#And even if we do I’m drawing it let’s be real

[cevansbrat0007]

Guessing Games: A Fast Car Interlude

Summary: You accidentally trigger Ari's jealous streak. Takes place directly after the events in Guessing Games.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Implied Future Smut, Ari Being A Menace, Brat!Reader, Jealous!Ari, Innocent Flirting, Stupid Men, Manhandling, Mentions of Spanking, Discussions of Self-Image, Mentions of Lingerie, Semi-Public Sex, Allusions to Fingering, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: After a shitty week, please enjoy this completely self-indulgent fic. Part of my Sweet Renegade Series. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

“Hey. I know this car.” You think as you come to stand in front of a vehicle on display that happens to look strangely familiar. Smoothing your hands down the skirt of your sundress, you manage a quick side-step, narrowly avoiding a collision with a small child who was too busy enjoying his ice cream cone to pay attention to where he was going. 

You’ve been wandering around Fulton County’s annual Classic Car Showcase for the better part of an hour now, and so far things were going better than you’d expected. And not only that, but you were even beginning to have fun.

“I can see why this one caught your eye.” A familiar voice muses as he comes up behind you. 

“I’m trying to figure out where I’ve seen it before. But I’m drawing a blank.” Angling your body, you reach for one of Ari’s big hands, grasping it with both of yours. “Any ideas?” 

“You really don’t recognize it?” 

“‘Fraid not.” Your lips purse as you continue to wrack your brain. 

“It’s an exact replica of The General Lee, the 1969 Dodge Charger driven by Bo and Luke.” 

“Who?” You stare up at him confused. 

That earns you a chuckle, followed by him placing a gentle kiss atop your head. “Bo and Luke. From The Dukes of Hazzard. It was a popular show back in the eighties.” He explains, brushing a stray curl away from your face.

“Oh. Got it.” You nod, pretending to understand. “Mystery solved.”

You both stand there a few moments longer – mostly so he can admire the engine, or whatever the hell you assumed he was doing. Once he’s looked his fill, it’s apparently time to move on to the next car that catches his interest. You’re seemingly content to trail behind him until you happen to spot a nearby cluster of tents. 

“Ari?” 

“Yeah, little Bird?” The rich timbre of his voice has you smiling before you even realize you’re doing it.

“I reckon all this car hoppin’ has me feelin’ a little parched.” You tell him, turning your attention to the concessions located just across the lot. “I’m gonna go fetch myself a lemonade real quick while the lines are short.”

As expected, your man responds without missing a beat. But not before leading you over to the shade so that you can continue your conversation. Which was a good thing seeing as the temperature outside was hovering around the mid-eighties.

“Well, we can’t have that now can we?” Mirroring your smile, he brings your hand to his lips so that he can kiss the ridges of your knuckles. “Let’s go get you somethin’ to drink.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll go while you hang out here in the shade.” Your palms come up to rest against the hard wall of his chest. “Besides,” you continue when he opens his mouth to object. “It’s not like I’m going far. I’ll just  be right over there.”  

“Nah.” Ari swiftly disagrees, adjusting his sunglasses. “How about you wait here while I go get us both something to drink?”

“Are you sure?” 

“Yep.” He gently flicks the tip of your nose. “After all, what kinda man would I be if I left my sweetheart out here to melt?”

“I mean…if you insist.” Rising on your toes – a feat made easier thanks to your wedge heels – you plant a smooch on his bearded cheek. “Hurry back, sugar.” 

Now that he’s officially a man on a mission, Ari wastes almost no time making a beeline for the concessions. But not before issuing a stern warning to you, his curious little Bird.

“Don’t you go wanderin’ off on me, darlin’.” He growls, leaning down to tenderly peck your lips . “I expect to find you right here in this spot when I come back.” 

And then he’s gone. You barely have time to respond with a playful salute before he’s striding off in search of sustenance for you both. Leaving you alone to twiddle your thumbs while you dutifully await his return. 

Not that you minded. If anything, grateful for this brief respite from the heat. It never crosses your mind to abandon your spot in favor of looking at more cars. At least, not until you spy one that has you gasping in pure delight.

“Woah.” You breathe as you come to stand in front of the one vehicle with the power to transport you straight back to your childhood: a 1958 Plymouth Fury.  

Better known as the car from Stephen King’s novel, Christine. 

You’d absolutely loved this movie as a kid. So much so that your Uncle had bought you your own personal copy after he got tired of renting it for you weekend after weekend. Why, you must’ve seen it over a hundred times. 

But as luck would have it, your private glee is interrupted by the sound of a voice coming up behind you. 

“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” The man asks, his southern drawl growing even more inviting when he tips his black stetson. “Restored her myself.” 

“Holy crap! It looks just like the one from the film.” You chirp, reaching out to run your fingers along the shiny finish before swiftly thinking better of it. “Sorry.” Is all you can manage as you turn to face him. “I just…never thought I’d get the chance to see it in person.”

“Well…” The dark haired cowboy admits, flashing a chagrined smile. “It’s not actually the car. But it’s pretty dang close. Took me a few years, seeing that pretty smile of yours makes it all worth it.” His smile only grows wider as he holds out his hand to you. “The name’s Russell, by the way.”

You two spend a few more moments exchanging names and pleasantries before he politely redirects the attention back to the prized vehicle in front of you. Russell invites you to ask all the questions you like, only to laugh when you eagerly take him up on his offer. 

In fact, you’re enjoying the conversation so much that you hardly notice when he slowly begins inching closer to you, his leanly muscled frame almost boxing you in. He was charming – you’d give him that much. And easy on the eyes.

Russell was the type of man who warranted a second look. Or at least he would. That is, assuming you hadn’t already been blessed with the gift of Ari Daniel Levinson. 

“You know,” He murmurs, his cool gaze warming as he boldly peruses your dress. “Something tells me this conversation would pair wonderfully with a glass of wine.” His hand reaches for yours once more. “Perhaps over dinner?”

“Oh, I’m sorry...” The shocked apology comes tumbling out of your mouth. “I–I can’t. I actually came with someone. He’s–”

“Look, I don’t wanna be too forward.” Russell smoothly interrupts, stroking his thumb along the ridge of your knuckles. “But I haven’t been able to let you out of my sight since I saw you damn near an hour ago. Honestly can’t remember the last time I came across a woman as sweet as you.”

“That’s awfully kind of you to say.” You reply, intending to let him down easy.

“I saw that fella you were with.” He continues in earnest, still refusing to relinquish his grip on your hand. “Also saw him walk off and abandon you too.” 

“He didn’t – no one abandoned anybody!” Closing your eyes, you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the entire situation. You weren’t used to men hitting on you like this. It has you feeling way out of your depth. 

“Be that as it may, I also believe in fate.” His already gravelly voice dips an octave. “I mean, I’ve come to this showcase year after year and never once have I met someone like you.” 

“I…I’m not sure I’d go that far.” You hedge as you weigh your options. 

On one hand, you really did want to be polite. But you also needed to be firm. You already had a man in your life. A man who owned you – mind, body, and soul. Not that you’d had any say in the matter. But these days, you were well past complaining about the handsome Beast of a man you’d come to cherish.

“Think about it.” Your would-be suitor implores, giving you a gentle squeeze. “There has to be a reason our paths crossed today.” 

Alright. It was officially time to put a nail in this coffin. You open your mouth to respond, only to have someone else beat you to the punch. 

“I think it’s about time you let go of her hand.” Ari rumbles, the sound coming from somewhere deep in his chest. “Now.”

“Something I can help you with, buddy?” Russell responds without hesitation, clearly annoyed by the other man’s sudden reappearance. “Because the lady and I were in the middle of a conversation.”

“And I’m sure it was a great one.” Your bounty hunter is too busy glaring at his apparent rival to pay you any real mind. Although, he’s quick to shove a cup of what you suspect to be lemonade into your palm the second Russell releases his hold. “Too bad it’s over now. Let’s go, sweet Bird.” 

The ice in his tone is enough to make you shiver. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Ari was none too happy to find you entertaining the company of another man. But the last thing you’d expected was for him to be jealous. 

Unless you were reading things wrong. 

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to wait, fella.” Russell surprises everyone by coming to stand almost nose-to-nose with Ari. “Because she and I were about to take the ride out for a little spin.” 

“We most certainly were not.” You try, impatiently tugging on his arm. “Ari, let’s just go.” Although, you’re not surprised when you end up being completely ignored. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Guess that’s what happens when you abandon a pretty little flower like her all alone in an empty field.” Grinning like a Cheshire cat, Russelly makes a point of poking your man in his chest. “I’m just glad I was lucky enough to be here to catch your mistake.”

Worry fills you when you see Ari simply nod along, his brawny shoulders wrought with tension. Sucking on his teeth, the bounty hunter briefly looks away as he forces himself to take a calming breath. Not that it seems to help any. 

“You know what? I get it. No, really–I do.” Ari smirks, reaching up to lightly scratch at his jaw. “I knew what I was getting into, walking into a showcase like this with a beautiful woman on my arm, wearin’ the hell out of that dress.” One thick arm wraps itself around your waist, hauling you close. “My girl turns heads everywhere she goes. She’s just too sweet to realize it.”

Tucking you behind him, your man bridges the last bit of distance between himself and Russell. And while you can’t see his face, you’re shocked when he gently lifts his rival’s hat from his head, before tossing it in the direction of his forgotten plymouth. 

“And sometimes that sweetness makes cowboys do stupid fuckin’ things.” Ari continues, sounding almost smug. But you don’t miss the danger in his tone. “Which is why I’m gonna be the bigger man right now and walk away, before I give into the urge to find out if you have what it takes to make the long drive home with a fractured arm.”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two.” You snap, finally fed up with all this male posturing. After all this nonsense, you just wanted to sit down and enjoy your drink before all the ice melted. “Russell, cool car. But I’m not interested, okay? And as for you, Ari…”

In lieu of responding, your man chooses to quirk one impatient, tawny brow. 

“You’re looking a little flushed. I think it’s time we got you outta the sun.” Grabbing his wrist, you proceed to physically drag him away from the scene. It takes virtually all your might, but you’re grateful when his legs finally begin to move.

You don’t stop walking until you reach a set of picnic tables that are far enough away from the show to give you both some much needed privacy while you hashed things out. 

“Darlin’, I can tell by your face you’re fixin’ to yell.” Ari growls, yanking his arm out of your grasp. "And I'd like to make my case before you start." His frown only deepens as he watches you perch on the edge of a bench, but not before taking a dramatic sip of your ice cold lemonade. 

It tastes divine – the perfect treat for a hot summer’s day.

“Did you really have to throw the poor man’s hat?” You ask, fanning yourself.

“Probably not. But it felt good.” He shrugs, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Should’ve stuffed his ass in the goddamned trunk while I was at it.” 

“I don’t know what you think you saw, but I was in the process of letting him down easy.”

“Could’ve sworn I told your bratty self to stay put where I fuckin’ left you.” His normally clear blue eyes glitter dangerously, letting you know that he’s pissed. “I mean, it was bad enough waitin’ in line listening to two idiots talk about which one of ‘em was gonna be brave enough to ask for your number…”

“Yeah right.” You scoff, looking up at the sky as you pray for patience.

