, hair in a claw clip, her earrings catching the last bit of sunlight. Sunoo trailed behind her, still in his oversized denim jacket, carrying a plastic bag of snacks like he was preparing for war.

"You said it was urgent," Wonyoung said, settling beside her. "So… what’s the divine drama this time?"

Sunoo handed Y/N a bag of spicy chips and flopped down on her other side. “Is it a god thing or a ‘Jake-is-hot-and-I-wanna-kiss-him’ thing?”

“It’s both,” Y/N muttered, too tired to be sarcastic.

That got their attention.

“Wait.” Wonyoung’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“I mean. It started as a god thing. Then it… got messy.”

Sunoo sat up straighter. “Messy how?”

Y/N let out a breath, fiddling with the cap of her drink. “Jake—he’s not just some random hot guy who works at the bookstore. He’s a demigod. Son of Aphrodite. His mom sent him to help me with my love life.”

Both Wonyoung and Sunoo blinked.

Then—

“Oh my god,” Wonyoung gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “She sent you a celestial matchmaker?”

“I know,” Y/N said, exasperated. “It sounds like a mythological dating show.”

“And he’s been—what—coaching you? Setting you up?” Sunoo asked, now entirely invested.

“No. Worse. He’s been intervening. Anytime someone flirts with me? Boom. They suddenly get distracted, or they back off, or their Uber shows up suspiciously fast. He admitted it.”

Wonyoung’s jaw dropped. “He’s been divine-cockblocking you?!”

“That’s not even the worst part,” Y/N said, voice quieter now. “He told me… he cares. Like, genuinely. And not in the ‘I’m-doing-my-job’ kind of way.”

The three of them sat in stunned silence for a beat, the city buzzing faintly below.

Sunoo was the first to speak. “So, you’re telling me.... hot bookstore boy is a literal son of the goddess of love, sent to help you fall in love… and now he’s the one in love with you?”

Y/N gave him a pointed look. “I didn’t say love.”

“But you didn’t not say love,” Wonyoung added, eyebrow raised.

“I don’t even know how I feel!” Y/N groaned, leaning back dramatically. “I mean, he lied. Sort of. He left stuff out. But also… he’s been there. For weeks. Always around. Making me laugh, showing up when I needed help, like he knows me. And I thought it was just... chemistry. But now I don’t know what’s real and what’s divine manipulation.”

“Okay,” Sunoo said, crossing his legs like a therapist. “Let’s break this down.”

Wonyoung held up a hand. “First question: are you attracted to him?”

“Obviously,” Y/N said, with zero hesitation. “He looks like the concept of romance.”

“Second question,” Sunoo added, “do you trust him?”

That one took longer.

“I did,” she said eventually, voice quieter.

Wonyoung leaned in, gentle now. “Do you want to trust him again?”

Y/N didn’t answer.

She didn’t have to.

Her silence was loud.

Jake’s POV

The poetry aisle had become his safe zone. Predictable. Quiet. Romantic enough to make sense of his chaos.

He ran his fingers along the spines of dog-eared Neruda and Rumi collections, trying to ground himself. But the words blurred. Nothing stuck.

Y/N knew.

And worse—he meant every word he told her.

He cared. Too much.

A sharp tap on his shoulder pulled him back into the moment.

Heeseung.

He didn’t look thrilled.

Behind him, Sunghoon leaned against a shelf like he’d been dragged here reluctantly, arms crossed, jaw tight. His usual calm looked fractured, like he'd just walked in on a tragedy unfolding in slow motion.

“Wanna tell us what the hell that was?” Heeseung asked. Not loudly, but pointed.

Jake didn’t pretend to misunderstand.

“She deserved the truth.”

“Your truth?” Sunghoon raised an eyebrow. “Or Aphrodite’s truth?”

Jake exhaled through his nose. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, it does,” Heeseung said, stepping in. “Because you weren’t just sent to play matchmaker. You were sent to fix her love life, not insert yourself into it.”

Jake looked away, jaw clenched. He hated how they made it sound like a crime. Maybe it was.

