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#It only makes sense when you consider how the world works

kenntolog · 12 hours

Text

an: heh it was very cute to write i hope you like it!! read more here!!

cool boyfriend sukuna buys his loser girlfriend a rich berry red lipstick <33

you don't even understand where that came from, looking at the small package with a confused face before you look up at sukuna for answers.

"i thought it'd suit you so I bought it." he says with a small smirk, gazing down at you with a fondness in his eyes. "put it on, c'mon."

as you carefully apply the lipstick, you can't help but think about how thoughtful sukuna must've been when choosing because it suits you very well. the smile hiding in the quivering corners of your lips just proves that it makes you feel flattered and very happy to be considered by your boyfriend.

he's very impatient though, rushing you and hanging over your head as he watches you glide the lipstick over the plushness of your lips like a kid would watch a cartoon with zero understanding of what is happening on the screen. you finish and put away your phone you used as a mirror, turning to face him with a shy, nervous look.

sukuna stares at you blankly for a few seconds before his hands gently tug off his your hoodie, leaving you only in a small top with thin straps. after that, he threads his fingers through your hair and tousles it around before stopping at a side-part. finally, one of his palms cups your cheek and his thumb wipes off some excess lipstick from your bottom lip, smudging it unintentionally.

his eyes are very appreciative after that, you observe as you wait for him to say something with a baited breath. his fingers get lost in his own hair aas he pulls at it slightly, his expression softening momentarily as his smirk stretches further.

"look at you, loser," sukuna tucks a strand of hair behind your ear before grabbing you jaw and shaking your head from side to side as you whine, "aren't you just the prettiest girl, hm?"

you cover your face with your hands, falling backwards on the bed as you try to suppress the wide smile spreading on your lips. no matter how many times he tells you that you are the most beautiful girl in the whole world you will always have your cheeks hurting afterwards from the happiest smile with shyness rooted in it and your heartbeat spiking up to abnormal speed.

he crawls to hang on top of you, hands on both sides of your head as he smirks down at you.

"now kiss me."

"huh?"

"here," he points to his collarbone.

you look at him unsurely, "it'll leave a stain tho, 'kuna~"

"'s the point. go on."

you lean in and plant a smooch on the spot, right above the neckline of his tee. something inside of you ignites at the sight of it; you know that no one will see him in this state and it makes you feel whole, how you can have him all to yourself. the fire inside of you must reflect in your eyes because sukuna can sense the way you feel too easily as he points at his neck now.

"here too."

you happily oblige, going as far as covering most of his neck with stains. it even gets to the point where sukuna clumsily reapplies your lipstick for you, shushing down your giggles and cursing you for getting in the way of his work with your sweet smile. you kiss his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, his temples, his forehead, between his brows, his chin — anywhere, but his lips, which prompts him to cup your jaw and seal your lips together.

you can never get used to his kisses; always so passionate because sukuna puts his everything into making your mind go blank, and it's never easy to match the pace he sets although you're always eager to try. so sweet, so full of love and lust, it's one of the best feelings for you: his devilish mouth excited to explore each and every cavern of yours.

"you missed here, baby," he mumbles into your mouth and you pull away, both of you panting heatedly.

"sorry, 'kuna."

"you can make it up to me, don't worry."

#— miya writes!#jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #ryomen sukuna x you #cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader #jjk x you #jjk sukuna

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ladykailitha · 1 day

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Sweet Home Indiana Part 3

Shit! I can't believe I forgot to post this this morning! I don't know where my head was, honestly.

I'm reaching a point where I'm running out of plot so I don't think this story is going to be longer than 10 chapters max. A lot of the second half of the movie takes place over months as the main character gets ready to marry the rich bachelor, only for her to find out that her husband signed the divorce papers and she forgot ON HER WEDDING DAY (as in she was informed on her wedding day that she forgot). Which really won't work for this story.

So yeah, I suspect to be finished with this story sooner rather than later.

Eddie does have to do a lot of grovelling but he unfortunately gets worse before he gets better. He's really REALLY dumb in this, okay?

TAG LIST IS CLOSED FOR THIS STORY

Part 1 Part 2

****

Eddie watched Steve walk away and he gently put the brownie back into the box.

Fuck.

His stomach churned as he swallowed down the bite in his mouth. He had forgotten so much about the man he once swore to love until the end of his days. But he remembered that look of absolute betrayal before the mask dropped.

So Eddie did what he was good at when times got tough, he ran. He was supposed to have been trying to convince Steve to come with him, but he had fucked it up so badly there was no coming back from that.

The worst part is that there had been a few times in the last decade where Eddie could have healed what was between them, that he could have reached out and gotten back in touch. But Eddie had ran each time.

He wouldn’t say each time ended in a rushed marriage, but two of them definitely did.

Eddie would think about reaching out only to hear about how well Steve was doing from Dustin or Max and how happy he was and Eddie would run out a marry the first guy who would fuck him.

The other times he would think about contacting Steve and some small trouble (or not so small in the case of his band breaking up) would crop up and he be scrambling to keep his head above water.

Steve was thriving here in Hawkins and wasn’t that just a kick to the head. He had a little bakery that was doing well, Robin was here, and if all the times the kids called Eddie were any indication, Steve was still on speaking terms with all of them.

He needed a fucking drink. He didn’t care that it was only a little after noon, he needed to turn off his brain. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the bakery.

“I thought I recognized the van,” a warm voice said. “Were you gonna tell me you were in town?”

Eddie looked around before he spotted his Uncle Wayne, leaning up against the side of the building.

“Wayne!” he cried and threw his arms around his neck.

Wayne hugged him back. “It’s good to see you kid.”

“Of course I was going to tell you I was in town,” Eddie scoffed. “I was just trying to take care of something first.”

Wayne looked behind him at the bakery and raised an eyebrow. “You coming back to make an honest man out him or are you setting to break his heart?”

“Why are you on his side?” Eddie whined. “Yes, I said some pretty stupid shit, but he wasn’t blameless in all the fuckery that went down.”

Wayne’s expression softened. “I know.” He put his arm around Eddie’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk about why you’re in town.”

“Mmk,” Eddie said weakly, letting Wayne lead him down the street to the nearby diner.

****

Steve was hyperventilating. He couldn’t do this. He wasn’t strong enough. Eddie Munson was the biggest asshole in the world and he still looked like sex on legs.

That funny little lopping walk he did when he wanted to move fast but didn’t want to run.

The long hair in waves around his face. His lean body stuffed into the tightest pair of jeans Steve had ever seen and he used to wear tight jeans for fuck’s sake. The god damn eyeliner on his big doe eyes.

And peaking out of the leather jacket were even more tattoos. Which it made sense considering he was some hot shot tattoo artist up in Seattle. But still! It wasn’t fair that the man who broke his heart wasn’t fat and balding at thirty. Nooooo...he had to come back to blue his balls as well as break his heart.

“Do I need to break his balls?” Robin asked coming back from the freezer. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared. Not at Steve specifically, but glared at the situation in general.

Steve gave a kind of hiccuping laugh and his lungs filled with the air he desperately needed.

“No,” he said with a broken smile. “I handled it. I’m just going to send it to Hal to make sure he’s not trying to take me to the cleaners or some other bullshit.”

Robin nodded. Hal Peterson was their business attorney, but he’d know enough to make sure Steve wasn’t being shafted by the whole ordeal.

“So what’s got you around the twist?” she asked.

“He looks hotter now than he did before he left,” Steve whined. “He’s supposed to balding and fat and falling apart at the seams. But no...he’s leaner, still with those long ridiculous curls, and better put together than I was.” He waved a hand at himself. His hair was greasy from standing around a hot oven, his hands and apron were covered in flour, he had frosting on his nose.

Robin came over and gave him a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and he let out a little sob.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” she murmured. “Are you going to be okay?”

He let out a shuddering sigh. “Probably not until he blows out of town again.”

Robin kissed the top of his head. “Let’s go out to the Hideout tonight. The shop will be fine. We handled today, we can handle tomorrow, too.”

Steve let out a shuddering sigh and nodded into her stomach.

“Good,” she stepped back and cupped his cheeks. “I know this sucks but you are the strongest, most capable person I’ve ever met. A weaker man would crumble under all this, but that person is not you. You understand me?”

He let out another shuddering sigh. “Thanks, Robs. I needed that.”

“I know you did, dingus,” she said fondly. “So lets knock today out of the ballpark, yeah?”

“Yeah!”

****

“I was hoping,” Eddie was telling Wayne, “that I could roll into town, get him to sign the divorce papers, and spend the rest of the week with you. But no, he’s being a stubborn ass.”

Wayne snorted. “You always did aim too high.”

“I thought he’d want to be rid of me,” Eddie huffed. “I’ve done nothing but run around all over this god forsaken country just to put some distance between me and him. I’ve hurt him in every possible way. I thought he was just wanting closure you know, calling me into town like he did.”

Wayne furrowed his brow. “He called you into to town?”

Eddie nodded and placed his chin on his hands on the table. “I was a bit of an ass about it because I didn’t explain things to Chrissy, but yeah. He told me that if I wanted to divorce him so bad, I’d have to come back to Hawkins and do the job proper.”

The waitress came set Wayne’s food down and Eddie sat up so she could do the same for him.

Wayne waited until she was gone before he turned back to Eddie. “When you told me you were marrying Chrissy, I was more than a little surprised.”

Eddie rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “I know. I have my reasons, I just can’t tell you yet. But I promise it’s for a good reason.”

“He’s done really well for himself here,” Wayne said softly.

“And I haven’t?” Eddie spat out a tad too bitterly.

Wayne scowled. “Did I say you hadn’t, boy?” he snapped.

Eddie’s head reared back from the shock of his normally mild mannered uncle to snap at him. He shook his head, his lip beginning to quiver.

“I’m on your side,” Wayne said, to Eddie’s scoff. “I know I keep hyping up Steve, but I remember what you two were like when things were good, son. You were incandescent. But I look at you now and that sparkle has gone. I want to be happy for you, but first you’ve got to show me that you’re happy for yourself.”

“You don’t think I’m happy?” Eddie asked in confusion. “I have my own tattoo shop, I’m going to marry a great girl, and I’m still friends with most of the members of my band. What’s not to be happy about?”

Wayne shrugged. “You tell me.”

Eddie frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”

Wayne dug his thumbs into his belt and licked his top lip nice and slow. Eddie ignored him and just stabbed at his food.

“Kiddo,” Wayne said, shaking his head, “you’re still in love with that boy even with these ten years gone.” His chin jutted up to point to Eddie’s food.

Eddie froze with his fork half way to his mouth and then looked down at his plate. It took him a full minute to realize what Wayne was talking about.

“Oh.”

He had ordered the breakfast platter. It had hash browns, scrambled eggs, ham, bacon, and sausage with a side of chocolate chip pancakes. But Eddie didn’t like hash browns or sausage. He would give them to Steve who did.

He thought about the little box that was sat next to him on the bench and the brownie Steve had concocted for him so long ago.

Eddie swallowed thickly, his stomach turning sour as he stared at the hash browns and sausage he was never going to eat.

“Eat up,” Wayne said with a soft smile. “You don’t want it to go to waste.” He scooped up the hash browns and put them on his plate and then stabbed both sausage.

He dipped the first sausage into his over easy eggs, ignoring Eddie’s turmoil. At least for the moment.

Eddie brought the fork all the way to his mouth and chewed, not really tasting it.

He ate through most of the food that way, until it came to the pancakes. He moaned happily.

“Seattle just doesn’t make pancakes the way Benny does,” he said softly.

Wayne’s smile was no less tender this time, but infinitely more fond. “You could always come back to Hawkins. You can set up a tattoo shop anywhere, so why not here?”

Eddie shook his head. “I wouldn’t do that to Steve. Divorce his ass and then move back into town with Chrissy in tow, shoving it in his face that I moved on.”

“I can see that,” Wayne murmured. “I just miss my boy is all and would love to see you more often than I get.”

Eddie took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I know you do. And I would like you to meet Chrissy before the wedding.”

“I’d like that too.”

****

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @emly03

2- @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie

3- @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @danili666

4- @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

5- @justforthedead89 @vecnuthy @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690

6- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

7- @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @dragonmama76 @scheodingers-muppet @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt

8- @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @blackpanzy

9- @amazing-spiderkeys @oldpinghai @raisedbylibrarians @kultiras @swimmingbirdrunningrock

10- @steddie-as-they-go @captain--low @micheledawn1975 @thespaceantwhowrites @mac-attack19

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #rom com au

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animentality · 17 hours

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x men stories are better as a disability metaphor than a race or lgbtqia metaphor.

in a fantasy/sci fi setting, it's always clinically stupid to say racism/homophobia is bad, look how these people who can literally explode other people's minds and warp reality are discriminated against for being different.

in a world where a sex predator could have the powers of professor x, it is actually logical to say yeah... that guy is dangerous, and we should maybe be worried about him. we need to watch him. maybe not have him near people who can't read minds.

and then your metaphor is stupid.

because people of color/lgbtqia people aren't dangerous, and we don't need to be kept away from (straight) (white) people.

it's almost always white people doing these metaphors too because they like the nobility of the suffering minority, but have no deeper understanding of societal inequality. it's just an aesthetic.

racism is just drama for them.

but the x men as a disability metaphor is better, because while people with disabilities aren't dangerous either, the better analogy to real life is the fact that mutants just need special accomodations to coexist with non mutants.

it's still not perfect, but it makes more sense, especially when you consider some mutants can freeze the entire planet and some just look ugly.

mutants have the potential to be diverse in their special needs too, which makes it work even better, since you can argue that anti black racism applies quite unilaterally against people with darker skin colors, and there is unity in simply having darker skin and being able to relate to someone else who knows what it's like to be the only POC in the all white boardroom.

but disabilities are diverse, and different groups needs different things, and some individuals have very rare conditions or unique circumstances. some individuals have obvious disabilities and others have invisible ones.

I don't like to credit mha for much, but the one thing it does get right is actually considering the negative effects of having super powers, and how people with weaker powers are more vulnerable to social discrimination than those with stronger powers.

it's really kinda simple. people have different needs and abilities and society could do better at providing them reasonable accomodations, because they have the right to exist in public and participate in society too.

cyclops and rogue are already not bad metaphors for disability, since cyclops used to not be able to control his eye beams, so he has to wear a visor or glasses, and rogue can't touch people.

but alas.

I know professor x and magneto have the whole Malcolm x and MLK Jr. sexual tension, so we can't ever fully divorce x men from the race inequality metaphor.

#x men comics #x men 97

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sweetismyaddiction · 21 hours

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SUCROSE

Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer gets courage to tell what he truly feels (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)

Word account: 1271

Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety,

A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like, and comment. I am accepting suggestions for the next parts. Please be nice. The Gif is not mine. Credits to the oner

Chapter 4: Declaration

Spencer’s Point of View

As soon as we are back to the job, it seems that the only thing people know to talk about is her.

I am glad they liked her. It is a good thing. But I can't help that little jealousy lingering in my stomach.

One of the things that makes everything worse is the fact that right now, I am in the jet with the team, going for a case away from her, away from my most sweet Sugar, that I daydream about actually tasting.

“So, that girl… she is marriage material.”

“Rossi is the one to know. He has ben married so many times”

Morgan chuckles at his own joke.

“Which makes me an expert, I recognize marriage material when I see it. And that girl…”

“Rossi is right, she is the type to commit.”

Why is Hotch interfering? He usually separates personal involvement and work place.

“Can we stop talking about it?”

“Reid, if you don’t step on, make a move… you may lose the chance. A woman does not wait forever.”

“Why is everybody getting so involved in my personal life?”

“Because you don’t have much of a personal life.”

“I have so much not one of you knew about her until I introduced her and she has been my friend for years.”

“Do you want to be her friend, or do you wish to be more?”

“If you feel insecure, just let me remind this genius brain that she proudly said you are friends and affirmed that she does love you, and that she felt no shame admitting it.”

“It amuse us that you ain’t a couple yet.”

—-----------------------------------

The conversation keeps repeating in my head, and I should take the risk, she deserves to know about my feelings… I don’t want to ruin our friendship… we could be more, I wish to be more… be breve Spencer, she never will be mean to you, there is no reason to be afraid. I will write a letter and hope for the answer.

—-----------------------------------

Dear Sugar

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you." - Jane Austen, from "Pride and Prejudice"

As much information as my mind can contain, nothing seems enough to describe my feelings for you. I am aware of your taste for Austin, I even consider receding her books to you but I fear my mouth will betray me, that my feelings will take over and my nerves will stop me from doing what I so much want to.

I will not be able to tell you all the thoughts that run in my imagination when I think of you. You. My Sugar. Not truly mine, but I strongly wish for that to become true.