“Roll ‘em at me one more time, baby. Swear to God.” Scrubbing a hand over his jaw, he finds himself wondering for the umpteenth time just what the hell he’d been thinking bringing you to something like this with you wearing a dress like that. “I’m just itchin’ for a reason to lift that skirt and redden your disrespectful ass.”

In Ari’s mind, you were always the prettiest girl in the room. But on a day like today? You were downright irresistible. And what made it even worse is that you honestly had no idea the effect you had sometimes – on him and damn near every other man who came into your presence.  

“You can’t talk like that!” You hiss, hoping that you weren’t being overheard. 

“And just why the hell not?”

“Because we’re in public, you Beast!” 

Rising to your feet, you set your drink on the table, deciding it might be better if you put some distance between you. Too bad Ari chooses to follow, walking you backwards until you feel yourself collide with the base of a nearby tree. His hands come to rest on either side of your head, effectively caging you in with his much larger frame.  

“I should’ve known what I was getting into the moment I decided to let you walk outta the house wearing that dress.” Ari rasps, trailing his nose along the delicate column of your throat. “I thought I was safe, even with that lacey little scrap of nothin’ you’ve got hidin’ underneath.” 

You barely manage to stifle a moan when your man captures your bottom lip between his teeth, sucking hard before releasing it with a soft pop. One of his hands leaves its purchase to settle dangerously low on your hip. 

“But I see now that’s not enough for you, is it baby?” You press your thighs together when that same hand moves once again. This time working it’s way under your skirt - his short, blunt nails dancing along your skin as his mouth hovers a mere centimeter above yours. “I’m not sure why you thought it might be a good idea to tease me like this. Not too keen on you flirting with other men.”

“I promise I wasn’t.” Your eyes flutter closed as he grinds his growing erection against the softness of your belly. “I just got excited about the car. It’s from one of my favorite Stephen King stories.” 

“Is that why I found you two holdin’ hands?” You let out a whimper when you feel the roughened pads of his fingers dig into your heated flesh, making you squirm. “Because you were excited?”

It wasn’t often that your man got riled up like this. But when he did there was almost no getting through to him until he calmed down. If you were lucky, you could typically drag him to some place quiet, away from prying eyes and listening ears.

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, sugar.” Leaning up, you press a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “I suppose I wouldn’t like it either if I saw you holding hands with a random woman. Promise it won’t happen again.” You add, weaving your arms around his trim waist after all you receive is a grunt for your trouble. 

Although you can’t help but notice that some of the tension seems to have finally left his shoulders.

“Thank you.” 

Ari allows his forehead to rest against your own as he struggles to collect himself. Wanting more, you cup his face with your hands, bring his mouth down for a much needed kiss. His eager tongue dances with yours, demanding more of your submission as the passion builds.

You’re both breathing hard when you finally come up for air. However, you realize your man’s not done. At least not yet. 

“You’re enough to drive a man insane. You know that?” He groans in between soft, yet feral kisses. “I swear I try to be progressive – I do. I got sisters. A niece.” A sound almost like a purr rumbles in his chest as he nuzzles his nose in the crook of your neck. “But I’m also man enough to admit I’ve got a bit of a jealous streak. Never was much of a problem until I met you.”

“I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.” You murmur at the same time as your pussy spasms, dampening your panties with your slick. 

“Good.” Ari lifts your leg, hitching it around his waist and not giving a damn about who sees. “And Bird?”

“Uh huh?” A shiver courses through you as he begins covering your exposed flesh with tiny, possessive love bites. This time you make no move to stop him. Thank goodness you’d had the foresight to pack some concealer.

“I hate to break it to you.” His mouth finds yours once more, deliberately teasing you with each sensual stroke and flick of his tongue. “But you and me, we’re not gonna make it back to Bell’s Creek tonight.”

“And w–why is that?” Your eyes threaten to roll back in your head as his fingers find your clit, toying with the swollen nub through the soaked fabric of your panties. 

“Because I’m having the damnedest time trying to talk myself out of fucking you hard and fast on the hood of my truck.” He responds with an unapologetic shrug. “But I suppose I’ll just have to settle for a hotel, huh?” Grinning, he increases the pressure on your sensitive bundle of nerves, loving the way you buck and writhe beneath his touch.

“I’ll start hunting for reservations.” You move to reach for your phone even as you feel your vision blur and your toe s curl. “But whatever you do…oh God…just please don’t stop.”’

END

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[that-fruitsbasketcase]

While Windbreaker is trending I just wanna draw attention to one of my favorite elements of this manga that I haven’t really seen explored: the treatment of the canon queer characters.

A lot of times in this type of manga (shounen, gangster ect.) queer characters (especially effeminate characters) are the butt of a joke. In windbreaker that is not at all the case.

Most important example, LOML Tsubaki. He’s an openly gay cross-dresser who is one of the most well developed characters in the story, despite basically being a side character. (While the fandom likes to interpret Tsubaki in different ways- NB, Trans ect and use varying pronouns- officially the Mangaka has stated he uses he/him pronouns. Which is a really interesting choice and adds a lot to the character. So I’ll be using he/him, since Tsubaki calls himself a man.)

Tsubaki is in love with Umemiya, the head of the student body and it’s not treated as a joke, which is super refreshing. He just has a crush and everyone knows including Umemiya. We’re not sure if it’s reciprocated but the two are very important to each other and Umemiya relies on Tsubaki.

We get a glimpse into Tsubaki’s past and see a very scared little boy who doesn’t understand why he likes what he likes.

Fortunately he finds people who encourage him and love him as he is which gives him the strength to express himself how he wants (wearing makeup and high heels).

He is incredibly strong and brave and will not tolerate anyone who mocks what he or anyone else loves or tries to control them.

Love is his greatest strength and what he fights for the most! And because he’s so determined to fight for love, he’s just as determined to reach out to even his opponents and offer them the same kindness he’s received.

He’s such a passionate, warm and loving person and I fell hard for queen Tsubaki!

Tsubaki is all about self love and acceptance and it’s so refreshing to see a character who presents differently and acts differently than you’d expect from a man (especially in such a conservative country as Japan) be treated with such care and respect by the creators and the characters.

Exhibit B, shorter because we don’t know as much about him, I’m not allowed to post many more pictures, and also because he’s not Tsubaki- my man Endo!

He’s a masochistic weirdo but also it’s kinda just sad that he’s been mooning after Chika for forever and doing everything for him but is treated horribly and practically doesn’t exist in his crush’s eyes. And when he fights with Sakura and feels seen for the first time, he falls hard. (Ok let’s be real everyone is in love with Sakura at this point.)

And as usual, in the face of affection, genuine feelings, and any sort of compliment, our baby boy blushes.

I literally adore his response. As with Tsubaki, he’s very accepting and open. GOOD BOY!!! ALL THE GOOD BOYS!!!!

Anyway I just love that the queer characters are taken seriously and well developed. All these characters are amazing and I could probably make a whole post about each of them but I won’t.

[asytho]

All this talk of Nandermo being over or going cannon, when the only thing I truly want is an actual “blue room” set to be established

[camping-with-monsters]

Made an animatic to my current favorite song right now. This is just what happens when you give someone a good freaking song and an idea…!

If you have the time, please give it a watch!

((Special thanks to @pazam as well!!!))

[deityofhearts]

I love procrastinating working on things it’s not eating me alive even a little bit

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Sweet Like Honey - Chan

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: husband! Chan x fem! reader

summary: As if meeting your husband for the first time at the altar wasn't nerve-wracking enough, now you two are on your tropical island honeymoon and you still haven't told him you're a virgin!

warnings: fluff, virgin reader, heavy kissing, cunnilingus, beach sex, insecure reader, soft Chan

Chan sleeps peacefully for a while longer before finally stirring, his eyelids fluttering open. As he sits up, he rubs his eyes, trying to shake off the remnants of his nap. His gaze falls upon his new wife, sitting nervously in a beach chair. “Hmm, you're still here.”

You turn your attention from the ocean waves to Chan’s face, giving him a curious look. “Did you think I'd run away?”

“I was half expecting you to.” He chuckles, his voice gruff from sleep. “Considering we barely know each other, and the fact that this was all arranged.” He shrugs. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

You let out a long sigh of relief. “That's good.” You whisper as you turn your attention back to the sand, mindlessly drawing different shapes and patterns with your finger.

Chan watches you for a moment, studying your profile. He finds himself intrigued by your quiet demeanor and the way your fingers move absently in the sand. After a while, he speaks up again, his voice softer this time. “You know, we should probably talk about some things.”

Your shoulders tense as he speaks but you keep your face turned away from him. “Like what?”

“Like the fact that I’m a bit of a workaholic.” He grimaces. “And I snore when I sleep on my back.” He ticks off his fingers as he lists his quirks. “And I’m a bit of a clean freak.”

You chuckle softly, your shoulders already falling a bit as you begin to relax more and more by the second. “Well, I can be a tad messy at times,” you confess, “and I don't eat very well.”

Chan smiles at your response. “Okay, fair enough.” He pauses for a moment before broaching the subject he’s most nervous about. “And how about...physical matters?” He swallows thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Have you ever...?” his voice trails off but his honest eyes tell you what he's thinking without saying it. 

You shake your head slowly. Something squeezing your heart as you try to get the words out. “I've never had sex.”

His eyes widen slightly at your confession, a flicker of surprise and something else - perhaps understanding or even a touch of nervousness - crossing his face. He takes a deep breath before responding. “I see. Well, that's...okay. It's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I'm not ashamed.” You respond quickly. And that was true. You had never been ashamed of waiting until your wedding day. But now that the day has finally arrived… “I'm just nervous.”

He nods, his expression gentle. “I understand. It's natural to be nervous about something so...intimate.” He sits up a bit straighter, his arms wrapping around his knees as he looks out at the ocean. “We can take things slow, okay? There’s no rush.”

You turn your body towards Chan. You were desperate to look into his eyes and search for any hint of malice or deception. “You mean that?” You whispered.

He turns to look at you again, his dark brown eyes meeting yours with sincerity. “I absolutely mean that.” He reaches out to gently take one of your hands in his. “This marriage may be arranged, but that doesn't mean we can't build something real together.”

Your heart swells at Chan's words. The honesty within them coats you like a warmth you had never felt before. Before you could catch yourself, you start to move towards him, your mouths just inches from one another. His breath hitches as you lean in, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between the two of you seems to still, the only sound is the distant rhythm of the ocean waves. Gently, he closes the distance, your lips meeting in a soft, exploratory kiss.