Sunghoon’s voice was quieter this time. “Do you even know what happens if she finds out who you really are? Not the soft version. The whole truth?”

Jake said nothing.

Heeseung scoffed. “You do. You just don’t care anymore.”

“I didn’t plan for this,” Jake muttered. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to help her—nudge fate along, not… not feel like I belong wherever she is.”

Sunghoon looked away, suddenly tense.

Heeseung rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re lucky she hasn’t fallen for you. That would be worse.”

Jake flinched.

Because he didn’t know if that was true anymore.

Heeseung caught the look. “No,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Jake. Tell me you didn’t let it go that far.”

“You think she hasn’t fallen for me yet? I didn’t do anything,” Jake snapped. “I’ve barely touched her. I just—feel it. That’s all.”

Sunghoon met his eyes, serious now. “And you think that’s not worse? You're a son of Aphrodite. If she starts loving you back, that’s not a mortal falling in love. That’s divine interference. You’d be rewriting her whole fate.”

Jake’s chest tightened.

Heeseung leaned in. “You want to protect her? Then start acting like it.”

The silence afterward was heavy—final. Jake swallowed hard, every breath suddenly laced with guilt and longing.

He knew what he had to do.

He just didn’t know if he was strong enough to do it.

The poetry section had always been her escape.

A soft corner at the back of the store, tucked behind classics and drama, where time slowed and Neruda held her hand like an old friend.

Y/N balanced a few restocked titles in her arms—dog-eared, loved, maybe even cried on—and made her way toward the shelves. She turned down the aisle softly, her steps quiet.

And froze.

Voices. Low. Tense.

She recognized one instantly.

Jake.

Her heart leapt automatically, a stupid reflex by now—but it dropped just as quickly when she heard his tone. Not flirty. Not warm.

Tight. Controlled.

“You think she hasn’t fallen for me yet?”

“You’re lucky she hasn’t fallen for you. That would be worse.” someone said.

Y/N stood still, completely still, like if she moved, the words would rearrange into something less terrifying.

Another voice replied—calm, sharp. A stranger.

“If she starts loving you back, that’s not a mortal falling in love.” the guy said, “that’s divine interference.”

A third voice murmured something she couldn’t hear. She thought she caught her name. But it was gone in a breath.

Y/N’s throat tightened.

She didn’t mean to listen. She shouldn’t be here. But her feet wouldn’t move. Her mind was too loud.

Divine interference.

Her stomach twisted.

The phrase didn’t make sense. Not entirely. But the way they said it—like it was dangerous. Like she was the danger.

Like love itself was a mistake.

She backed away slowly, the books in her arms suddenly heavy. Her shoulder bumped a display stand and it rattled softly, but no one came after her.

They didn’t even notice.

She slipped into the break room and sat down hard on the bench beside the lockers. Her chest ached. Her hands trembled slightly, enough to betray her.

She replayed the words again. And again.

“You think she hasn’t fallen for me yet?”

“If she starts loving you back…”

“ That’s divine interference”

Her heart screamed one question:

Why would Jake be afraid of her falling for him?

Later that night, at Wonyoung’s place, Y/N sat curled on the couch, knees hugged to her chest, while Wonyoung scrolled aimlessly on her phone.

“Can I ask you something?” Y/N said quietly.

“Hmm?”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to…” she paused. “To fake fate?”

Wonyoung blinked at her. “That’s oddly specific. Did you finally read that Greek mythology book I gave you?”

“No.” Y/N chewed on her lip. “Just—hypothetically. Like, what if you thought something real was happening between you and someone, but then you realized… maybe it wasn’t real. Maybe it was just supposed to feel real.”

Wonyoung gave her a long look. “Okay. What happened?”

“Nothing.”

“Y/N.”

“I said hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically, you sound like someone whose crush just gave her a cosmic existential crisis.”

Y/N forced a laugh. “Forget it. It’s dumb.”

But her heart wouldn’t let it go.

The way Jake had looked at her, touched her, teased her like she mattered. That wasn’t fake… was it?