Sugar, I am yours, I am all yours, body, soul, mind, beliefs… I pray that, if there is a haven for me to be blessed with your presence, because you are my paradise. You are my love. My muse. And so much more

"Love is the poetry of the senses." - Honoré de Balzac

You awakened me, I didn’t know the world could be so cozy, that being alive could be so wonderful, until we met. A rainy day, that a stranger just took under my umbrella. Change all, that simple act, that smile, the bad jokes… the more I know you, the more I want.

You are something I never thought to get in my life, cause I didn’t even know it existed, they don’t talk about it, they don’t write about it, they don’t paint it. They try, as I am doing right now. And we all fail, cause it is impossible to describe. I didn’t believe in the impossible until I met you.

"Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired." - Robert Frost

I wish for you to want me too, for my Sugar to love her Sugarpout.

I may not have much to offer you, but I offer all I have, I give you all I have. I donate all my being for you.

"Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." - Robert A. Heinlein

I wish for you to be happy, even if I am not your happiness.

I would never interfere with your well being, all I wish is the best for you.

I love you.

Love you so much.

If you ask, I am out of your life, even if that is not what I want.

As much as I want for you to be mine as I am yours.

What I truly, dearly and onest want and wish for is for your safety and happiness.

"Love is not just a feeling; it is a calling, a force that can transform and redeem even the most broken of souls. It is the fire that burns within us, the light that guides us through the darkest of nights. Love is the eternal thread that weaves together the tapestry of our existence." - Fyodor Dostoevsky, from "The Brothers Karamazov"

Infinity yours, Sugarpout.

"Love is the joy of the good, the wonder of the wise, the amazement of the gods." - Plato

—------------------------------

I sent the letter to her, and my heart sinks in my chest, anxiety runs to all my cells. The air seems not to get to my lungs, I can only imagine her.

Hope for a positive answer.

Hope she understands my feelings.

Hope she won't leave me.

—------------------------------------

Y/N’s Point of view

My eyes couldn’t believe it.

My heart skipped beats,and then it has never beaten faster.

It is a love letter.

Sugarpout wrote me a lover letter.

I am excited, happy… there are so many emotion.

I am knocking at his door. And I can not restrain myself, just using my key and open it, searching for my love.

As soon as my eyes land on him, is like if the sun is kissing me. I hold his letter in one hand, and my letter in the other.

He is looking at me, expectant, anxious.

I rise my piece of paper, that contain just a phrase, well… two phrases.

—------------------------------

I LOVE YOU

Ps: Yes, I want to be your girlfriend.

—------------------------------

He is also smiling, looking my letter that practically covers my face, with a gentle touch he takes the paper from my hands.

“I know I could have written something better, but after… I was just so anxious. I love you Spencer Walter Reid. I love you Sugarpout. My Sugarpout”

“I love you. Deep. Infinity. Just as gravity binds celestial bodies together, love intertwines souls in an invisible cosmic dance. And I hope to dance with you in the infinity and beyond that"

“May I touch you?”

“Yes.” Hands on my back, as I hug him back, letting my hand touch his soft hair. “May I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His lips find mine.

It is as if life itself had touched me for the first time. Like the gentle brush of a bee against a flower, a love kiss, the delicate touch of life awakening. The electric current surges through our veins, igniting our souls with a spark of divine connection. In that fleeting moment, lips meet, and the universe holds its breath, as if time itself bows to the sacredness of this intimate union. It is the whisper of eternity, the language of the heart, speaking volumes in a single embrace. A love kiss, like the touch of life, breathes vitality into our existence, reminding us that in the realm of love, we are truly alive.

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

A/N: This is the end of my first fic. Hope you enjoyed reading it. Maybe I will do more fics... let's see what happens.

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

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 Fic masterlist | Masterlist

Tag List: @mikitsuki

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doomspiral · 2 days

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do not spare us, what are your thoughts on ludwig

I laughed when i got this the second i turned anon back on, i understand you. Under a cut and not going in main tags bcs this IS me taking it seriously in the funny haha yaoi fandom.

Cw: nazism

There are two main factors I consider when characterizing anyone, which is nature and nurture. For ludwig, i go with the idea that gil raised him to be an empire. Pure and simple, the whole point was to take the failed project of the hre and turn it into something successful and grand. Ludwig takes to it like a sponge because bodysharing with the dead hre comes with "the flesh remembers" that organ transplant recipients speak about anecdotally.

So ludwig grows up believing he's owed the world not exactly because of blood, but because gil raised him, because hes been trained and taught and coached to be The Perfect Ruler, who else could be better? And theres no room for failure; no one else would raise an empire, no one else would gamble on something this destructively insane. It IS suicide for gil to do this, so ludwig better make him proud.

And then everything goes tits up. And then ww1 comes and goes. Gilbert’s completely different and ludwig doesnt understand. He doesnt understand whats happened on the world scale. He knows they should be rulers and theyre not. He looks for answers and is presented with a very simple, clean, vicious answer with targets that make sense to him. The uniform he wears in ww2 means he represents the working class volunteers for the fascist military who believed in the cause. Hes an immortal rep and yet hes a foot soldier, which means hes not high ranking which means... what? It means he's the useful idiot who doesnt see all the inner workings, but sees enough to sell his soul knowing the overall cruelty it entails.

Ludwig's problem is that he doesn't just get radicalized or drag his feet according to orders, he launches himself into it headlong without even the violent reprogramming gil got with the teutonic knights. Its not just his upbringing. He, like the example of calling post-ussr ivan a vatnik, holds fascist/supremacist ideals all on his own. I dont believe that goes away just because he lost the war and went through various reforms, which is also a discussion of current german(ic) people wrt white supremacy. Is it still gone if you view your way as the only way to move on and enact restorative justice?

This isnt the totality of my thoughts on this but these are what pertain to ludwig at least.

Tl,dr; Ludwig means well NOW, but his values are still built on the idea that he knows best, as the straightman of europe surrounded by fools, so how well can he really mean if he still views himself as morally above everyone else?

#mein #heta meta

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r4d1c4lw31rd0 · 2 days

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Unseen Grave (Yandere!Venture x Reader)

My first post and it's about Venture LOLZ- I've never used tumblr before, I kinda just skim through here on occasion for cool art, writing for some of my favorite characters, and headcanons- Sorry if this is bad- This is also on AO3! I don't mind any requests either, can't promise to get to them quickly though-

CW: Minor Character death, implied/referenced past non/con, dead dove kinda, stalking, non graphic violence, skippable NSFW (This isn't non-con), a kinda abrupt ending, OOC Mauga, No use of Y/N, Gender Neutral Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Your POV

Where did all of this go wrong? You only ever wanted to live a normal and happy life. Forced into a world of crime, you made it your mission to get yourself and your comrades out of this hell hole. This slimy, sludgy pit you all had seemed perpetually stuck in, but you knew there was better out there. You could all live that lavish and carefree life you always dreamed of, you just had to claw your way to it. So when Mauga approached you, you saw it as an opportunity. Talon spotted your talent, your knack for creating poisons and toxins capable of killing or simple paralysis. Why they sent this big brute you’d never understand.

He held his hand out to you, that devious smirk on his dashing features captivating you like no other, drawing you in like a fly to a honeypot. You couldn’t see the web just inches from it though, nor could you see the spider eyeing you and waiting patiently for you to get stuck in its home. He gave you an offer you simply couldn’t ignore. A whole new identity and payment beyond what you could fathom, more than petty pocket change for simple side hustles, no you’d be playing in the big leagues. If you impressed Doomfist himself enough that is. All you had to do was complete a rather simple task and the position was all yours.

Despite what you’d heard about Mauga, he was quite tricky and conniving with his words. The smartest? Not by a long shot. He couldn’t quite comprehend the big words you used, but he could read you like an open book, and that was enough for him. The smallest twitch or glance was all he needed to know almost exactly what you were thinking and just how much more persuasion you were going to need. A true predator cornering its prey.

If you knew then what you know now, you never would’ve agreed. Then again, Talon may not have let you off the hook so easily. It may have cost you your life. You agreed to the simple mission, poisoning an important political figure and rendering him desperate enough to turn to Talon for a cure. Your unique little toxins could only be cured by you, considering they were abominations to medical science and were something entirely new and original all together. The mere fact that you only had to change one component to make it cause different effects was something you were proud of.

You didn’t doubt yourself in the slightest, so when word of your success was all over the news you felt your pride and ego swell. Doomfist had introduced you into a new world, one where the pay was greater and the tasks were challenging enough for a brilliant mind like yours. Working alongside Dr. O’deorain was fascinating, considering it was she who had inspired you to push the boundaries of the medical world. At the time, Talon seemed like it would give you everything you needed, but blinded by that desire for more and where it could take you you didn’t see it for what it truly was. Just as much of a hell hole as the rest of the world had been.

They squashed your hopes of getting somewhere, of having peace and calm rather than the hustle and bustle of the streets. No, working for them you never knew any kind of peace. A sense of hate began to form inside of you, alongside resentment. Watching them turn your brilliance into mush and treat it as if it was the common whore was devastating. They had the audacity to demand better from you. Working with Talon, you began to develop the belief that a life of crime and hate was your only option, that staying in this pit was the only option for you. The heinous acts you committed just to gain a lick of fortune was the only thing you’d ever be good for. Of course, you blamed Mauga for all of it. He had gotten you into Talon after all with his stupid face and smug words.

You had found yourself in some kind of relationship with him. He never said you two were together but he surely acted like it, getting irritable when others flirted with you or tried to ask you out. The relationship hadn't been the best nor the healthiest, but at the time you were just happy someone wanted you and didn't view you as a monster because of things you couldn't control. He called you so many sweet names, complimented you when Doomfist tried to put you down and offered you a place to run to in any time of need. It was all for his own advantage of course, but you didn’t know that. You just knew you could be vulnerable with him. You were unaware that you’d finally crept too close to the spider's web. No, he wasn’t a spider, he was a wolf. And you were a lamb, strayed too far from the safety of the herd and right into the wolf’s den.

Needless to say, he took advantage of you and your trust in him. The whole time you two were entangled in your complex relationship, he was almost always borderline violent with you and was very hot and cold with you, treating you as if you were some kind of dog that needed to be trained. You complied with almost everything he asked of you, and even when you didn't he forced you to anyway. Countless nights you lay next to him feeling used like some cheap toy for a rabid animal, and yet you stayed. Because Talon was all you had. Because he was all you had. No one was coming to save a monster, especially not one as sneaky and atrocious as you.

In the end, when you finally had enough, Mauga broke you down and ripped your heart to shreds. He called you so many awful names, told you how much he despised you and watched you crumble with disgusting glee. It hurt. Even though he had treated you so poorly, you were still so distraught by his words and callous behavior. The fact that you were readily available for him was the only reason he kept you around, to be a punching bag and plaything when he felt like it. His betrayal fueled a kind of rage you didn’t know you were capable of feeling, and made you realize for the first time that this world was cruel no matter where you looked at it from and you were stuck in an echo chamber of miserable people. Maybe that's why they let you spiral. Used that rage and hurt against you, and made you numb to everything because it was just easier that way. It kept them from picking at your vulnerability any longer, from seeing you as weak..

You weren’t cared for in the slightest at Talon and you were just fine with that. You didn’t need to be babied or coddled anymore than you had when you were first introduced to this raunchy life, especially not by people who were as disingenuous and callous as your “co-workers”. The only one who showed a hint of sympathy or empathy was Dr. Kuiper and Sombra, probably some of the only people in that place capable of expressing such a thing.You couldn’t complain. You still made money so long as you did what was asked of you and didn’t retaliate when you were degraded for your progress or your work. You were pretty sure things took a turn when you met Sloane, who at the time was “Venture” to you.

Pesky, annoying, and constantly getting in the way of your mission to find some artifact for Doomfist from some kind of ancient gravesite. The two of you were naturally enemies, being on opposite sides and all. And yet they intrigued you. Their happy-go-lucky manner and their quippy remarks as they effortlessly kicked the asses of your useless “assistants” you didn’t understand why Doomfist bothered sending. Truthfully, you could’ve accomplished the mission just as well on your own. You probably would’ve killed them too if Overwatch hadn’t shown up. Just as annoying as ever, they helped finish off the rest of your shitty squad, leaving you running off to hide like a dog with its tail between its legs. That mission you had been left behind, abandoned like an injured pup and left to fend for yourself. Badly injured, you would have cared less if you died. Sitting and stewing in your own misery had made you indifferent to life or death.

Doomfist didn’t want to lose you as an asset, but your location didn’t provide him any opportunity to send you an escape route, so you were stuck slinking about the Petra ruins, avoiding the ever-watchful eyes of Overwatch and the Wayfinders as you waited for your wounds to take you out. You’d only been caught because that insufferable archaeologist found you. You were dehydrated with infected wounds, and even then you still bared your teeth at their approach. They had been on guard at first, but seeing you in such a pathetic state had made them take pity on you, something you hadn’t been gracious enough to receive since you were a child.

Taken to the on-site medical facility, you were put under watch but nonetheless you were cared for. You were unfit to go to jail and serve for your crimes right away, so you were stuck there with the Wayfinders, under their care until you could be sent off. For whatever reason, Venture had stuck with you whenever they could, offering short conversation that was mostly one-sided. You didn’t talk much and only glared, uncomfortable with the hospitality. You would’ve preferred if they were rude to you. It was what you were used to. Three days was all it took for you to finally crack. Three days of consistent visits and kind words. Naturally, you were hesitant. Last time you had opened yourself up you were burnt terribly, and had been several times before. Kindness was a poison to you, and yet they made it so desirable. Their genuinity with it and the way they handed it out so easily had you craving it.

After about a month you had completely recovered, well enough to finally go serve for your crimes. The last day you and Venture spent together, you had taken their hand, feeling its warmth as you pressed a small kiss to the back of it. Their flustered reaction made you laugh for the first time since becoming what you were, and it was warm and joyous.

“Thank you, Sloane.” You whispered, refusing to look at them. You didn’t want them to see you cry. “You’ve been so kind to me, even though I’m so undeserving of it. I wish things were different. I wish we’d met before . . . everything.”

“Not everyone deserves a second chance.” Their words stung, making you shrink in on yourself slightly. “But, you’re . . . different. I don’t think you ever really wanted to do the things you did.”

You looked up at them. They saw you, truly saw you, what you were beneath the muck that had clung to you and thickly coated your skin. Something about the way they looked at you gently made you want to melt and embrace them, but you didn’t, still too timid to trust completely.

“You’re not a bad guy, you were just forced into a shitty situation. Try not to be so hard on yourself.” Their smile wasn’t as wide as it usually was, but it was still filled with just as much charisma and warmth.

Looking back on it, you believe it was this small interaction that led to the actions after. That simple and innocent act of gratitude. If not that, then you weren’t sure what, but you could recall that new glint in their eyes when they watched you get taken away. The way their gaze lingered far longer than it ever had. The way they subtly caressed the hand you kissed.

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

Your time in jail wasn’t bad, made better by the fact that you received letters and small gifts and pictures from Sloane. The letters were innocent to you at the time, but thinking back on it the signs were there. You wrote back, sent small handmade gifts of your own, and kept every picture and ecstatic letter they sent you from each of their journeys that they shared with you. Unfamiliar with the whole concept of having someone truly care about you, you didn’t notice anything weird. You fought a bit with the other inmates who tried their hand at intimidating the newbie, especially with how widespread your reputation had become working with Talon. You had believed yourself doomed to rot there, considering you had attacked several political figures, harmed many innocents, and stolen that much more. You’d also broken Hippocratic Oath and used your research for worse.

But like some unwanted blessing, you found yourself hightailing it out of there early. Talon had come back for you, after abandoning you for months, and before you would’ve run back to them with open arms. Things were different now though, you had changed for the better and knew going back promised nothing but misery. You ran the second you could, barely escaping but escaping nonetheless. Hiding in a sewer wasn’t ideal but it helped you get away from that prison and away from Talon. The one good thing they could’ve done for you, and probably the last. You knew now though that they would be looking for you. Doomfist would be pissed, knowing he wasted valuable time and resources trying to get you out of prison just for you to run off, but that was his own problem. You never asked for his help, perfectly content with rotting in a cell but now gifted a chance of freedom. With nowhere to go though, you turned to the only person you felt you could trust. The one person who made you feel some sense of normalcy.

Going to Sloane was a huge gamble, considering that you were still a wanted criminal and they were pretty much some kind of vigilante hero type. It took you forever to get to Petra, but you managed, lying in wait until you could talk to Sloane again. In the dead of night, you startled them awake, covering their mouth to prevent them from shouting.

“Shhhh. It’s just me.” You whispered, letting their sleepy eyes adjust to the dark, watching them widen at the sight of you. “Follow.”

The simple command was all they needed as they trailed after you, the two of you finding a quiet little spot away from the dig site to speak freely. Sloane was dressed in a form fitting tank top, allowing you to see the various tattoos that decorated their muscular arms, but you tried not to oogle too much.

“W-What are you doing here? I thought you were in prison? . . .” Sloane spoke slowly, voice still laced with the smallest inklings of sleep as they yawned, pushing stray strands of hair from their face.

