Tumgik
#let's get some good manga and anime out of this then
pens-and-paperbacks · 8 months
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I really hope more people come to love chainsaw man. You have a world where people have to live with the existence of devils, many of which hate humanity, where theres one guy who decides, "there's no reason why I can't be friends with a devil," and changes his life trajectory and the lives of so many others, humans and devils alike in such magnificent ways.
The bonds people make. The bonds devils make. The mechanic of the contracts they form. The legit fear that some devils manage to invoke. The sympathy you end up feeling for some of them. What happens when a devil is killed. What happens when a devil is destroyed, because that's an entirely different matter. The story of found family that ends up becoming the centerpiece of the first arc, with highs and lows that had me crying during one of the most action packed scenes I've ever read in a manga.
I want to recommend it to everyone I can because I honestly think it has the potential to be a cult anime that everyone comes to know and love, same as Dragonball, Naruto, Mob Psycho, etc.
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zanathan-aisling · 4 months
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today's jjk ep
#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jujutsu kaisen anime and manga spoilers#i didn't even flinch tbh#and i skipped some of the flashback so i was legit like 'oh the episodes already gonna end HERE???'#i'm not getting emotional about that crap until an episode comes out confirming she's dead!!!!#i say sitting on my ass forever because gege is a little wierdo who just never fucking bothered to do that#(at this point the Her situation in jjk is unsalvageable. the only thing the author COULD do thats at all narratively built-up-at-all would#be to have her get taken over by kenjacku. but like. that'd fucking SUCK STILL so like whatever#should've just said she was dead insteada introducing a whole new character that would then never show back up with a power specifically#designed only to leave her in a relative state of limbo)#(well that and keep yuji from dying worse. but like. honestly that wasn't very necessary we could believe yuji survived getting his ass#handed to him by mahito anyway we did it before)#literally each new chapter her coming back gets less and less likely at this point. its over. who gives a shit.#akutami came up with a fucking GOLDEN character and just kinda dropped her down a toilet. didn't even flush it correctly just let us wait.#narratively i don't HATE the idea of her dying even! but good GOD it should've been two-thirds through the story rather than roughly halfwa#also just#i fuckin hate megumi#sorry hes just kinda boring! todo was right!!#theres good things IN his character but god it feels like he only exists to be a wet blanket#a wet blanket that WORKED GREAT WITH THE MORE BALANCED CORE CAST!#BUT ONCE THEY'RE FUCKING GONE ITS. NOTHING.#i LOVE yuji he's great but without other characters to foil him he's just... not enough#and none of the post-shibuya cast has really been able to carry that for him.#especially since we only briefly ever saw him and choso like.. be around each other???#yuji is lovely he's great he's my scrimbly but without other characters to bond with he's just not nutritious enough!!!!!#its like an incomplete protein!!! you gotta pair him with something else!!!!#coughnotmegumieither#and GOD the shit with Hana and the kinda-just-bullshit-when-you-haven't-even-confirmed-shes-dead 'scared she'd replace nobara' crap#'wow this is a character i could probably actually like if she wasn't buried under an introductory heaping of wierd pseudo-misogyny'#ALSO WHERE THE FUCK IS *TODO*
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forlix · 6 days
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𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.
— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.
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words・15.2k
pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)
genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!
warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.
playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes
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a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡
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“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”
Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”
Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Please, angel.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”
At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 
When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”
Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”
You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.
The air between you curdles like sour milk.
Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.
You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 
“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”
“Because you’re so scholarly.”
“I am not scholarly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”
“I need to get my steps in somehow!"
“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”
“—ugh, I learned so much about you that day."
“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”
“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”
He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.
But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time.
He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.
“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.
You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”
He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.
“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”
“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”
All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.
“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.
Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.
“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”
“Thanks, cap.” Useless.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”
“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.
From: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad
Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”
“Yep.”
From: Kyeyoung Kim «[email protected]» To: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology
“That’s bullshit!”
“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”
“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.
“No way you just had that.”
“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”
Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”
“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”
He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”
Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.
“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.
The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.
Then comes the yelling.
“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”
“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”
“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”
Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.
“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”
Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.
He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.
“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”
“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 
Hyunjin shudders.
It just might, actually.
Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.
It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.
At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.
Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.
Piazza replied within the week.
For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.
But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.
He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”
“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”
Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.
“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”
Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.
Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”
Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
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A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.
“I thought you said your order was complicated.”
You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.
“Was it not?” You ask.
“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”
“What? Really?”
“No.”
He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.
“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”
“I do, but you don’t.”
Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.
“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”
“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.
You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”
Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”
“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.
You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.
You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.
He’s thinking.
That can’t be good.
Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”
“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”
“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”
“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”
Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”
Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”
“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”
The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”
“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”
Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”
“I can see it.”
“I can see killing myself, maybe.”
The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.
“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.
Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”
Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.
“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”
You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.
Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.
“I didn’t like that at all.”
“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”
“You have a kid, don’t you?”
“Hello—who do you think I am?”
“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”
“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”
You can’t argue with that.
“What do you have to tell me?”
A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.
“I’m failing anthro.”
So much for a serious conversation. 
“Come again?”
He repeats the mystifying statement.
“You’re joking.”
The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.
“You’re failing anthro?”
“I just said that, yes.”
“You’re failing anthropology?”
“Mhm.”
“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”
This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”
“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”
Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.
“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”
You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”
“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”
“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”
“Do you want it to?”
“Just tell me the deal, boy.”
“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”
Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“On which part?”
“All of them. Everything.”
Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”
You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.
He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.
“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”
“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”
“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”
“Let me guess. Not for you.”
“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”
“To dinner or to practice?”
“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”
He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.
“—you should manage our team.”
“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”
“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”
“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”
“Me!”
Oh, right. “But you hated it!”
“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”
Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”
“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”
“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”
You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”
He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.
“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”
“What is this, mock trial?”
The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.
“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”
“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”
“I would never.”
“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”
“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”
You stiffen. “I haven’t—”
“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”
You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—
Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.
“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”
“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.
He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.
You do kick him under the table, though.
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The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.
“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.
The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.
“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”
“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”
“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”
Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.
“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.
“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”
“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”
“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”
“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”
Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”
The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.
You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.
“Go easy on me, yeah?”
While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.
“I can’t promise anything.”
With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.
A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.
Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”
“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”
“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”
“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”
“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.
“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”
The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.
“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”
One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.
So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 
Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.
Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.
Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”
He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.
“Caring about me.”
Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.
“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”
“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”
It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.
As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”
“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”
You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”
The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.
The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.
You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.
Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.
“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.
Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”
“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”
The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”
He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.
It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.
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A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 
“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”
You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”
“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”
You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.
“Motherfucker!”
He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”
“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 
“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”
The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.
“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.
“I tried! Someone distracted me.”
“Read it before I change my mind.”
You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.
You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.
Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.
With that, his attention span has run its course.
“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”
You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.
“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”
“I think so. I hit my stride.”
“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 
“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.
“Why is that?”
“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”
“It really is.”
“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”
“I really would.”
“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”
“Didn’t you come up with that?”
“No, hello? I live in that village.”
He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”
“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”
Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.
“But I do give a fuck about you.”
There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.
He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.
Then he opens his texts.
Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡
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He picks you up at 7:53.
You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.
“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.
Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”
You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”
“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”
“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, Minho.”
“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”
“I want nothing to do with this.”
When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.
“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”
“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”
He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”
“I’m okay, I think.”
“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.
You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”
“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.
You purchase an hour.
One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.
But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.
“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.
You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.
You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.
“I already did,” you finally answer.
“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”
“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”
“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”
Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”
He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”
“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”
“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”
“Then you’re smarter than you look.”
“Well, you look—”
His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.
“What was that?”
“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 
When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 
He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.
Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.
Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.
“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”
“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”
“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”
“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”
He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”
“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”
You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 
Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.
He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.
“Do you want to be alone?”
You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 
“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.
When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 
Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.
You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.
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Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.
Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 
Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.
Then came the arcade.
Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 
In person, that is.
That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.
Then you listen to it again.
And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.
As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.
Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.
“It’s been a while,” he greets.
“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”
“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”
You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”
Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.
Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 
Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.
You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.
“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.
His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.
“Is this enough space?”
More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.
“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”
Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.
The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.
The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.
There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 
“How do you see under these things?”
“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”
“And?”
“He made them brighter.”
“Sounds about right.”
He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.
But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.
This cannot be his burden alone.
You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.
“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”
You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”
The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.
“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”
“Your role model?”
“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”
The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”
“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.
“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”
You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.
Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.
You stop thinking after that.
You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.
You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.
“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”
His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.
“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”
“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”
You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?
“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.
“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.
“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”
Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.
The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.
“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”
Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.
“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.
“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”
“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.
“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”
Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.
“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”
The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?
“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”
When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”
You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.
“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”
You think you like his cologne after all.
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Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.
A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 
Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.
“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”
You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”
He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”
You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”
Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Traitor.”
Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 
“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.
You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 
“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”
He stops speaking.
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”
“You are about to be a professional athlete.”
“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”
Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.
“Let’s get this over with.”
At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.
At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.
You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.
Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.
“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”
Hyunjin is already out the door.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.
“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 
“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”
Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”
Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”
Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”
“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”
“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”
“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”
“She really is.”
A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.
Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.
It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.
At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.
Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 
Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.
Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 
“Yeonwoo, right?”
He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.
“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”
“Also a singer?”
He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”
“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”
Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.
“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.
“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”
“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”
“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”
“The arcade wasn’t enough?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Whenever you want, then.”
“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”
“Bet.”
They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.
“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”
Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 
Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.
But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.
He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.
It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?
Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”
Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.
“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”
Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.
Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.
Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.
But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.
You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.
You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.
It has always been him.
The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 
It’s not awkward this time.
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Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.
He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 
He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.
The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.
He balls his fingers into fists.
“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”
An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”
His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.
He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.
“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”
Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.
The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”
Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”
Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.
“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 
“Love you too, Bin.”
Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.
“The short answer,” she deadpans.
He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.
In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.
Hyunjin thanks you.
You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.
What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.
You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 
“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.
He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.
He calls out to you.
You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.
You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 
Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.
“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.
A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”
Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.
He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.
“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”
“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”
From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano
“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”
In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”
You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.
“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 
She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.
Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?
He’ll be here in eight minutes.
You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.
Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.
You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.
He finds you a sobbing mess.
“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”
“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”
“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.
Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.
“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 
He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.
You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”
He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”
“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”
“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”
You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”
He returns in a flash. “You love me.”
You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.
“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”
“No, no. The opposite, actually.”
Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”
“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.
“Duty calls, my love.”
“Tell me your thing later too?”
“Of course.”
You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”
He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.
“Hypocrite.”
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Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]
This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.
I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.
As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.
You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.
I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.
Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
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moonydustx · 6 months
Text
The night cook.
masterlist | requests here
Summary: Insomnia has struck one of the crew and Sanji is willing to find out. Meanwhile, you try to deal with your fear as best you can.
Warnings: I don't know, mention of clowns maybe (yes, exactly what you're thinking).
Word count: 1.4k
Pairing: OPLA!Sanji x F!Reader.
A/N: I have a new obsession and I need to write more and more. I watched the series in one day and now I'm racing against time to catch up with the anime (and soon move on to the manga). It has not been proofread so I apologize for possible errors.
Part 2 here
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Sanji was starting to get stressed.
Despite the short time he had been part of the crew, he already knew where he belonged: the kitchen. He could spend hours there and felt comfortable. But something bothered him. Every morning, some fruit always appeared cut, food scraps in the trash, his knives disorganized. He wouldn't look for trouble right away, but he was aware of every move.
Your steps dragged to the kitchen, after another bad night's sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were visible from afar, as was his bad mood.
"Good morning madame! Glad you joined us today for coffee." Sanji caught your attention, placing your plate in front of you.
"Good morning sunshine, your mood seems to brighten the day." Zoro teased you, only earning an eye roll.
You stared at the food in front of you. They looked appetizing, but hunger seemed to be nowhere in your body. You rolled them from one side to the other, without removing any pieces, while heard the others talking in the distance.
"Everything is fine?" The cook's voice caught your attention, a quick glance was enough to realize that the others had already eaten their meals. "Sorry to say ma'am, but you look tired."
"It's okay Ji. I'm just discouraged." You stand up, handing the plate back to him. "They look delicious, but I'm out of food, I'm sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for, my sweet. I heard that if you eat with a full stomach, or in your case without hunger, you can't enjoy the food and the last thing I want is for you to not like one of my dishes ." He leaned on the table, watching you.
"That's impossible. I could eat anything you make, as long as it's you making it."
It had been a while since the two of you exchanged small gestures, small flirtations. Unlike most other women, you weren't bothered by what he said. You felt seen, admired like never before, even though you knew he would say that to a thousand others. Plus, it was fun to see him shy with your answers.
"So... What can I do special for you today. Choose and I'll do it."