The first kiss you shared was at the altar when you said “I do.” It was so formal and uniform. But this kiss was different, more intimate. Like it was leading somewhere new. Chan deepens the kiss slowly, his hands coming up to cradle your face. His touch is gentle yet firm, coaxing you to open up to him. As the kiss becomes more passionate, he pulls you closer, so that you're sitting on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck. Soon your hands move from his neck to his hair, letting your fingers tangle and comb through the dark locks. Your hips start to grind and move involuntarily against his lap. He breaks the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His arms tighten around your waist, stilling your hips with a low chuckle. "Easy there, sweetheart," he murmurs, nuzzling your neck. He nips gently at your neck, soothing the sting with another soft kiss. His hands roam up your back, tracing the curve of your spine through the light fabric of your nightgown. His voice is low and gruff as he speaks against your skin. “We should…”

“Yeah…?” You mumble against his neck.

“Go inside...” He trails off as your hips move against him once more, his body instinctively reacting to the innocent gesture. He groans, his forehead dropping to rest against your shoulder. “Before this goes too far on the beach.” He pulls back to look at you, his pupils dilated with desire.

You turn your head to either side, scanning the now deserted beach. The moon is now the only source of light for miles around. “Well, there isn't anyone else here.” You smirk. Your eyes were full and hopeful that Chan would get the hint. The sight of your king sized bed in that luxury suite was almost too much to bear. The thought of “performing” for the first time in a bed felt like too much pressure. But the beach…

He lets out a low laugh, his body shaking slightly beneath yours. He captures your lips in another deep kiss, his hands slipping down to your backside, squeezing gently. As the kiss deepens, he lays you back against the sand, covering your body with his own. You let out a soft whimper as your still shaking hands move across Chan’s broad chest. He captures your wandering hands in one of his own, bringing them up to his lips to place a soft kiss on your knuckles. His other hand trails down your side, fingertips grazing the edge of your nightgown. "We can stop at any time," he murmurs, his eyes searching yours.

You take a deep breath. Your eyes flicker from his lips to his eyes as the two of you breathe in unison for a moment. “I trust you.” You murmur.

Chan smiles softly at your words, a genuine warmth in his eyes. Slowly, he tugs at the hem of your nightgown, pulling it up and over your head. He takes a moment to admire your form in the moonlight, his hands skimming reverently over your dips and curves. “Beautiful.”

Your face turns a deep shade of red as Chan’s eyes roam over your naked form. Your hands move to cover your face almost reflexively.

"Don't," he says softly, gently pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t hide from me, my love. You’re absolutely beautiful.” He leans down to capture one of your rosy peaks in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud. Your back lifts up and off the sand at the new sensation. Your legs already begin to spread apart from the heat that is growing. He lavishes attention on your breasts, alternating between soft suckles and gentle nips. His hand trails down your stomach, fingers splaying across your lower abdomen. He kisses a path down your body, his destination clear as he settles between your thighs. "I want to taste you,”

You bite your lip and nod your head softly. “No one has ever…”

Chan looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire and tenderness. "Then let me be the first, and the last." He dips his head, his tongue parting your folds in a slow, deliberate lick. He groans at your taste, the sound vibrating against your most sensitive flesh. He takes his time exploring you with his mouth, learning every inch of you, committing your responses to memory. He focuses on your clit, circling the bud with the tip of his tongue before suckling gently. His hands grip your hips, holding you steady as he pleasures you.

Your head falls back and presses into the sand beneath you. Your moans mix and mingle with the sounds of the waves crashing. He continues his sensual assault, alternating between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue. He can feel you tensing, your thighs beginning to quake around his head. He doubles his efforts, determined to bring you to your peak. “That's it, my love…”

Your hips move in a new and unexplored rhythm against Chan's face as you work to ride out your orgasm. He holds you steady as you ride out your high, his tongue lapping up your release. He gentles his touch as you come down, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs. He crawls up your body, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

He lets out a low groan as your heat presses against the hard ridge of his arousal still confined in his pants. He reaches between your bodies to unfasten his pants, shoving them down his hips. He lifts your hips, positioning himself at your entrance. He captures your gaze, his eyes seeking yours.

Everything stopped for a moment. Even the waves seemed to silence. Like the entire world was waiting to see what you would do next. The sand still felt warm beneath your head and the towel brushed against your skin as you opened your legs wider. An open invitation for Chan to take you to that new place. For him to be your first and your last. With a gentle yet firm thrust, he buries himself inside you, stretching you in ways you never thought possible. He pauses for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely inside you. Then he begins to move, his hips rocking against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Mine.”

You lie still at first, your entire body unsure of what was going to happen next. But the familiar sensation of pleasure washed over you again. The waves crashed against the sand again. Chan kisses you tenderly, his touch becoming slow and languid. He takes his time, his hands caressing your body as he moves inside of you with slow, deep thrusts. Two souls once separate we're becoming one. The cool air danced around you as the two of you, bathed in moonlight, found a new home within each other.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat

[riality-check]

DILF!Steve concert saga, featuring Eddie POV for this part! part 1, part 2

"I have to open it."

"Nope."

"Gareth. I need to open it."

"The vault is sacred," Archie says.

At the same time, Jeff chimes in, "The vault was your idea, Eddie."

Eddie thunks his head against the wall. "I know. But I need-"

"They're on the last song," Archie says, putting a hand on Eddie's shoulder. It's probably meant to be comforting, but it feels patronizing as shit.

Eddie is a good friend, though. He doesn't shrug him off.

"Once they're through, I'll unlock it," Jeff says, dangling the key slung around his neck.

"But you could do it now," Eddie protests.

Gareth sits protectively on top of the black lock box. "Absolutely not."

Eddie sighs and waits for the guitar solo onstage to end, nodding his head along to the beat.

It's what he usually does when they're backstage, but this time, it brings a smile to his face. Miss Anna was a natural yesterday for her first time headbanging, and her dad is the reason Eddie wants to break the sacred vault tradition.

He wants, no, needs to know if he got the note. If he decided to write something. If he wants to go a little further than PG flirting.

Eddie for sure wants to go further than that. God. Steve's handsome face and his big hands and his thick thighs (deliciously exposed by his shorts in the summer heat) are all wonderful incentives to skip a few steps and go straight to ramming him into a mattress.

Or, with how that shirt clung to Steve's biceps and how his shorts clung to his ass, let him ram Eddie into the mattress. He isn't picky.

(He isn't desperate, either, thank you very much, Gareth. And no, he won't admit how long it's been since he got laid.)

From the house, the audience roars, and Eddie jumps off the arm of the couch he was laying on.

Gareth sighs and gets off the lock box.

"Jeff, open it," Eddie says, staring at the vault and subconsciously making grabby hands toward it.

"Is that how we ask?"

"I could always yank the key off you."

Archie sighs and, ever the peacemaker, takes the key from Jeff and unlocks the vault. The second it's open, Eddie snatches his phone and turns it on.

Please please please let the DILF text back, he thinks to himself as he waits for this stupid metal brick to turn on and give him a resolution to this whole ridiculous situation.

Because, first, Eddie doesn't really jive with kids. Sure, they flock to him in the same way they flock to every other vaguely cool-looking person, but aside from asking if he has to draw his tattoos on every day or if his mommy is okay with him having his hair that long, they generally leave him alone.

And that's okay. Eddie easily made his peace with not having kids about ten years ago. Between his strong preference for men and the way that significantly decreases those odds and the choice to not pass on his truly abysmal family history of mental illness and addiction, it seemed obvious and a lot more selfless.

But Anna was cool as hell. Smart as hell, too, in a way that made Eddie feel like he was looking back at a time before school punished him for being bright and verbose and energetic.

Anna didn't make him want kids. Again, the whole family history thing is a real vibe killer. But she did give him enough fuel, for just an instant, to think that dating someone with a kid might not be a deal breaker anymore.

Or maybe Steve was just that hot.

He whined a lot yesterday, in the hotel, about how hot Steve was.

His phone turns on, and, front and center, is a text from an unknown number:

I guess I don’t have to ask you what you do for a living. Just so we’re even on that front, I’m a teacher, and Anna’s full time job is preschool.

Eddie grins so hard he feels like his face will split in two.

"Is it him?" Jeff asks, trying to look over Eddie's shoulder.

"Of course it is," Gareth scoffs. "Look at his face."

"What did he say?" Archie asks.

Eddie takes the easier way out and lets him have the phone.

Gareth and Jeff crowd over Archie's shoulders, and Eddie watches their faces change as they read the message.

"Oh, he's bitchy," Gareth says.

"That means he's perfect," Jeff says, with a pointed look at Eddie.

Eddie shoots Archie a clear "back me up" look and gets a shrug in return because all his friends are assholes who know his type way too fucking well.

"What do I say?" he asks.

Archie tosses him the phone. "I don't know. Flirt back."

"I don't know how!"

"You ground against a guitar-"

"And kissed me onstage," Jeff continues. "But you don't know how to flirt?"

Eddie puts his head in his hands. "I didn't have enough sex in high school to know how to do this!"

"That's not an excuse when none of us did!" Gareth says.

Jeff barks out a laugh.

"Just ask if he's free tomorrow," Archie says, like the rational, wonderful friend he is. "This was the last stop of tour. It's not like you have to get anywhere else at a specific time."

"Okay. Okay, yeah, I can do that," Eddie says, hyping himself up. Before he can second guess himself, he writes back.

Since it's summer, I'm assuming you both have off. Can you fit it in your busy schedule to have dinner with a humble musician tomorrow night?

"Oh, shit, did you send it?" Gareth asks, snatching his phone.

"Wait," Archie says, like the rational, horrible friend he is. "Do we know if he's single?"

"Oh, shit," Jeff whispers.

Eddie takes his phone back and refuses to look at it. He wants to shut it down. He wants to drop it. He wants to drive to nearest river and throw it there.

"Am I a homewrecker?" he asks absently.

"Only if you succeed," Jeff says.

"He might have a wife," Archie muses. "He might be straight."

"Okay, dude, enough," Gareth says. "This was supposed to be exciting! Eddie was supposed to get ass!"

"He might be ace."

"Archie, shut the fuck up."

He holds his hands up in surrender, and Jeff pats his shoulder, a little comfortingly, a lot condescendingly.

Eddie sits down on the couch. Puts his head in his hands. Breathes.

He's flirting with a married man. He's absolutely flirting with a married man. This is a new low. This is worse than the time he licked the floor of a restaurant, drunk, for five bucks. This is worse than when he greened out in the parking lot of a Chuck E. Cheese. This is worse than when he accidentally told the gas station cashier that he loved them and immediately walked into the glass door behind him.

This is. So bad.

And then his phone rings, so it'll get worse. It has to. That's how these things go.

Eddie has always been self-destructive, so, of course, he looks at the screen.

I can't swing dinner, but how's lunch? Fair warning: it might be a playground picnic if my babysitter bails.

"Holy shit, I'm not a homewrecker," Eddie says.

"I didn't think you had it in you," Jeff says.

"He's single!" Gareth cheers.

"Can I talk now?" Archie teases.

"I'm not a homewrecker!" Eddie says, and he launches off the couch to hug the nearest person, who happens to be Jeff.

They have to get out of the venue. He has to figure out the logistics of the date and how to be normal by the time he gets there and what to wear and everything else.