“Talon came for me.” You saw them tense, scrambling to finish explaining. “I ran though. They don’t know I’m here, but they are searching for me, and I-” your voice caught in your throat as you swallowed thickly. “I can’t go back.”

You never told Venture the full story of your time at Talon, just that it was awful. They didn’t know about Mauga, didn’t know what was said to you, or any of what you had experienced. It was difficult to bring up. What they did know was that you weren’t treated kindly, and that was enough for them.

“I just need somewhere to hide so I can create a new identity for myself. I just want to live a normal life. That’s all I want.” You stumbled forward, taking a hold of their hands, steady in your trembling ones. “I can’t trust anyone else to keep me hidden. Please, I promise you’ll never have to hear from me, I won’t cause anyone any harm, I just-”

Your desperate ranting was cut off as they pulled you into a tight hug. Their scent was calming, earthy and refreshing. They held you gently, a solid rock amidst the swirling storm of emotion you felt. You weren’t sure how to react, arms shaking as you cautiously hugged them back. You felt safe. Accepted. Warm. You began to hitch as your legs buckled and gave out, taking both of you to the ground as you buried your face into their shoulder. How long has it been since you allowed yourself to cry like this? Ugly sobs wrench their way free from your body as they hold you, rubbing slow and calming circles between your shoulder blades.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to be afraid anymore. You’re safe with me, I promise.” They spoke in a hushed tone, accepting you as you were. “You don’t gotta explain anything to me right now, all that can come later.”

They shifted so that they could hold you more comfortably, letting you cry into them without complaint. When you calmed down, you leaned back, their arms slowly falling from you as you stared down at your lap, furiously wiping away tears. You sniffled slightly, before their hands came into view, holding yours.

“You’ll rub your face raw if you keep doing that, it’s okay to be not okay, camarada.” They were gentle with you, scooting closer to you. “I’d be happy to help you out, especially if it’ll bring you some peace. You deserve at least that much, and you’ve more than proven that you deserve it. Apologies won’t make up for much though, there’s only so far words will take you. You gotta make an effort to do better.”

You looked up to meet their gaze, warm brown eyes scanning your face. You didn’t feel judged, and instead could feel that love and care you always so desperately searched for. You did have a long way to go if you even wanted to atone for a fraction of what you had done, but you were aware no amount of repenting would fix anything. You still did what you did, and there was nothing you could do to fix it. And yet, here in Venture’s arms, you felt so sure that things would get better, especially with them at your side. So distracted by your thoughts and their comfort, you barely registered the way they looked at you with a burning possession and the way their smile slightly faltered when you removed yourself from their hold.

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

Venture POV

Six months. For six, sweet months Venture had you all to themself. It was a miracle of some kind, it had to be. When the two of you had been separated they could hardly stand it, they wanted to go to you and take you from that prison themself. Hide you away from the world where only they could find you. But they had a reputation to uphold, and they wouldn’t be doing anyone much good if they were in prison with you. When you had first arrived all that time ago, Sloane had thought of you as a bad guy working for talon and nothing more, but when they talked to you in the infirmary, they could tell you were different. When you kissed their hand so sweetly, holding back tears, they felt their heart nearly explode.

At first they were scared and confused. These feelings were new and foreign, they’d never felt this way about anyone else before. But you . . . you lit a new fire in them they didn’t know existed, and they wanted more. They wanted you, but you were gone, so they made do with letters and sending you gifts. They remembered when you finally started writing back they could hardly contain themself, not to mention when you sent the little gifts you made by hand. Countless nights Sloane had spent thinking about you, depressed by the thought that they’d never get to touch or hold you. They tossed and turned dreaming about what it would be like to have you next to them instead, but it did nothing to soothe the growing flames of their obsession with you.

And then right out of thin air you appeared, needing them. It had to be fate, the way you came back to them like a lost dog, dependent upon them and their helping hand. Talon had finally done a good thing for them, and that was bringing you two together again. They had been more than willing to do anything for you, but you were so shy and timid. They had to be careful, or else you’d run off and never come back. They had to put on a facade, but was it really a facade when it felt so genuine with you? Because they did care about you, they’d go so far as to say that they loved you. However, they knew you were fragile, knew that this pillar of trust they had built up could be snapped in an instant if you caught a whiff of how they truly felt, because no matter how right this felt to Venture, they knew it was wrong . They had to do this the right way, and that meant keeping their feelings for you a secret.

At first, there wasn’t much to worry about. They had you all to themself by default, considering if anyone saw you they’d send you right back to prison. As they had promised, they kept you hidden away from the prying eyes of everyone at the dig site, whisked away where they wouldn’t find you while they helped you rebuild. They helped you change your appearance, making you look different than what you were before but still vaguely the same. They gave you a place to rest your head, and provided you with food and water. They took care of you, like any good partner would. You probably didn’t see it that way, but Sloane had convinced themself you would with due time. You’d recognize their effort and fall into their arms. You’d let them touch you more, and you’d open up to them and share all your secrets like good partners did. But you didn’t.

No matter what they did, you always seemed to be so far from their reach, withdrawing from their attempts to touch or soothe you when you clearly needed it, and each time they respected that boundary, though patience was wearing thin. You were so close, how could they not want to touch you? They always made due with taking things of yours. Articles of clothing in particular that smelled strongly of you. They loved your smell. It was a unique scent, and they always felt so perverted sniffing your shirts in private. The shame fueled their hunger though, and occasionally they’d get bold enough to take your underwear. Not often, but when they really wanted to.

When you finally cultivated a new identity, they helped you get a job at the Petra site, if only to keep you closer to them. You may have been part of the bio-archaeology team, but you were still theirs. They had been concerned at first, afraid that someone there might catch your eye and take you away from them, but you did wonders in keeping people away. The others might have called you ‘rude’ and ‘scary’, but Venture knew the true you, them and them alone. You kept the rest of the world at bay, and kept them close.

If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. The two of you were clearly meant for each other, and everyday that passed that you still treated them as a simple friend pained them more and more. Why couldn’t you see what the two of you had? You still tortured them, tempting them to get closer, close enough to touch. Sloane was content playing a well-behaved best friend, but they couldn’t explain that aching desire for more that coiled in their gut as time ticked by.

Despite their own turmoil, you were happy and that was all that mattered. As upsetting as it was seeing you start to open up with others, they couldn’t deny that the look on your face was worth it. Nothing compared to what they could make you feel, but it satisfied them knowing that you were getting what you wanted and what they had promised you’d have. Peace. And they planned on keeping it that way. You believed that Talon couldn’t find you. But the truth was they had, and tried several times to take you away and back into their nasty clutches. But every time, Sloane was there to stop them, dispatching them all with ease. Every time they rammed their drill into a talon goons body, piercing and mangling their flesh, they always thought of you. How this was all for you and only you.

Every bone broken, scream muffled, and skull cracked beneath a boot was all done in your name. These guys wanted to take you back to a place that hurt you, wipe that sweet precious smile off your face forever and undo all of Sloane’s progress. Sloane didn’t feel bad watching their blood stain their clothes because they deserved it, and if they could they would’ve killed every single person working for Talon, but they needed to stay here with you to keep a watchful eye and keep you blissfully unaware. These disgusting bastards wouldn’t ruin you again, not if Venture had anything to say about it.

Tonight was no different as they carelessly tossed more mangled bodies into a ravine, a small smirk of satisfaction evident on their features. How many more would they send before they stopped trying? Then again, it always gave them a rush when they took out these idiots, thinking about how grateful you’d be to them if you knew. Sometimes, when you pulled away they wanted to drag you closer, shake you and confess everything. Confess their love, the things they’d done to those Talon goons who were trying to snag you, maybe then you’d appreciate them. Perhaps you’d even reciprocate their love.

It was becoming too much for them to bear, and as ashamed as they were of the action, they had tried to get closer to you while you were sleeping. They always wanted to consider that it would be the perfect moment to get close to you. They underestimated how light of a sleeper you were though, panicking when you opened your eyes and caught them right in the act. They had to come up with an excuse, one that you surprisingly believed before they excused themself. It wasn’t their proudest moment, but at least they knew not to try it again. You were sleeping now, tired from the day's events, but Sloane lay wide awake in their bed, twitching with anticipation. They hadn’t seen you most of the day, with both of you being busy. As much as they loved what they did, Sloane loved you more.

They wanted to visit you now more than ever, feeling hot and bothered after dispatching those goons, but knowing damn well you wouldn’t allow it. They thought about it several times, coming to you after finishing them off, covered in their blood and giving you a kiss. Your hands roaming them as you praised them for their work. They huffed softly, hands grabbing at their shirt as they flipped over.

~NSFW START~

They were feeling particularly needy tonight, pulling out a shirt of yours they had recently taken. They pressed it to their nose, inhaling deeply and taking in your delectable scent. It still smelled so strongly of you, and it brought them inexplicable joy. They practically salivated over it, breath coming out in whiny gasps. They sat up slightly, taking their pillow and pushing it beneath their body. They let out a soft growl as their hips grinded against the pillow, imagining it to be you instead as they closed their eyes and sniffed again. They shuddered as they let out a breath, whimpering as they continued to grind some more against the pillow.

They thought about how vocal you could be, imaging your hands roaming over their muscles, massaging them as you went. Your legs wrapping around them as they provided you with pleasure, your face contorting in ways they could only cause. The praise you’d give as they followed your every command. Sloane moaned softly as they humped the pillow faster, rougher, free hand curling into the sheets as they pressed their face further into your shirt.

“Joder querido por favor~ I need you~” They whispered the words in a hushed tone, slowing their pace for a moment. “ He sido tan bueno, lo prometo~”

Gods, they could imagine how you would feel, body pressed against theirs, flesh touching flesh as the sound of your love would reverberate through the room. The two of you could care less who would hear, it would just be the both of you in the moment. The marks they would leave on you, nipping at as much exposed flesh as they could, marking you up and claiming you as theirs. You’d beg them for more and they’d happily oblige, giving you what you wanted. They could be gentle, or they could be rough. They could pin your hands and make you squirm and beg for their touch, or perhaps you’d like to be on top, having them worship every inch of you and beg to touch you. Beg you for relief.

“Dios ya no puedo más, te necesito mucho mi amor por favor~” Their voice was high pitched and whiny, desperation laced in their tone. “Tell me how good I’ve been for you~ Fuck ~ You feel so good mi amor~ Tell me how good I make you feel~”

Their moans gradually got louder the deeper into the fantasies they sank, desperately wishing for the real thing. They could only think about how soon enough it could be you, you just needed a little more coaxing and to realize your feelings that you undoubtedly had for them. They could see it in the way you looked at them, feel it when you touched them. Your words were so gentle with them, and you were so sweet. God they couldn’t wait to have you. They’d take it as slow as you needed if only it meant you’d be closer to them. How would your lips finally feel once you let them get close enough? How would you taste?

“Mine, mine, mine. All mine. Only mine.” Their words were muffled, coming out in short growls, matching the pace they had set for themself. “Eres toda mía, mi amor, toda mía~” The words came out in a chant, laying some unknown claim on you for their own sake and sanity.

Sloane slowed their movement against the pillow, thinking about how whiny you’d get when they went slower than you liked, and then picked up again in the same beat to keep you on your toes. Their thrusts got rougher as they groaned, panting desperately as they approached their climax, their last few thrusts desperate as they let out one last cry, sweat dripping from their body as they relaxed, nuzzling their face into your shirt.

~NSFW END~

Sloane instantly felt much more relaxed, feeling the tension leave their body. Such a mess they’d made. They thought about laying next to you, giving you soft kisses and praise as they cleaned you up and snuggled close to go to bed. Unfortunately, they weren’t with you and couldn’t sleep while being such a mess. They lifted themself from their bed, tucking your shirt away again for a later date. For now, they needed to clean themself up, grabbing a towel as they headed for the showers. In due time the two of you would be together. You’d recognize your love for them, and they’d be waiting for you with open arms, no matter how long it took. Until then, they were content just being near you, protecting you from afar.

#writers #overwatch #overwatch 2 #venture x reader #venture overwatch #sloan cameron #yandere

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circular-bircular · 6 hours

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2 Cents

(Get it? Cause it's all about change? I'm hilarious)

The response to SAS has been stunning, to say the least. Duh, of course you know what I'm talking about -- Woooahhhhh the major anti-endo is pro-endo now!!!

Only, I really don't want to frame it like that. And... I'm so relieved to see so many taking it in stride and not framing it like that.

Me and Dude have been friends for a very, very long while -- or at least it feels like a long time. DID makes it hard and all to really realize how much time passes. But I consider Dude one of my close friends at this time, and I hope people can see why. He's a person who's willing to change, albeit stubbornly, and he works so hard to be kind -- even when the world has been so much less than kind back.

And one thing I've always known is that Dude was anti-endo, but willing to compromise on those opinions and beliefs if it meant furthering the science of it all, and understanding more about all of this. As time went on, it became understanding more about CDDs than ever before, fueled less by frustration and more by genuine curiosity. It's what attracted me to this friendship in the first place.

Seeing Dude repeatedly start to say that he is pro-endo warmed my heart, but not because of the pro-endo part; it was because of the change part. Because so many people struggle with that, with the idea that they can change. Me being one of them.

It's been... so difficult trying to carve out a place in syscourse. In life. I started out pro-endo and manipulated into very nearly thinking I wasn't a DID system at all. I moved to this nebulous area where i was harassed for stepping out of line. I was neutral, I became anti-endo, neutral again -- constantly flip flopping because I didn't have anyone or anything to hold onto. I didn't get to have a community. I didn't get to be anything other than The Bad Guy.

While I was in a CDD server, I at least had that community, but even that wasn't what I wanted. Even that wasn't good for me, even if it was good in other ways. Maybe I'll find the good again someday.

But seeing this outpouring of support... As someone who now no longer uses any syscourse label (Call me what you want, I really don't care), it's a goddamn relief to see someone being accepted with open arms. It's a relief to see people being so kind and generous, both with asks and with comments. I have to be blunt and say how jealous I am, seeing the outcropping of support.

But I'm also relieved to see my experience really is far from the norm... while also acknowledging that I am incredibly braced for impact at the moment due to those experiences.

I'm an incredibly stubborn person, I'm able to admit it. I struggle to change. I'm incredibly set in my ways. But I also do change, rapidly, flipping on a dime when I think it's what the other person wants. (Honestly, part of why I appreciate Dude so much was his insistence on slowing down, getting the facts, and making an educated decision based on that). And recently with syscourse, I've felt as if I have to slam my fist into the table and shout and scream about How Pro-Endo I Am, just in case anyone was lumping me in with those anti-endos -- but then I saw how some pro-endos were acting, and I felt I couldn't say anything about it-- ugh, I'm rambling.

All that is to say, I've felt so... stunningly alone lately, even with the support of my friends. I'm alone in syscourse. I'm alone in recovery. So many of my friends are moving on, healing, growing, and... Here I am, just a silly little circle on their blog, young and stupid and dumb.

So I'm glad people are accepting Dude, not as a pro-endo, but as someone who has grown. It gives me a lot of hope for my future. A lot of hope for finding a community -- not as a pro-endo, or anti-endo, or syscourse anything.

Just as a person.

Does that make sense?

I hope other people out there, stuck in syscourse like me, feeling very alone in a very large world, can see how willing people are to extend a hand. I hope I've extended my own enough. I just... have a lot of hope for the future.

@sysmedsaresexist Thanks for helping give me that right now <3

#syscourse #kitty caught the rabbit

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teamatsumu · 4 months

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purple and pink. (rafayel x reader)

summary: you and rafayel cover yourselves in paint and (redacted).

word count: 3450

warnings: porn without plot, smut, swearing, nsfw, mdni, fem!reader

tags: @keiva1000 @kindnessspreads @msbyomimi

a/n: my brain is rotting for this man so this is just self indulgent crap atp

You weren’t exactly an artistic person.

You just never indulged in art before. Of course, you admired the craft and thought it was extremely difficult to actually create meaningful art. But you didn’t think you were a particularly creative person, nor did you think you had an eye for such stuff.

Ever since you began dating Rafayel, you would say your appreciation for art had definitely improved. How could it not, considering he spent all day creating it, and in the time he wasn’t, his world was still colored by the lens of it. Rafayel saw art everywhere he went, in the gentle roll of the water where it rippled in fountains, or the timid but pinpoint light of a lone star in a dark sky. He loved describing it to you, and the way he put it would make you look around twice. He had really changed the way you viewed the world.

What you were about to do now wasn’t exactly the kind of art that made you think deeply of the universe, but hey, not all art can make you question your existence. Sometimes you need to create….. lighter pieces.

Stepping back, you stared down at the bed sheet sized canvas you had stuck to the floor, sure that you had used enough adhesive to keep it temporarily in place. The clock on the far wall of the studio told you that Rafayel would be home in a little while, which meant you needed to start the next phase of your plan shortly. But first things first, you needed lighter clothes.