"Surprise me!"
You left it in the kitchen and if you looked back, you could see it lost in your image. None of the other beauties would be like that beauty, her beauty. Even though he was still lost, Sanji tried to regain his thoughts, thinking about the perfect lunch.
You got caught up in the tasks on the boat, all to keep the tiredness out of your body. Despite having heard the call for lunch you decided to postpone it, as well as dinner.
When you returned to bathe, you could see that everyone had retired to their rooms. Even with the most comfortable clothes, the coziest sheet and the cool sea breeze coming through the window, it only took a few minutes of sleep for you to wake up sweating, scared.
You were tired of it would be another wasted night. You got up and went towards the kitchen, since sleep didn't decide to appear that night, hunger had already taken its place and a salad would go well at that moment.
You gathered some radishes to cut and a few slices later, you felt the knife against your skin and was scared.
"So you're the cook for the night!" Sanji spoke suddenly.
Before you could curse him for his fright you had to hold back a scream due to the inconvenience of the pain.
"Shit, let me see." in a matter of seconds, he was already in front of you , holding your injured hand.
"It was nothing, you can rest."
"That, young lady, I will decide later." he gently placed a cloth in your hand, pressing it. "What are you doing up at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep, I decided to prepare something."
"Honey, what's been going on?" He took your hand again, removing the cloth. "Okay, I have the solution to mine and your problem."
He took you by the hand to the bench, placing you in a sitting position, returned to the kitchen, placing a small container to heat and disappeared from sight for a few seconds, returning with a small box in his hands. It brought everything in front of you, allowing you to see what it was really about. A small box with bandage and a small plate with lasagna.
"I saved it from lunch for you, I think you'll like it."
"You know you're my favorite. Shit!" you immediately regretted trying to use your injured hand to eat.
"Now, we'll fix this." The cut was small but uncomfortable and felt a little deep.
You watched him bend down to your height and tend to the small wound like something precious while you ate. The silence between you didn't last long, against your will.
"When are you going to tell me what's been going on? You know, we're friends." Sanji charged, finishing applying the last strip. "Something is wrong with you and I can't figure it out. Besides, you've been destroying my onions in your nightly escapes."
"I'm having some trouble sleeping..." you tried to leave the explanation superficial, but the look in his eyes made it very clear that he wouldn't just buy that.
"You could have told me, you could have made me some tea or something that would help."
"It's not that." You pushed the plate away and straightened up, trying to look away from Sanji. Shame already dominated your body at that time. "It's a stupid thing."
"No mon amour, it's not. I'm here, talk to me."
"There's only one thing in the world that I'm afraid of: clowns. Be they the cute ones or the psychopaths alike..."
"Buggy. Has he been a problem?" Sanji tried to understand, although it didn't make sense since the crew hadn't seen him in days.
"First we were trapped in his circus and it was horrible. Then we had his head on board and I was sure that at any moment he was going to appear. Now, I can't stop having vivid nightmares about it." you confessed, feeling your face burn with embarrassment. "I can't sleep, so I come here at night and I always cook something. I usually watch you cook and it seems like something so relaxing, so good. It hasn't helped me much with my sleep, but at least I've been eating some of the inedible things I make ."
"I bet they're as good as the ones I make and if you don't mind, I'd love to cook with you one of these nights." he winked, eliciting a smile from you. "But for tonight, we need to sleep, finish your plate and I'll be right back with something."
A few minutes and mouthfuls later, Sanji appeared with two mugs, with some hot liquid inside them.
"Herbal tea. It'll help you fall asleep."
"I have my doubts, but…" you took a sip of the sweet drink. "It doesn't hurt to try. Are you sleep deprived too?"
"Not really, I just couldn't leave a lady drinking alone."
"If this works, I promise to buy you the next drink at a bar."
"Wait. This a date?" he asked and if it were possible, you would see hearts instead of his eyes.
"We have the drink." you pointed to the two mugs. "We had dinner." You pointed to the lasagna. "Sounds like a date."
"That miserable clown at least did one good thing"
"Don't ruin the moment, Ji."
The two of you finished your drinks in silence, a few glances exchanged were enough to get comfortable together. Sanji picked up the dishes on the table and you followed him with slower steps.
"Thank you for helping me."
"Who said our date is over?" he turned around, grasping his arm for you to intertwine. "I would never let a lady go alone to her chambers."
"You are a gentleman."
"Only for you amour." He stopped in front of your door. "It's delivered and safe."
You stood on your toes, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, really." You opened the door and before you could enter, you turned around. "Can I ask you one more thing?"
"Whatever madam wants."
"You can stay here for a while, just until I sleep."
"Of course sweetheart" He walked you into the room.
You straightened the bed and lay down on one end, watching him just stare at you, waiting for some sign that he could sit down.
"Please be my guest."
He lay down and almost automatically gave way for you to snuggle against his chest. Your laughter was suppressed when you saw him smiling widely at the contact.
"A few drinks, a dinner..."
"And you ended up in my bed." your voice was already sleepy. Maybe because of the tea, but something said it was more because of the company.
"And I ended up in the perfect place." reciprocating your gesture just now, in the little conscience you had left, you felt his lips touch your forehead. "Sleep missus. I promise not to let any harm come."
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minimallyminnie · 8 months
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Sobbing in a blanket type of day.
The brothers when you’re just not feeling good.
I’ll make a p2 for the undateables!
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Lucifer would just leave you inside the blanket, but brew you a cup of the finest tea he has. He’ll make two cups and set it aside on the cabinet while you lay in the middle of the bed. While you’re just laying still, Lucifer would sit besides you and start talking about his own day. When he finally gets a peek of your beautiful smile, he’ll help you lay down on his lap while he continues to talk about his day. “There you are my dear, would you like some tea?”
Mammon would leave you inside the blanket, but he just grabs you in the blanket and hold you on the bed. He can hear you sniffle from inside so he held you tighter. He knows when you need him to talk, so he pulls out his phone and puts on one of your favorite songs quietly. Peeking out of your blanket, he smiles at you while you watch the video with him. “Hey hey hey, whenever you need me, the Great Mammon will be here for you.”
Don’t underestimate Leviathan’s shoujo mangas, he takes careful notes. When ya need help, he’ll be the best boyfriend he can. He’ll hold you to his side, so he can at least lessen your shaking and let you cry all you want. He’ll put on a slower anime movie for both of you two and turn the volume low. When you pop out the blanket with some tears left, he’ll get nervous but he’ll wipe them away with his hands. “There’s my Henry. Do you wanna talk about it or watch this with me?”
Satan would be a sweetheart. Second he sees you, he’s already sat up next to you, propped up with a book. He softly starts to read to you, and you recognize the book, it’s your favorite. Whatever genre it is or even if he dislikes it, Satan still reads it to you. When you pop out the blanket and lean over on his shoulder to read along, he’ll press a kiss to your head. “I’ll be here for you just like you are for me. Want to read more?”
Though loud and boisterous sometimes, Asmodeus is a sweet and gentle person when you have these moments. He’s always patient, he’ll hug you tightly and lay besides you on the bed. He’ll tell you everything that he loves about you softly and how you changed his world. When you pop out with teary eyes but a happy smile, he’ll be relieved and happy as well. Pressing a kiss to your head and all. “My dear flower, you’ve bloomed again. Would you like to talk to me about it? If not, I can continue staying like this with you.”
Beelzebub is right by your side, two bags of chips on the cabinet sitting there. He’s waiting for you to be comfortable coming out the blanket. He’ll sit up on the bed and gently pull you and wherever your head is in the blanket on his lap. Beel won’t say anything, but he’ll be there. There for you. You reach your hand out and hold his tightly, a tired expression on your face. He’ll smile and hold your hand. “I’m happy you feel better. Do you wanna talk about it? I brought chips for both of us.”
With no hesitance, Belphegor plops down and hugs you like his own body pillow. No matter how tired he is, you’re his first priority. He’s careful to only put his hands around your waist, knowing how you just didn’t like him touching your neck. He’ll wait for you, he’ll sing a few songs you like softly and if he runs out? He’ll trace some shapes on your blanket covered self. When you come out the blanket, Belphie would kiss your head softly. “Hi, you tired? You wanna talk to me about it or take a nap and talk about it later? I don’t mind whichever, as long as you’re comfortable.”
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essentiallyleaf · 6 months
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day 03. wall sex. with. winter.
1113 words.
tags.
kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, dom(?) reader, sub girlfriend winter, making out, daddy kink, wall sex, lift and carry, standing doggy, semi-public sex, a smidge of size kink, barely edited, actually about as long as i expected this time.
notes.
honestly, not that much to say. oh right, i don’t actually know if a wall sex kink/fetish actually exists, which is perhaps not a minor concern for a kinktober piece. so if it really does, let me know, and if it doesn't, help me make it a thing and specifically winto’s thing. solidly, leaf.
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You step between her legs, hanging slightly parted off the counter as she sits on it. She’s still staring at the window to her left, so you caress her cheek and redirect her chin towards you, trying to fish something out of the sea blue colored contacts Winter wears on her eyes. You love that color on her. You kiss her lips softly, they’re slightly wet. Your mouths detach as you bring a second hand between her jaw and her neck.
The only thing that comes off your hook is lust.
So you kiss your girlfriend again, this time longer and deeper; you feel her tongue brush your lips, so you retaliate with yours. It starts as a little game, taking turns exploring each other’s mouths, but the longer it goes, the longer you feel her trying to take more space past your entrance, so you let her in.
That’s how it is with her: she only needs to ask. “Can we go to the animal shelter tomorrow?”; “Can I read manga with you while we’re on the train?”; “Can you get me that cute black one piece over there?” (That’s when you bought her the dress she’s wearing right now. And it’s not cute. On her, combined with that messy bun and those fishnets, it looks fucking filthy). Then, the magic word. They always taught you it was “Please”, but really, it’s what comes after: “Daddy?”
That’s why when she grabs the collar of your leather jacket to pull you towards her, when she wraps her arms and legs around you like she needs you, like she’s a koala that needs to make sure it won’t fall from its tree while sleeping, you give in. Because there’s no one else that can grant Winter’s wishes like you do, just like there’s no one else that needs you as much as Winter does.
Which takes on an extremely carnal meaning as you lift her from the counter and turn around, your hands on her ass and your forearms supporting her thighs. She’s so tiny and light, you don’t need all that support, but you want to feel her every inch of her body on yours.
You wander through a couple rooms, looking for a bedroom in the enormous maze-like mansion. Given the handicap of having Winter kiss you the whole way through and of barely being able to keep your eyes open because of that, it’s a miracle that you don’t slam into a doorframe or trip on a carpet in the process. Then, her impatience takes over.
“Let’s do it here”
You look around the room, puzzled. It looks like some kind of library, though at least one third of the shelves of the old-fashioned white carved bookcases is almost empty. “Where?”
Your girlfriend stretches her arm towards the wall behind her, palming it as if trying to get a grasp of its texture.
“Isn’t this good enough,” she knows she can’t get it so easily, but she also knows the most direct shortcut, “Daddy?”
She doesn’t need an answer. She needs you to slam her into the wall, pull her little slutty black one piece up to her waist and her thin, almost see through black panties to the side, rip those fishnets apart and fuck her. As you find out, she also doesn’t need any foreplay, her slit and crotch already wet just from the prolonged make-out session, which finally comes to end as you switch from her mouth to the junction of her neck and shoulder.
You kiss, lick, and suck the same spot over and over for several minutes as you pump into her with feral instinct, her hand now gripping your hair tightly; she even pulls on it a little - it hurts, but that’s not your biggest priority right now. You need to mark Winter as yours, she’s your girlfriend, your (this exact moment, a little less) soft, sweet fluffball, she’s your tiny fuckdoll. And as such you shall use her.
Thrust upwards into her like that’s what she was built for, like there’s nothing stopping you. Meanwhile, the only thing stopping her is the wall behind her, which feels cold on her nape and asscheeks, stark contrast with her boiling hot clavicle and pussy.
“I’m gonna cum, daddy”
It’s not a request this time. It’s a factual statement. She orgasms silently, so overwhelmed by the bursts of pleasure flowing from her pussy to her brain to what feels like every inch of her body, that she simply goes limp. Fortunately, you and the wall are there to hold her.
It takes her a good couple minutes to even be able to feel the world around her, past the overpowering signals coming from her own body. That’s enough for you to ask her:
“Now, I’m gonna need you to hold onto that wall, just for a little bit longer, okay? Can you do that for Daddy?”
You wouldn’t be able to tell from her still dazed face, but as she lowers her legs and tries her very best to stand up, you know Winter understood perfectly, and this is her “Yes, daddy”.