But, right now, Eddie is over the fucking moon that Steve is even giving him a shot. And he hopes, giddy as all hell and hanging off of Jeff's shoulders, that Steve feels even a little bit like this.

He writes back, once he's calmed down:

Lunch might just become my new favorite meal.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Cheerleaders + Football Team

The thing about cheerleaders and the infamous football team is that they’re quite accurate to their stereotypes

Now not every cheerleader team is run by a head girl who’s a massive bully 

Or that the football team is filled with dumb jocks that are just as violent if not worse

But they’re nothing to scoff at 

They’re beautiful

They’re athletic

And they're disciplined with confidence that comes with successful games and competitions

Such perks might give them quite a bit of power

Power that’s doubled when they’re working together

If you’d like to be happy you’re better off not figuring out just yet 

Since your arrival to the University, you’ve noticed more of your things have gone missing

Maybe this move made you more frazzled than you thought

Because you’ve found that you haven’t been able to keep friends like you used to

At least not without some help

“So you’re the new student, huh? Welcome to Energi University. As cheer captain, I’m really happy to welcome you finally!”

As she drags you along throughout your schedule, you’re waiting for the punch line

The moment she switches to embarrass you or smile coyly as she says something underhanded about your appearance

But she doesn’t 

Only twirling her hair as she asks you where you learned to glow like you do

You find it odd but you’re not complaining

Movies taught you that she and her team were top of the food chain 

so if they liked you enough maybe it’d trickle to some friends eventually

“Looking for a partner? Me too. How about we uh work together, freshie. If we finish before class ends you can have my varsity jacket and I can have yours.”

It seems it works as the beefy but beautiful captain of the football team partners up during chemistry

Between the two captains, you think you’re making progress

Finally beginning to make friends

But you couldn’t be farther from the truth

Already you were skipping right into the pitfall that was their playground—Energi University

It started with the cheerleader’s captain, gorgeous, rich, and with a serious attitude problem

She was making her daily rounds with her two main girls

‘Putting the worms in their place’ as she’d report to her team

Until she found something interesting 

a glasses-wearing nerd had been holding a file, scrolling through someone’s social page with such dedication they didn’t even realize they were being cornered

And its not just someone—you

while her girls were exploring the use of pins on the human body, she was going through this fairly thick file

A file all about you

Filled with hundreds of pictures of you some with consent some not

Extensive organized lists of your likes and dislikes

And a neat report on your current whereabouts and social circle

By the end of it, she was intrigued

She’s never been one for reading but she just can’t put it down

Having to be brought back into the real world when her girls are done playing 

“Already? Ugh, let’s go find the next one this little report of his might be worth selling to those stupid jocks.”

That’s just an excuse 

she’s combing over your photos again as she re-reads about the mundane drama in your life

“Babe, I thought you said you wanted to spend time with me? Not lose braincells studying!” 

Her boyfriend–captain of the football team is trying to draw her attention with kisses and inviting touches

But she’s just too focused

Eventually, he’s going to snatch it all away, taking a look at it

“Who’s this? Your latest victim?”

“Puhlease they don’t even know me…yet.”

The nights they spend together is searching you on socials as they filter through these words about your world

There’s just something about you that has them enraptured

For them it’s like when they first started dating, running off from their teams to gush about their latest finds about you

Texting all through the night about schemes to meet you

Whispering on the bus on their way to seasonal competitions

It isn’t long before the nosey teams start poking around

All it takes is a whispered mention of your name and they’re stalking your socials 

Some hire private investigators to tell all they can get their hands on

It’s like a virus how the whole team is eventually letting your distant lovely little life take up all of theirs 

At some point words and posts just aren’t enough

“Yo Cap, why don’t we just get them to come here?”

“Yeah! I know I can get my dad to extend a scholarship and dormitory if something happens at their old school.”

“Hmm, I do still have those lighter fluid canisters.”

“Oooh and I can get them out of the dorms for awhile!”

“Then  we can swoop in and be the knight’s of shining armor they’ll need!”

“C’mon, captain! Let’s bring them home, aren’t you tired of looking at them through the screen?”

“Don’t you think it’d boost our morale for the championship?”

“Yeah!!” Pleaassee!?”

What terrible captains they’d be if they let their teams down now

So the plan is set, you conveniently are stood up on a date when your dorm and campus is burnt down killing so many friends you made+

The mysterious fire destroying their security footage and all your belongings too 

Its natural you start looking for a new college, a safer option

“Hey (Y/n) why don’t you come to our next game? Forget about that horrible fire and cheer us on!”

“Wait how did you know–”

“Grapevine cutie! Now what do you say to a sleepover!?”

“Not after we do our victory party!”

“Oh, you’ll have to try our captain’s famous jello shot! It’s going to knock your clothes+ socks off.”

Both Captains will watch happily as the group swarms you 

Your questions about the slug you made plans with prior were drowned out in their shouting and giggling

Their goal wasn’t to make you worry 

After all, they had the power to dissolve all of that 

The Captains and their teams

“Now that we have them I don’t see any reason, why our teams won’t be planned for an all-around victory in the nationals.”

“Of course, though we could do it without them. Money and pure talent are a given for people like us.”

“Still there’s nothing wrong with sharing a good luck charm.”

“You are absolutely right..”

“Aren’t I always? That being said we’ll have to talk about the…hoarding issue.”

“Oh yeah, I wanted to talk to you about that. The next time one of your cheerleaders interrupts me, they’ll be dealing with more than broken legs.”

“And your players should know the next time they take my time with (Y/n) away they won’t just become paralyzed.”

[paxtito]

birthday girl

pairings: wednesday x reader

word count: 5.2k

warnings: none really, kissing and swearing here and there.

summary: wednesday was born november 13th, 2006, it’s her birthday soon so enid- being overly invested in your relationship- convinces you to plan a birthday surprise. you steal a very expensive book and put together an addams family themed escape room.

a/n: i’ve written quite a few fics since august so i’m just doing a little clear out of my drafts. apologies in advance for any mistakes. i’m no edgar allan poe expert, don’t come for me if the price is wrong.

MASTERLIST

It’s officially November. Wednesday’s birth month. You wasn’t planning on doing anything for it out of respect to her boundaries but Enid’s constant yapping in your ear brought you to the brink of insanity.

“Jesus! Fine, Enid… We’ll plan something, okay? Stop talking my ear off.”

Enid squealed excitedly, clapping her hands together. "Oh my gosh, yes! This is going to be so much fun!"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips. Enid's enthusiasm was infectious, even if her ideas were sometimes a bit... much.

"Alright, let's brainstorm," Enid said, plopping down onto your bed next to you. "What does Wednesday like? Besides death and darkness, I mean."

You chuckled. "Well, she seems to enjoy solving mysteries and puzzles. And she has a thing for creepy crawlies… Dead things…”

Enid wrinkled her nose in distaste but nodded. "Okay, so maybe not a spa day then. How about a murder mystery party? We could invite everyone and have them dress up in costume!"

You shook your head. "Wednesday doesn't really do 'parties' or 'people'. She'd probably just end up killing someone for real."

"Good point," Enid sighed. "Hmm… What about a private escape room experience? Just the two of you, working together to solve some kind of creepy puzzle. That way it's intimate but still fits her interests."

You considered it. That actually didn't sound half bad. "Yeah, I could see her getting into that. Let me look into it."

Enid beamed. "Perfect! Oh, and don't forget her favorite foods - bugs and gross stuff. You could make her a special birthday cake with... I don't know, worms or something?"

You made a face. "I have to draw the line somewhere, Enid. I may love her, but I'm not putting actual worms in a cake… I’m not touching worms.” You grimace, a shiver running down your spine at the thought.

Enid pouted but nodded in understanding. "Fair enough. I guess you could always just make it look like there are worms in it. You know, like those chocolate bugs they sell online? That might be more her speed anyway.”

You shake your head firmly. "No food. Definitely no bugs or anything gross. I'm drawing the line there."

Enid sighs. "Alright, alright. No bugs in the food. But we need to get her something, right? Like a present?"

You nod, considering Enid's suggestion. "Yeah, a present is a good idea. But what do you get for the girl who has everything? Especially when 'everything' is basically just death-related shit."

Enid taps her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... Maybe something personalized? Like a custom-made necklace with a little vial pendant that holds a drop of your blood or something."

You cringe. "Uh, no. Definitely not going to give her bloody jewelry. That's just weird."

"Okay, okay," Enid says, holding up her hands in surrender. "How about a book then? Like a rare edition of some creepy classic literature?"

You mull it over. Wednesday does love to read. "That's not a bad idea actually. I could look for a first edition copy of one of her favorite Edgar Allan Poe stories or something.“

Enid claps her hands together. "Yes! Oh, and you could inscribe it with a little personal message inside the cover. Something like 'To my darling Wednesday, may your days be as dark as your soul.' "

“Where would I get the money though?”

Enid smiles slyly, leaning in closer. "Well, you could always ask your parents for some birthday money. Or... you could sell some of your old junk online. I bet there are a ton of weirdos out there who would pay top dollar for your crusty gym socks or used toothbrushes."

You make a disgusted face. "Ew, Enid! That's gross. I'm not selling my dirty laundry to some freaks on the internet."

"Suit yourself," Enid shrugs. "But if you change your mind, I know a guy who runs a pretty lucrative online market for this kind of thing. He's always looking for new... supplies."

—

A week later, you and Enid are hunched over your laptop, scouring online bookstores for the perfect rare edition for Wednesday.

"Ooh, look at this one!" Enid exclaims, pointing at the screen. "It's a first edition of 'The Tell-Tale Heart' published in 1843. And it comes with a handwritten note from Poe himself!"

You lean in to take a closer look. The book does look impressive, with its aged leather binding and yellowed pages. But the price tag makes your eyes bulge. "$25,000?! Are you insane?"

Enid pouts. "C'mon, it's a collector's item! And it's not every day you find something this rare. Wednesday would love it!"

You shake your head. "I can't afford that, Enid. I'm just a high school student… I’ll steal it.. Where’s the store located?”

You lean back in your chair, rubbing your temples. Stealing a rare book from a specialized antique store sounds like a terrible idea, but you're desperate to impress Wednesday. Plus, you've always been pretty good at breaking and entering.

"The store is downtown, near the old theater district," Enid says, squinting at the screen. "It's called 'The Raven's Nest' - fitting, right? They specialize in rare horror literature and occult artifacts."

You smirk. "The Raven's Nest... I like it. Okay, here's the plan: we'll case the joint tonight, figure out their security system. Then tomorrow night, I'll break in and grab the book while you keep watch outside."

Enid looks nervous. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if you get caught? What if there's some kind of magical protection on the book?"

You roll your eyes. "There's no such thing as magic, Enid. And I won't get caught - I'm the fucking master thief of Nevermore Academy.”

—

As you and Enid walk down the darkened streets of downtown, you can't help but feel a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. The anticipation of pulling off this heist and surprising Wednesday with the perfect gift is almost too much to bear.

"Alright, here's the plan," you whisper to Enid as you approach the old brick building that houses The Raven's Nest. "I'm gonna scope out the back entrance while you check out the front. See if you can spot any security cameras or alarm systems."