After you had switched your jeans and button down shirt for a thin, short robe, you began pulling down buckets of paint from the storage closet connecting to the main studio. You chose only two, a light purple and a light pink. Both colors you knew Rafayel liked using in his pieces. You might not know a whole lot about art, but you knew him inside out. And you also knew he would love this idea.

You spent the next few minutes going over the canvas with the two buckets, pouring a few globs of paint over it. Small, but dense, with lots of blank canvas around them so they could be spread. You decided to only do two or three globs of each color. After all, wasn’t the art in how the colors would move and slide on the canvas? This should be enough paint for that purpose.

Your face was heating up at the thought of what was about to happen, and you felt almost giddy. When was he going to be home? You couldn’t wait to get started.

As if on cue, the door of the studio clicked open, not making a single sound as your boyfriend lumbered in, closing the door behind him. His white shirt was loose, black pants tight, and you couldn’t help but admire his ass when he turned around to shut the door with a light snap.

“Hey-” He stopped almost immediately upon seeing you, eyeing the half empty paint can you were setting down and the flimsy robe covering your body. A body that was definitely naked under it.

“What are you doing?” You saw his eyes flick over you and then behind to eye the massive canvas you had laid out, along with the little circles of paint looking fresh and shiny on it. You gave him a grin.

“I was hoping we could collaborate for your next piece.” You tugged at his shirt until you both stood closer to the canvas, taking special joy in how confused he looked. His eyes kept darting all over the place to try and make sense of what was going on, and you had to stifle a giggle.

You thought to elaborate on your suggestion by slowly unbuttoning his crisp white shirt. Rafayel raised his eyebrows but didn’t stop you, probably curious to see what you were cooking. You tugged his shirt off his toned shoulders, before going to work on his pants. His hand finally seized yours, tilting his head so your eyes would meet his.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on?” His tone was amused. You hummed almost in thought, pulling your hand away. You tugged on the belt of your robe until it slipped free, and the front fell open. You saw the tips of Rafayel’s ears turn red, and his expression blanked a bit.

“You have paint. You have a canvas. And you have me.” Your voice was a low whisper. You reached into the bucket next to you, palms stretched, until they were both covered in paint. Then you reached one hand up and dragged your fingertips over his bare abs.

The cool paint made them contract a bit, and you heard the way his breath hitched under the touch. Four long streaks of pink now stood out against his pale skin. Finally, you looked back up to meet his gaze, his face inches from yours.

Rafayel’s blush had extended from his ears down to his neck, but the corner of his lip twitched up into a slow grin. His hands were eager as he undid the button of his pants, and you felt a thrill run up your spine. You watched him undress quickly. He was slow, smooth, as he lifted one precise hand to tug on the shoulder of your loose robe until it was falling off your shoulders and pooling at your feet.

He looked around and his eyes caught the second can of paint. Purple. He dipped his hands into it, and you watched him walk back over to you.

“Where did you get this idea, baby?” His voice had lost its confusion, coated in honey now, sultry and low, nearly a whisper, and you shivered when his breath hit your bare neck. He took advantage of the fact that your hair was pulled up and away from your shoulders, tracing gentle lips over the slope of your shoulder. Instinctively, your hands smoothed over his torso, and you were reminded of the paint on them, still wet, now swiped onto the man before you.

Rafayel hummed at the feeling and proceeded to return the favor, his hands set on your hips. The paint was cool on your skin, and you almost jumped at the temperature if it weren’t for his warm hands taking the feeling away in the next second. Your boyfriend gave your naked bodies a gentle tug backwards until you were stepping on paper, slight crinkling noises hitting your ears.

Gentle lips now made contact with yours, and you sighed in relief. You had missed this, just the feeling of him kissing you. You had been thinking about it- and other things- all day, and you were so excited to start. Hands caressed over each other slowly but eagerly, and you couldn’t even begin to imagine how much paint you had managed to get on each other.

Your kisses became more hurried, more firm, and you could feel Rafayel’s body temperature rise a bit. His breath stuttered when you moaned into his mouth, tongues dancing together in a synchronized battle. He nibbled at your bottom lip and you arched deeply into him, nails digging into his biceps.

“Fuck, the paint is drying.” You managed to gasp out when your lips separated, his mouth finding the skin behind your ear immediately. He sucked hard on it, until you shivered and let out a long, shaky breath. Your knees were so weak, and you were glad for his strong arms wrapped around your waist, since it was the only thing currently holding you up.

He hummed against your skin, not letting up on the marks he was marring it with. You had discovered pretty early on that Rafayel was a biter, and marks on your skin was another way he created art. It just so happened that you enjoyed the feeling more than you could ever think to describe.

“Good thing you laid more out for us then.” He responded, referring to the globs just below your feet, before tugging you down until you were sprawled on the canvas below you. It was cool under your skin, and you felt something wet just under your shoulder. Oh. Your eyes met Rafayel’s before they finally traveled down his body for the first time since you two had started. You gulped in a deep breath.

His pale skin was covered in purple and pink streaks, like smooth color streaked over brilliant porcelain. The ridges and bumps of his muscles stood out even more under the paint, and you could tell in a few places the exact route your hands had taken, pink running over his waist and down his V-line. The remnants of the journey your fingers took stood before you, proud on his skin. You felt a thrill run through you at the sight, something stirred in your core.

“This is turning you on.” Rafayel observed, a light smirk resting on his face. You felt your body burn at the teasing lilt of his voice.

“As if this isn’t something you’ve dreamed of doing.” You retaliated, opening your legs so he could fit himself between them, resting his elbows on either side of you so your faces were a hairbreadth away. He hummed and sighed, lowering his body until his erection grazed right over your center, making you gasp.

“Believe me, I’ve dreamed of this.” He sighed, reached for the paint to the left and just above your head. You watched him cover his palm with it before he reached down, hooking a hand under your knee and pulling it up until it folded against your torso. The paint was wet on your skin, and you were learning to love the feeling more and more. His cock prodded your entrance, now on full display for him. He gave you another mischievous smirk.

“Baby I’m about to ruin you so bad.”

The first slide of him inside you had you crying out and arching into him, his cock carving its way through your unprepped hole and bringing with it a burn so delicious it made your head spin. When he bottomed out, he moaned unabashedly into your ear, hot breath hitting the shell of it and sending shivers through your spine. Your core clenched and unclenched rapidly, trying to adjust to the glorious intrusion. Your brain screamed at him to move, to slide in and out, do anything at all. You needed to feel him rock into you. Your hips twitched and jerked, making your boyfriend moan before he finally started moving.

His thrusts started out languid, smooth, gliding in and out of you at a reasonable pace. You sighed, head leaned back and reveling in the feeling it brought, leg tensing under his grip. Little tendrils of pleasure zipped up from where you were connected, heavy cock stretching you open until your pussy was adequately wet, ready to take the pounding you knew was inevitably coming your way.

And oh, did you receive it.

Slowly, steadily, Rafayel picked up the pace until his hips were smacking hard into your pelvis, knocking every breath from your lungs. You cried out, one arm thrown over his shoulder while the other seeked desperate purchase under you, used to the feeling of silk sheets but now met with nothing but smooth, stretched out canvas and the wet sensation of sticky color. Rafayel used the grip he had on your knee to twist your leg out further, inviting him to hit that one spot that made you see stars. A broken wail left your mouth and your back arched impossibly high, hearing a low moan hit your ear when you clenched tight around the cock pounding into you.

“F-fuck, Rafi-” His head lifted, just enough to connect your lips in a desperate slurry of rushed kisses, sucking and biting on your lips as his pace didn’t so much as stutter. Your moans dissolved straight into his mouth, little pornographic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’s slipping out with every thrust. You didn’t bother muffling them, knowing exactly what the noises did for Rafayel’s ego, and with how he was ravishing you currently, you were okay with giving him a little ego boost.

(You would deal with the consequences of that later.)

“Gonna cum-” You managed to choke out just as your orgasm rammed into you with no warning, effectively silencing any other words as you cried and shook through it, muscles seized tight and legs kicking in the air.

“God- fuck,” Rafayel’s first words. “There you go. Fuck, that’s it.”

He fucked you through the last vestiges of your high before his arms slipped under your arched waist and lifted you up, rolling over until you were perched on his hips, throbbing cock still nestled inside you. The change in position made him slide in deeper, and you let out a broken moan. Your orgasm was still lingering around the edges, encouraging you to prolong the feeling, to chase after it again. And so you did. You rolled your hips, placing your hands on Rafayel’s abs as leverage to push your body up and down. You finally took a good look at your boyfriend.

His chest was heaving with exertion, shining under the glow of the lights above you, catching on the swirling mixes of purple and pink. Under the paint, his skin glistened with sweat, tensing and straining under his movements. The paint had reached all the way up the side of his neck, and even into his hair, blending with the purple tresses. The purple complimented his eyes, half lidded and heavy with lust, his lip was tucked under his teeth.

He was a vision.

“Baby, you’re so fucking beautiful.” His voice was fractured and strained, and in your staring you had forgotten that you were also the object of his gaze. You couldn’t imagine how you looked right now, slathered with paint and hot under the stimulation you were receiving, strands of hair leaving your bun and trailing down over your face and neck. You rolled your hips and tightened hard around his cock, watching the way his jaw slackened and eyes rolled shut. Another zip of pleasure ran through you, and you couldn’t help but keen, pushing yourself to go faster, to make him feel even better.

“I’m- I’m so close.” You could feel your vision swim, tears gathering in your lash line as his cock dug deep into your core, prodding into your spongy walls in all the right ways. Rafayel grabbed both your wrists off his chest, pulling them behind your back and then tugging you down until your body was pinned tight against his. You let him do as he pleased, planting his feet on the canvas before he started thrusting hard and fast up into your sopping cunt.

You screamed and arched, body tensing at the pace he set, chin resting on his shoulder and head thrown back as you let him carry you face first into another orgasm, gushing around him until the sounds of his thrusts grew impossibly wetter, sloppier than the paint around you and covering you, blabbering incoherent phrases and curses as tears poured from your eyes. With every thrust, the ecstasy prolonged itself, like an endless high that came with intense drugs, except all you needed was him, and he would get you there if it was the last thing he did.

Your perspective was shifting, Rafayel’s cock leaving you until you felt cold and empty. He maneuvered you onto your hands and knees, or rather, arms and knees since you felt that you couldn’t even hold yourself up at this point. A firm hand pushed on your back until it arched to his liking, spreading you until he could slide his massive length back into you with little to no resistance. You whimpered pathetically, eyes rolling unhindered in your head, cheek smushed into the paper beneath you. Briefly, you felt like you could almost taste the paint, but the thought left your brain faster than cigarette smoke dissipating on a windy day when Rafayel started moving again.

“Stop me if you can’t take it.”

You could never, would never stop him, not when your pussy keened at the feeling of his cock filling you up to fulfillment once more. Especially not when he planted a foot on your side that gave him leverage to thrust harder and stronger into you. Your body buzzed and reveled under the feeling of being used like this, basking in the sounds coming from Rafayel getting heavier and choppier as he finally chased his own orgasm instead of yours. You wanted nothing more than for him to warm you up, fill you with his seed until you couldn’t take any more of it. Your depraved mind was wiped blank of everything else except that crushing need.

“Cum in me.” You managed to whine, clenching hard around him. Rafayel moaned and his hips stuttered.

“Fuck. I’m gonna- I’m cumming baby, take it, take it, take it, take it-” Your body jostled at the strength of his thrusts, once, twice, and then he was slamming his cock deep into you and holding it there, hot spurts of cum hitting your walls. Painting your insides white like your bodies had painted your outsides purple and pink.

Your entire body collapsed on itself when Rafayel pulled out, dropping onto the paper heavily as you tried to catch your breath. Your vision was swimming and so was your head, unable to do anything but focus on the faint buzz in your muscles. You could hear shuffling somewhere behind you before you were being lifted into strong arms. You sighed and curled into them, seeking the warmth of your boyfriend after the beating your body just took. And he was happy to provide it- in the tub he ran for you while both of you settled into warm water.

You dozed in and out of sleep as Rafayel cleaned you up, giggling and humming along with whatever little anecdotes he was telling you. He knew you would barely remember most of it later, considering how dopey and spacey you got after sex. You pouted and leaned up to him every few minutes, stealing tiny kisses from his lips. And afterwards, you let him pat you dry and put you to bed in the usual “princess treatment” he gave you after one of your sessions. The only time he backed off from teasing you relentlessly and instead doted on you properly.

You couldn’t tell how long you slept, but you woke up feeling well rested. The bed next to you was empty but still slightly warm, and you could hear quiet shuffling outside in the studio.

Your muscles screamed when you forced them to move, your hips and thighs feeling like particular sore spots. You ignored the feeling in favor of pulling a shirt off the floor to throw over your body, realizing it was your boyfriend’s when it fell all the way to your thighs. You trudged out of the room while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You saw him standing with his back to you, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. The muscles of his bare back shifted as he moved, now clear of all the paint you two had slathered on it. Oh right, the paint.

Your eyes shifted behind him to the canvas, which Rafayel had propped up against the wall now, and was observing silently. You walked closer to admire the streaks of pink and purple on it, watching it carefully. Somehow, the choppy strokes showed your desperation, your passion, and you felt your face heat up at the thought.

“Looks pretty.” Your voice was slightly rough. Rafayel turned around at the sound and gave you a soft smile, pulling you closer and wrapping his arms around you from behind as you both stared. You settled into his warmth as you swayed gently back and forth.

“Why’re you thinking so hard about it?” You asked.

You turned your head to watch as he huffed and pouted a bit. He looked so cute, you bit back the urge to squish his cheeks.

“Pretty sure there’s some cum in there somewhere.”

Aaaaaand the urge was gone.

You smacked his chest hard, making him jerk back and laugh, but not releasing his hold on you.

“You’re disgusting.”

“Not more than you.”

He kissed you before you could land another smack, hand cupping your jaw to tilt your head back. You fought to keep a grin down, but failed when you felt his lips stretch with a smile of his own, erupting into giggles.

#rafayel x reader #rafayel x you #love and deepspace #love and deepspace fanfiction #lnd #rafayel #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel smut #love and deepspace smut #rafayel x y/n

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arachine · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Awe, well, I’m sorry to hear that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You tried any dating apps?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right…”

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

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

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

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

about 8 years ago . . .

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

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

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

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

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

“Yup, ‘cause you’re my muse.”

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

“You still there?”

“Yeah, it’s just…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kazuki: Hell yeah they are!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kazuki: It’s more than mutual.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in, hon!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

“Let me take you to dinner.”

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

“Wait, what?”

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

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

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

Being under Gojo Satoru’s gaze was suffocating.

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

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

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

“I don’t know…” you trail.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Those kids, man.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely, this couldn’t be coincidental?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gojo.”

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

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

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

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

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

If I ever leave you, baby

You can say I told you so

And if I ever hurt you

You know, I hurt myself…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is that any way for a man to carry on

Do you think I want my loved one gone

Said I love you

More than you’ll ever know

“So funny,” you counter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just the way you want me to

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

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

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

To fall in love

To fall in love with you…

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

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

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

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

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

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

At a moment like this

But I’m going to learn how to do

All the things you want me to

Yes, I’m ready

(Are you ready?) Yes, I’m ready

To fall in love

To fall in love right now

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jump.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“They suit you,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

You nod your head, “mhm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Satoru huffs, catching his breath. “Yeah.”

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

Soon, that silence is broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

comments + reblogs very appreciated !!!

#art by: @yamada_souko (twt)#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x reader smut #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader smut #gojo satoru smut #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #gojo satoru x y/n #satoru gojo x y/n #jjk smut

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ja3yun · 21 days

Text

The Doll House | Sim Jaeyun

doll!jake x fem!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), subby!jake, oral (m. rec), creampie, slight throat fucking, whimpering and whining, pet names (baby doll, pup), begging, anything else lmk! wc: 7.7k synopsis: it's your first week at your new job and you make a shocking revelation that puts your world in a spin and lets you experience something you never knew was possible masterlist | sunghoon a/n: hi! this is the first part of a 4-part series! again, i need to thank the requester for this because i am having so much fun writing it <3 the plot and everything will be gradually laced within each chapter so, while they can stand alone, it's best to read them all. thank you for everything and as always, likes, reblogs, feeback is all welcome!

p.s, please read the intro it sets up the whole story so you guys know how y/n got there and who soonyeol is.

You've been inside this home for exactly 42 hours and 51 minutes and surprisingly nothing significant has happened.

The silence surrounding the mansion is unexpectedly comforting, providing a much-needed respite from the hectic city life you've despised. The constant noise - whether it's the cries of babies, the grumbles of angry men, or the blasting car horns powered by thoughtless road rage - has progressively worn on your tolerance. No one talks about how exhausting it all is.