She looks so precious as you hold her hips up and help her turn around, her palms on the wall, fingers tensing like she’s trying to find something to grip onto. So precious that you just wrap your arms all around her waist as you split her tight slit open for a second time and start shoving yourself in and out of her repeatedly.
You know you can’t last long, so you try to get your girlfriend to a second high, though you don’t know if she can even feel much given her state. You turn her head to the side to kiss her again and you reach towards one of her little boobs and start groping her, first through, then inside her daddy’s girl dress.
It’s when your other hand presses upon her clit that she completely loses it. She lets out a sequence of animalistic guttural moans you never heard from her, and watery liquid starts gushing on your cock and out of her pussy while her walls clench rhythmically. The combined pressure of the two triggers your own orgasm, as you deposit buckets of white honey into her womb until she can’t take any more and semen drips out of her pussy and onto the floor.
You hold Winter tightly, almost squeezing her against the wall as her knees threaten to give up completely; you kiss her temple repeatedly as she pants heavily.
“How are we gonna go back downstairs for the party?”
“You can carry me for a while! Please, daddy?”
-
footnotes.
wow i think i actually wrote different characters this time. this one was a little crammed, but i’m pretty satisfied with the end result. it feels like i’m slowly finding out which things i like writing more and which less and more generally about my identity as a writer. i’m still a sprout, but i think i’m learning a lot. sorry if i bored you and you’re now asleep and somehow still reading. do let me know how to do that! dreamily, leaf.
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You guys really got me to one thousand likes in less than two days.
I don't even know what's happening but it's pulling me out of a really awful writer's block.
I have more ideas than I know what to do with so expect a good bit of content in the future.
You're all incredible 💗 ❤️
Have some Shanks headcanons, ranging from fluffy to spicy. As a treat.
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I was a little iffy about Live Action Shanks at first, since he was literally my first manga/anime crush ever. But he grew on me more with every scene.
Especially that final scene where he saw Luffy's wanted poster. I mean....
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Lookit that smile 🥹
So anyway.
LA!Shanks X Fem!Reader
Shanks A — Z
A — Afterglow (How are they after sex?)
Holding you close and telling you how much he adores you.
He's going to give you anything you want. Anything.
"Do you need anything, sweetheart? I've got you."
You want a bath, he's going to run it for you, carry you there once it's ready, and help you bathe.
Food or a drink, you just lay down, he's got it.
Shanks is completely and utterly devoted to making you feel like a goddess after sex.
Showering you with soft, tender kisses and caresses and endless praise, rubbing his fingers between your wet folds to prolong your pleasure as long as possible.
If it seems like he's trying to coax you into another round, he probably is. Your're going to have to outright tell him you're if spent, because he can't get enough of you.
B — Backrubs? (Do they like them? Like giving them?)
You can expect it nightly. You're his princess and he's going to pamper you.
He might only have one hand, but dear gods those fingers are magic.
He's not asking anything in return, but if you're offering then he isn't going to turn you down.
Closing his eyes and groaning as your fingers work through the tension in his muscles.
"Oh, you're too good for me, love."
C — Cuddling (Do they enjoy cuddling a lot ot only at certain moments?)
If you're within arm's reach, then Shanks has his arm around you.
His main mode of affection is physical.
Pulling you you to his side, resting his head over yours, tugging you down onto his lap.
He wants you close, as much and as often as you're willing to be, and he does't give a damn who sees.
D — Dance (Are they good at it? Do they enjoy it?)
Not really big on dancing, but if you want to he isn’t going to turn you down.
He'll take any excuse he can get to hold you close.
Tucking your hair behind your ear so he can rest his temple against yours.
His arm curled loosely around your back.
E — Extravagant Gestures (Things they do to make you feel loved)
He would literally move mountains for you if he could.
You tell him your dreams, well now they're his dreams too.
Anything you accomplish, whether alone or with his help, warrants the most lavish of celebrations.
He isn’t particularly materialistic, but what his princess wants, she gets, no questions asked.
"If you wanted the moon, I would make this ship fly so you could stake your claim."
F — Fighting (How do they hand arguments/apologies?)
All puppy-dog eyes and pouts.
Shanks makes it impossible to stay mad at him for any reasonable length of time. He's just too damned adorable.
Wrapping an arm around you and laying his head on your shoulder, refusing to let you go until you listen.
Even if it's a serious argument, the look of utter heartbreak on his face makes you cave every time.
"Come on, sweetheart. Just name it, I'll do anything."
He isn’t too proud to apologize—he knows when he's in the wrong, and he'll do anything in his power to make it up to you.
G — Going Out (What do they do for dates?)
If Shanks is the one doing the planning, you can expect to end up one of two places.
You might be at the nearest tavern, going shot for shot on rum until you can't see straight, singing sea shanties into the dark hours of morning.
Or laid out on a secluded stretch of beach in the moonlight, sharing a bottle or two, wrapped up in each others' arms and lips and forgetting the passage of time entirely.
He's happy doing anything that means he gets to spend time with you, though, so he's fine with going out of his element if you have something else in mind.
H — Heartache (How would they handle it if you broke up with them?)
Don't. Please. Just don't. He'll be inconsolable.
He'll cry. Don't make Shanks cry. That's just heartless.
He won't show it in front of his crew. He'll keep up his usual carefree and aloof facade.
But once he's alone, he'll be in complete shambles.
He'll probably drink himself senseless.
He loves hard, with every fabric of his being, and losing you would utterly destroy him.
I — Intimacy (When are they intimate with you? And how often?)
Literally all the time.
Shanks always kisses you like no one's watching, pulling you flush against him and delving his tongue between your lips and squeezing your rear.
In his eyes, there's no wrong time to show how much he treasures you. How much he wants you.
His ship could be under fire by a full Marine armada and he would still pull you in for a slow, sweet kiss if the mood struck.
In fact he'd probably do it just to show the Marines how completely unbothered he is.
J — Joker (How do they make you laugh)
If Shanks isn't cracking some stupid joke, you're worried something is wrong.
He loves making people laugh, loves seeing people laughing and enjoying life.
And making *you* laugh? That gives him life.
He's gone far as to pull your panties on while you're alone together in the captain's cabin and imitate you being dramatic about something until you're begging him to stop before you choke to death on your own giggles.
K — Kissing (How good? How often?)
If you're within eyeshot, he *has* to kiss you.
He knows that his crew will roll their eyes and tease him about it, but he doesn't care. Your lips are like a drug and he simply can't get enough.
His kisses tend to be light and plauful.
Lightly biting and pulling at your bottom lip.
Flicking his tongue across lips to coax yours out.
Letting his tongue swirl slowly around yours before pulling back and leaving you craving more.
Pulling you into his lap when he deepens the kiss.
Lifting his hand to flip off anyone with the audacity to tell you two to get a room.
"Don't pay them any mind, princess. They're just a bunch of jealous pricks."
L — Lay down (How do they sleep with you? Are they a cuddler or do they prefer their space?)
He has to be against you in bed.
If you roll away in your sleep, he will subconsciously shift closer to you.
Spooning is definitely his favorite—your back and your ass pressed up against him, his arm draped over your waist so he can caress your stomach or lay his palm over one of your soft breasts...absolute *heaven*.
M — Making babies (Do they want to settle down and have kids?)
Shanks is good with kids, being that he's practically an overgrown kid himself half the time.
All the same, he just...isn’t sure.
He loves you to death. Having a family with you would be a dream come true.
But if he had to leave his ship, his crew behind? He just isn’t sure he could do that.
Because he loves them to death, too.
N — Nervous? (How confident are they when it comes to romance?)
Shanks posseses the positively deadly combination of being unnecessarily charming and handsome, and incredibly aware of it.
Thus, his confidence is through the roof.
He knows he doesn't need anything more than a cheeky grin and a soft carress or two to get you in bed.
That being said, he'll spend all day subtly teasing you to the end of your sanity to make sure you want him as much as it's possible to want another person.
O — Oral Fixation (Giving or recieving? And how good are they?)
Absolutely a giver. He's incredible at it and he knows it.
And he's a terrible, terrible tease about it.
Taking you to the edge, making your thighs tremble...and then pulling away to brush his lips to your thighs and give you a cheeky grin.
"Oh, not yet, love. I love hearing you beg for it."
Keeping you on the edge until you're begging to come in complete and utter desperation before he finally lets you.
And then he isn't going to stop until you're begging him to.
He loves recieving just as much.
Really loves it when you pull him down an empty alley and get on your knees.Curling his fingers in your hair, groaning quietly and praising you endlessly.
His breath shaking as he resists the urge to thrust his hips forward and fuck your throat, wanting to enjoy the slow build-up.
"That's it, sweetheart. Look at me. I want to see those pretty eyes while you suck my cock."
P — Pet Peeves (Things they don't like in a partner)
Taking things too seriously. He's always joking around and having a good time, and all he wants is for you to do the same.
The silent treatment. It drives him absolutely insane. Just talk to him if there's something wrong, he wants to fix it.
Flirting with other men to make him jealous. Just don't. It's the one thing that truly gets under his skin, that could actually get him honestly angry with you.
Q — Quiet Time (How much alone time do they need, or do they want to be with you 24/7?)
Gives you your distance if you need it, but he does so begrudgingly.
He knows life is short—he got his arm bit off by a giant sea monster, for gods' sake—and he wants to spend as much time as he can with you.
Whether you're out having fun, fighting alongside each other, or curled up together in a hammock sharing a bottle of rum and enjoying a lazy afternoon.
He loves being with you, and he'll take any excuse he can get.
R — Romance (How romantic are they? Do they have to force it or does it come natural?)
Shanks's version of romance isn't fancy dinners and extravagant date nights.
It's lying on a beach watching the sunset with you.
Pushing you into the water and diving in after you, kissing you while you're both sopping wet.
Making love under a full moon.
Telling you every opportunity he gets how much he adores you.
"You know you're my greatest treasure, don't you, sweetheart?"
It's hard not to know when he tells you at least three times a day.
But the way he looks into your eyes when he says it still manages to melt your heart every time.
S — Spending Money (How much do they like to spend on you?)
Shanks isn't really much for materialism or consumerism.
You'll have to tell him if there's something you want, and he's not going to have any oroblem with getting it for you.
Every so often, something is going to catch his eye at some market in a port town.
Something that reminds him of you or that he thinks you'll like.
And he'll buy it without hesitation and give it to you with a big, goofy grin the second he sees you.
It's not all the time, but it makes it that much more special when it does happen.
T — Trust (Are they trusting of you? Jealous?)
He absolutely trusts you—that's how love is supposed to work.
But he can get a little jealous.
You wouldn't know it from the way he carries himself and jokes about it, but he does get a little insecure about missing an entire limb.
This can lead to him getting a little defensive and possessive if other men approach you—he's going to make sure it's known that you're his lover, and he'll always fight for you.
U — Underwear (What kind do they wear, and what kind do they like on you?)
Loose-fitting boxers are more comfortable.
He doesn't care what kind of underwear you wear, as long as it comes off easily.
And if you whisper in his ear that you're *not* wearing any?
You'd best buckle up, because he's putting you over his shoulder and carrying you off to the nearest private, or even semi-private location he can find to take advantage of this information.
V — Vulnerable (How vulnerable are they with you? Is it easy for them to open up to you?)
He is one hundred percent an open book with you.
You know everything about him. His life, his secrets, his aspirations.
He doesn't want anything to ever come up that could frighten you off, so he lays everything on the table surprisingly quickly.
W — Wine and Dine (Do they prefer meals at home or going out with you? Who does more of the cooking?)
He would much rather cook, preferably with you. He's not the best at it, but he's not awful either, given that he's had to be self-sufficient for a good bit of his life.
And if you're good at it, he's not to proud to take advice.
Any time spent with you is a wonderful time to him.
If you go out, it's probably going to be street food or tavern fare—fancy restaurants aren't his forte, and he's frankly not sure he would even have anything appropriate to wear.
X — X-Rated (How good are they in bed? What do they like?)
Hopefully you like being teased literally to the edge of sanity.
Major kink for edging you, making you beg for it.
And dear sweet fuck, is he good at it.
Whispering all the things he's going to do to you throughout the course of the day.
Pulling you down an alley or into a broom closet, pinning you to the wall and teasing you through your panties, stopping just short of letting you cum.
Subtle glances and touches.
He *loves* seeing you writhing in his bed, desperate for his touch while he kisses your neck, just trailing his fingertips up and down your inner thigh.
Holding you down by your hips so you can't even grind against him.
"Such an eager little thing. Just be patient, princess. You're going to get what you want."
Kissing down your breasts, taking time to stop and tease your nipples.
Pushing your thighs apart with his knees so he can circle a finger around your entrance, chuckling a little at your moans and whimpers before finally pushing it in.