Enid nods nervously, clutching her jacket tight around herself. "Got it. But be careful, okay? I don't want you ending up in jail or worse..."

You flash her a cocky grin. "Relax, Enid. I've got this. Nothing can stop me once I set my mind to something."

With that, you split up, each of you slipping into the shadows to survey the store. The back alley is dimly lit, with only a single flickering bulb casting a weak glow. You notice a rusty fire escape leading up to a second-story window - the perfect entry point.

Enid shivers, pulling her collar up against the chill night air. She scans the front of the building, noting the ornate iron gate and the dim lights from inside. There seem to be cameras positioned above the door, but no obvious alarms.

You quietly ascend the fire escape, each step sending a faint creak echoing through the alley. At the window, you peer inside, spotting rows of shelves packed with dusty tomes and strange artifacts. In the center of the room, a glass case catches your eye - and inside it, the priceless first edition of "The Tell-Tale Heart".

You carefully pry open the window, wincing as the old hinges let out a soft groan. With a deep breath, you hoist yourself inside, landing softly on the creaky wooden floorboards. The musty smell of old books and mothballs fills your nostrils as you creep through the shadowy aisles, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you approach the glass case, you can't help but marvel at the beauty of the ancient tome. The leather cover is worn and cracked with age, but the gold lettering still glints in the dim light. You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brush against the cool glass.

Just then, a sudden noise from the front of the store makes you freeze. Footsteps, slow and deliberate, growing louder with each passing second. You glance around frantically, searching for a place to hide, but the open layout of the shop offers little cover.

Panic rising in your throat, you duck behind a nearby shelf, praying that whoever it is won't spot you. The footsteps grow closer, accompanied by the jingle of keys and the click of a lock being undone.

You hold your breath, pressing your back against the wall as the footsteps draw nearer. Your heart hammers in your chest, threatening to give away your position. The shop door creaks open, and a beam of light slices through the darkness, illuminating a section of the floor just inches from where you're hiding.

"Who's there?" a gruff voice calls out. "I know someone's in here!"

You remain perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. The light from the doorway sweeps across the room, and you shrink further into the shadows, praying that your black clothes will camouflage you against the dimness.

The footsteps move closer, the owner of the shop clearly searching for the intruder. You consider making a run for it, but the thought of being caught red-handed with the stolen book makes you hesitate.

The owner's footsteps pause just outside the aisle where you're hiding. Your palms are slick with sweat as you grip the edge of the shelf, preparing to bolt if necessary. The seconds tick by agonizingly slowly, each one feeling like an eternity.

Suddenly, a hand reaches around the corner, grasping at the air mere inches from your face. You flinch instinctively, but manage to hold your ground, not daring to make a sound. The owner steps into view, his thick-rimmed glasses reflecting the dim light as he scans the area.

"I've got you now, you little thief," he growls, his breath hot and rank as it washes over you. "Come on out, hands where I can see them!"

Your mind races, desperately trying to formulate an escape plan. You could try to overpower him, but he's significantly larger than you, and the risk of him calling the police is too high. No, you need to be smart about this.

As the owner takes another step forward, you make your move. Ducking low, you sprint past him, heading straight for the back of the shop.

The owner bellows in anger, his heavy footsteps thundering after you. "Stop, thief! I'm calling the cops!"

You don't dare look back, pouring every ounce of speed into your desperate flight. Your lungs burn as you race through the cramped aisles, dodging past stacks of books and leaping over precariously balanced piles of occult trinkets.

Just as you're certain the owner is about to catch you, you spot the back door. With a burst of adrenaline, you lunge for it, your fingers scrabbling at the handle. The door swings open, revealing the darkened alley beyond.

You tumble out into the night, the cool air hitting your face like a slap. Behind you, the owner's furious shouts echo from the shop, followed by the shrill ring of a phone - no doubt calling the police.

You don't stop running until you're several blocks away, your chest heaving and your legs burning with exertion. Only then do you allow yourself a moment to catch your breath, leaning heavily against a brick wall as you gasp for air.

You turn to Enid who’d been running after you, “you’re an amazing lookout..” You mumble sarcastically.

Enid looks absolutely terrified, her eyes wide and her face pale in the moonlight. She's breathing hard, her chest heaving with each ragged gasp. "I... I tried to warn you," she stutters, her voice trembling. "I saw him coming in and I ran to find you, but... but you were already gone."

You push off the wall, your legs still shaky from the adrenaline rush. "It's okay," you say, trying to sound calmer than you feel. "We got away, that's what matters… I got the book.”

You pull the book from your jacket, holding it up in the moonlight. The leather cover glistens, and you can't help but feel a surge of pride at your successful heist.

Enid's eyes widen as she takes in the ancient tome. "Wow," she breathes, "you actually did it. You stole a first edition Poe book!"

You grin, tucking the book safely back into your jacket. "Of course I did. I told you, I'm the best thief in town."

Enid shakes her head in disbelief. "I can't believe you just broke into a store and stole something. That's so... so..."

"Cool?" you suggest, raising an eyebrow.

Enid laughs nervously. "No, not cool. Crazy! You could have gotten in serious trouble."

You wave a dismissive hand. "But I didn't. And now Wednesday is going to have the most amazing birthday present ever."

Enid bites her lip, looking uncertain. "Are you sure about this? I mean, what if she finds out you stole it? She might be mad."

“She won’t. Trust me.”

—

After weeks of planning and anticipation, the day has finally arrived. You've managed to lure Wednesday out of the house under the pretense of a "special surprise", blindfolding her before she could ask too many questions. Now, as you guide her down the street towards the escape room, your heart is pounding with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

"Where are we going?" Wednesday asks, her voice muffled by the blindfold. "This better not be some kind of lame party or something."

You can't help but chuckle at her grumpy tone. "Relax, Wednesday. It's nothing like that. Just trust me, okay? I promise you're going to love it."

Wednesday huffs but doesn't protest further, allowing you to lead her onwards. As you approach the escape room, you can feel a sense of anticipation building in your gut. You've put so much thought into this surprise, and you're determined to make it perfect.

The door to the escape room looms ahead, and you take a deep breath before pushing it open.

As you guide Wednesday inside, the blindfold is removed, revealing a dimly lit room decorated with eerie candles and macabre artwork. Wednesday blinks, her eyes adjusting to the gloom as she takes in her surroundings.

"What is this place?" she asks, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Some kind of gothic-themed restaurant?"

You grin, shaking your head. "Nope. It's an escape room. And it's all for you, Wednesday. Happy early birthday."

Wednesday's eyes widen, a flicker of surprise crossing her usually stoic features. "An escape room? Seriously? You know I hate those tourist trap things."

You place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "I know, but this one is different. It's tailored specifically to your interests. Mysteries, puzzles, all that creepy stuff you love. Plus, it's just the two of us. No annoying strangers to deal with."

Wednesday narrows her eyes, studying you intently. "Okay, I'll bite. What's the catch? There's no way you'd actually think I'd enjoy some dumb escape room."

You can't help but smile at her skepticism. It's one of the things you love about Wednesday - her sharp mind and unwillingness to be fooled by empty gestures.

"No catch," you assure her, holding up your hands in a gesture of sincerity. "I know how much you love a good mystery, and I thought this would be a fun way to celebrate your birthday. Plus, I may have mentioned to the owners that you're a bit of an expert in this kind of thing. They're really excited to have you try it out."

Wednesday's expression softens slightly, a hint of curiosity sparking in her dark eyes. "They know about me? How?"

You shrug, trying to play it cool. "I may have dropped a few hints about your... unique skill set. But they were sworn to secrecy. This whole thing is just between us."

As you and Wednesday enter the dimly lit escape room, you can't help but feel a rush of excitement. The space is decorated with an eerie attention to detail, filled with cryptic symbols, antique furniture, and a general atmosphere of macabre intrigue.

Wednesday's eyes dart around the room, taking in every detail with a keen curiosity. "Looks like they did their research," she murmurs, running a finger along the spine of an ancient-looking book resting on a nearby table.

You nod, grinning with pride. "I told you, I made sure it was the perfect fit for you. And trust me, the best part is yet to come."

Wednesday raises an eyebrow, but before she can respond, a low, ominous voice echoes through the room. "Welcome, dear guests," it intones, "to the Addams Family Escape Room Experience."

Wednesday's head snaps up, her eyes widening with surprise. "Wait, what?"

The voice continues, "In this immersive adventure, you'll navigate the twisted world of the Addams family, solving puzzles and unraveling secrets.”

The voice pauses dramatically before continuing, "Your objective is simple: escape the room before the clock strikes midnight, or risk being trapped forever in the Addams family's morbid mansion."

A sinister laugh echoes through the speakers, sending a shiver down your spine. Wednesday, meanwhile, seems entirely unfazed, her expression one of intense focus as she begins to examine the room more closely.

"Impressive," she admits grudgingly, running her fingers along the intricate carvings on a nearby bookshelf. "They've really captured the my family’s aesthetic."

Wednesday's eyes narrow as she takes in the details of the room, her mind already working to piece together the clues. The walls are adorned with eerie paintings and strange artifacts, each one seemingly hiding a hidden meaning or secret.

"Okay, let's start with the basics," Wednesday mutters, more to herself than to you. She begins to methodically search the room, her movements precise and purposeful.

As she works, you can't help but marvel at her incredible focus and deduction skills. It's like watching a predator stalk its prey, every action calculated and deliberate.

Wednesday pulls a dusty old book from the shelf, its pages yellowed and brittle. As she flips through the pages, her eyes widen. "Found something," she says, showing you a page filled with cryptic symbols and riddles.

You lean in closer, trying to decipher the message, but it's like reading a foreign language. "What does it say?" you ask, feeling a bit lost in the face of Wednesday's brilliance.

Wednesday's lips curve into a small, enigmatic smile as she traces her finger over the cryptic symbols. "It's a riddle," she explains, her voice low and conspiratorial. "A challenge, of sorts."

She reads the words aloud, her tone almost reverent:

"Seek the key that lies within

The heart of darkness, where the shadows begin."

Wednesday closes the book, her gaze sweeping the room once more. "Darkness, shadows... I wonder if that's literal or metaphorical."

She strides over to a large, ornate mirror hanging on the far wall. As she approaches, you notice a faint glow emanating from the frame, pulsing in time with some unseen heartbeat.

Wednesday reaches out, her fingers hovering just above the surface. "Interesting," she murmurs, her breath fogging the glass. "This could be it. The 'heart' of the room."

She turns to you, her eyes glinting with a newfound intensity. "I'm going to need you to do something for me," she says, her voice steady and commanding.

"I need you to stand behind me," Wednesday instructs, her voice low and authoritative. "And when I give the signal, I want you to push me against the mirror as hard as you can."

You blink, taken aback by her request. "What? Are you sure that's safe? I don't want to break it or hurt you."

Wednesday's eyes narrow, a hint of impatience flashing across her face. "Trust me, Y/N. I've done my research. This mirror is reinforced, designed to withstand pressure. It's part of the puzzle."