Maybe this is why people go on holiday, you wonder. Even though you're here for work, there's a sense of relaxation in the air that leaves you feeling peaceful.

Before Soonyeol went on her ominous business trip, she left you a binder full of strict instructions on how to mind her house. It’s packed to the brim with dos and don'ts such as; cooking exactly 4 meals for the dolls at 5.30pm, placing them around the dining table, and never entering their rooms unless transporting them to their recreational activities.

Each doll had their own rigorous routine, with some reading, some playing the guitar, and so on. Soonyeol made it clear that sticking to these routines is a must, which included the difficult chore of physically changing the towering dolls in the morning and before bed. They weren’t exactly hollow or porcelain, they were super realistic, their skin had some form of heat to it, and they had some weight to them but not as heavy as they first appeared. You had asked Soonyeol what they were made of but she brushed your question off, leaving you even more curious, the only conclusion you could come up with was sandbags or clay.

Currently, you are in the kitchen, cooking up a meal that none of them will touch. Of course, you didn’t expect them to chow down on your homemade lasagna considering they couldn’t even move their mouths, but seeing everything laid out and untouched after you give them exactly 35 minutes to eat (a rule in that godforsaken binder), it fills you with a sense of unease.

Within the mansion's walls, time seems to grind to a halt unless you make it move, you as the sole animate presence amidst the silence.

You bring the plated food into the dining room, placing a dish in front of each doll. Despite the absurdity of the situation, you play along dutifully, conscious of Mia's warning that the dolls may be rigged with hidden cameras. To be fair, their eyes do seem to follow you, or perhaps that was just your imagination.

“This is such a waste of food,” you scoff, placing the last plate down to the doll with freckles on his face who is labelled in the binder as Sunghoon. You can’t help but think about all the food that is being wasted when there are people still relying on food banks, it makes you bubble with anger, yet, you’re the one doing it. You could easily just not feed them and just pretend to Soonyeol you did, but again, the eyes that surround the castle could be the difference between you keeping this job and going back home with nothing.

Soonyeol could easily fire you if it got back to her you starved her precious babies while she was gone, and that £5,000 is enough money to get you by while you look for another job, so you’ll do as you’re told for now.

With a resigned sigh, you wipe your hands on your apron and offer a forced smile to the lifeless dolls, "Enjoy," you mutter sarcastically, before turning on your heel and retreating from the room, leaving them to their silent feast.

“Thank you!”

The words catch you off guard, freezing you mid-step. Did you actually just hear that? Slowly, you spin on your heel, astonishment written over your face. There they sit, precisely as you left them, their expressions the same as before. Yet, undoubtedly, the voice came from their direction.

Narrowing your eyes in suspicion, you examine them closely, your fingers poking Sunghoon’s shoulder to try and elicit any response, but one never comes.

You could have sworn you heard a voice, a soft accent drifting into your ears. It’s not like it could have been the TV or radio, Soonyeol was lacking in the entertainment department, opting for more classic ways to entertain herself like board games and books.

"This place is making me lose my mind," you scoff, disbelief mingling with a nervous laugh. You are officially losing the plot, thinking the dolls can suddenly speak. What’s next, they’ll suddenly get up and help you with the dishes?

Maybe you just need to go for a walk around the mansion, touch some grass or whatever. Your mind needs some nature to set itself straight. With a final incredulous glance at the dolls, you shake your head, dismissing your fanciful worries.

Stepping into the garden, you're greeted by the warmth of the summer sun kissing your skin. The sprawling lawn stretches for acres, overgrown yet hinting at hidden beauty beneath the tangled vines and moss-covered statues.

The pathway is clear, giving you a chance to wander further into the field. With some TLC and a green thumb, you ponder whether you could turn this landscape into a true garden, it’s not like there is much else to do, but would Soonyeol be okay with that? Everything else in this house is seemingly stuck in a different century; the large gold-framed portraits, the scatter of porcelain dolls that look like something straight from a horror movie, and the furnishings scream Renaissance. Maybe she prefers it that way.

You are perplexed by the mystery surrounding Soonyeol and her isolated living. A lack of information about her and this home has you grasping at straws. The mansion has no internet or even a good phone service which raises your suspicions about her more. There is only a landline phone that is set to make local calls. All you've learned from this information is why she resorted to placing a job advertisement in the newspaper.

Questions swirl in your mind. Why choose such isolation? Living alone, devoid of company or modern comforts, seems unimaginable. Two months might be tolerable, but for someone to endure years in solitude, it's perplexing. But then again, who are you to judge? She might prefer her own company and God knows there must be a lot less drama.

Lost in thought, you reach out to touch a thorn from a withered rosebush, only to recoil in pain as it pricks your index finger, "Shit!" you shout, instinctively sucking on the wound as blood wells up. Why you felt driven to touch such an obviously dangerous plant escapes you completely.

Sulking back inside the house, you walk directly to the kitchen, the sight of familiar surroundings provides some consolation as you go towards the sink, your injured finger throbbing with each step. Who knew a thorn could cause so much damage?

You reach for the basin and turn on the cold tap, hoping for a little relief. As chilled water falls over your wound, you sigh with relief, the coolness relieving the pain immensely, with a sudden sensation of peace flowing over you.

The clock's chime breaks through the quiet, jolting you back into reality. It's 6pm so it's time to tend to the dolls again. You reach to get a plaster from the first aid kit, only to find it empty except for a single bandage and some foil blankets. Panic sets in as you examine the seriousness of your bleeding finger; it’s a neverending flow of crimson which only makes you pout, sucking on it once again.

Desperately searching the kitchen cupboards, you find bits of kitchen roll and sellotape. It's not ideal, but you have no other choice. You gently wrap the kitchen roll around your wound, securing it with sticky tape. The improvised dressing will have to suffice; the thought of spilling your blood on Soonyeol's cherished dolls sends chills down your spine. You don't want to think about what she would do.

Stepping into the dining room, you're greeted by the familiar sight: cold food arranged neatly before the four unyielding dolls. Their impassive stares seem to pierce through you, sending a chill down your spine.

With a theatrical pout and arms crossed, you address the silent company, "Didn't quite hit the mark with my culinary masterpiece, huh?" you jest, met only with the silence of inanimate figures. Chuckling to yourself, you gather the untouched plates onto the cart, contemplating a pragmatic solution, "Well, I suppose I could just freeze these and give them to you tomorrow," you quip. Soonyeol said to feed them, she didn’t say it couldn't be the same meal over and over again.

After clearing up the dining hall and putting the meals in the freezer, you make your way to retrieve the rusty wheelchair you are convinced will give you tetanus from the hallway closet. It’s the easiest way to transport the boys from A to B, and you daren’t carry them anywhere in case you drop and smash them.

As you unfold the chair, a creak reverberates from behind you, causing your muscles to tense involuntarily. The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as a chill courses through your veins. While the old house has its usual symphony of creaks and groans, this sound feels different, more sinister, as if someone - or something - is lurking in the shadows.

“Hello?” you say whispering yet not daring to look behind you. If you have learned anything from the multitude of horror movies you’ve watched over the tears, it’s that as soon as you look back, all shit breaks loose.

You stand there with your heart pounding in your chest and you scold yourself inwardly for succumbing to irrational fear, "Come on, Y/N, pull yourself together," you mutter, attempting to rally your nerves. But the silence that follows your whispered reassurance only amplifies the unease settling in the pit of your stomach.

With a resigned sigh, you steel yourself for whatever may lie behind you, “Fuck, Y/N, just turn around. If you’re going to die, you might as well get it over with,” you chide yourself, voice tinged with frustration.

Thinking it’s best to just face whatever your demise is, you swiftly turn around, half-expecting to come face-to-face with some unseen terror. Yet, all that greets you is the empty hallway, bathed in the dim glow of the flickering lights. There's no sign of an intruder, no lurking threat—just the same mundane surroundings you've grown accustomed to.

You never thought you’d think this, but you’re happy to see the tiny collector dolls that line the hallway.

A mixture of relief and embarrassment floods over you as you realize the absurdity of your fears. "God, I'm losing it," you mutter, a manic laugh bubbling up from deep within. With a self-deprecating shake of your head, you lightly slap your forehead with the base of your palm, chastising yourself for letting your imagination run wild.

First, the talking dolls, now this unfounded paranoia—it's becoming increasingly clear that the isolation of this mansion is taking its toll on your sanity.

Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you shake off the lingering unease and embarrassment to focus on your duties.

With a determined stride, you make your way back to the dining room, the memory of your brief bout of hysteria fading into the recesses of your mind. You push the wheelchair over to the table to retrieve one of the dolls, however, a glint of blue catches your eye.

A plaster - suddenly, inexplicably there, resting in front of the doll named Jongseong.

Your brow furrows in confusion, disbelief coursing through you. "How... was that there the whole time?" you mutter, disbelief colouring your tone as you glance between your injured finger and the God-sent plaster.

With a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, you reach out to pick up the plaster, examining it closely as if searching for any sign of trickery. But it appears to be nothing more than an ordinary adhesive plaster.

"Okay, this is getting ridiculous," you mutter to yourself, unable to suppress a nervous chuckle. The rational part of your mind insists there must be a logical explanation for the plaster's sudden appearance, but logic seems to have taken a backseat in this peculiar mansion.

Surely you would have noticed it on the table when you were serving the food…right?

Deciding to set aside your questions for the moment, you carefully retrieve the plaster and apply it to your injured finger, the soothing sensation providing a small measure of comfort.

As you finish tending to your wound, you cast a wary glance at the dolls, half-expecting them to spring to life and offer an explanation. But they remain as silent and motionless as ever, their enigmatic presence only adding to the mystery of this place.

With a resigned sigh, you focus once again on getting the dolls to their rooms. Maybe if they’re out of your sight, you’ll stop conjuring up these ridiculous notions that are swirling in your mind.

“C’mon Jaeyun, let’s get you to bed,” you say softly as you pick him up with a strong heave. The weight of him in your arms is a humbling realisation that you need to start going to the gym more because lifting a doll shouldn’t be this taxing.

Plonking him onto the wheelchair, you begin to make your way to his room. The corridors grow longer each time you make the journey to their respective bedrooms and with the house being the size that it is, transporting them is the equivalent of taking a quick nip to your big Tesco and back.

Finally reaching Jaeyun's room, you turn the ornate handle and push the wheelchair inside. The room is bathed in a soft, amber glow, casting a warm hue over the plush furnishings and intricate decor. With careful precision, you guide Jaeyun onto the bed, taking a moment to study his features up close.

The doll's face, once unsettling in its hyper-realistic detail, now holds a curious fascination. Despite the initial unease you felt in their presence, you can't help but admire the craftsmanship that went into their creation.

Jaeyun's eyes, a rich shade of brown, hold a mesmerising depth that seems to draw you in and they glimmer with an almost golden hue when touched by sunlight, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to his already captivating features. His lips, full and luscious and they evoke sense of envy into you, marvelling at their perfection. His nose, a graceful arc that sits harmoniously amidst his features, only adds to the beauty.

With gentle admiration, you touch his bottom lip with your thumb, amazed at its softness. If Jaeyun were a living, breathing being, you can't help but imagine how irresistible those lips would be, how you would find any excuse to steal a kiss. The feel of his lip beneath your thumb is uncannily real, its texture mirroring your own, and as you release it, it springs back into place as if alive.

Your eyes dart over his face, drinking him in as you fix his long, dark hair, “You’re so beautiful,” you whisper, the words leave your lips almost unintentionally, spoken in peaceful tones as if frightened to disrupt the calm tranquillity of the moment.

“Thank you.”

Your entire body goes rigid as you hear the same words from the dining table, mirroring the exact accent you had heard before. The hand that had been gently brushing aside the stray strand of hair now drops to your side, your eyes fixed on Jaeyun's mouth as it forms into a bright smile.

As if gasping for air, you stare at him in disbelief, pointing a trembling finger in his direction. "Y-you just spoke!" you manage to exclaim, your words choked with bated breaths. Panic threatens to engulf you as you try to understsnd what is happening.

Your mind races, grasping for something, anything to hold onto as the world spins around you but there's nothing, and your body betrays you, collapsing to the ground in a desperate attempt to escape the surreal nightmare unfolding before you.

With wide, terrified eyes, you watch as Jaeyun moves slightly, preparing yourself for the inevitable scream that threatens to tear from your throat. But before you can utter a sound, he rushes towards you with a look of panic etched on his features.

Jaeyun's eyes are filled with concern as he gazes down at you, his hand covering your mouth to stifle any outcry. With a gentle yet urgent expression, he leans in closer, his lips forming almost silent words as he implores you to remain quiet, “Please. Shhh, I’m sorry!” he says with urgency, trying to stop you from bellowing out and causing alarm.

Your chest rises and falls with the rapid beat of your heart, your head suddenly feels faint and conflicting emotions wash over you. Fear, confusion, disbelief - all vie for dominance as you struggle to make sense of the impossible situation unfolding before you.

With wide, frightened eyes, you stare up at Jaeyun, searching his face for any sign of explanation or reassurance. But all you find is the same look of concern mirrored in his gaze, a silent plea for understanding.

“I promise, I’m not going to hurt you,” he utters, his body now relaxing as he feels your mouth close under his palm, “If I take my hand away, please don’t scream, okay?”

His words are filled with panic, a frantic attempt to prevent more concern. When you look into his eyes, you can sense the sincerity in his plea, a glimpse of humanity you didn't think was possible.

For a moment, the world seems to stand still, the air thick with tension and uncertainty on both of your parts. But then, with a shaky breath, you nod in silent acquiescence, willing yourself to trust the doll before you.

Jaeyun’s hand slowly withdraws from your mouth but is still armed in case you fall through on your promise to stay quiet. Once he's satisfied that you won't scream, Jaeyun rises to his feet, offering you a shaky hand. You accept, noting the slight tremor in his grip, evidence that he's just as affected by this inexplicable turn of events as you are.

Standing before him, you can't shake the feeling of disbelief that washes over you. None of this makes sense - talking dolls, moving on their own accord - it's all so implausible, so surreal. And yet, here you are, faced with the undeniable reality of Jaeyun's existence.

"What are you?" you ask tentatively, withdrawing your hand from his as you study him intently, searching for any clues to unravel the mystery.

Jaeyun tilts his head in confusion, his expression mirroring your own bewilderment. "I'm a doll, you know that," he replies matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but how are you moving? How are you speaking? Are you possessed? Alive? Am I dreaming this?" you barrage him with questions, your mind racing with a million possibilities, each more absurd than the last.

“I’m Sim Jaeyun, manufactured in 2002,” Jaeyun says as though it’s so obvious, which to his defence, it is - the stamp on his back that you’ve caught sight of while changing him is proof, "I'm the model made for Australia. G'day mate!" he adds, attempting to inject some levity into the conversation with an exaggerated Australian accent. But his efforts fall flat in the face of your mounting terror and confusion.

"I don't understand," you whisper, your voice trembling with uncertainty, "How is this possible?"

Jaeyun's expression softens, sympathy flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze, "I wish I had all the answers," he admits, his voice gentle yet tinged with resignation, "But the truth is, even I don't fully understand what's happening to me. I ended up here one day. The others just tell me not to ask questions.”

As Jaeyun's words sink in, a surge of disbelief sweeps over you, threatening to overwhelm you in a sea of bewilderment and despair, "Others? You mean..."

"My brothers, the ones you've been looking after for Soonyeol," Jaeyun says, his voice calm.

The realisation hits you like a tonne of bricks: all four dolls, like Jaeyun, are somehow alive. You've spent the last two days living under the same roof as these living dolls, entirely oblivious of their true selves. The idea of it sends shivers down your spine, and a dreadful feeling rises in the pit of your stomach.

Every creak in the floorboards, every echo in the halls - you had chalked them up to the ageing mansion itself. But now, you realise that they were caused by these living dolls moving about, silently watching and listening to your every move.

You contemplate the idea that you're going insane because the stress and isolation of the mansion have finally taken their toll on your sanity. But deep down, you know that this is far too real to be a figment of your imagination.

Sensing your distress, Jaeyun guides you to sit beside him on the bed, his touch gentle yet strangely disconcerting. A doll is offering you comfort while your mind is in a whirlwind of emotions that threaten to overwhelm you. In what world is any of this normal?

His thumb strokes the back of your hand as you sit in silence. A small smile creeps on his face and a blush somehow paints itself on the apples of his cheeks as he remembers your earlier comments.

“You think I’m beautiful?” he asks gently, drawing you back into reality from the maze of your mind.

“What?”

"You said I was beautiful," he repeats, his tone gentle yet earnest, his eyes filled with a quiet joy. Jaeyun's smile widens slightly, his body shifting to fully face you.

As you finally meet his gaze, the weight of his words settles upon you, and you see just how much your earlier compliment meant to him. The twinkle in his eye reflects a depth of emotion that mirrors that of a human, his happiness evident in the way his features soften and his eyes light up with warmth. If he was beautiful before, he is otherworldly now.