Sitting up on his knees to watch you arch your hips, rubbing against your g-spot just long enough to get you gasping.
Pulling his finger back out and slowly circling it around your clit instead, before shifting back between your thighs and giving the sensitive bud a few teasing licks, watching you shiver in anticipation.
Keeping it slow and sensual, enjoying every second of being between your thighs, building your pleasure at a slow and steady pace that drives you crazy.
Holding onto your hip keep you from grinding against his tongue.
Pulling back the second you crest toward orgasm, chuckling at your whimpering and begging as he trails his lips across your inner thigh.
"You're just so adorable when you're desperate for it."
Keeping it going for what feels like hours, before finally tugging you in close and not relenting until you're trembling and falling apart beneath him.
Feeling you throbbing under his tongue and tighten up around his fingers is like a high for him.
Not stopping until your body goes limp and the only sounds you can make are a few little whimpers.
Soft, tender kisses amd whispered praises at your neck and lips and shoulders, his fingers combing through your hair, letting you recover for just a minute, even though he's aching for you.
Grinding his cock against your wet folds a few times before sliding slowly into you, groaning quietly in your ear.
"Oh, fuck, you're tight, love..."
Absolutely savors every second of being inside you, moving in long slow strokes, brushing his thumb across your cheek while he kisses you.
If you ask for it harder, he's going to give it to you—he's done with teasing you now. This is about you now, about what his princess wants.
And if you want it rough, then you're coming out of it with your neck and chest half-covered in hickies, and he's not stopping until he's sure you won't be able to walk tomorrow morning.
Holding back just long enough so you can climax at the same time, grunting out a quiet swear and pulling your hips flush against his to come deep inside you.
Slow, deep kisses while you both catch your breath and come down.
But don't be surprised if he's gearing up for another round soon. He really can never get enough of you.
Y — Yearning (How long will they pursue the person they're interested in before losing interest?)
It depends. If it's purely lust based, he's not going to pursue it very long and just move on.
If the feelings run deeper, though, he's absolutely shameless about it.
Relentless flirting and corny pick-up lines.
"Pardon me miss—do you have a map? It seems I've gotten lost in your eyes and I can’t find my way out."
Will absolutely get on his knees and beg you to give him a chance if he has to.
Puppy dog eyes in full effect.
It's pretty much pointless trying to resist.
Z — Zen (What do they do to wind down and relax? Do they prefer to do it alone or with you?)
A bottle of rum, a hammock stretched between a couple palm trees on some remote beach only he knows about, and his arm curled around you while you lie back against his chest.
Kissing your temple and playing with your hair.
He's always more relaxed when he has you with him.
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canmom · 6 months
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Animation Night 173: Takashi Nakamura
Hi everyone! It's that time of the week again~
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The day that puppets bite their gloves off.
Tonight on Animation Night we'll be taking a look at the works of Takashi Nakamura (中村 たかし).
Nakamura is a director who flies under the radar a bit over here, but for those who know him, he's a unique director - one who we've actually encountered a couple of times before, actually! He directed one of my favourite shorts in Robot Carnival [Animation Night 158] Chicken Man and Red Neck, in which the machinery of a city comes alive to have a violently strange Bosch-like party led by a strange red-robed robot, witnessed only by one salaryman on a moped...
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...and if you remember when we looked into the three adaptations of Project Itoh's novels [Animation Night 127], he co-directed Harmony with Michael Arias, a powerfully understated film about a high tech biopower future and people who reject its utopia through a suicide pact. We also saw him in the Japan Animator Expo, with the charming Bubu & Bubulina...
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But let's give a fuller story...
As an animator, Nakamura entered the industry very young, signing on as a colourist and inbetweener at Tatsunoko in 1974 - at which point he was only 16, an aspiring mangaka newly arrived in Tokyo. Working in Tatsunoko's distinctive 'industry within an industry', he was introduced to Hirokazu Ishino's 'Anidō' association, in which he was introduced to not just many important animators but also had the chance to see animation from around the world, from Norm McLaren to Japanese independent animators like Kenzō Masaoka. The two films that got him most excited were Takahata's Horus, Prince of the Sun [AN41] and Disney's Fantasia [AN15], both of which contained incredible flexes of effects animation.
(Incidentally, it makes me happy that a lot of the films Watzky mentions showing at Anidō showed up on here! Following in the footsteps of giants and all that.)
Once Nakamura got the animation bug he put aside his manga aspirations and became a key animator, going freelance a couple years later. In 1979 he saw Galaxy Express 999, and got to witness the insane 'liquid fire' effects of Kanada, and he instantly became a devotee - soon enough getting a chance to work with Kanada directly.
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And by the early 80s Nakamura was definitely making a name, already working in animation direction and solo-animating entire episodes of Gold Lightan for Tatsunoko. The next couple of years he'd end up working on Nausicaa, Macross DYRL and the with Rintaro [AN53, 134] on Genma Taisen. By now he was specialising hard in effects (not unlike Anno!), and his work had become terrifyingly elaborate, look at this building collapsing into every single element or the clothes coming to the life under the power of a psychic. His work also inspired another incredibly significant animator to enter the industry - Kōji Morimoto, future cofounder of Studio 4°C - and they ended up working together on Genma Taisen.
Meanwhile on Nausicaa, Morimoto handled some of its most memorable scenes like the opening sequence where Nausicaa is pursued by the giant Ohmu. Once again you see his fascination with effects and debris, like the shot where the Ohmu explodes out of the forest, sending stalks flying in every directions. In Macross DYRL he animated the scenes of the gravity flipping sideways and a street's worth of stuff tumbling down all at once, elaborating on a scene by Itano from the TV show.
In short, if there's lots of bits of stuff flying around in a mid-80s movie, there's a good chance that Nakamura was involved somehow.
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Such a focus made him a perfect fit for the 'realist school' developing in the late 80s - whyat you might loosely call the Otomo circle. You see his work on both Manie-Manie/Neo Tokyo and Robot Carnival, and naturally enough he ended up part of the team for Akira. Given what he'd already accomplished, could he somehow step it up another notch? You bet.
Going by sakugabooru comments, Nakamura's role in Akira was mainly related to two things: explosions, and animation direction. Considering how iconic the explosions in Akira are, and how challenging it was to animate Otomo's very solid and 3D designs... the success of the film depended a lot on Nakamura's insane drawing skills. Further, he was a kind of 'teacher' to the rest of the staff, such as Morimoto. But this was apparently the 'limit' for Nakamura, and after Akira he turned from creating animation for others.
And this point marks a major stylistic turn in Nakamura's work. Starting with the World Masterpiece Theatre adaptation of Peter Pan, on which he worked as character designer, he adopted a highly stripped-down, simplified style. With all the Akira goodwill, he was able to pull in many of the new stars of the 'realist' school, from Okiura to Ohira. But his work became a lot less flashy, focusing more on a Disney-like approach where it's about creating a consistent sense of life rather than individual flashy sequences.
The Hakkenden [AN 122] was one of his first chances to experiment with the new style as a director, with Episode 4 really kicking off the series' trend of completely redesigning the characters according to the sensibilities of each director. He also worked on the kinda obscure but gorgeous realist-school film Junkers Come Here [AN 118] as his own film debut, Catnapped!, progressed.
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So Catnapped! This is a weird movie. Many people see a Disney influence in its style, and it definitely broke the 90s trend with a younger target audience - but Disney could never make a movie filled with as much imaginative strange shit as this one. Watzky points out how much Otomo influence there is in the direction - dense environments and elaborate multiplane shots, in contrast to simple character designs which afford a lot of movement. These designs allow great animators like Okiura [AN139] (who animated most of the finale) to really go to town. There's a great para in Watzky's article on the different directions taken by the 'realist' animators.
Catnapped is a pretty short film at less that 80 minutes, a revel of visual imagination; Nakamura's next film A Tree of Palme is just as distinctive but in a different direction. It's another take on the Pinocchio story [c.f. AN138], but a very 'dark, metaphysical' one, with its biggest inspirations apparently being French - Moebius and René Laloux [AN71, 93], with Mutsuo Koseki coming up with art direction capable of comparing to Laloux. The three year megaproject pulled in animator legends from across the board - Inoue, Ohashi, Ando, Masuo, Matsutake, Umetsu! (Count how many directed part of Robot Carnival).
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The character designs of Palme look simple in stills, but once you see them in motion, they're anything but - incredibly volumetric and full of life and movement.
In the 2000s and 2010s, Nakamura ended up working with Colorido and 4C a lot (naturally enough given the connection with Morimoto!), increasingly making effective use of CG in his projects. This led up to The Portrait Studio (写真館 Shashinkan) (c.f. AniObsessive) in 2015 - an almost solo short film, with Nakamura writing, storyboarding, designing characters and doing all the key animation, which is a kind of slice through Japanese history through the lens of a photographer who just wants to figure out a way to get his client to smile.
Much like Palme, The Portrait Studio combines simple character designs (in a stylised picture-book look) with very precise, realist animation on 2s and 1s to lend them a sense of density and 'existence'. Moreover, unlike most anime, it uses the raw pencils as finished lines instead of redrawing them clean on a computer. The style might call to mind Otomo's Cannon Fodder, and in fact the two films share a colour designer. 3D is integrated with an unusual degree of skill and subtlety. It makes for a fascinating combination, a very memorable and impactful film for all its apparent simplicity.
So, that's our focus for tonight! We'll be watching Catnapped!, A Tree of Palme and The Portrait Studio, and getting to find out what the deal is with Nakamura - one of the Very Important Guys in the history of anime, influential on so many of my faves... but all too often overlooked by people who aren't like, huge animation nerds.
If that sounds fun, come join me at twitch.tv/canmom - going live in just a minute! I've been wanting to do Nakamura for ages, and today I finally found energy for a writeup. See you there~
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asuyaka · 4 months
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Eyyy it's been a while since I've requested anything, and since I'm back to my JJK brain rot how about a good old request for my favorite dead divorced gay couple?(how are we copin', manga readers?)
So idk if you've ever seen or heard of the "Missing Halloween" animation on YouTube, BUT--
What if satosugu found out that Reader(who they were very close with) was actually the spirit of an past special grade student that died in a mission by the hands of curse users (maybe they raided the school or something, idk it's like- 1AM in here my brain will not remember all the shit that happens in the JJK lore to make a coherent plot point) and now just roams around near the school, and that explains why everyone just seemingly ignored Reader's presence completely and gave the three weird looks whenever they hung out together. Also I like to think that these two idiots found out about reader's situation after fooling around during detention and accidentally tripping on some dusty old boxes that had some old stuff in it, finding one of those group school year pics from when Yaba was the boys' age and Reader was also in the pic from when they were still alive.
In much simpler words, Satosugu x ghost!reader that they didn't knew was a ghost until they found a picture of Reader's academic years.
-🌈, Anon.
★ - JJK brainrot 's so real f' me too !! (Satosugu once 'm get m grubby lil hands on you... >:(( )
☆ - Satosugu x Ghost! Reader !!
♡ - 's nice ta see you again, 🌈 nony !! ヾ(^▽^*))) hope you're doin' well <33 (´。• ᵕ •。`) ♡ | 'm have seen Missing Halloween! made me s'sad (◞‸◟;) but s sooo bittersweet! m nota huuugee animation fan, but Missing Halloween 's one of m favs! (๑≧▽≦)
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Being a ghost is interesting, to put it simply.
You get to see things you never got the chance to when you were alive, like the top of Mount Fuji and the vast streets of Shibuya. Sure, you missed what it was like to eat your favorite food or speak to people, but it's the price you have to pay for your naivety.
You thought you'd be alone, wandering the hallways of Jujutsu High forever until they came.
Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerers in the modern era.
Shock is an emotion you haven't felt since your death, but you feel it again when you notice that those two can not only see but touch you.
It's an odd feeling. Having someone touch your skin after years (it's only been two) of being dead. Weird, but nice.
"Suguru, back me up here!" Satoru whines, holding his friend by his shoulders and shaking him back and forth.
You and Satoru were arguing about which ice cream flavor was the best. Granted, you haven't had ice cream —or any food for that matter— in a long time, but there was no way you would let Satoru get away with saying Birthday Cake.
"This is your argument, and I like Vanilla." Suguru shrugs and the betrayed look on Satoru's face causes you to giggle.
Satoru turns to face you, chest out and voice boisterous. "Well, [Name], since we can't agree, I guess that means we'll have to go to an ice cream store to find out!
Suguru's face turns blank. "Where in that argument did going to an ice cream place happen?"
"Right now, duh." You huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.
"No, guys, I don't have money, and I'm not taking you dumbasses to an ice cream place at this hour." Suguru's voice is stern; like there's no room for back-and-forth bickering.