Still uncertain, you nevertheless comply, moving to stand behind her. Wednesday positions herself in front of the mirror, her stance wide and her muscles tensed. She nods once, a silent signal for you to proceed.

Taking a deep breath, you place your hands on her shoulders, feeling the firmness of her muscles beneath your palms. With a grunt of effort, you push, propelling Wednesday forward into the mirror.

As Wednesday collides with the mirror, there's a blinding flash of light and a crackling sound, like electricity surging through the glass. For a moment, you're blinded, your vision swallowed by the brightness. But as the glow fades, you blink rapidly, trying to clear your eyes.

When your vision returns, Wednesday is gone. Vanished. In her place, the mirror reflects an image of a dark, shadowy hallway stretching into the distance.

For a heart-stopping moment, you're frozen in shock, your mind struggling to process what just happened. Then, as panic starts to set in, you hear a voice echoing down the hallway, distant but unmistakably Wednesday's.

"Y/N! I'm in here!"

You lean closer to the mirror, your breath fogging the glass as you peer into the shadowy depths. "Wednesday?" you call out, your voice sounding small and uncertain. "Where are you?"

There's a pause, and then Wednesday's voice returns, sounding strained and urgent. "I'm stuck, Y/N. I need you to follow me. Quickly!"

"Hurry, Y/N!" Wednesday calls out, her voice echoing strangely in the shadowy hallway beyond the mirror. "I think I found the key, but I can't get it out."

Your heart pounds as you lean closer to the mirror, your reflection staring back at you from the darkened glass. The image of the hallway wavers and shifts, as if the shadows themselves are alive and moving.

Taking a deep breath, you reach out and press your palm flat against the mirror's surface. The glass is cold and smooth beneath your fingers, but as you apply pressure, you feel it beginning to give way, like a door yielding to a firm push.

With a grunt of effort, you step forward, feeling the resistance of the mirror against your body. For a moment, it's as if you're being pressed between two planes of existence - the real world behind you, and the shadowy realm ahead. Then, with a final heave, you stumble through, tumbling into the darkness beyond.

You land on your hands and knees, the floor beneath you cold and damp. As you push yourself upright, you see Wednesday standing a few feet away.

She's standing in a shadowy corridor, her face illuminated by the faint, eerie glow emanating from the walls. Wednesday's eyes widen as she sees you emerge from the mirror, relief and urgency flashing across her features.

"Thank god you're here," she breathes, her voice trembling slightly. "I was starting to think I might be trapped in here forever."

You take a moment to orient yourself, taking in the strange, otherworldly environment surrounding you. The walls seem to pulse with an inner light, casting shifting shadows across the floor. The air is thick and heavy, carrying an unsettling scent of decay and old secrets.

"What is this place?" you whisper, your voice sounding too loud in the oppressive silence.

Wednesday shakes her head, her eyes never leaving the object clutched in her hand. "I'm not entirely sure," she admits, her tone uncharacteristically uncertain. "But I think it's part of the escape room's final challenge."

She holds out the object for you to see - a small, ornate key, its metal surface etched with strange, twisting symbols.

Wednesday holds the key up to the flickering light, examining its intricate design. "The inscription... it matches the symbols from the riddle in the book. I think this is what we've been searching for."

She glances around, her eyes scanning the shadowy corridor. "But there's no lock here. We need to find where this key belongs."

You nod, following Wednesday's gaze as she begins to move down the hallway, her steps cautious and deliberate. The walls seem to shift and sway as you pass, the air growing colder with each step.

Wednesday stops suddenly, her head tilting to the side as she listens to a distant sound. "Do you hear that?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the oppressive silence.

You strain your ears, trying to pick up on any noise. At first, there's nothing, but then you catch it - a faint, rhythmic thumping, like a heartbeat echoing through the darkness.

"It's coming from that way," Wednesday says, pointing down a side passage branching off from the main corridor. "We need to follow it."

As you and Wednesday move deeper into the shadowy realm behind the mirror, the atmosphere grows heavier and more oppressive with each step. The thumping sound grows louder, more insistent, echoing through the dark corridors like a macabre heartbeat.

Wednesday's brow furrows in concentration, her eyes scanning the walls for any clue or hidden passage. She moves with a predatory grace, her steps silent and purposeful as she navigates the twisting labyrinth.

Suddenly, she stops, her hand shooting out to grab your arm. "Look," she hisses, her breath hot against your ear.

You follow her gaze to where the wall seems to ripple and shift, like water disturbed by an unseen hand. As you watch, a shape begins to emerge from the shadows - the outline of a door, its surface covered in the same eerie symbols that adorn the key in Wednesday's hand.

Wednesday's grip on your arm tightens, her nails digging into your skin. "This is it," she breathes, her voice trembling with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. "The final challenge."

Wednesday's hand trembles slightly as she raises the key, the metal glinting in the eerie light emanating from the walls. With a deep breath, she fits the key into the lock, the symbols aligning with a satisfying click.

As the lock disengages, the door creaks open, revealing the room they’d started in.

"That was... impressive," she says, turning to face you. "I mean, it was still an escape room, but at least it had some real challenges. Whoever designed this clearly knows their stuff."

You step forward, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of your mouth. "You're welcome," you say, pulling the carefully wrapped package from behind your back. "Happy birthday, Wednesday."

Wednesday's eyes widen as she takes in the small, rectangular shape of the gift. She reaches out tentatively, her fingers brushing against the smooth paper. "What is it?"

"Open it and see," you encourage, handing her the package.

Wednesday tears into the wrapping paper with gusto, revealing the pristine leather cover of the book underneath. Her eyes widen as she reads the title embossed in gold lettering: "The Tell-Tale Heart" by Edgar Allan Poe.

"Is this...?" she breathes, running her fingers reverently over the ancient binding. "A first edition? Y/N… How much did you spend-“ She begins, ready to scold you.

“-I stole it.”

Wednesday's eyes snap up to meet yours, her expression a mix of shock and awe. "You... you stole this for me?" Her voice is barely above a whisper, but there's an undercurrent of something else beneath the surface - something that sends a shiver down your spine.

"That's right," you confirm, stepping closer to her. "I knew how much you loved Poe, and I wanted to give you something truly special for your birthday. Something no one else could ever give you."

Wednesday's gaze drops back to the book, her fingers caressing the leather cover with a reverence that borders on obsessive. "This is... incredible," she murmurs, almost to herself. "I can't believe you'd go to such lengths for me."

You reach out, gently tilting her chin up to meet your eyes once more. "Of course I would," you say softly, your voice low and intimate. "You're worth it, Wednesday. More than worth it."

Wednesday's breath hitches as your fingers brush against her skin, her dark eyes searching yours for any sign of deception or ulterior motive. But all she sees is sincerity, and maybe something deeper - a longing that mirrors her own.

"Why?" she asks, her voice barely audible. "Why would you do this for me?"

You lean in closer, your lips nearly brushing against her ear. "Because I care about you, Wednesday," you murmur, your breath warm against her skin. "More than I've ever cared about anyone else. And I wanted to prove it to you, in a way that no one else could."

Wednesday's heart pounds in her chest, her body responding to your proximity in ways she didn't know were possible. She's always prided herself on her emotional detachment, her ability to remain unaffected by the whims and fancies of others. But with you, she feels herself crumbling, her carefully constructed walls beginning to fall away.

Wednesday's breath catches in her throat as your lips brush against her ear, your whispered confession sending a jolt of electricity through her body. For a moment, she's frozen, her mind reeling as she tries to process the intensity of the moment.

But then, slowly, she raises her hand, her fingers coming to rest gently against your chest. She can feel the steady thrum of your heartbeat beneath her palm, a reminder of the life and warmth that lies beneath your skin.

"Y/N," she whispers, her voice trembling slightly. "I... I don't know what to say."

You pull back just enough to meet her gaze, your eyes dark with desire and something deeper, more profound. "You don't have to say anything," you murmur, your hand coming up to cup her cheek. "Just let me show you."

And then, before she can react, you're leaning in, your lips capturing hers in a kiss that steals the breath from her lungs. Wednesday's eyes flutter closed, her body melting into yours as she surrenders to the sensation of your mouth moving against hers.

Wednesday's mind reels as the kiss deepens, her senses overwhelmed by the taste and feel of your lips against hers. She's kissed you before, of course - quick, furtive pecks stolen in the dark corners of school. But nothing like this. Nothing that makes her feel so alive, so utterly consumed by the other person.

Your hand moves from her cheek to the back of her neck, your fingers tangling in the silky strands of her hair. Wednesday lets out a soft moan, her body arching into yours as her hands come up to grip your shoulders. She's never felt so wanted, so desired, and it's both thrilling and terrifying all at once.

For a long moment, Wednesday is lost in the sensation of your kiss, her mind going blank as she succumbs to the heat of your touch. But then, with a sudden surge of willpower, she pulls away, her chest heaving as she struggles to catch her breath.

Wednesday's eyes snap open, her gaze locked with yours as she tries to regain her composure. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss, and she can feel a warmth spreading through her body that has nothing to do with the heat of the moment.

—

[tiktaalic]

catching fire dash simulator

finnicksgirl Follow

my streams have been cutting all season omfg what is going on

caps4finnick Follow

cinnagirl3000 Follow

anybody heard from cinna lately?

plutarcheology Follow

Plutarch Heavensbee circa 2282

revolutionarykatniss

As if it’s not ENOUGH that yall wanna fuck the most morally bankrupt man alive who is more than complicit because he gets paid to live in luxury to ORCHESTRATE the deaths of innocents so that they’re a spectacle and don’t have the option to die even semi peacefully. as if that’s not enough. You wanna fuck him when he’s ugly?

caesarflickerwoman Follow

anyone else still thinking about how caesar and peeta were kinda ..

czrflckmn

Aren’t you the one who had the week long meltdown about peeta being overfamiliar with him

caesarflickerwoman

Well you see I’m gay and a man now

theeclove Follow

already tired of this fucking season of everlark -_- idgaf about the fucking fog

siblingvictors

DISTRICT ONE GONNA SEND THEM A CANCELLATION NOTICE!! #CASHMEREGLOSS4EVER

czrflkmn Follow

everyone looooooves to act like NOTABLE cishet peeta is so gay w caesar as if his gay cohost isn't right there.... slaying in a wig..... sending yearning glances caesar's way right before the camera cuts......

johannadykeson Follow

tbh she’s got the WORST taste in allies idek why i continue to stan. girl MAGS?

#my girl going to get slorn :/

katnissgirlsmakedo

She is choosing with her HEART she chose to save peeta in the games REMEMBERRRRRRRR she’s literally a lovergirl to the core

#lovecore #heartcore #truelove

lucygraydotcom Follow

Caesar flickerman kidn if a laughing gnome. Reblog

finnickforever Follow

I’ve supported finnick through a lot and defended them and I’ve always been proud they're from my district but honestly they went way too far by doing the salute during the interview. I can only hope that they just got caught up in the moment with everyone else doing it and obviously it’s a stressful situation but I don’t think I can continue endorsing them. I’ll be changing my url this week.

divorceekatniss Follow

hey guys i know times are tough for everyone and the capital has really cracked down but my mutual @divorceepeeta got flogged the other day and could really use some help. v3nmo here. anything helps #signalboost #mockingjay

disabledmags Follow

Tbh the baby is the saddest thing I've ever heard </3

peetaspride

Another citizen falling for capital propaganda. It's so glaringly apparent that this is made up to draw in views. The tributes undergo extensive medical examination prior to the games. They would NEVER let a pregnant woman compete.

disabledmags

As if killing children has ever stopped them before?