She closed her eyes.

But all she could hear was his voice again.

“You think she hasn’t fallen for me yet?”

And the terrifying answer:

She had.

⋆˚࿔ Hi, everyone!

I am glad that y'all liked the part one of Aphrodite's Reward, so here's the part two! Feel free to leave your thoughts, reviews, and critiques—I genuinely appreciate every bit of feedback. Also, the taglist is now open, so let me know if you'd like to be added!

Comment if you want the next part to be posted ♡

⋆˚࿔ TAGLIST: @junirohaz @seungsoftly

© 2025, jakeofheartz.

[nami-moittli]

Transfem Ortho is canon. You think Ortho is transfem. You think this because it is true. Fairy Gala confirms it. You know that Ortho is a trans girl

Feeling thoughts and feelings about tfem Ortho again (who I also refer to as Adesius btw) so because of Fairy Gala coming to a close once again on EN I’m going on a rant as to why I think she should be canonically trans even though I know it will never happen (with a slight tangent on why she should be allowed to grow up as well)

So. The whole theme of the Fairy Gala in the IF/remix version is “Evolution”. This event and this theme ties in very heavily in Ortho’s character and her development post book 6. As a piece of technology, by her very nature it’s obvious why someone — namely Vil in this case as he’s the one who nominated her for the heist in universe — would think that she’s the obvious fit to be the center piece in this story. Technology is often seen as the “future” and thus “evolution”

But as we see in the story, “evolution” is actually a very foreign concept to Ortho. And it makes sense as to why. Sure, she gets upgrades and adapts and learns how to act more “human like” (see: when she was first made she didn’t have a good grasp on emotions and how to make them, looking to movies and the like as a way to learn) but she’s been stuck. She was made as a piece of denial. Ortho Shroud is not dead. He can’t be, when he’s right over there.

This is also why I think that Ortho should be allowed to be aged up, to look 16, to be 16. For far too long she’s been forced to stay stagnant. To be that child, that boy who died tragically. She can never move on from that, because Idia can never move on from that

There’s an arc here too, of Ortho becoming more independent. When she just does what she always does, what she knows how to do, and copies someone else’s movements, Vil tells her that it’s not enough. She doesn’t really understand it at first, but she wants to learn how, so she goes off to research in the library. There’s a point to be made here, too, that the technology she relies so heavily on, that she’s built upon, can only go so far and eventually fails her, so she goes back to a more “old fashioned” way to learn how to proceed instead

And when she does this, Ace suggests it, just go to Idia. Do what you know how to do. Lean back on old habits. But Adesius refuses. She says that she wants to figure it out herself, that she knows that Idia can probably help her find the answer, to give her the answer, but she doesn’t want to do that. She wants to figure out what “evolution” means, and what it means to her. And Ace of course, accepts this, saying that he knew she’d say that, since most kids at NRC are way too prideful to do anything less. Another mention of her growing up, since before she was always just one of Idia’s “things” and not a true member of the school, but now she’s digging her heels in and showing that she’s true Night Raven material now

She ends up coming up with the solution after hearing the others perspectives and forming her own opinion based on that. She’s no longer just copying what she’s meant to be or what she found online (something something her listed talent is looking things up, finding things out based on what other people have already found out and just sharing that information instead of adding on her own thoughts, something something)

And Idia acknowledges this newfound independence and signs of growing up, seeing her on the stage. He quietly but firmly encourages her, showing that both of them are moving on. That she’s truly growing up and becoming her own person.

Also, just the concept of this event? “Evolution”? Tying into themes of growth? Of transitioning from one stage of life to another (from one stage of grief to another)? The fact that she has two versions of her outfit, one being mainly blue and white transitioning into a pink and white version? Yeah, yeah, it’s about “the snow melting away into spring” or whatever, but that closet is made out of GLASS little missy

TL;DR, Ortho’s closet is made out of glass, I know that events technically aren’t canon (esp this one since it is not a sequel to the first version of Fairy Gala, but an alt. Version of it) but this one should be because of how well it ties back into the ongoing themes of going from denial to acceptance, and Adesius is/should be 110% 16 and tfem canonically and she’s like the second most trans character in this game right under Epel, I’m right. Also this game needs more girls in its main cast. Thank you

[animalsalvationassociation]

”Everyone has their days . . .”