You three were now at a small ice cream shop a few minutes away from Jujutsu High.
You tried not to talk to Suguru and Satoru much, so to bystanders it wouldn't look like they were talking to literal air, but they didn't get the hint and kept talking to you anyway.
Sometimes you wonder if they even know you're a ghost.
The way Satoru uses you as a headrest (you're putting spiders in his bed tonight) and how Suguru tends to maintain eye contact when he talks to you (earning a couple of odd stares from some in the store), you’re 99.9% sure they think you’re a real person.
Which you are, obviously, but you’re only technically real to them. Why that is, you aren’t exactly sure yourself.
Before you three get to the counter, you make up a fake excuse of having to use the bathroom. You tell them the flavor you want, make sure Satoru doesn’t do anything weird, and order the flavor with the most sugar (you aren’t 100% sure if you can even eat but it’s worth trying) before you excuse yourself. 
You make your way to the roof, sitting on the edge and looking out into the city. It’s calming. 
You’ve always enjoyed how relaxing it was to be able to see people going about their lives, the soft breeze sounding through your ears accompanied by the smell of ice cream and bread from nearby stores.
It’s nice. 
From the corner of your eye, you spot Suguru and Satoru sitting at an outside table. They were talking amongst each other as they presumably waited for you, an empty spot only held by a cup of ice cream filled with your favorite flavor.
You drop down at the back of the store, brushing the dust off your body and making your way to where Suguru and Satoru are sitting.
“Jeez! Took you long enough.” Satoru rolls his eyes and immediately starts eating his ice cream. 
Suguru rolls his eyes. His posture is the same as always, a man spread and his arms crossed only breaking whenever he needs to eat his ice cream as well. 
Huffing, you kick Satoru underneath the table. Blowing a raspberry before taking a bite of the ice cream.
Good news, you can eat.
Bad news, you don’t taste a single thing.
Well… they don’t need to know that. They’re having fun, your inability to taste shouldn’t spoil that for them.
“Satoru, Yaga’s going to kill us if he finds us, you know?” Suguru huffs, keeping watch as Satoru looks through the yearbook of past students in Jujutsu High.
“Oh, hush!” Satoru kicks him in the knee, gasping when he finds a book tucked away behind several (thankfully sleeping) cursed corpses.
Satoru grins. “Found one.”
Suguru takes one final glance at the hallway before turning to see what Satoru dragged him here for in the dead of night (or early in the morning depending on the way you look at it).
They flip through the yearbook, snickering when they see what Yaga looked like two years ago. His buzz is shorter — if that’s even possible — but he still has his stone-cold resting face.
They make it to the back of the book, where there’s a special section dedicated to students who died before the year is over.
Really, Satoru was looking for what [Name] looked like when he was younger. He’s suspected you were older than the two of them since he never sees you during school.
“Satoru… is– is that…?” Suguru’s voice is weary as his finger points at a photo of some dude he recognizes.
A boy he recognizes.
It’s your picture, you look the same as you do now. “What’s he doing here? We see him all the time– right Suguru?” 
Suguru pales. “Is that why Shoko calls us crazy? [Name] isn’t alive—”
“Yes, he is!” Satoru almost yells. The book drops from his hands with a thump! small colors of blue peeking out from the bottom of his sunglasses.
“We can touch him, we can see him!” Satoru stomps his foot. “How is that possible if he’s dead, huh?!”
“He might be a cursed sp—”
“Then the curse alarm would’ve sounded!” Satoru’s voice sounds like it’s tethering over an edge. He’s confused– he’s known [Name] for as long as his first year, you, him, and Suguru are inseparable so why can Suguru accept the fact that you’re (supposedly) dead?!
“Let’s ask him then, is that okay?” Suguru puts his hand directly on Satoru’s shoulder, moving his thumb slightly for comfort. 
The albino takes a deep breath to calm himself. He shouldn’t be mad at Suguru, he loves Suguru.
So, he does what Suguru says. He lets Suguru lead the way to where they found you the first time. Close to the artifact warehouse but closer to the forest that surrounds Jujutsu High.
You’re there. Sitting on the grass as you stare longingly at a bird.
The sound of rocks crunching under their feet must give them away because in a second you lock eyes with Suguru, a soft smile on your face.
“Suguru!” Your voice is warm– comforting even. “What are you guys doing here? Aren’t you guys breaking curfew?”
“Are you dead?”
Satoru’s blunt question causes your body to freeze. He sounds angry. Maybe it’s because you didn’t tell them that you were a ghost, and they somehow found out themselves.
You weren’t all that popular when you were alive. You were an adequate sorcerer with mediocre abilities. Nothing that puts you out there– not like the two in front of you anyway.
“Y-Yeah?” You avert your eyes sheepishly. “I mean, I died a few years ago so—”
“Why didn’t you tell us anything?” Satoru cuts you off, the hand still holding Suguru’s tightens slightly.
Why didn’t you tell them? Because they’d stop hanging out with you? Were you scared you’d lose the only people who know you’re still technically here?
Because you’re bound to this school and have only ever left because your attachment somehow shifted to Satoru and Suguru.
Ah, that’s why.
You were scared to be left alone. That’s why every time you could, you’d rush over to where they were. Engage in conversation with them, and do mildly illegal things with them because they make you feel wanted.
“I guess… I was scared you two would stop hanging out with me..?” You let out a laugh even though nothing is funny. “You two are the only people who know I still exist, so I thought if you figured out I was a ghost…”
“— that we’d stop talking to you altogether?” Suguru finishes for you and you can’t help but nod.
“That’s stupid! We fight curses, why do you think being a ghost is going to stop anything?!” Satoru grabs you by the shoulder. You’re sure his grip hurts, but you can’t exactly feel pain anymore.
“Yeah, I know…” Your hand touches Satoru’s forearm. “Now that you know… it doesn’t change anything between us… right?”
The longer the silence stretches the more anxiety swallows you whole. If they stop talking to you or start avoiding you, you aren’t sure what you’ll be bound to.
Maybe that spot by the artifact warehouse. You’ll be forced to stay there– alone, with no one to talk to, no one to make you feel alive.
“Of course, not.” Suguru’s voice is warm, it makes something well up in your eyes.
“Sure, it might be weird since sorcerers can’t see you, but you’re our friend. You just have to promise not to keep life-altering secrets from us. Right, Satoru?”
Satoru huffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. “You owe me, stupid ghost boy!”
A smile stretches across your face and you’re unaware of the warmth rolling down your cheeks. “I’m glad.”
You won’t be alone.
You’ll be able to talk to them, now that they know your biggest secret.
You’ll have Satoru and Suguru, and they’ll have you.
Maybe being dead– or being a ghost isn’t so bad after all.
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vcill · 1 year
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Headcanons when you bombard them with kisses 💖
Lucifer:
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For Lucifer I feel like it would work 2 ways:
1. He probably gifted you something that he absolutely REFUSED to let you have before.
2. Or for once, he let some shenanigans slide.
Obviously this rarely happens so you must be his favorite in some type of way.
When you do give him a kiss attack I highly believe it'll be like that one scene where mammon ran into his shower just to hug him.
Definitely feels flustered but also a HUGE sense of pride washes over him since he was the one to get this treatment.
(But mostly flustered)
Will try to act stern and tell you to stop/slightly push you off when he really doesn't want to.
But best believe baby boy will do this wayyy more often.
Mammon:
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Would be sooooooo cocky about it
Probably just came to your room and said you "owe him" from him having to watch over you
Either that or he feels like he deserves a reward for giving you a gift he totally got on his own and did not steal from a random demon.
Either way, he's expecting SOMETHING.
So while he goes on and on and on and on about how The Great Mammon is so considerate and kind, you took that moment to surprise him with his gift.
Baby was so flustered, he kinda just froze there and started sputtering his words.
Would be silent for a good moment before going full tsundere on you. From asking what the big deal was to he obviously he needs more for all the things he's done for you.
Over all would not stop smiling like an idiot and would come up with the tiniest of excuses for you to give him a kiss.
Leviathan:
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You two would probably be playing video games together and you got stuck on a really hard level.
Eventually you gave up, thinking you would never be able to beat it. But fish boy was able to do it for you and unlock all the items you wanted.
When you gave him a hug, he was so confused that you would ACTUALLY want to touch him.
But OOO boy when you gave him those kisses.
He was more pinker then ruru-chan
Would probably compare the moment to a manga/anime scene and say you two were exactly like the characters.
Afterwards, he wouldn't expect you to do it again but the reactions he has when you do is the absolute best.
Satan:
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You were in his room reading the new book of a series he was absolutely obsessed with.
You made a mistake of asking him a question about one of the characters, and just like Lucifer's lectures, he went on and on and on.
It was cute seeing him rant on about his favorite book, but the amount of time that was passing wasn't.
It didn't seem like he would stop anytime soon so you had one special idea.
Man stops in the middle of his sentence and just states at you, trying to figure out your deepest darkest secrets while doing so.
When you ask him if that was ever in the book, he says no but having a real life experience is wayyy better then reading about it.
It'll take him a little while to realize why you did so, and when he does figure out he'll be a little offended.
So as a punishment, he kisses you till you can't breathe. Which seems 100% fair in his opinion.
Asmodeus:
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With Asmo being an influencer and all, there's no doubt he'll receive a bunch of new products to try. And recently, a new collection of lipsticks and lip glosses have arrived.
Of course he can't decided which shade looks better on him, so he asks you to help him decided.
Problem is, there's probably over 100 shades to test out, and that's gonna be a real tiring process, so why not spice it up?
You take the first lip gloss and apply it to your lips and give him a kiss on the cheek, then another with another shade and so on.
Definitely was surprised by it but did not at all mind, even suggested he try some on you.
Let's say you guys do a little more then test out lipstick but no one is complaining.
Beezlebub:
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You were in the kitchen baking and of course beel smelled the delicious aroma.
He walked in and begged to have a lick of the spoon and bowl, maybe just give him the whole bowl, how needs baked goods anyway? We love salmonella!
Definitely got some on his face.
You try to wipe some off with your finger like a mama would, but he moves away pouting just like a kid.
So you stop and catch him off guard by kissing it off. Each kiss had a little lick getting the batter off of his face.
Beel was so shocked but quickly got an idea.
He got some of the batter with his finger and spreads a little on your face; before you could say something, he does the same thing to you and not both of you are a little messy.
Will absolutely get more and more messy until there's no more batter left and you guys practically ate it before it even got the chance to touch the oven.
Belphagor:
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It would be late at night and the both of you would be ready to sleep.
You both say your goodnights, but something about sleepy boy just won't let you have the last word.
So it goes "Good night, Belphie." And "Goodnight, y/n." Over and over again.
Getting really sleepy, and a little cranky, you decide to end this one and for all.
While Belphie said goodnight for the 100th time, you gave him a big dramatic kiss, the one where it's a big smack with it and said goodnight; but you didn't stop there.
For every kiss it was a goodnight until you knew for sure you won.
And for once, he was absolutely speechless.
Eventually, you both fall asleep but best believe that's the only victory you would have cause in the morning, he is gonna let you have it.
But if you dare even once to bring it up, he will pull a Lucifer and lock you in the attack so no one will ever find out how you made the belphagor shut up.
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jamiewintons · 7 months
Text
Good Enough To Eat (OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji/F!Reader)
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Summary: You and your boyfriend Sanji end up spending some time alone in the kitchen of Baratie.
Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY), public/semi public sex, praise kink, ‘good girl’ kink, oral sex (f!receiving), fingering.
A/N: Hey guys! My first non-Mat fic in literal years! This wasn’t meant to end up so long (not that 1400 words is that long) but I got a bit carried away. It’s really just all vibes. Please know that I’ve never seen the One Piece anime or read the manga, so this is based purely on the live action series. Hope you enjoy!! Reblogs and comments are very much appreciated :)
Word Count: 1402
Sanji Tag List: No one yet! (Fill out this form to join!)
~~~
"You look good enough to eat, darling," Sanji told you as he ran his hands up and down your legs, giving you that easy, confident smile that always made your heart melt. The feeling of his strong, talented hands against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs made you shudder, and Sanji’s smile only grew as he sensed your arousal.
You were seated on the counter in the kitchen of Baratie, with Sanji kneeling on the floor between your legs. You knew that the two of you shouldn’t have been doing this here — you couldn’t count the amount of times that you got told off by Zeff for making out in the pantry, and you weren’t exactly looking for a repeat of that — but once Sanji kissed you and ever so gently pushed you against the counter, your bodies pressed together and his hands holding your hips, you knew that there was no way you were going to say no.