#We all saw him fall to protect her stomach before they even started the victory tour #Is it that ridiculous to believe two newlyweds fresh out of a life or death situation would celebrate a little carelessly?

peetaspride

If you think even the marriage is real you're stupider than I thought. Peeta spends every interview begging us to see his truth. The capital is shamelessly silencing him and "the baby" is a distraction.

peetasbabymama Follow

URL CHANGE!! faggotpeeta->peetasbabymama

cupcakeeverlark

this isnt funny. peeta's a real person with real feelings. it will never be funny to call someone a f***** as a joke. how would you feel if my url was f*****peetasbabymama?

peetasbabymama

ok

district420

isnt cupcakeeverlark literally prez snow's 12 yr old granddaughter lol

tendinghiswounds

OOMF IS 12???????????

everlarklovechild

the age is the problem here?

marriedeverlark Follow

Canon url 🎉🎊💅😁🥰♥️

beeteemp3 Follow

New content of my favorite tribute 😁😁😁

3ffietrinket

Girl there’s a 96% chance they die ?

peenick Follow

getting reports from the presidential banquet that Peeta looks gay as fuck

3v3rlark Follow

ik peeniss has been flagging w the rehearsed speeches but did anyone else see the way they looked at each other in the censored district 11 speech

rues-song

you’re STUPID she’s a capital pawn AND i fucked your mom while you were busy looking for illegal streams

senecacraneofficial Follow

rip seneca you were so babygirl </3

plutarchbaby69

so now you think we can’t fuck old men?

#this fandom is so ageist #this is prob what I get for blogging about thg tbh since # it’s literally about kids. Some of you ppl need to grow up

[screampied]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE choso x artist!reader in which they're dating for just a few months and reader has a sketchbook full of drawings of him but keeps it a secret fearing he'd think it's weird or something and then one day he finds the sketchbook and is absolutely flustered and think it's so endearing and showers reader with praise for their drawings (it could be a little nsfw by maybe making it so that there are a few sketches of choso shirtless/in bed)

- 🍧

꒰  warnings . . choso x fem!reader, touch starved choso, overstim, praise, cowgirl. mdni. wc: 1.7k

choso knew about your hobby, just not the particular filthy things you’d draw.

he’s been dating you for a few months and you always expressed your love for your hobby, he even let you draw him a few times. he’s always praised you and showered you with various compliments, telling you how talented you were.

yet one day, you end up leaving your sketchbook over his house—he didn’t mean to peek, but you did leave it wide open. coincidentally open to the most revealing pages.

his eyes widen ever so slightly…

scanning the thin lined paper with perplexed eyes, the sketches of him, shirtless, the more he looked through the pages, the more lewd they became. some were even intimate, shirtless and with the cutest yet embarrassing expressions.

his head fills up with fog just imagining you, his pretty artistic girl, sitting down to draw this—draw him.

“…you weren’t supposed to see that.” you suddenly spoke, running a hand down your neck.

choso turns to face you, and he’s so flustered, and maybe even a little hard.

“shit, ‘m s-sorry baby,” he mutters, his ears growing hot from the very sharp tips—as if he’s a deer in headlights from being caught. he closes your sketchbook and has a cute sheepish grin. “i was gonna drop it off to you but then i-”

“it’s okay,” you utter, sitting down beside him. he lets off a cute gasp once you sit right down on his lap — your back pressing against his thin tank top, re-opening your minuscule-like sketchbook. you flip towards the very back, to some of the drawings of him more unclothed, more…nude. “i was gonna tell you. about um these.”

his hard-toned chest was pushed up against you, and he feels all warm once you grab his hand, making him trace a finger across the lines of your drawing. “ever since two days ago, my drawings got kind of.. y’know, dirty.”

two days ago…

when the two of you had sex, choso was a mess. constantly whining in your ear….begging for you to keep praising him, wanting you to tell him that he’s doing a good job at pleasing you. so that’s where those facial expressions came from.

he was so embarrassed, even more-so that you were sitting on his lap. you feel something poke underneath you and you smile to yourself. “you remember too? you were so whiney, choso. it was always on my mind, and whenever i’m away i just drew my imagination.”

“why imagine when we can do the real thing, baby...” he whines — pressing a soft chaste kiss near your neck, cutting off your words.

he grows so needy, just the thought of you drawing him in such provocative dirty ways made him feel things he couldn’t even comprehend. you smile — feeling him snake two hands around your waist, the tips of his fingers ghosting against the thin pink fabric of your shorts. “i missed you. missed touchin' you.”

“did you?” you hum, placing down your pencil before turning your body to face him. he tries to speak but a cute whimper exits his mouth, and he’s already tugging at your shorts.

“yeah yeah,” he sniffles, and he couldn’t wait anymore. his patience ran thin — and not even seconds later, he yanks your shorts off, only to now being exposed in your pretty lace underwear. he starts panting, feeling you teasingly start to grind against his bulge. “…fuck,” he murmurs, running a finger down your slit, watching you quaver as a response. “looks like you missed me too, baby. ‘s wet for me already. nasty g-girl.”

his attempt at dirty talk was so cute — you couldn’t help but kiss the tip of his nose, making him grow even more flustered before you bring down his sweats, eagerly springing out his dick that was just aching to be inside.

it twitched as your hand wrapped around it, and he leans back against the wooden chair — a soft groan leaving his mouth, “could have been.. fuckin’ me the entire time instead of drawing me, baby..”

“stop whining,” you tease, sneaking a wet kiss on his mouth, choso’s pink lips tremble, so needy for more of your taste, he whines again the moment you pull away, you watch him slide his tongue across his lip, savoring your candied lip gloss taste.

you bite down on your lip the second his throbbing cock prods against your leaky hole, he feels all hot. a tad bit dramatic, it’s adorable, the way he looks like he’s about to cum already.

“y-you make me feel things, baby,” he stutters out, ripped and clenching underneath his top. you intake a single rickety breath — before slowly sinking down on his length. “been two days but felt like,” and he pauses to thickly swallow. “two years, f-fuck…”

“you know i drew this too, choso?” you whisper against his ear — softly nibbling on the tender skin and you’re just driving him crazy.

he grips down on your hips, shivering at the way you start to rollick your hips against him. “drew this exact position, baby. of me riding you, making sure to sketch the way your eyes roll back and…”

“t-tell me more.” he whimpers — giving your ass a tight squeeze, his jaw clenches and he feels so warm, thanks to your warmth. you squelched against his again and again, his thigh starts to bounce in retaliation.

you giggle at his needy enthusiasm and sheer curiosity, he’s stuffing thick inches into you that makes your brain spasm for a bit, so good….

“i always make sure to memorize you when i draw you, choso…” you hum, peppering a plethora of kisses up and down his neck, his pointed chin raises a bit and he moans at the sweet soft feelings of your lips making contact with his hot skin.

“memorize every inch of your body, so i can sketch it well,” you continue, and he squeezes more against your hips, he’s the one biting his lip now. his ears continue to burn up to the tips of it, and with the smoothness of your voice — he was sure he’d cum early, there was just no predicting with you. “…sometimes i let my mind run loose a bit, and sketch out the time when you and i are.. well…intimate.”

“baby y-you’re so perverted,” he moans, his eyelids grow heavy and he doesn’t want you to stop, his voice was so sweet — cloying with silk dripping from his tone, just listening to him made you even more soaked. “my…perverted girl,” and he brings you close to him before licking a stripe up your neck. “but ‘s okay…knowing that you draw such things about me makes me like you even m-more.”

you brush a thumb against his lips, staring into his eyes before humming as a response. “yeah?”

“y-yeah,” he whines as a response, nodding fervently. his grip on your waist never lessens, and he’s balls deep — each stroke, each rough smack that thwacks against your pussy makes him so hot and bothered. “wish i could draw you how you draw me, b-but you’re the talented one.”

“i can always teach you,” you purr — teasingly sliding a single finger down his chest. “i can be a model for you too, just for you choso.”

he stares at you, and his expression is so cute, his eyes glimmer and he has a face that basically says, ‘really?’

“w-woman, talkin’ to me like that… ‘s gonna make me cum so hard,” he sighs, his grunts were heavy, chest completely heaving.

something rang throughout his ears with the way you bounced and rocked against him. his head spun and he was so obsessed with watching your body.

the way it jerks against him, taking him fully every time, despite his girth deliberately stretching your pussy out to its fullest.

“i know, i know…..” you coo against his ear, choso’s nearly trembling underneath you he’s lost in a trace with the way you pepper such kisses all over his face — he feels all tingly from your affection, and the way you’re making him feel.

such low wolffish grunts escape his mouth and its sexy, a tiny pussy-drunken smile purses against his lips after you ghost your lips against his. “you gonna be messy and cum for me?”

“…yeah, only if you let me…?” he moans, and his tone forms into a cute question.

digging his fingers into the depths of your waist, your cunt clenches down on his numerous times, you can’t even count how many strokes it’s been. “baby..”

“go ahead,” you mumble sweetly, planting a single kiss near the tip of his nose, just that single gesture alone, he’s so weak.

choso whimpers, chasing his incoming high. teeth clenching in utter desperation and lust, he craves his release so bad. “you can be a little messy.”

“okay, okay….o-okay,” he hiccups, leaning in, pulling you close towards him, he’s nearly sweating and it hasn’t even been that many minutes, he shoots out a sticky load of such thick ropes inside of your pussy.

it makes you moan yourself, wrapping your arms around his neck, softly nibbling on his collarbone. “s-shit, ‘s much comin' out for you, baby…”

choso continues whine — pulling you lightly by the neck, bringing your into a wet deep kiss, and between kisses you hear him mutter out, “love you,” for the first time. his voice was so sweet, shaky and all — you blink twice, wondering if he really said it and he grows flustered immediately once he realized what he said. “w-wait, baby, i mean-”

“i love you too,” you tease — sitting up and pulling his twitching now flaccid dick out of you, he grows quiet at the wet sounds of his own cum seeping out of your cunt, his bottom lip quivers at you being in such control before you grab your sketchbook from the table, pressing a final kiss against his mouth. “do you think i should sketch this too for you to keep? all your cum just spilling out of me?”

“please,” he whines. “draw it now, baby. i’d put that in my wallet for only me to s-see.”

[parkersgnome]

⭐️Mima Rants⭐️

I remember coming across slideshow on tik tok this about a year ago, and even *I* (as someone who used to be grossed out by proshipping) thought was ridiculous…

This is the title of the slideshow.