[ DO NOT REPOST, ALL ART & CONCEPTS WERE MADE BY ME ]

Emma has always had a hard time expressing herself . . .

When her mom died she didn’t really have anyone to lean on from her old life, except maybe a few of her Mom’s old teammates. Safari Solutions had only just started, yet it seemed that the people who barely knew her, were better at showing up than her actual father. Despite this she found herself learning to hide her heavier emotions overtime, resulting in a few strained relationships.

(These are Oc’s I haven’t yet had the pleasure to introduce to you)

Atticus was there when she got the call, he was the one to hold her tightly when she had collapsed on the floor in a stranger’s home. Harley refused to leave her alone that night, even as young as he was (at the time) he became her crutch whenever she was too tired to put herself to bed and became her right hand in everything she did. While Lani made sure that she always had a warm hug and a few good jokes if she ever needed it.

Amari never was good with emotions herself but she knew how important it was for the team to see Em smile, so she made it her job to pay attention to all of Emma’s interests. If Emma needs something Mari knows how to get it.

When Slye eventually came over from the newly disbanded Octonauts, suddenly she had someone to talk to. But sometimes the silence between them was all that was needed. And of course that just leaves Bandit. It was a while before he ever joined, and even though he's still finding his place on the team Emma has become very fond of him. She sees herself in the kid, and thankfully that's a good thing . . . most of the time.

Kwazii was the only one to truly make her feel safe . . .

They had started dating about a year / year and a half after her mom died. It was a strange transition for them, seeing as most of their dates were over video. But when they were together they used their time to the fullest. They’ve been steady for a few years now and done their best to keep in touch. However over the course of the last year it’s gotten a little difficult to cope with the distance, mostly for Kwazii.

Emma has become obsessive over the details of Samara’s death. Something happened while she was away to cause her to fully believe that whoever this “Spectator” is, they must’ve had some hand in her passing. With this new name floating around and the increase of criminal organizations, Emma hasn’t been as present as she should be.

Some days are filled with that same spark, that same love that they exuded when they first met. But other days . . . only gentle touches are needed. Emma’s trying, Kwazii can see that. But she’s also afraid of something, whether it’s the next step . . . or something more. Perhaps even . . . someone? He knows she wants to keep him safe but sometimes that’s the most frustrating thing she could do, and that’s protecting him.

This is one of those harder days. Emma and Kwazii have always been perfect opposites yet completely the same. Most of the time Em is the one holding him, letting him be his fullest self no matter how silly it seems. She’s always had a steady head on her shoulders. But sometimes in the quietest moments, when it’s just the two of them . . . she’s the one who gets to be vulnerable. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does . . . you know she needs it.

It’s hard for Kwazii to see her like this, but sometimes all he can do is kiss her head and hold her tight.

. . .

It’s been a while since I drew them. I really needed this . . .

Honestly at this point I’ve been so in and out of my own head that I don’t even know what I’m really writing or creating anymore.

I’m not saying that the content is stopping, maybe just slowing down a little more. I have some big life decisions to take care of and when I do get to draw I really only want to do specific characters mostly Y/N and the gang, but in order to post all of these drawings I first have to give you context or none of it will make sense. So it’s a little hard to post as often despite having all of this content on hand.

If I go quiet that probably means that I’m working on something bigger which takes a lot more energy so I have to ask you to forgive me. I’m doing my best to stay on top of my tasks. I may post something tomorrow pertaining to “missions” (like adventures the Octonauts/others get to go on) at least that’s my plan because I would really like to hear from you guys.

I hope you enjoyed the Emma and Kwazii lore. Its been so long since I did anything with them, but making this post was totally worth it to me.

Anyways my doves, I hope you have a lovely morning / noon / night. I’ll see you in the next post.