And now here you were, a complete flustered mess, although Sanji had barely even touched you yet. He was just like that; he could drive you insane with desire with just a simple touch, or even a look, and the worst part was, he knew what he did to you. Sanji laughed quietly as he felt your body quiver while his lips brushed against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "Oh, darling, you’re so needy," he teased, closing his eyes as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin against his lips. At a snail’s pace he moved further up your leg, until he was mere inches away from the place you needed him most. "Just relax and let me take care of you."
"Please," you sighed, and Sanji laughed once again, though this time it sounded more like a mere exhalation. "Sanji… please."
"Patience," he told you, before moving to your other thigh and repeating the same routine of peppering kisses all over it until you were whimpering beneath his ministrations. "Let me worship your beautiful body the way you deserve."
You closed your eyes, your entire body tingling as your arousal grew to levels you never knew you were even capable of feeling. Though you couldn’t see them, you just knew that beneath your dress your panties were already completely soaked through. You wanted Sanji to just get to the point and give you what you needed already, but you knew that he was right, and that the anticipation, the build-up would ensure the end result was even more wonderful. Just like with food, Sanji would tell you.
When you felt Sanji’s hands slip beneath the hem of your dress, that was when your eyes shot back open. He slowly pushed it up, revealing your cotton panties. "You’re absolutely soaked for me, darling." Even if you weren’t looking at him, you’d be able to tell that he was smirking by the tone in his voice - a mix of smugness and reverence. He brought his thumb to the front of your panties, gently teasing the wet patch on the fabric and making you whimper. "So sensitive, sweetheart. You must be really worked up."
"Well, you have been at this for at least an hour," you complained, trying to sound firm but your voice came out shaky and desperate. Sanji pressed a little harder, and you let out another soft noise.
"It’s not been quite that long, but I’ll forgive you. I’m sure you’re having a hard time concentrating," Sanji said with a self-satisfied grin, before hooking his fingers into the waist of your panties and slowly pulling them down your legs. Without the pesky fabric in the way, your arousal was even more obvious, and Sanji’s eyes lit up as he saw the physical proof of how much he affected you. "Remember when I said you looked good enough to eat?"
With that, Sanji pulled you a little closer to the edge of the counter you were perched on. He leaned in and ran his tongue between your swollen lower lips, a slow lick from your entrance up to your aching clit that made your entire body shudder. The sound that came out of your mouth was somewhere between a moan and a sigh of relief, and it made Sanji let out yet another breathless laugh.
He focused on your clit, alternating between quick licks with the tip of his tongue and slow, languid strokes using the entire organ. Your fingers came to rest on top of Sanji’s head as he pleasured you, threading through the soft blond strands and tugging lightly. This only encouraged him to double down his efforts, following your moans and whimpers to find the best way to please you.
"You taste incredible, darling. Better than anything I’ve ever tasted," Sanji whispered, his words sounding like warm honey, as he pulled his mouth away from your pussy. But he wasn’t idle for long, because only a few seconds later he grabbed your legs and put them over his shoulders before diving back in to eat you out with even more enthusiasm.
"O-oh fuck, Sanji… feels so good," you gasped out, your thighs shaking as Sanji vigorously devoured you like he was a starved man and you were the first food he’d encountered in weeks. You’d never felt as good in your life as you did with Sanji, he was as much of a talented lover as he was a chef, and you thanked your lucky stars every day that you got to be with him.
"That’s it, good girl," Sanji praised gently, those simple words making your pleasure intensify and your hips buck against his face. You then felt his fingers teasing at your entrance, and let out a gasp as he pushed two inside your fluttering walls. "Just sit back and let me take care of you."
Your breathing was getting heavier, you quiet moans becoming louder and more desperate as Sanji worked magic on you with his tongue and fingers. He crooked his digits to stimulate your g-spot, and you knew that it wouldn’t be long until you fell apart for him. "S-Sanji, I’m… I’m close…"
Sanji would have known that you were on the brink, even if you hadn’t said anything, but fuck, did he love to hear you say it. To hear your voice so desperate for him, all because of him. Honestly, it turned him on more than anything possible could. His cock throbbed within his trousers with the thought of being inside of you again, but right now was about you, not about him, and he wanted to give you everything that you needed.
When he felt your pussy beginning to tighten around his fingers, he looked up at you, seeing your beautiful face contorted in pleasure. But more than anything, he wanted to see your eyes, to see how they widened as he brought you to complete ecstasy. "Look at me, darling. I want you to look at me when I make you cum," he told you in a tone that was both gentle and firm, one that you couldn’t help but listen to.
When you looked down at Sanji’s face, the sight of his blue-green eyes darkened with lust — along with how he massaged your sweet spot with his fingers and sucked on your swollen clit — was enough to push you over the edge into an earth shattering orgasm. You cried out his name, your hips bucking and your velvety walls contracting around his fingers. Sanji guided you through your high, not stopping until you went completely limp, and he made sure he was standing to catch you when you did.
"You did so well for me, darling," he praised, one of his hands threading though your hair as he pressed gentle kisses to your flushed face. Once he was sure you could keep yourself upright, he took the fingers of his other hand — the one that he had been using to pleasure you — into his mouth, licking off your essence and moaning as if he had just eaten a delicious meal. "Let’s go back to my room, sweetheart. I’m not quite finished enjoying you tonight."
You allowed Sanji to lead you out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom, his hand firmly held in yours, feeling your heart fluttering with excitement. You already knew that you were going to struggle to walk tomorrow, and you couldn’t wait.
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baizhoobies · 7 months
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Good Morning! “Waking up with…” gn!Headcanons
Request: Hey!!! How are you? Can I request morning headcanons with Sigma, Bram, Kunikida and Fyodor? Can be suggestive if you want. Thank you have a good day!
A/N: Hiya! thank you for the request :3 I am doing okay thank you for asking! Also one last thank you to those in the requests queue who are waiting! I love and appreciate you
Warnings: suggestive, swearing, mostly fluff and sweet domesticity, 18+
Including: Sigma, Bram, Kunikida and Fyodor
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Sigma
- Okay to start off with, lets say you both live in the casino together, he has one of those fancy VIP looking rooms
- your bed is ridiculously comfy, as the manager/owner, he has to have a good nights rest (plus working in the DOA the man needs some good fucking sleep)
- Sigma is enamoured with you, he wants nothing more than to be with you and to express his love for you, so he will make sure you are at your most comfort, with your preferred duvet covers, pillows, the works
- He looks like a sleeping beauty whilst he sleeps, so if you are the first to wake up and look at him… if you weren’t madly in love with him, you are now
- clingyyyyyyy
- super clingy, the man doesn’t know what home is but he knows he is at home with you. Keeping that in mind, he will probably prefer to be the big spoon, holding you tightly like some sort of teddy bear
- If he is the first person to wake up whilst he is the big spoon, he will probably try to wake you up with kisses on your neck and shoulders
- though I won’t lie, if you roll over in your sleep to become the big spoon, he will love that just as much
- knowing that you love him and wish to embrace him is enough to make his heart flutter and feel even more at home with you
- he loves the way you smell, your soft breaths and the way your skin feels against his own; soft and warm
- probably keeps a pillow or something and sprays it with your perfume so if you are away for any reason, he can sleep a lot better whilst thinking of you
- I can’t see him being the most active person in the morning, he will definitely want an extra 10 minutes. Even if you want to get out of bed, he just wants to cuddle and how can you refuse his puppy dog eyes?
- Probably doesn’t engage in anything sexual though, at least not in your sleep unless you talk about it prior. Though in saying that, if you have breasts, he will hold onto them like some sort of stress toy, or out of comfort
- I am picturing him doing this, half awake but the moment he hears your moans in your sleep, he’s only going to keep doing it until you are awake 🤭
Bram
- oooh boy, okay I am going to take liberty and allow Bram to have all of his limbs, maybe this scenario is before the events of BSD?
- If you are both vampires, its natural that neither of you will be awake in the morning as ya’ll sleep all day. So I am going to assume your mornings are actually in the evening after sunset
- Not that either of you are allergic to the sun (as seen in the anime/manga) but its a vampires natural sleeping pattern to sleep during the day, and I assume he did when he was living in his estate in Europe.
- He will most likely wake up out of hunger than anything else. You guys could sleep for centuries if you wanted, so the only reason to wake up is to feed, and perhaps spend time with you
- I am gunna say that ya’ll rest in a double sized coffin (yes, they exist) you are his partner after all and wishes to hold you close
- probably will have anxiety if you were in another coffin
- he’s a gentleman, if he wakes up first he will pull you closer and purposefully rest your head on his chest. In one manga panel its seen that he has claws? Or long nails? Will draw circles into your back/shoulders, humming contently as he does so
- if you guys are spooning, he will kiss your spine and your shoulders, but he will only really do this if he is in the mood… might even sneak a hand around and have a cheeky little touch~
- if you aren’t a vampire, he will probably follow your sleeping patterns. Ain’t no way is he going to wake up whilst you go to bed, nuh uh.
- nothing much would be different except Bram being a little dramatic in the mornings
- Like he will say some shit like “human, you have disturbed my slumber, why must your weak bodies-” promptly tell him to shut up and give him a kiss, he will soon shut up
- he will convince you to sleep longer, or at least lay there with him so he can sleep some more
- promise to make out with him, or wake him up if ygm, this may convince him to wake up and indulge 🫡
Kunikida
- So this man ensures that he gets 7 hours of sleep every night; its essential for him to feel refreshed and ready for when he wakes up in the morning. He the type of guy who will wake up immediately at the sound of his alarm, get out of bed, shower etc.. all according to his notebook
- HOWEVER
- Ever since you moved in, he's found himself becoming.. sloppy with his schedules
- Kunikida doesn't strike me as the guy to enforce his schedule onto his s/o, the word 'no' is a foreign word to him when it comes to you
- So lets say his alarm goes off in the morning, he goes to turn it off and get out of bed, but oh no! Your legs are intertwined, your head on his chest and your arms snaked around his waist.
- Despite his best efforts to convince himself to get immediately ready for the day, he will let out one huge sigh and set the alarm to snooze...and then snooze again, and again.
- Kunikida's biggest weakness is cuddles, especially whilst you are sleeping so adorably
- He might curse himself for breaking his schedule but, you certainly are worth it
- He may even incorporate snuggle time into his schedule just to say that he is following his ideals to feel better about himself
- LOVES to watch you sleep, I know bro is romantical (but will never admit it) he will just stare at your features, it doesn’t matter if you snore or have your hair all a mess, or whatever, he just is so in love with you.
- He takes this time to reflect on your relationship together, he probably practices ‘gratitude affirmations’ and you are certainly one of them
- Not the type of person to fulfil his desires in your sleep, he'd rather wait till you're awake before initiating anything, HOWEVER, if you are the first to awake, he certainly isn't going to complain waking up to you under the covers, iygm 😏
- Note in diary: woke up to sloppy toppy at 7am
- Expect breakfast in bed at the weekends, those are the days he has more time in the mornings and will make the extra effort in pampering you. You like coffee? Well the man owns one of those fancy coffee machines, Idc what anyone says, he does.
- Kisses with the taste of coffee on his lips >
Fyodor
- This was hard but I like a challenge (plus the recent episode got me quaking)
- Fyodor does not sleep a lot, over working himself on his plots and schemes, 100% will need convincing to join you in bed
- He would wake up first, no matter what. You would never catch him sleeping, like ever
- even if you get up in the middle of the night to go to the toilet, the man just senses when you are awake (he is probably a very light sleeper)
- its most likely to do with the fact that when you are sleeping, its quite a vulnerable state and although he is comfortable with you, he struggles to turn that side of him off
- As he wakes up before you, it gives him a chance to watch you resting peacefully, he leans over you and just takes in the view
- He will gently brush the hair from your face and just… he just thinks you are precious and wants nothing more than to just take a moment and reflect on it
- If its coming close to having to get up for whatever reason, he will stroke your hair and whisper sweet nothings into your ear, most likely calling you Russian pet names and shit
- Although he is the first awake, he won’t get out of bed until you are ready
- I can’t see him being a person who’d want to cuddle in bed really, going to sleep or waking up. He is a little touch starved but in the sense that he doesn’t quite know how to be physically affectionate
- though catch him on a day where he is particularly sleepy, then he will be more likely to let his guard down and cuddle (he can’t keep up this criminal master mind shit 24/7)
- I don’t think he’d be super relentlessly horny in the mornings, but if he is for whatever reason, he would (like the whispering you awake HCs) he would probably give you a few sleepy neck kisses, caressing your body with his nimble fingers and enjoys watching you squirm and whimper yourself awake.