“Yeah…you are,” you confess, now reciprocating his blush.

Jaeyun's hand gently cups your cheek, his touch sending a shiver down your spine and you can't help but feel something blossom within you. His palm, slightly cool against your flushed skin, serves as a reminder of the surreal reality in which you find yourself.

Jaeyun's lips suddenly meet yours, enveloping you with his gentle kiss. Touching his lips earlier paled in comparison to the sensation of his soft, plump mouth moving against yours, and it sends a shiver of pleasure coursing through your veins; for a fleeting moment, you allow yourself to be swept away by the intensity of the moment.

But as reality crashes back down upon you, the weight of what you're doing comes crashing down.

This is a doll, not a real person.

You push Jaeyun away and your mind suddenly clears, “What are you doing, Jaeyun?” you ask both perplexed by his actions and a little disgruntled by yours.

His wide eyes only serve to make you feel guilty, there’s a tinge of hurt in them along with confusion. His hand removes itself from your face, leaving your cheek cold and craving his touch again.

"Soonyeol says I should kiss when I want to show my appreciation," Jaeyun explains, his voice tinged with confusion and a defeated tone that tugs at your heartstrings. It's clear that he's not accustomed to being rejected like this, his owner obviously giving him what he wants.

Now that you think about it, Soonyeol must know they’re real, meaning she has relationships with these dolls. Granted, you figured that out when you were undressing them and saw they are anatomically correct, but now this is a whole new layer. She has formed connections with them that go beyond using the dolls for her pleasure.

"Isn't it cheating?" you ask, locking eyes with Jaeyun, ignoring your swift realisation of the risk. Those beautiful brown eyes seem to draw you in, inviting you to forget all reason and succumb to the burning need between you.

He shakes his head slowly, a tinge of hesitation in his eyes as he chews his lip, "No. Soonyeol shares us, which means I can be shared. It's how it works," he says, his words laced with desperation as he tries to defend his actions. He knows Soonyeol won’t see it that way, but he needs you for his own selfish pleasure; he can’t wait two months until his minder comes back.

However, the rational half of your mind perks up one last time, refusing to be influenced by Jaeyun's words, forcing you to express the painfully evident reality that lies between you, "You're a doll, Jaeyun," you say, the words thick with reality.

However, as if feeling your wavering resolve, Jaeyun's demeanour changes, his puppy-like appearance giving way to one of mischief and longing. With a sudden boldness, he comes in closer, your noses touching as your breath hits his lips.

"I'm a doll with everything you need," he says seductively, sending shivers down your spine as his luscious lips brush against yours with each syllable.

Your heart races as Jaeyun's proximity overwhelms your senses. Despite the nagging voice of reason in the back of your mind, you find yourself unable to resist the magnetic pull of his presence.

As Jaeyun leans in for another kiss, his persistence and gentle touch send a rush of heat coursing through your body. You find yourself melting into his embrace once more, unable to resist his lips on yours. His smile against your mouth fills you with something beautiful.

His hand finds your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive as he deepens the kiss, sending your senses reeling. The surreal sensation of his tongue, colder than any other person's you’ve had the pleasure to kiss, intertwining with yours only adds to the intensity of the moment.

But as the kiss grows more passionate, you feel Jaeyun's hands begin to roam, his touch becoming more urgent and insistent. The way he impatiently tugs at the hem of your t-shirt and his hips practically humping the air through desperation, heightens your own arousal.

You draw back, taking your shirt off, giving him what he wants. Jaeyun's eyes light up in delight at the sight before him, his gaze raking over your exposed skin with hunger. Without hesitation, his hand instinctively reaches out to touch you, his fingers grazing over the fabric of your bra as he seeks to explore every inch of your body.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, as he stares up at you. You understand why he’s so used to getting his way, that face of his could start wars if he asked.

With a soft smile, your fingers continuing to thread through his hair with a gentle touch, "Nothing in comparison to you," you confess, your words spoken with genuine admiration.

Jaeyun's response is a soft whimper, his body trembling slightly under your touch as he leans into your caress. It's clear that he thrives on the affection and validation you offer him, cherishing every compliment and sweet gesture. He isn’t going to take control of this situation, he wants you to lead him, to make him feel like he is yours.

And he looks so fuckable right now.

Feeling emboldened by the rush of desire coursing through your veins, you seize the opportunity to take control of the situation. With a newfound confidence, you gently push Jaeyun back onto the bed, straddling him as you hover above.

His eyes widen in surprise, a mix of anticipation and excitement flickering in their depths as he watches you with rapt attention. With a playful glint in your eyes, you lean down to capture his lips in a searing kiss, your hands trailing down his chest and exploring every contour of his body.

Jaeyun responds eagerly, his hands roaming over your back as he returns your kiss with equal fervour. But as the heat between you intensifies, you can sense his longing for more, his desire for you palpable in every touch and caress.

You plaster on a mischievous smile and lean back slightly, teasingly tracing your fingers along the waistband of his pants. He hitches in anticipation, his eyes darkening with desire as he silently urges you to continue.

With deliberate slowness, you begin to unbutton his pants, savouring the feeling of power that courses through you with each movement. As the fabric falls away, you're met with the sight of his cock outline, his arousal evident in the way he strains against the confines of his underwear.

You lean down to press your lips against his neck, trailing soft kisses along his jawline as you whisper in his ear, "Do you want me to look after you, baby doll?"

He mewls out and nods quickly, knowing that is the only thing he needs right now. Your touch is different to Soonyeol’s, yours is filled with a new fire that you’re discovering, while Soonyeol’s is experienced and knows of Jaeyun’s wants and needs. He can’t deny that he feels even more alive than before right now.

Trailing one finger over his clothed cock, you apply pressure as you reach his tip, causing him to whine out. You aren’t typically in charge in the bedroom but you can’t deny how easy it is when Jaeyun is underneath you, silently begging for you to claim him.

You pull down his boxers, seeing his cock in a new light. Honestly, you tried not to stare at it too long when you changed him but you knew whatever Soonyeol had ordered, she ordered it with herself in mind. He was average-sized but curved to the right, meaning he could hit places some others couldn’t; even the thought made your mouth water.

There’s a desire to know how his cock is standing to attention considering there isn’t any blood in his body, but this whole situation defies logic so what’s one more question to add to the pile? All you can really think about is how good having him inside you will feel.

Grabbing his length, you begin to pump him gently, still trying to navigate how fragile he is and how far you can take this. He isn’t made of glass but you still need to be careful.

His reaction is immediate, his jaw slackening as you pick up the pace, your movements becoming more assured. Jaeyun’s legs kick slightly as his body involuntarily moves under your touch, desperate for more than you’re offering him.

Sensing his need, you lean in and give his cock a teasing lick before spitting on it, slickening the surface to make your motions even smoother. His breath hitches at the sensation, a low groan escaping his lips as he arches into your touch, craving more of the pleasure you're giving him.

With a hunger that matches his own, you release him from your grip and lean down, taking him into your mouth with a slow, deliberate motion. His gasp fills the air as you envelop him, the wet heat of your mouth sending shivers down his spine.

"Y/N..." Jaeyun's voice is barely a whisper, filled with a mix of disbelief and pleasure.

You glance up at him, meeting his gaze with a smouldering intensity before returning your focus to the task at hand. With practiced skill, you move your lips and tongue in tandem, exploring every inch of him with a fervour that leaves him trembling.

There is an urge to look after him, with each whine and whimper he screeches out in response to your tongue flicking over his tip, you want to cherish him as your own. You carefully watch his face to make sure he is enjoying himself which clearly he is, his eyes screwed shut and chest heaving despite the lack of air.

Pushing his length further into your mouth, you feel the tip of him hit the back of your throat, piercing your tonsils as they involuntarily try to swallow around him. You switch between bobbing your mouth and enveloping his whole cock down your throat, staying there for a moment as you nuzzle your nose against his lower abdomen.

His fingers thread through your hair, a silent plea for more as you continue to lavish attention on him, each suck and swirl of your tongue pushing him closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Oh god, Y/N," he groans, his voice thick with need. "I-I can't... I'm gonna..."

Can he cum? Like physically, is your mouth about to be filled with doll cum? You’re going to find out eventually.

But who says he can get everything he wants just at the bat of an eyelid?

You pull back slightly, your lips glistening with saliva as you gaze up at him with a wicked grin. "Not yet," you tease, your voice husky from the beating your throat has just taken, "I want to hear you beg for it.”

His eyes widen with anticipation, a need burning in their depths as he watches you, “But Soonyeol always lets me cum,” he pouts, the edges of his mouth drooping down.

“I’m not Soonyeol though, am I?” you retort, your hand stroking him again, “I can stop completely if you want?”

Jaeyun doesn’t like that idea, shaking his head manically and chanting ‘no’ as he looks at you with pleading eyes. His minder is kind, always giving him the pleasure he needs when he wants it, so this is new to him, yet, he can’t help but find some pleasure in the prolonging of his orgasm.

“Come on, baby doll, beg for it,” you murmur against his tip, looking up at him through hooded eyes as you tease the tip of his cock.

His breath catches in his throat at your words, his mind a haze of desire as he struggles to find his voice, "Please, Y/N," he gasps, his voice thick with need, "Please let me cum. I need it, I need you so bad."

The desperation in his voice and his tiny weeps send a shiver down your spine, and with a satisfied smirk, you relent, taking him fully into your mouth again.

You aren’t like this in bed but he just manages to bring out this side of you and you can’t complain about it.

As Jaeyun's fingers tangle in your hair, a shiver of anticipation courses through you, heightened by the primal instinct driving his actions. You feel the tension building in his body, his movements becoming more urgent as he approaches the brink of release.

With a final tug at your roots, he tightens, his balls drawing up as he releases into your mouth with a guttural groan of pleasure. His hips buck uncontrollably, driving himself deeper into your throat as he rides the waves of ecstasy coursing through him.

You surrender to the moment, allowing him to take control as he thrusts into your mouth, his movements are rough yet achingly intimate. Each sensation sends sparks of pleasure racing through you, mingling with the taste of him on your tongue as he spurts his essence. It’s not exactly cum, it doesn’t taste like it, but it’s filling your mouth up, some of it dripping out onto the bed below you.

And as he finally reaches the peak of his pleasure, his body trembling with the force of his release, you swallow him down, accepting him completely. You lap up the last few drops before giving a gentle kiss on his bell, smiling slightly as you relish in your work.

Jaeyun’s face exhibits one of pure bliss, his grin wide and his eyes closed. He looks so ethereal right now, your only wish is to cater to him. Soonyeol must have her hands full if she does this with all of them, no wonder she would need two months off.

Sitting up, his hands pull at your jeans, unbuttoning them with determination but you stop him, “Jaeyun, what are you doing?” you ask.

“I’m going to fuck you, is that not okay?” Jaeyun’s eyes have that spark in them just like before but more intense, like he’s bursting to the brim with happiness.

You can see the determination in Jaeyun's eyes, the fire of desire burning bright despite the recent climax. His eagerness to please you matches your own desire to cater to him, but you can't help but feel a twinge of apprehension.

"Are you not tired, Jaeyun?" you reply gently, placing a hand on his cheek to capture his attention, “I don't want to push you too far."

Jaeyun's expression softens at your words, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering sincerity, “I’m a doll, Y/N, I don’t get tired.”

Damn, maybe you should invest in one of these unalive-alive dolls with the £5,000 you’ll get from this job.

He sees your astonishment and laughs softly, his teeth on full display, “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re confused, Y/N,” his voice is back down to a whisper, his hand enclosing yours on his cheek as he nuzzles into it. Jaeyun knows how to use his charm to get what he wants but it’s significantly easier when the person he is trying to persuade wants it just as much as he does.

You find yourself nodding in agreement, unable to resist his enticement. With a shared understanding, you move in to capture his lips in yours, sealing the moment with a delicate kiss.

His hands go back to work, pulling at your jeans to take them off of your hot body. You help him out, pulling away from his mouth to undress yourself, leaving you both naked and wanting nothing more than to be entangled in one another.

“Wow,” he utters as his eyes trail your body from head to toe. His owner is beautiful but you have something about you that is sucking him in, the curve of your hips and the stretch marks on your thighs; you’re a vision he never wants to forget.

You turn scarlet as you see him staring at you, suddenly feeling less confident than before. But he quickly eases your mind as he licks his lips and pulls you into his lap, placing you to sit right on his cock, “I think you were wrong earlier,” he mutters into your shoulder as he places kisses along your chest.

“What do you mean?” Confusion lingers in your mind as you process his words, your fingers instinctively tangling in his hair as you look down at him with a mixture of surprise and affection.

“When you said you weren’t as beautiful compared to me. I think you’re so wrong,” he admits in a hushed tone, hands roaming along your waist and down to your thighs, feeling every inch of you.

Leaning down, you kiss him again except this time, you grind your hips, letting his cock slide between your folds and his tip brush against your clit teasingly. The action makes you both groan out in lust, wanting nothing more than to be tangled in one another.

Jaeyun lightly slaps your ass to signal you to hover slightly, ready to dive into you. He hasn’t had sex with anyone other than Soonyeol so his eagerness is palpable, his mouth fighting a bright smile akin to a puppy.

Once you’re above him, he guides his cock to your hole and sharply pushes into you, causing you to fall forward onto his chest.

He enthusiastically bucks his hips up into you, ensuring that he is catering to every inch of your pleasure. Although he enjoys being looked after and cared for, he will always reciprocate; your enjoyment is as important to him as his own.

It's funny how different he is with you than with his owner; with you, he wants nothing more than to impress you, evident by the way he's focused on fucking into you, but with Soonyeol, he does whatever he wants to give her pleasure but there's no need to put in massive amounts of effort.

You feel his dick pressing deep into you, that curve that you noticed earlier is now doing wonders against your walls. Meeting his thrusts, you bounce on him, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pick up your pace.

The sound of your skin slapping against Jaeyun is like music to his ears, the smile he was trying to fight off now splitting his face, the joy of fucking you so obvious from his expression. He wants to do this forever.

Looking down, you see him lost in glee and lust as he continues to thrust up into you at a fast pace, his gaze down at where you’re pussy is sucking him in. Gently, you lift his face to look at you, his wide gleaming eyes now staring into yours.

“You’re doing so good, pup,” you assure him, kissing the tip of his nose. He feels his non-existant heart soar at your words, his face radiant with your praise. And you weren’t just saying it, he truly was sensational, probably the best you’ve had in a long time.

Jaeyun takes your words of appraisal and uses them to fuck into you harder, his mouth now attached to your nipple and he sucks and licks at it like a man starved.

You can feel that familiar coil in your stomach that signifies you’re close to release. Snaking your hand down to your clit you begin to rub circles on it quickly, but as soon as Jaeyun notices, he nudges your hand away and takes care of it himself, rubbing and pinching it between his thumb and pointer finger.

Throwing your head back, your breathing stops momentarily as you push out your orgasm, your wetness coating your inner thighs and his cock as you cum harshly around him, “Jaeyun, fuck!” you cry, hands gripping any part of Jaeyun they can.

Jaeyun shudders as you clench around him, spilling himself into your heat along with you. He rubs his face desperately against your tits, relishing in the feeling of you against him. He has this aching need to be as close to you as possible.

Both of you are in complete and utter bliss as you hold one another, coming down from your highs.

As Jaeyun peppers open-mouthed kisses along your neck, he savours the sensation of your heartbeat, saddened slightly by his lack of. If he had one, he wished you could hear how loudly it was beating from pure satisfaction and tenderness.

"That was incredible, Y/N," he murmurs against the curve of your nape, his smile pressing warmly against your skin.

You tenderly kiss the top of his head and linger there for a moment, your fingers tracing light strokes along his back. But as the clock chimes once again, signalling the passage of time, reality intrudes upon your blissful moment.

"Fuck, I need to get the others to bed," you say regretfully, reluctantly withdrawing yourself from Jaeyun's embrace. The air feels colder now that night is settling in, and the absence of his touch leaves you longing for his warmth.

Jaeyun watches you with a mixture of understanding and longing as you get dressed, his gaze following your movements with a hint of reluctance, he wants you to stay beside him the way Soonyeol does, to look after him a little longer.

Before you part ways, Jaeyun reaches out to gently grasp your hand, "Y/N," he begins, his voice soft yet filled with urgency, "Please, don't tell the others. We aren’t supposed to tell you, and they already think I’m incapable of keeping a secret,” he says disheartened, the last sentence laced with vulnerability.

His plea catches you off guard, but you can see the sincerity in his eyes. Kneeling beside the bed, you take his hand into yours and kiss it softly, “I promise, I will not tell anyone, okay?” you reassure him, punctuating your sentiment with a smile, “This stays between us.”

It’s a promise not only to him but also to yourself. At the end of the day, no matter how good it was, you fucked a doll - an alive one, but still a doll.