[💙🍪]

[ This is a Octonauts AU, in no way is this canon to the OG storyline. ]

[audliminal]

It's Just a Game, Right? Pt 2 Redux

Masterpost

"Okay, so. Like I said before, the first video is pretty basic.” Bernard tells Tim. He’s got his laptop perched on his lap and Tim leans into him as he clicks play.

He’s not wrong, either. The video in front of him looks like it was made with movie maker software from at least a decade ago. Hell, Tim’s pretty sure he remembers using a couple of those transitions in elementary school projects. The background remains stagnant, for the most part, with just the pictures at the center of the screen and the text beneath them changing. The pairing pretty obviously is supposed to be a caption for the videos, but the letters are a jumbled mess. Still, it feels familiar.

“Yeah, that’s definitely a Caesar cipher,” Tim mutters. He’s seen enough of them used by shitty two-bit rogues to recognize the patterns on instinct. It’s a bit harder to determine the exact amount of shift just by looking – especially since the shift amount seems like it’s changing on the different captions. Presumably the ciphers have already been solved, so Tim turns his attention away from them for a moment.

Looking around the screen, he can spot hints of distortion against the blank background. It’s blurry, almost invisible to the naked eye, but there’s not really any reason for it to be there naturally.

“The background looks weird,” Tim says.

“Oh yeah, there’s a text overlay on the video. It’s real blurry but somebody identified it as a poem. Something by Emily Dickinson; I don’t remember what the name was, though.”

“Hmmm. Did anyone recognize the song?” It sounds off, but it doesn’t seem to be random notes either. In fact, Tim almost feels like he could hear it on the radio.

“Yeah, a couple people recognized it as Space Oddity, only its been transcribed in a different key. There’s also some random discordant notes in there, too.”

“Heavily modified audio. Doesn’t sound like it’s poor quality, though.”

“True.”

They let the video finish playing. It’s not very long; they were probably timing the visuals to the song, rathen than the other way around. Tim stares at the finished video for a few moments. He’s never really had time for ARGs before. They weren’t exactly very big when he was younger, and now he spends so much time solving rogue shit and actual crimes that he doesn’t really need to go seeking out more puzzles to solve.

“So?” Bernard prompts. “What do you think?”

Honestly, the vibes aren’t the best. It’s clearly intended to be creepy in a way that’s probably exciting for most people, but just sort of reminds Tim of a rogue.

"I can see why you called it basic," Tim says.

“Yeah, it really didn’t seem like it was gonna be much at first.”

“Okay what does the decoded text say?”

"Here," Bernard switches tabs, to an impressive document with screenshots of the actual video, and loads of color-coded notes. “This is a copy of the community document so far.” Tim leans in, and considers the transcriptions.

Honestly, the transcriptions seem pretty basic, too. They’re all simple captions; just a name for the person or location in the image, and some semblance of a date. Notes next to each transcription denote the cipher used. First, a shift of four, then twenty-five, then seven, then nineteen. It’s a simple trick, scrambling the cipher between captions. Even without a key, Caesar ciphers are pretty easy to solve – there’s only ever going to 25 possible solutions, after all. Changing up the key ensures that it takes a lot longer to solve.

“Odd choice of content, too, honestly?” Tim says. It seems so simple, so benign, in comparison to the upsetting music.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, imagine if a novel started with that. They’ve literally made their first video just about names and setting.”

“Huh. Yeah, that is odd.”

Tim lets Bernard consider that, and turns back to look at the document. It’s pretty obvious from the lack of mention of a solution path that they brute forced it. Which, that could be the intended method of solution, but there could also be a key hidden somewhere in the video. Possibly, that’s the point of the poem, or of the music choice. But either of those are something that’ll take further looking into.

Tim may have taken a few years of piano lessons as a kid, but he’s certainly not capable of transcribing music himself, so he’ll probably have to hire someone for that. The document also names the poem as A lane of Yellow led the eye. Tim sits up, reaching out to pull the laptop towards him.

“I’ll see if I can’t get someone more musically gifted to look at the audio. For now, I wanna know more about that poem.”