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chaedomi · 7 months
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Hi I just found your blog and you are so talented, your writing is so immersive you really have a gift, I was wondering if you could write for some yandere oshi no ko? Maybe with the mc being a very famous model, platonic or romantic is fine
LOVEABLE MODEL
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WARNINGS . YANDERE, female reader, can be read as platonic or romantic, ooc, hints toward spoilers in manga (and anime for those who have reached a certain point), implied stalking, mostly everything you'd find in a yandere post, unhealthy relationships (if i missed any, kindly alert me)
WORDCOUNT . 2.7k+ / MASTERLIST.
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YOU WERE pretty and sensational. You had a diverse career that allowed you to explore different types of styling, keeping the job interesting. You were also a huge influence and an inspiration to many, encouraging them to pursue a career in modeling and to experience various brands of fashion and cosmetics.
However, what attracted people to you the most was not your career, but rather your unique personality and your unparalleled charisma. It was one-of-a-kind, something that would leave people aching for more… similar to a former starry-eyed idol. It's no surprise that you have a ton of admirers, and that includes the odd ones as well.
AQUAMARINE HOSHINO
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Let's be real. Model or not, unless you were of use to him or acquainted with his sister, AQUAMARINE would see no necessary need to interact nor get to know you. Why should he care about someone who will eventually fall from stardom?
But, in this case, it was different. Very much so. It was as though time stopped for a split moment when you both passed each other in the school hallways. Faster than his mind could process, his hand was already reaching out to grasp your arm as if he were to let you go, you would disappear for an eternity. Unusual of him. After you overcame your brief surprise from the sudden contact, you offered him a polite smile, eyes twinkling with unspoken mischief… to which he gawked at like an idiot.
How was it possible for you to possess the same charm as 'she' did…? He’s so stunned and in disbelief that he’s incapable of constructing a coherent sentence for some time. No investigations were made to confirm his assumptions… he was THAT convinced. You best believe he made the effort to become associated with you. It wasn’t as though he was desperate to attach himself to you, you noticed, but somehow, he always found a way to be around you, and if on the correct setting, it was beyond unnerving. You shrugged your shoulders at his abnormal behavior, justifying it with a “you’ve handled worse.” By the time it is finally drilled through your thick skull that hey, ‘something is wrong,’ Aqua would have fully wedged himself into your life. Good luck trying to avoid him…
There is an annoying obstacle in the way… namely your career as a model. Not to mention, the large fanbase you have gained over the years. So much as it was very tempting to find shady methods to force you to void your career entirely, the problems that can arise afterward will be more than problematic.
As said, because you remind him of a certain individual, his extreme tendencies will begin to lay on you. Just because he cannot end your career does not mean he cannot become overbearing. The fear of seeing you injured or harmed in any way replays a very unpleasant memory in his head…
He constantly monitors what you do, and whom you choose to interact with, and makes decisions that seem appropriate for you. It's as though you’ve lost your right to free will…
He's aware of how wrong it is. But, to him, it feels like a second chance, to lift some of the burden that he has carried on his shoulders for a while, to rid of the guilt that was slowly destroying him mentally and emotionally. Well, at the very least, he didn't convince himself you were 'her'. Even though there were some strong resemblances in characteristics, it was still easy to nitpick many differences (to him).
RUBY HOSHINO
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There's without a doubt, Aqua was only familiar with your existence due to RUBY. A walking and living example of a true stan and diehard fan; god, she was obsessed with you. Magazines, products, advertisements, brands, merch, anything that has your face plastered on it, she’s out to grab it all… what she can afford, by the way. Your hair! Your lips! Your EYES! How can someone be this attractive!? Forget Model… someone put you in a museum for you to be admired by millions, quick!
As you can tell, Ruby has quite an attachment to you. And this is her without the yandere tendencies included. It was terrifying and had the potential to creep out anyone unfortunate enough to listen to one of her passionate rants. Other than her fawning over you for your glorious visage, there was another reason as to why she acted the way she did. You were just like 'her', the way you spoke, the way you moved, everything was down to par. It filled her mind with memories of 'her' helping her cope through dark times, and you were too doing the same, distracting her from the negativity that threatened to cloud her mind. At some point… she fully believed that you were 'her' in another body. You just had to be! Explain the similarities! It took thorough reasoning for her to understand that the possibilities were low. You were around her age, so by the time 'she' passed away, it would have been too late for that to happen.
On the day of school, it came as a big shock to her seeing so many famous faces inside the premises. But the biggest one of them all was when you walked inside her classroom all smiles, apologizing to the teacher for your tardiness. Shit… was she actually inside a dream right now!? She pinched and twisted her skin for good measure. Nope! She was alive and conscious! There’s no room for argument, she most definitely did snap a couple of pictures from where she seated, behind you. Somehow, she mustered up the courage to converse with you after class, falling deeper into her admiration for you.
Unlike her brother who saw your career as a nuisance, she fully supports you to continue all the way! In addition to that, it's a massive stroke to the ego that she had the privilege to bask in your presence while the majority had limitations. Do you know how many people would kill just to breathe the same air as you, The Loveable Model?
Turns out, Ruby can make for a dangerous yandere. Once Ruby puts her mind into something, the results made afterward are so impressive that it’s scary… But, it’s not like she’ll ever need that to happen, as long as you vow to stay by her side, she’ll make no drastic attempts to prevent herself from losing something as she previously did.
KANA ARIMA
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For KANA, at first, it was an in-between… Although it was not to the extent of Ruby, she was a fan of yours… you were just too entrancing! You’re the reason why she went through many style phases, buying useless shit she didn’t need, wearing expensive brand clothing that you featured in… you get the main idea. Sooner or later she had to stop as she noticed the money she made from her child career quickly diminishing the more she allowed herself to indulge in her fan side for you. Begrudgingly she put a halt to it, still buying your magazines every now and then.
The other half is completely sour when she sees how whipped Aqua is for you. (she totally doesn’t question if Aqua’s attachment to you was romantic or not…) She kind of gets it; your personality, your looks, and your status as a famous model, you were a ten. But, there was a difference between love and admiration, so you were some sort of rival to her.
Fear not, Kana gets past that, clinging onto you instead as she got to know you in person. It was bound to happen. Kana was already ‘under your charm’, so it was only a matter of time before that admiration morphed into an obsession. Kana can be very clingy and manipulative. Manipulative in the sense that she uses her sad-sob backstory to ground you by her side. The majority of her supporters are now her anti-fans, she doesn’t have her parents around, and now you, the idol she looks up to, want to leave her too!? You wouldn’t do that to your lovely supporter, right?
Kana wouldn’t care about your career too much, she understands what it’s like to really love your job, so she doesn’t complain a lot. As long as you treat her kindly and remember her, she is content. Please.
MINAMI KOTOBUKI
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It's like, the calmer the individual is, the uglier their hidden side will be. And MINAMI will not be excluded from that logic. There is no doubt that Minami was affiliated with you due to her status as a pin-up model. On some weird, rare occasions, you would find yourself as her partner for a certain aesthetic for a photoshoot. So, yes… you knew each other to an extent.
What you couldn't wrap your head around was the fact you always felt a sense of unease around her. She out of all people. Why? She's an absolute sweetie, gentle and pure at heart. She always compliments you on how you look and praises you for the work you put in toward modeling. She goes on further to say she can see why people adore you so much.
There's nothing for you to worry about… except for the glaringly obvious issue that her eyes seem to follow whatever movement you make. It could be the twitch of a finger or any minority; glance to the side and there are pink doe eyes already staring holes into your face. Or when you're seated in the courtyard and just so happen to look at the corner nearby and see Minami there, who smoothly brushes it off with a friendly wave.
It was fine to you, till you began to see those pink doe eyes in the more uncanny places, namely restaurants you're in, or your job… you could swear you saw those pink eyes somewhere inside your house one time. But as you blinked, they vanished. As you take a peek at Minami who catches your gaze and laughs brightly, you can't help but wonder if it was just your imagination and you were overreacting…
FRILL SHIRANUI
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Hmm… This one is a bit tricky. You see, FRILL doesn't tend to expose much of an expression or a reaction. You never know what's going through her head or how she feels about something till she bluntly puts it into words.
She's also affiliated with you because of your careers, (the magazines of hers and you are always trendy and are the most popular) so you weren't awkward or tense around her. It's just… Why is she looking at you like that? It's similar to Minami in the sense her eyes never leave you, but there is a layer of coldness in her gaze, in addition to the slight furrow of her eyebrows.
You thought she hated you. For what? You didn't know. It couldn't be career-wise, she had a great number of followers and need not be concerned about you overthrowing her. She didn't come across as the petty type either.
What did you choose to do about the matter? Simple. You approached her with a blinding smile, getting straight to the point. That day you got to witness a sight you'd never think you'd receive an opportunity to.
Embarrassment. She got embarrassed and the light blush that crept its way to her cheeks had you staring in astonishment. It was out of character for her, much more the difficulty she had to fumble out a proper sentence.
You just left for your next class as the bell rang because wow, that was unexpected. It was cute to watch, seeing Frill become so soft-spoken around you. Who knew that a high-ranked celeb like her looked up to and admired you too!?
You're so amused by her change of personality that you don't notice the icy glares she shoots toward people daring enough to take another step closer to you…
AKANE KUROKAWA
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Another person who viewed you as a rival due to how whipped Aqua was for you. It didn’t matter whether Aqua’s attachment to you was platonic or romantic, the undivided attention Aqua gave you was something AKANE dreamed of having. So, when the chance arrived for her to develop a new character for the reality show she was featuring, she jumped at the opportunity to become what Aqua desired in a person. Spending hours studying your character, she aspired to impersonate you. Sadly, it didn’t work as well as she thought it would. Of course, she could never compare to you and your charisma. You were beautiful, very famous… there are just some things you cannot copy.
Initially, it was disappointment over Aqua’s lackluster reaction to her change, after all, she thought this a good way to pay him in return for what he did for her. Later, as she began to develop romantic feelings for him, the disappointment morphed into frustration. She felt like a loser all over again… No effort will make him adore her as she wants him to… So, she gave up.
Strangely enough, you managed to weasel your way into her heart in place of Aqua. She didn’t know what to make of it at first, frozen with a pale blush on her face when you praised her for her work. The way her heart thudded against her chest… she didn’t even react like that to the boy she so claimed to like. Perhaps he wasn’t the one she should waste her time on…
Even though Akane is considered one of the more ‘dangerous’ yanderes with her high intellect and analyzing skills, she’s pretty much harmless. In the nicest way I can say it, Akane is akin to a loyal devotee of some sort… As in whatever you desire, Akane will try her best to provide it, impersonation or not.
Akane is familiar with your works (god, BLESS the photographers for capturing your elegant essence in the most perfect angles), and is amazed, but she's not that into it??? Maybe if you were to branch out into her area of acting, the hype would be stronger… That doesn't mean you should stop in any way though! Continue to pose and look pretty while she appreciates (read as obsesses over) the sight. However, if your career were to ever… become an obstacle between you both, THAT will get her FULL attention.
BONUS: AI HOSHINO
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In this scenario, let's pretend you were around the age when AI was still alive. Let's think about this. Suppose you had a terrible childhood without correct familial guidance, or experienced situations that resulted in you being unable to feel and express love properly.
Now, imagine you came across a person who made you feel the very emotions that you desperately sought out. Would you want to distance yourself from that person, especially when they granted you something you've been seeking for so long?
The answer is no, and that's exactly what Ai did. By far, the worst one out there. She isolates you, she breaks your bonds with other people, and when you try to voice your complaints about her actions, she has the audacity to play innocent, baffled by your accusations.
A master with her words too, you would point fingers at her, the bad guy, and somehow, the argument would end with you apologizing and her rubbing your back gently as a large smile spreads on her face.
Surprisingly, she was the one who encouraged you to pursue a career in the entertainment industry. You agreed, thinking she was being normal for a change, but then later found out it was for her to spend time with you without consequences… Who would complain about two famous celebs hanging out with each other!? Not that she had a problem maintaining a lie, she just wanted the easier route.
It was very shameful that you felt a sense of satisfaction over the announcement of her funeral. Too bothered by the things she did while she was alive to you, the news deserved a celebration instead.
You lived a few more years of your life in peace. However, the day both of her children arrived on your front doorstep, it made you realize that Ai had no intentions of leaving you alone, allowing her children to replace the role she owned in your life. Even in death she still found a way to trouble you…
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©chaedomi. please do not modify, edit, copy or reproduce any of the works published.