With a grateful smile, Jaeyun leans in to press a gentle kiss against your lips, a silent gesture of gratitude for your understanding, “Thank you, Y/N. This won’t be the last time, will it?” he asks tentatively, trying to seek out how you might feel about the entirety of the situation.

You weigh up the question in your mind. On one hand, you would have someone to talk to and indulge in, but on the other, it’s risky and if Soonyeol found out, you know there would be hell to pay.

“Let’s just see how it goes, pup,” you say vaguely, kissing his forehead one more time.

This mansion is filled with secrets that you need to uncover, and you have two months to do it.

taglist: @nshmrarki @kgneptun @ui11iane @addictedtohobi @parksunghoonsgf @chaewonshoney @chiiiiiiiiis @lilyuwon @rayofsunshineeee @moon7jay @erehkinnie30 @brownsugarbaybee @minniejenseo @woninluv @jaysluvs @fakeuwus @capri-cuntz @ash024 @who-tf-soddhi @bambangan @vousty @heeseungspookie @alvojake @yorukoshii @haechonly @riftanswhore @belowbun @emikotakayami @branchrkive @featjunranghae @thejjrl @nyxtwixx @sunghoonnsupremacy @nctislifue @itsnikitty @enhypenlovre

#enhypen smut #enha smut #enhypen x reader #jake smut #jake sim smut #sim jaeyun smut #aj writes #enhypen fic #the doll house

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kumawaii · 3 months

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PLAYING THE GAME | PJS

cw - reader can fit into jay’s clothes, a bit of obsession, yandere behavior, oral sex (f), unprotected sex, creampie

∘₊✧─── 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽 ───✧₊∘

football player!jay is the epitome of perfect. he’s good looking, talented, and popular. from the moment he stepped on campus, he was considered a king among his peers. the star athlete of his college who has it all, except the thing that he wants the most in this world — you.

it’s a complete surprise for football player!jay when he finds himself falling for you. maybe it’s life’s cosmic joke that he has a hallway crush who never looks his way, who directs that pretty smile at every person she sees except him, who doesn’t care that he’s the campus heartthrob. it’s all very devastating to him because he spends so much time pining for you in spite of you not noticing him.

this goes on until football player!jay can’t take it anymore. he boldly takes a seat next to you in class on a random day. the smile he directs at you as he introduces himself to you is charming and attractive. you’re floored by his cute display because he says this to you like you don’t know who he is when of course you do.

football player!jay doesn’t know that, though. because you still just give him a polite smile and then focus on the lesson the rest of the class. for some reason, it just makes him want you more. so for the next few weeks he makes the biggest effort to get close to you.

football player!jay treats you so sweetly and gently. he always gets you coffee in the morning and walks you to all his classes. somewhere along the way, you started to look forward to sitting next to him in class. you two become real friends, but it’s not enough for him. while you’re very friendly and open to spending time with him, you don’t ever respond to him flirting with you. and on one of the mornings he brings you your coffee, he finally figures out why.

it’s really hard not to crush the cup in his hands when he sees you talking to a ta notorious for fucking students. the way you shyly laugh and smile at that sleazy loser makes football player!jay’s blood boil. as he works through his rage and jealousy, you saunter over to him without knowing he’s practically seething.

“you close with that guy?” it’s a casual question that hides the animosity he feels.

“i’m getting to know him.” you say as you take a sip of the coffee he bought for you.

“just be careful, babe.” jay says as he throws an arm around your shoulder. he squeezes you closer to his side, loving how you feel against him. “he fucks around a lot.”

it’s the first doubt he plants in your mind. he can literally see you starting to feel turned off, and he has to hide his smirk. football player!jay’s plan doesn’t end there. it’s fairly easy to convince his slutty ex to fuck the ta under the guise that they might possibly get back together. she didn’t expect it to end with both of them being kicked out of the university after being caught.

football player!jay feels a little bad to see you upset, but he’s ultimately happy that you run into his arms after his plan is complete. that night he spends hours eating you out, licking and sucking on your pretty little pussy until you literally can’t take it anymore. he feels like he’s on top of the world when he asks you to be at his next game and you say yes.

the sight of you adorned in football player!jay’s jersey that has his number and his last name plastered on the back only deepens his feelings for you. after he leads his team to victory, you run down and jump into his arms. he easily catches you and spins you around, his ego more inflated than it ever has been. your sweet voice congratulates him, and it makes his dick throb when you demand to go back to his place so you can give him his prize.

it all feels like a dream when football player!jay has you in his bed, kissing you deeply as your scent and taste invade his senses. he groans into your mouth, slowly teasing your entrance with his leaking tip. his pupils are blown wide as he slowly slides his cock deep inside of you. your moans are so cute that jay has to stop multiple times to prevent himself from cumming right then and there.

“fuck, baby.” jay moans before he starts licks and suck on your neck, leaving his marks on you. “you feel so fucking good.”

you’re whimpering and moaning underneath him, locking your legs around his hips to push him deeper inside you. football player!jay had never felt better than he does now with your sweet pussy sucking him in, clamping down on him and massaging his aching cock with your swollen walls. his thrusts start to pick up speed, chasing the addicting feeling of fucking you.

“harder!” you squeal against jay’s lips. “fuck me harder!”

football player!jay angles your hips up, allowing him to press his leaking head against the soft spot that makes you see starts. you clench down even tighter around him until it feels like you’re suffocating his cock. he swears under his breath, panting heavily against your lips. jay’s thrusts are rough and insatiable, pounding into you as an indescribable pleasure consumes you both.

“so fucking tight — all for me.”

jay’s growl makes the coil in your belly snap. you moan out his name as you cum all over his cock. he groans along with you, sloppily fucking back into you as his own orgasm hits. thick ropes of cum paint your silky walls, effectively marking you as his in the most primal way possible.

football player!jay won’t ever get enough of you clinging to him while you moan his name so prettily. he’s gently rubbing soothing circles on your throbbing clit as you start to come down from your high. the smile he directs at you is so pretty and endearing that you have to pull him down for another kiss.

as you two lay in his bed after, football player!jay presses a sweet kiss to your head. your sleeping form cuddles closer to him, and his heart swells. because now that he’s had you, no one is going to take you away from him. ever.

#kumawaii.exe #enhypen smut #jay smut #park jongseong smut #enhypen x reader #enhypen fic #jay enhypen smut #jay x reader #park jeongseong smut #enha smut #enha x reader

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pinkie-pop · 5 months

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"Do Paimons Dream of Floating Sheep?"

Mondstadt: Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Based on this

Featuring: Gender-Neutral Reader, Paimon!Reader, Yandere Genshin Impact, Aether, Albedo, Eula, Diluc, Kaeya, Lisa, Venti

Word count: 2.2k

Synopsis: Being dragged into the world of your favorite video game is hardly your idea of a relaxing Saturday, and being dragged into the world of your favorite game, taking over the role of mascot even less so. Unfortunately, it seems fate has no interest in what you consider to be a normal day, and it will do anything to replace your idea of normal entirely.

Includes: Acrophobia, implied drugging of a drink (Not Reader's),

Note: This work is distinct from the previous two installments in that it does not follow a chronological timeline. Instead, it contains a collection of short stories and interactions.

“Ah, hello there [Name],” Kaeya says, catching you on one of the rare moments you’re alone. “I was just about to get some Sticky Honey Roast, do you want to join? My treat.” He must know it’s your favorite—one of the few things you have in common with the original Paimon—with the way he always seems to use it as an excuse to spend more time with you.

“Um, is that really okay? Aren’t you like, on duty?” Kaeya smiles, pressing a finger to his lips.

“It’ll be our little secret,” he says. You try to smile at him as you think of ways to decline, but a betrayal from your stomach seals your fate. Your blue-haired companion chuckles at the loud grumble from your stomach and beckons you to follow him. ”Sounds like you’re in agreement. Then, let’s head down to Good Hunter,” he says, placing a hand on the small of your back as the two of you walk. It's a little uncomfortable, but you don’t say anything.

Kaeya is difficult to navigate, so you usually avoid him. You think he’s noticed, but he’s yet to say anything about it. Instead, the two of you engage in a silent tug-of-war, with him always trying to pull you in closer and you always trying to break away.

Well, at least the food’s free.

The two of you make your way down to Good Hunter, where you engage in awkward small talk as Kaeya stares you down uncomfortably. You’re about halfway through making some vague remark about the weather when Kaeya lets out something like a contented sigh, stopping you in your tracks.

“This is nice,” says Kaeya, resting his chin on his hand and looking at you with a gaze resembling something like tenderness. “They run me ragged at the Knights of Favonious—seeing you is like a breath of fresh air. I’d better be careful, otherwise I might get swept up in your gaze and forget everything else.”

“Run you ragged? Is Jean really that hard on you?” You say, pointedly ignoring his flirtatious remarks.

“Oh, absolutely,” he says. “Why just the other day, I–” Kaeya pauses, as if sensing something. Slowly, he turns around.

“Go on,” says Jean, standing right behind him. “What happened next, Captain?” She enunciates the title with purpose, clearly angry but still smiling. Kaeya swallows, and gets an earful from Jean. You finish your meal in peace.

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Just a little further–!” You say, oustretching your hand and teetering over the edge of the ladder, desperately trying not to look down. Lisa had asked you to help her with some menial tasks at the library. Right now, you're reshelving books as Lisa holds the ladder steady. You could have forgone the ladder and flown up to the shelves yourself, but after last time…you shudder. No, it’s much easier to use the ladder instead, although, really, you’d rather not be up here at all. Lisa had practically begged you to go up, citing her bad back as to why she couldn’t do it herself. “Ah, got it!” you say, smiling victoriously. You grin down at Lisa, only to realize just how high up you are.

Like waves crashing against the sand, the floor below you shifts and swirls as you fight to stay afloat. It is a meaningless fight, you know, for you are already falling. Time seems to slow down as you plummet to the floor. Logically, you know your fall should only take but a few seconds, but to you, it seems to stretch out for an eternity.

Your life flashes before your eyes. You see your family smiling at you from beyond a white light, you reach towards it, but there’s nothing there. You could save yourself by flying, but you’ve already vowed to never take to the skies again, and so down you fall. Falling is not all that dissimilar to flying, you see. It’s merely a matter of perspective.

Surely you must be close to the ground by now? It feels as though you’ve been plummeting down for ages.

You keep falling. Then, you stop.

Lisa catches you, her face mere cetemeters from yours. “I take it this means you’ve fallen for me?” She teases as your face heats up. You try to tell her to put you down, to ask about her back, but the words don’t come out. Instead, you lay there in her arms, gaping at her as if she had just grown three heads. Finally, she puts you down. You aren’t sure how long she kept you there, but you have a feeling it was longer than it needed to be.

The two of you finish shelving the books in silence, Lisa smiling the whole time.

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Hey, Aether?” Your companion looks up at you in curiosity. You take a breath. ”If…we’re travelers, then, does that mean we don’t have a place to call home? What happens when our journey ends?” You look down, running a finger across the crescent scar on your hand—a nervous habit you picked up after coming to this world.

You had been thinking about this for a while. Ever since you fell into the lake three weeks ago. You have a home, but it's not here.

“Home, huh..?” Aether seems to be pondering over your question sincerely. No matter how silly or inconsequential your thoughts were, he always took you seriously. You liked that about him. “Home is wherever the three of us are,” he says at last. You chuckle awkwardly, unsure of what to say. It was sweet of him to say that, but he’s only known you for a few months.

You open your mouth to speak, but Aether cuts you off before you get the chance to. “I mean it, you know. Even if you don’t believe it. I don’t care how long we’ve known each other. You found me when I was at my lowest, when I was lost and missing the only family I’d ever known. You picked me back up and taught me about this world, even though it was foreign to you, too. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” Your face grows hot as you turn away.

You aren’t an idiot. You’ve noticed the way he looks at you. Like you’re the only thing in the whole world. But…perhaps because you didn’t want to hurt him, you always ignored the signs, no matter how obvious they may be.

You aren’t sure if you can ignore this one, though.

“I can’t stay.” How can you say that? You can’t. You have a home, but Aether isn’t a part of it. One day you’ll tell him.

Just not today.

•~•~•~•~•~•

“Position your feet like this, then…” Eula stands behind you, her front nearly touching your back as she guides your arms into the proper positions. She’s close, nearly too close, and you can feel her hot breath on the nape of your neck as she instructs you. It’s hard to focus, but you do your best to follow her instructions. “Good. Now, from the top.” You do as she says and get back into starting position. Your feet start a shoulder widths apart, your hands above you, good, you’re starting off stopping. Next, move your hands like this and your feet like so.

Keep going, now. You’ve almost done it. Move slowly, don’t rush. Remember to breathe. You hold your current pose for three beats then slowly, carefully, move on to the next position. You drag the tip of your foot across the floor in a circular motion, then join it with your other one. You’re almost done now. It’s time for the finale.

Careful now, it’s the final stretch. Almost there, almost there—

You trip.

Internally cursing at your mistake, you hardly notice the way Eula’s arms swiftly wrap around you, keeping you from harm.

“You did well,” she says, walking towards the gramophone and taking out the record. She readies the song to play again, then steps back towards you. You never noticed it before, but even the way she walks is as elegant as a dance. You suppose that’s one perk of nobility.

“Thank you…”

“Now, let’s try again, shall we? Don’t worry, I’ll spot you. Just focus on dancing.”

•~•~•~•~•~•

Aether fell asleep.

It was still early, but the day was not particularly kind to him. You suppose it’s natural for him to be a bit tired. Still, to fall asleep in the middle of a bar was…

Diluc’s voice broke you out of your thoughts.

“If Aether’s too tired to walk back, there’s a spare room here that you can use. I doubt you’ll be able to carry him,” he says, wiping a glass. He’s been wiping the same glass for several minutes now…almost as if he were waiting for something...Or maybe he just switched them out when you weren’t looking. The glasses all look the same, after all.“Of course, if you’re worried about the comfort of such a room, I can always carry him back to my manor. You can stay in one of the spare rooms, too. I’ll let the maids know not to disturb the two of you.”

“Thank you,” you say. “But that shouldn’t be necessary. Aether’s a pretty light sleeper, I’m sure I can wake him, no problem.”

“Are you sure?” Diluc glances over at you. “He looks pretty out of it.” You try jostling him, only for there to be no response. You continue trying on and off for the rest of the night. It is only until the tavern is minutes away from closing that you finally accept Diluc’s offer. You hadn’t wanted to burden him, but he was right. You couldn’t carry him all by yourself. You follow Diluc back to his manor. He seems uncharacteristically pleased.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Dragonspine is cold.

You knew that, of course, but you had no ideea just how cold it really was. The game’s sheer cold gave you an idea, sure, but it left out just how biting the wind could be. A simple frost filter overlaid on top of gameplay could to nothing to convey just how freezing the place really was. Even now, bundled up in three layers of coat and standing next to a fire, the cold still found its way to creep past your defences, starting at your skin and seeping down into your bone.

You are cold. Freezing, even. To an almost literal degree. You think that if you were to start crying now, your tears woud freeze before they even left your eyes. Perhaps your eyelids would freeze shut, and perhaps you would never be able to open them again. It’s so cold that you wonder if you’ll ever feel warmth again. You wonder if such a thing is even possible.

You know these musings are silly, but alas, you cannot help them. It is far too cold to be thinking of anything else.

“Come here,” Albedo says, beckoning you over. You do so without thinking, though the chill makes you want to stay put. Albedo wraps a blanket around the two of you, then pulls you into his chest. You relax into him immediately, the warmth from his body overtaking you, fighting valiantly against the frigid air. For once, it seems to actually have a chance.

You snuggle in closer and Albedo wraps an arm around you, bringing you somehow closer than before as he rubs small circles into your back. It’s soothing. You sigh happily, too focused on the temperature to notice the possessive way he’s looking at you, too preoccupied to wonder why he doesn’t turn on the heater you saw hours ago.

You didn’t know it was possible for people to be this warm. Perhaps it is because Albedo is not a person at all. Albedo holds you as if you are his only lifeline, and, for a second, you find yourself wondering if he’s cold as well. Right, Albedo doesn’t get cold. He can’t.

So then, why is he holding you so tightly…?

•~•~•~•~•~•

There’s something almost hypnotic about his voice, or perhaps its about the way he strums his lyre. Is it because he’s a god? Or perhaps it’s simply a millenia of experience at play. Perhaps it is both. Perhaps neither. You don’t dwell on it. You’d miss the performance if you did, and what a shame that would be.

The two of you sit together, alone in the dead of night with only each other for company. You sat at the foot of the large statue in the middle of the city as he serenaded you. Perhaps it was a little egotistical of him, to sing for you under a statue of himself, but you are far too preoccupied in song to care.

The moon’s milky glow illuminates his face in a way that is almost ethereal. At times, you have found yourself wondering if Venti was truly a god fit of the title. It is only now, in times like this, that the truth of his divinity is realized. Words fall like honey from his lips as he sings, his nimble fingers plucking at the strings with precision and expertise. His skill is unmatched—not just in Mondstadt, but in the whole of Teyvat. Of this, you are certain.