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vampirevatican · 5 months
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judd's shirt, and how he smells...
he's gonna have a musk. like canon wise it'd be after sharpening his knives or like he's working out or something but he's got man musk
i like to think the birch household actually has good shampoo and skincare stuff, though i also am a firm believer that only elliot, leah and diane have an actual routine
judd? literally any soap, though nothing with a flowery scent?? like motherfucker smells like the woods. he's got an earthy smell to him. like i think he's the only one in the house that uses irish spring or like very plain ivory soap.
to the ppl that think he'd use a 13 in 1. i need you to stop. his hygiene routine is very simple but ima need some respect put on this man because how else is he gonna maintain that hairstyle? not to mention dude is definitely a go-getter.
anyway he just has... boy/man/male scent, ya know? like that common smell between all cologne and men's soap? yeah that.
so with that context... you've taken some of his shirts, for girlfriend reasons.
ya know like, when he's not around and you wanna pretend he's there. or you just don't feel good and wanna think about him comforting you... it's for emersion you swear!
----------------MDNI (nsfw below)-------------
yeah right you're getting off to that shit.
sure you could put it on a pillow and think about him being there
could cuddle with pillow judd or if you have a huge stuffed animal that works too
but ik why you clicked 'read more' and yeah i get it
jessie was onto something... and so was a manga i read...
just taking his shirt and keeping it for a bit? and you just take a big whiff... a deep sniff. oh yeah.
at some point his werid ass ziplocs his most sweaty shirts and keeps them just for you
doesn't point out why or explains, just points you to where he keeps them.
Looking in the drawer you find a couple of plain and graphic tees in rows. Lined up, side by side and in... ziploc bags? You look back at him and he looks at you, shirtless and dead lifting weights. "What." he sounds so nonchalant, neutral tone, same as always. "You're just gonna let me have them now?" He continues lifting and looking at a wall with a couple band posters on it. "Better than you being a klepto over my shit." He smirks slightly and looks back at you, "What? You don't want them, princess?" You squint, mainly at the pet name and was going to argue but just pouted and looked away grabbing the shirts and stuffing them into your overnight bag. "Yes." you mutter and he laughs.
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alj0saray · 1 month
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This may be a little much, but for the Valentine’s event, could I have the entire alphabet with Idia Shroud? I think he needs a little more love. Thank you! <3
AS LONG AS ITS ONE CHARACTER AHAHHA nah but seriously you right, idia deserves more love<3
ೃ⁀➷ TW/CW: SMUT, Bad English, 18+ (MINORS/AGELESS/BLANK BLOGS DON’T INTERACT), GN Reader, Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Role Playing, Food Play, Bondage, Sadism\Masochism, BDSM, let me know if I need to add more TW/Tags ♡ My blog contains dark content, be careful when interacting/following! Please if you like my work don't forget to reblog/interact with me♡ Minors, ageless, blank blogs, and silent readers will get blocked if interact with me. 
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⤠ Vil Schoenheit + Entire Alphabet ⤟ TWST Masterlist & Valentine Event ⤠ Vyn Ritcher + Entire Alphabet ⤟
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A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)
Poor Idia, he... Tries. To be fair he has no idea what he's supposed to do and he's so tired, he would just cuddle with you, kissing gently your skin and remind you how much he loves you. Dont really expect him to bring you some water or something to wash, he's probably sleeping
B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)
Idia doesn't have a favorite body part of himself... Hes too insecure about it to pick. Maybe his hands, if he dares? They are very long and they look really good around your neck when he's choking you... On you on the other hand he likes very much your chest or bottom, every time you can catch him ogling you up if you wear something more revealing
C= Cum (anything that has to do with it)
I talked about it here but idia favorite place to cum is absolutely inside of you, until your poor tummy can't keep it all inside and it gets outside. Hes okay with cumming on your stomach and face too, exactly like one of those hentais he watches, making him all excited again
D= Dirty secret (Pretty self explanatory)
With Idia there is plenty dirty secrets: he uses your underwear or overall clothing that smells like you to masturbate, he reads or watches hentai where the protagonist looks like you, he has a cushion with your clothes on...
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E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)
None. He has no idea what he is doing, probably never kissed someone with a tongue. You will think he has at least some idea what to do with all the porn he watches\read\play but no. None. He gets his hand sweaty and he is trembling, not knowing what to do and fighting to flee the scene in embaressement
F= Favorite position
I dont think there is a favorite positions for Idia, most of the time he tries out the ones he sees in hentai and such. But I think if he had to pick out one in particular it would be mating press, loving how much power it gives him
G= Goofy (how serious are they)
More than serious I would say that if you laugh, chuckle or try to joke about it he will ruin his mood. Being unserious during sex would probably not only ruin his mood, it would also hurt him since his insecure nature
H= Hair (grooming habits)
It's a mess. Before meeting you he hardly kept in place, just enough to not have any problems, but it was in all honestly an unkept messy bush. If you complain about it he will keep it short but the bush stays, he's too lazy and terrified to wax it
I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty)
Idia likes it rough and dirty. Dont really expect him to be softer and romantic, he simply won't. He would make sure the day after you are sore and your throat hurts for how much you are screaming for him, maybe even losing your voice slightly lol
J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)
Yes. At least thrice, if not more, thanks also to his porn games. Idia is a not-so-secret pervert, so he has tons of hentai, manga and anime, porn games he can play/read, so its not really surprisingly that he masturbate that often. And he uses some of your photos too.
K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)
Breeding Kink, Pregnancy, Role Playing, Food Play, Bondage, Sadism\Masochism, BDSM
L= Location (where they like to get it on)
I would say mostly in the safe heaven that is his room, because he's scared of the rest of the world but also doesn't want anyone to see you in such a desperate, needy taste that its only for him to see. He likes having you everywhere in his room: on his desk (down and over), on his bed, on his door... Everywhere in the safety of his room.
M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)
Its very easy to turn Idia on to be honest, all you have to do is look prettier just for him, cosplaying on of his favorite chatacters from a new manga/anime he has been obsessed with, be horny with him, saying dirty jokes...
N= No (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)
Absolutely no threesome. No. Only Idia can touch you in that, if you dare even to suggest it hes offended, pouting even. Why, dont you remember how good he made you feel last night? Does he have to remind you? Mh?
O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are)
Idia likes receiving more than giving, not that hes bad at giving oral its just a preference of his. But first times he tries to give you oral he has no idea what to do, where to suck where to lick, its a like a puzzle game that he doesn't understand.
P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)
Ooh Idia likes it fast, hard, and deep, making sure you feel his dick around his stomach and with a small budge on it. Hes not particularly gentle with you especially if he gets jealous or more insecure, and usually a round with him last one hour or more (considering roleplaying etc)
Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)
Yes, he loves fast and hard, but quickies aren't his favorite things. He likes to take you deep and hard but he also enjoys taking time with you with his roleplaying, with his teasing. Plus he's no rush to take you, why going so fast?
R= Risk (do they like to try new things)
Yes! Very much so. Since hes a virgin everything is new to him and he's very kinky, so he's very much into trying new things and finding out new kinks and fetishes with you.
S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)
For someone like him, so skinny and doesn't do any sports, he somehow has a lot of stamina to give for sex. Or maybe he's just too horny for his own good. He can last for hours without problems, going on and on for the entire night until he's too tired to move.
T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)
Idia likes toys, on you more than himself but if you beg enough he is willing to try at least once. More so than using in during sex he likes to tease you about it; using a dildo before fucking you properly, leaving you all alone with a vibrator in for hours
U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)
Oh, hes such a teaser. He simply won't shut the fuck up, Idia is more so a degrading one, liking to call you names and constantly putting you down while he thrusting deep inside of you
V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)
Not really loud but not really silent either, you can hear his sweet cute breathy moans coming from his mouth. The more he gets too close to cumming, the more high-pitched and louder he becomes
W= Wild card (random sincannon of any sort)
I said it before that Idia loves doing it in the safety of his room, but deep in his mind he would love to try to have sex somewhere more public, where he can show off how good he's fucking you or whose names you are screaming on.
X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)
I talked about it here!
Y= Yearning (sexdrive level)
Oh if it is high. Oooh if it is high. Probably the highest out of everyone, he's so needy and desperate for you. Idia wants you constantly, he is like an horn dog who is constantly in rut (I bet he would find it hot if you got into ruts)
Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)
Immediately right after. It's like a switch, if Idia head hits the pillow then bam he's asleep. Just like that. He might try to stay awake, for you, but please don't expect him too much from poor Idia since he has no idea what to do
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This work belongs to @/alj0saray, do not repost, translate, copy, rewrite or share on tiktok without my permission. Reblogs are appreciated and encouraged♡ 
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animeniac-writings · 2 years
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More Than Just For Groping - Denji x reader
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Anime/Manga: Chainsaw Man
Note: Can you tell I also love boobs by these posts? Denji loves tits, gender neutral language. This got way more explicit than intended as I was writing it.
You must be joking if you think Denji's love of tits stops at just touching.
Sure he's always dreamed of touching them, imagined what it'd be like to fondle some big, soft breasts with his own bare hands.
He's cum just to the thought of how they would feel, getting to squeeze a nice pair of warm tits in his calloused hands. Would callouses bother tits? he's wondered that after his head cleared a little too.
But, he never thought he'd get to touch any boobs before he died, and was too young and unexperienced to think there was anything more to it than touching.
So when your chest is bare in front of his face, his painfully hard erection unable to stop grinding against you through his boxers, he really hopes he doesn't start hyperventilating right now because he feels like it.
Then your hand goes to the back of his head, fingers threading through sweaty hair and he thinks you'll pull, he always moans when you tug his hair during make outs and though this moment can't get any better, somehow that would still make it.
But you don't. Your hand is gentle but firm, pulling him closer. Downward, and for a second he thinks he gets the message. He marks up your neck any time you let him and he's happy to try, but really isn't sure he can even concentrate on biting you right now as he jerks up against you without the slightest bit of self control.
Wrong. He was so wrong. And his mind goes completely blank when you've guided him down so his open mouth fits onto your nipple perfectly.
Denji has lost his mind. Body seizing up when his lips meet your tip. His head feels like jelly, body on fire and he couldn't guess if there's more blood rushing to his cheeks or his dick when quietly you murmur to him that he's "Such a good boy"
He wants to collapse, hips snapping against you the second those words reach his ears, he can't think but luckily his body knows what to do. What's he's supposed to do.
His white knuckle grip leaves the sheets below you and wraps around you for dear life, humping feverishly in his spot between your legs, muffled moan against your breast as your legs wrap around his back pulling him closer.
Your breast. Denji runs his tongue along your pebbled nipple, teeth grazing ever so lightly making you keen up towards him, he suckles your breast and it's the only thing he ever wants to do. Mind fuzzy with nothing but the need for MORE,
His legs want to give out from how quickly he's grinding against you, pressing his cock to you as much as he can, boxers so thoroughly soaked with precum he can barely feel them anymore,
He doesn't care. He needs you, the smell of you all around him, the feeling of you pressed against him as flush as he can possibly manage, the taste of your breast and the feel of your now sore nipple on his tongue, it's too much and could never be enough.
He can't hear you, somewhere that seems far away you've been praising him, calling him your good boy, your needy puppy, but the blood rushing in his ears has blocked out everything while his senses are positively on fire.
It starts to hurt, honestly. From pleasure to pain with how hard Denji's sucking on your nipple, you can imagine the large red mark, hell even a damn hickey around it now. And the way his hips hammer against yours like a bunny in heat, slamming the headboard to the wall hard enough to dent it.
You try to pull him off, tightly weaving your fingers in his hair and trying to yank him back, only getting a long, pornographic groan from him and his lust filled eyes rolling back as he cums against you. body stilling with only a few last stuttered jerks, cum spraying into his ruined shorts, his vision goes white and for a minute he thinks he has died. Died in the most glorious way and reached whatever level of Nirvana there is.
Denji collapses against you. His body more spent than ever before, everything feels tingly, his head is full of cotton, his dick quite possibly numb, his face had fallen into the crook of your neck with his last body shaking groan.
He is ruined. He looks beautiful. Something you love to see, love to know you're the only one to ever do this to him. To fill him with such pleasure he can hardly breathe.
Denji's exhausted beyond belief, he can't move. He certainly can't get up, and could absolutely not care less about doing so. He wants to sleep, only one thing could be better than sleep.
You're brushing his hair back, sweat soaked bangs plastered to his forehead, reveling in the aftermath of it all when you feel him move. You can already tell what he's about to do, and quickly shift his focus from the boob he's already sucked raw to the other before he can latch on again.
He's slowly, gently sucking on your tit with his eyes closed, you aren't sure if you want to roll your eyes or not. But he readjusts his arms around you, still holding you to him, but more comfortably, his legs hanging off the end of the bed while your back rests against pillows, going to sleep.
You wonder through your own tired mind if he'll suffocate like that, lips latched around your nipple suckling tenderly as he finally passes out from exhaustion.
But, you think, he wouldn't mind it that's how he did.
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