The song comes to its end, and so too does your rendezvous.

•~•~•~•~•~•

You close the Archive.

“So that’s what the future has in store for me, huh?”

Taglist: @shadowkitty-me @probablynoposts @kissyhalik @persephone-kore-law @neverending-animelove @crxscnt @teravolting @resident-cryptid @esthelily @shellofthewall @dilucragnidvr @altheq0 @wegottastayfocus @jellothefool @c0l1fl0r @francisnyx @imma-just-chill @fantasyhopperhea @iamapotatoe @utahimechan @undecidingfate @saltystudentdefender @vee-love @ayameei @shadowkitty-me @fantasyhopperhea @c4xcocoa

#yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere diluc #diluc ragnvindr #yandere kaeya #yandere albedo #yandere aether #yandere lisa #yandere venti #yandere x reader #genshin sagau #sagau #sagau x reader #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin

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megaderping · 19 days

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I feel like when people compare Akechi to Light Yagami, they fundamentally misunderstand his character. Their similarities really end at their designs, and Light is the kind of person Akechi would despise. Light Yagami lives a pretty privileged life at the start of Death Note. He has a stable home, with two parents and a sister who care about him. He's a successful student. There isn't really inherent tragedy to his life. The whole reason he starts using the Death Note is a mix of curiosity and a jaded worldview, and when it works it empowers him, very quickly goes to his head, as he believes he is one who can be a god of a "new world" once the shock of his initial kills wears off. While his first kill was to help someone, that altruism didn't last. He is in charge of his choices, while Ryuk mostly vibes and maybe eggs him on a little. Fundamentally, Light has something Akechi lacks: agency, and a comfortable life he took for granted. Meanwhile, Akechi is someone who lived on the bottom rung of Japanese society. His very existence is shameful there, between his mother being a sex worker, his status as an illegitimate/"throw away" child, and his mother's suicide. Years languishing in a foster system that is notoriously inhumane, in a country where 90% of the adoptions are grown men for inheritance and patriarchal reasons, while very few children in the system find permanent homes. When Akechi awakens his power, he approaches Shido not because he wants to kill people but for a stupid revenge plan cooked up by a traumatized child who's been nudged along by a malevolent god. He wants to build Shido up so that at the height of his power, he can expose him for the monster he really is, while another part of him genuinely wants to be useful to Shido, as Cogkechi later calls out. His feelings are a mess of contradictions, and so it's no surprise that Shido was able to mold him into his assassin at only 15 years old. It's also worth noting that Akechi only approaches Shido with his ability to cause psychotic breakdowns. Shido is the one who teaches and instructs him to do shutdowns. He's still complicit, very sunk cost with his revenge plan, but as I spoke of here, even if he wanted to quit, he couldn't alone. Shido's cleaner and control of the law and ability to effortlessly turn him in would render the Metaverse his only safe haven. I think people look at 11/20 Akechi and Akechi in the early parts of the engine room and assume that's just his "true self," when in reality it's another mask. Royal makes it very clear because in Rank 7, he outright warns Joker of what's to come via a pool metaphor and offers an out (though he's MUCH happier if you don't take it/stick to your principles), and in Rank 8, he goes on that big "I hate you" speech... while Sunset Bridge is playing. Y'know, the song that plays at the end of most confidants to reaffirm bonds. So when he smiles as he shoots what he assumes to be Joker, that doesn't mean he's genuinely happy. More likely, he's an emotional clusterfuck, given he also is disoriented enough to namedrop "Shido-san" over the phone, and in the subsequent meeting with Shido, tells him not to kill the Phantom Thieves and that Morgana is "just a cat." Yes, he says they'll make them fear for the rest of their lives, but remember, he's talking to Shido. The things he says are likely all incredibly calculated to sound appealing to Shido. And when you consider that he planned to utterly destroy Shido's reputation after the election, the "delay" makes even more sense.

Later, Akechi goes on about how the people he induced shutdowns on were deserving of their fates, but I don't think he believes it so much as it's the only way he could convince himself that it was worth it, and given how much society failed him, and given how many of the people he targeted were likely rivals/competitors or rich fucks, I think he'd be less inclined to assume good faith. Kunikazu Okumura was not an innocent little victim, after all. He was one of the people who requested breakdowns and shutdowns the most. I think Akechi enjoyed killing him not because of how it'd hurt Haru, but because of catharsis. Because Okumura is just as monstrous as Shido, so why should he feel remorse? However, I don't believe he feels the same about Wakaba, as when he discusses her with Shido, he mentions how her fate was because she refused to willingly work for him. It's another justification, but I personally think Wakaba's death was the most painful for him because he was effectively making Futaba just like him. That's why I think his reaction to Sae threatening Sojiro's custody was genuine. Anyway, evil grinning Akechi is just another mask, as I said. Keep in mind, this is someone who laments not meeting Joker years ago, someone who Morgana outright points out is lying about his hatred. And that's the thing. Light Yagami, while a really fascinating character, is not someone who had all this childhood suffering or lack of agency. He does not regret his actions in the slightest and goes down due to his own hubris in both the anime and the manga. While you can argue that Ryuk set him up by dropping the Death Note, Light was the one who picked it up and chose to use it. Any nudging from Ryuk didn't coerce Light into doing it because Light seized the opportunity. No, if Light Yagami is like anyone in Persona 5, it's Masayoshi Shido, not Goro Akechi. Both believe they are god/god's chosen, that they are the ones who will reshape the world to their ideals, and to be frank, both use and abuse women to serve their own purposes. Goro Akechi goes down sacrificing himself for the Thieves and pleading with them to stop his father and again in Maruki's reality when he refuses to let Joker accept a gilded prison of a world for his sake when he knows better than anyone what it's like to have no true freedom. If you max his confidant, you see him in the postcredits, leaving his survival entirely possible, and I think it works because at the end of the day, Akechi was meant to be a victim and a foil. Light is a villain protagonist and a cautionary tale. Though its his POV we follow, he isn't someone we're meant to root for, but I definitely don't think enjoying the character is a bad thing at all. He's really interesting! I just think that a lot of the Akechi and Light comparisons are surface level at best.

#goro akechi #persona 5 #p5r spoilers #character analysis #long post #death note spoilers

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casuallyawkardd · 10 months

Text

Close Encounters of the Spiderkind

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x Single Mother!Reader

Summary: When reader refuses to go on a mission, Miguel decides to pay a home visit to figure out why

Warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR ATSV! fluff, slight hurt/comfort and angst if you squint hard enough, Miguel is a softie around kids, it’s giving slow burn/platonic vibes, not fluent in Spanish so feel free to correct my wording/punctuation

A/N: This is kind of my way of dipping my toes back into the world of fanfiction writing, if ya’ll end up liking it I was planning on making it a little series of sorts. Not necessarily a multipart story, rather just little moments following the same general characters. I took the liberty of assigning a gender and name to the reader’s daughter since that sounded like it’d be easier in terms of writing, the rest is still like any Y/N story. Reader is also a spider person, but I’m not married to the idea for future oneshots? Drabbles? I don’t know what you kids call them nowadays...

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

It had only been a couple months since you had joined Spider-Society and, while you were still trying to find your footing, things were going a lot better than expected. There was a comradery with being around other people with the same abilities, who had experienced the same losses, victories and all that came with wearing the mask. You had found some good friends among the other Spiders, particularly with Peter B and Jess, as there was a common ground there that you had yet to share with them; something that the three of you had in common.

That commonality was currently asleep in the other room, your daughter Vada. For once, it had been a day where the radios were quiet. No calls from HQ to go on missions, no worrying chatter on the police radios, so you had taken the day to spend time with your daughter. The three year old was going through a phase where she was having nightmares almost every night, so the day was spent at home relaxing. From watching movies, to cooking meals together, Vada had been your little shadow all day and you had enjoyed every second of it. While your toddler had tuckered herself out, you were restless, curled up on the couch watching TV at a low enough volume that only you could hear, thanks to your heightened senses. It may have been almost midnight, but that was still considered an early night for you. Used to the regime of patrolling until early in the morning and crawling into bed to get a few hours asleep before Vada came in to ask for her breakfast. Just as you were starting to feel the pull of sleep on your eyelids, letting the quiet calm sink into your bones, the moment was then yanked from you. When the beeping started the first time, you had acted on instinct to silence the noise. Your hand practically slapped the Gizmo on your wrist, the same Gizmo given to you by Miguel when you had joined his Spider-Society. Ugh, Miguel. It was a damn shame that such a pretty face was wasted on a sourpuss like him. While being the leader of an elite group of Spider-People sounded like no easy task, there were times the man definitely took it too seriously. Sure, he had a great work ethic and was a respectable leader, but that all came with the downside that you couldn’t stand being around him for more than five minutes. You two hadn’t gotten off on the right foot and it seemed like he wouldn’t let you live that down. Ever the stern, cold-hearted leader, barking orders and chewing your ass out if something went wrong. He hardly ever smiled and when he did it was condescending, almost smug as he questioned just how intelligent you actually were. A waste of a pretty face indeed.

That pretty face came to mind when you looked down at your Gizmo, which was beeping once more, finally processing that it was Miguel who was trying to contact you. Shit.

“Hello?” your voice is quiet, wary as you answer him finally; trying to keep quiet for the toddler sleeping in the other room. Also because of the worry that you’ve pissed him off once again.

“Why aren’t you answering?” his voice cuts through the silence, monotone and firm. “An anomaly was detected on Earth-616, go take care of it. Ben Reilly and Peter Parker from Earth-13122 are already en route.”

“I....can’t,” you cringe as the word leaves your mouth. The pregnant pause that follows feels like an eternity.

“What do you mean you ‘can’t’?” He spits the word back at you, like you offended him with just the one syllable. More silence follows, Miguel waiting for your answer and you not knowing what to say. “...Is something wrong?”

“I have to go,” you end the call, not even registering the concern that had slid its way into his tone. With a heavy sigh, you lay your head against the back of the couch, regretting how you handled the situation, but thankful it was dealt with. That is until the familiar sound of a portal opening and closing disturbs your precious quiet once more.

It makes you almost jump out of your skin, physically lurching off the couch, the warm hues from the light of the portal filling your living room and disappearing as quickly as they came. In their place is Miguel, clad in his spidersuit from head to toe. A wave of emotions goes through you, the look of shock, confusion and anger crossing your face in less than a second. He doesn’t seem to have noticed you yet, glancing around the space and disengaging his mask when he doesn’t register any immediate threats.

“What are you doing here!?” it takes all you have not to shout the words at him, instead resorting to a sort of hiss to keep your voice down. Miguel doesn’t seem to take the hint.

“This is why you couldn’t come? Because you’re too busy lounging around and watching trash TV?” he isn’t shouting per se, rather his tone makes him sound louder. That and the quiet of your apartment probably amplified his voice even more. “I know the weight of keeping the multiverse intact might go over your head, but the least you could do is be there for your teammates. I don’t allow slackers in my-” “Shh!” you’re moving towards him without even realizing, motherly instinct telling you to silence the noise that dared try to wake your daughter. Your hand reaches to cover his loud mouth and Miguel takes a step back to avoid your touch, the frustration reflecting in his eyes turning into red, hot anger.

“Did you just ‘shh’ me!?” he sounds as if he’s in disbelief, his voice now actually rising in volume. You stumble over your words, trying to apologize and explain yourself all at once. Now it’s his turn to step towards you, his imposing frame towering over you and you can’t help but shrink back, “I don’t know who you think you are, but if you don’t get your ass in your suit, I’ll-”

“Mama?” Vada’s little voice cuts through the air, both Miguel and you freezing. When you turn to look at your daughter, who’s standing in the doorway to her bedroom, it feels like everything around you fades away. The static of the TV, Miguel, everything until all you can focus on is Vada. She’s clearly distressed, as you come to kneel in front of her you can see the tears in her big round eyes, the redness around them and on her nose, the slight tremble in her bottom lip. You know what’s wrong before she even has to explain.

“Sweet girl, another one?” you ask calmly, a hand going to stroke her hair. Vada nods, confirming your suspicion that she had been roused by yet another nightmare. The creak of the floorboards alerts you of Miguel taking a step closer and you’re suddenly very much aware of his presence once again. However, your eyes don’t leave Vada’s crying face. “Let’s get you back into bed,” you try to coax her into heading back the way she came, your toddler only resisting and shaking her head firmly.

“I want Mama’s bed,” she demands, sounding groggy as the sleep she had just risen from had yet to fully leave her. Vada doesn’t even let you respond before her tiny arms wrap around your neck, face pressing into the junction of your neck and shoulder, “Want you,” she mutters against you, the exhaustion and distress in her voice making your heart ache for her. “Vada,” you sigh heavily, exhausted as well. Exhausted from the heavy workload of being Spider-Woman not just for your universe, but other universes as well. Exhausted from the fact your child couldn’t get a wink of sleep and seeing her frustrated made you frustrated as well. You cave, scooping your daughter up in your arms and standing. Her body molds to yours, relaxing against your frame like it had done so many times before. As you rub her back and kiss her temple, you’re forced to turn and deal with the elephant in the room. Or rather the spider.

You expect Miguel to look annoyed, as usual, but he isn’t. In fact, the anger he was prepared to unleash on you moments ago seems to have vanished, replaced with a look of curiosity, intrigue and dare you say....awe? He’s looking at Vada, who’s about to pass out in your arms, with a softened expression, the sight of the small girl seeming to tug the corners of his mouth up just slightly.

Huh.

Miguel seems to catch himself staring, shaking his head to clear the fog and meeting your gaze once more. “I...didn’t know,” is all he can say, not as confident in the way he stands.

“No one knows,” you reply in a much harsher tone than you intended. After a deep breath, you adjust how you speak, “I’ve only been on the team for a couple months. It’s not that I don’t trust the other spiders...I just want to be careful, yah know?” Miguel nods along with what you say and you can’t help but keep talking to fill the now awkward silence, “Usually I have someone to watch her, but it’s been so long since I’ve had a day to just give her all my attention- I promise, it won’t happen again. I know that I should answer if you call-”

“Cállate,” Miguel cuts you off and you’re almost grateful he’s saved you from rambling. There’s another moment of silence before he sighs, “You don’t have to explain yourself, really. If I had known,” he waves a hand to indicate to your daughter, “this was the reason you were ignoring my calls, I wouldn’t have been so hard on you. Your daughter comes first, I get it.”

His words hit harder than they should. Every Spider-Person had heard the story. How Miguel was willing to put his own duties aside to live in a universe where he had a daughter of his own. Replacing the him of that universe, who had died tragically, to live the life he had always wanted; only to have that universe crumble around him. Literally. It explained his cold demeanor, you’d probably be a bitch too if your daughter died in your arms, but that coldness you had become accustomed to seemed to melt away the longer he took in the sight of you holding your daughter.

“You said her name’s Vada?” he asks, stepping a little closer. Normally, you would probably keep your distance from him, maternal instincts in overdrive with an imposing figure like Miguel so close to Vada, but you stay in place. Not bothered by his presence for once. He’s looking at you, expecting an answer, and you nod your head. He hums, “How old?”

“Three,” you answer and he hums again. “...Is everything okay? Regarding the mission?”

“Huh? Oh,” he clears his throat, adjusting his stance and taking a small step back. When had he gotten so close to you? “I think those two should be fine on their own. Earth-13122′s Spider-Man knows what he’s doing and-”

“You know, you can just call him Lego Spider-Man. Everyone calls him Lego Spider-Man.”

“That’s not his correct title.”

“Uh-huh,” you smile, holding back a laugh at how serious Miguel seemed to be about the subject. “...Well, I think it’s time we go to bed.”

“Right, right,” Miguel moves like he’s about to walk out the front door, seeming to forget that he had come via portal and catching himself as his hand grasps the handle. Has he always been this socially awkward? He turns to look at you again, “Should I just...?”

“Yes, please open your noisy portal outside.”

“Claro que sí,” he nods in understanding, opening the door. Just as he’s about to leave, he pauses again, turning to look back at you, “Even if you’re busy, you should still answer when I call. I was worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” you repeat, a bit of teasing in your voice.

“Worried as in the normal amount of worried.”

“Sure, sure, O’Hara.”

“I’m leaving now,” he huffs, turning to leave again. Yet he can’t help but stop one more time, “Goodnight.”

He finally leaves, door shutting with a soft click. You go to the door to lock it, carrying Vada into your room for bed. It seems that she had managed to fall back asleep despite your little interaction with Miguel. As you lay down and pull the comforter over the two of you, Vada snuggling impossibly close to you once more, you lie there thinking about what had just transpired.

Maybe his pretty face wasn’t a waste.

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#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara headcannons #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #close encounters of the spiderkind #miguel o'hara x single mother!reader

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