Just a heads up guys, just like our favorite ships, None of these stories are real.

And if they were based on actual events, wouldn’t it make more sense to make a video about that instead of making up shit that never happened?

But, Let’s go through each of these as if they were real stories, shall we?

First one

“Caleb uses the internet to deal with his trauma”, Alright, I’m gonna stop you right there.

Isn’t “Staying off the internet is beneficial for your mental health” something we learned in, idk, fucking grade school? Cyber safety PSAs in middle school? Something that dozens of people have screeched from the top of their lungs since social media was invented?

Who the heck told him that being on the internet was going to help with his trauma and improve his mental health???

His feelings are valid, I get that. He has every right to be disturbed by Sage’s writings and fantasies. However, it seems that Sage isn't encouraging these actions in real life and keeps them strictly within fiction. As long as it’s in text or art, Sage has every right to express his fantasies.

Anyways, Caleb should seek a better therapist who can teach him better coping mechanisms like going out for walks, yoga, baking, or some other fourth thing instead of browsing social media where there’s a good chance he can run into something that makes him uncomfortable.

Next one…

“Jackie is 10-”

Yeah no no no no no no.. no… NO.

10-years-old. That’s, like, what? 4th grade? Shouldn’t Jackie be watching cartoons, playing with toys, or better yet, playing outside? Why did her parents give her internet access? Why aren’t they monitoring what their elementary schooled daughter is watching online?

If Charlie was going out of her way to promote this to minors then I would say she’s in the wrong, but this story never implies whether her content was specifically targeted to and/or letting minors come on to her account.

I've never seen proshippers create accounts specifically targeting children. If Charlie makes it clear her content isn't for kids, then it's not her fault if some random little girl she doesn’t know ends up consuming it.

If Jackie started to think this was normal, then it is her parent’s fault for neglecting her online safety and allowing her to access adult-targeted content at an age when media literacy is at an all time low.

The last one

“dEGenErates LiKE hiM 🤓” 💀💀

Once again, unless you can present to me a REAL LIFE incest/pedophilia case where proshipping was involved, this is not a valid argument that fiction affects reality.

Alas, we're treating these stories as if they were real. If Trey feels compelled to SA his sister after seeing writings or drawings of problematic ships, this suggests he’s likely an untreated mentally ill individual, especially since he can't differentiate fiction from reality.

What? If Trey played GTA V and started shooting and robbing a bank because he wanted to be like Trevor Phillips, should we consider banning violent video games?

As proshippers, we do not endorse real-life criminals and genuinely terrible people. The essence of proshipping is that all negative or degenerate actions should be confined to fiction. Understand?

End of discussion.

Anyway, as ridiculous as that slideshow was, please refrain from harassing or bothering the artist who made it. They have the same freedom of speech we do, and stooping to harassment and bullying wouldn't make us any better than antis who promote such behavior.

[fumifooms]

The Nakamoto household - facts & theories masterpost

Table of contents:

the hierarchy & general situation

The parents

The Maizuru situation

The siblings

The other retainers

Izutsumi

Toshiro

Conclusion

I also made tldr summary charts here. This post is about collecting facts about the setting and characters, but it’s gonna be a lot of analysis on what it means through the lens of Toshiro as well, his relationship and place in everything etc etc. They have entangled drama the scale of Daltian Clan. Things are so interwoven it’s hard to keep topics neatly in their own section, because of this pictures may be relevant at several point of this but I mostly won’t be putting them in twice, you might have to do some scrolling up while reading if you want the visual proof to accompany statements. Unlike with Chilchuck’s family there’s less ambiguousness and more intricate details and implications so it’s less theorizing & headcanoning and more stringing together all the crumbs canon gave us. I also dig into some cultural parallels, especially since characters from Wa are the most culturally coded in the series. Also disclaimer that I’ll be calling Shuro Toshiro through this whole thing because that’s his actual name & Shuro isn’t even a nickname he’s shown to like, for accuracy’s sake. The servant girls have real names but are always called by their code names so I’ll call them as such, except for Izutsumi who was named Asebi which I won’t be using.

The general situation

To start off, what’s the situation in canon? All three kids of the head of the house, the three sons (Toshiro and his two younger brothers), are sent out on a vague mission to find something interesting for his father to pick the heir. Each son is thus on their own journey, out with their own group of retainers for an unsure length of time, during canon it’s been 2 years that Toshiro left the house for this mission, and they seemingly all drifted towards dungeons. It’s important to remember that this state of things is the exception and not the rule, and before this the sons lived at home and had different uses of their time, and the retainers had other jobs than care after them. See the next paragraph.

The household offers ninja services, no exaggeration or misuse of the term, mostly spyint but also "covert maneuvers" which could include anything including assassination of people high up. That’s the job of their servants/retainers at least, the heads themselves are more like managers probably, possibly samurais themselves though especially since as we see with the heirs (besides the samurai armor) they also got trained in fighting as their skills showcase. I need to dig into the history of samurais more before I can draw the parallel confidently though. The Nakamoto household is noble/wealthy, distinguished as the Adventurer’s Bible puts it, but it works for and puts its service at use for "their local lord". It buys servants, but also has families who have served it for generations like with Hien. The comic shows that there aren’t only women servants, it’s just the ones we see all happen to be because Toshiro’s retainers are only a small team of all of Nakamoto’s servants.

Above, in a page showcasing characters’ relationships with their party leader: 父親の部下を借りている状態なので、 距離がある。Doubtlessly there must be a translation of this already somewhere but I’m lazy and impatient so I turned to machine translation instead, this translates into: "Since he is borrowing his father's subordinates, there is a distance between him and them". Calling the servants retainers is what most of the fandom does and it’s accurate so I’ll be calling them this.

Hien and Toshiro were childhood friends which means the servants do have some degree of contact not even just together but with the heirs too, or maybe just specifically Hien, since both their parents were ninjas for the Nakamotos she ended up getting raised there and they let her play with him as an exception? They did end up drifting away as adults as their relationship got more professional, so it’s possible. The servants eat and sleep in shared spaces, separate from the masters, though Maizuru has her own bedroom, if the room configuration at the in is to be believed + it’d make sense since she’s governess/head servant. I’m hesitant wether to say it’s implied that this group of 4 retainers was always a bit of a team or it wasn’t and got formed for Toshiro specifically. We know that Benichidori had little contact with Toshiro before they were sent out together for example, but we do see all three girls with Izutsumi in Inutade’s extra when they were younger, and them eating in the same japanese styled room etc. The inn they stay at on The Island is western styled though they do have futons rather than beds (there’s only one bed in their shared room and Hien has it because of her rank).

From Izutsumi’s Adventurer’s Bible profile: "Maizuru, who was also Shuro's governess, is the one thing Izutsumi fears. After Izutsumi was taken in by the Nakamoto family, Maizuru forced her through a harsh training regimen of speech, common sense, and fighting skills. Since Izutsumi refused to listen to her, Maizuru set a curse on her that would activate if Maizuru didn't touch her within a set time frame: "Ninja Art: Babysitter." "

Maizuru, called a governess, is the one training the girls, at least some of them, we know for a fact she was the one to train Izutsumi for example, and in general she’s the one in charge of the ninja girls we see. She was a ninja herself but retired from frontline missions, but has a central role managing the servants instead. Inutade for example is strong but not stealthy, and it’s said that it’s Maizuru’s job to choose how to train her and what role to give her in consequence. Her training includes manners but fighting as well, notably kunais and martial arts. Hien is shown to use bombs and Benichidori is implied to be good at disguises, Inutade uses a bold weapon like a club but it’s implied with "ogres and clubs just go together" and Maizuru not knowing where to put her to use that it’s uncommon for Nakamoto servants to use those. Their board game artworks also show their specialties neatly. When brought into the household, the servants are given new names and their whole lives become devotion to the house and their duties. The names might be intended to act as code names due to them being ninjas? It’s implied that they never use their non-code names anymore once they start serving the household. Maizuru’s training also contains language and "common sense"… Critical thinking? As well as implied etiquette. This isn’t surprising, as she was the one put in charge of raising not only Toshiro but his brothers as well.

Oh yes I want to mention that all the retainers’ "first deaths" are in the dungeon during canon, considering our main cast we’re used to death being permissible because dungeons make resurrections possible, but it’s relevant to remember that these people never died before. Never. These girls are professionals, ninjas with a sometimes very dangerous job. Messing up means death, permanently.

From what we see and with who we see, the hierarchy is:

Father (head of house, his word goes)

Mother (has status which puts her wishes above others’ and give her some control over the house, it’s unsure how much though, but hierarchy wise she’s very much above the rest but below the father)

Maizuru (governess, in charge of (at least some) servants and raising Toshiro. Two dots)

Hien (leader of their squad, trained servant from a family devoted to the Nakamotos. Two dots)

Benichidori (trained bought servant. Two dots)

Inutade and Izutsumi (bought servants. Power wise from their rank it’s unsure just how much the difference between Inutade (who has one dot), Izutsumi (who has none) and Benichidori (who has two) is, since Hien is team leader between the four servants at least that’s measurable. Inutade gets some janitor duties, and Izutsumi has a curse put on her so she doesn’t run away I suppose. Power wise it’s unsure, but socially/role wise Inutade and especially Asebi are treated worse.)

I didn’t add the sons because I’m talking more generally about the power structure and it’d depend on each sibling, like Toshiro’s wants and directives during canon trump Maizuru’s, but Maizuru is also his nanny and manages the girls so she has a lot of importance and sway even on the final decisions.

The parents

I am so pissed I forgot that we know Toshiro’s father’s name, Toshitsugu, from these panels showing the progression of the family tree. I am so pissed I’m adding this halfway into writing this whole thing, I am not gonna go back and replace every "the father" by his name atm.

The father is the part of this puzzle most important yet most shrouded in mystery, or rather a lack of details. What we do know paints a pretty full and vivid portrait: impulsive and cares mainly about his own entertainment. Maizuru calls him a fool, his sons are exasperated and go "This again?" when he summons them saying that they’re boring/dull, everyone knows he’s having an affair and he often has undignified demeanor, but what he says goes so yes Maizuru will take Izutsumi under her wing, yes the sons will be going out right away into the world to find you the 8th world wonder, yes whatever you want lord. He seems to have little care for how his action affects others, like crashing into Maizuru’s room at night and asking she take care of a catgirl, or sending out his sons suddenly with kicks to the butts. He does what he wants hen he wants and others have to comply.

Like we see with Izutsumi and Inutade, he tends to take a liking to slaves here and there and buy them on the spot, usually at entertainment places, like sumo wrestling matches for Inutade and a freakshow for Izutsumi. The Adventurer’s Bible states him acquiring Inutade as "By coincidence, Shuro's father came to see her first match; he liked her and bought her for the Nakamoto family." and Izutsumi as "She was on display as a "cat-girl" in a sideshow when Shuro's father took an interest in her and bought her." In Maizuru’s extra, he calls Izutsumi a "souvenir" he got for her, and he’s drunk so it could well be assumed that buying Izutsumi was a drunken whim, and that he mitht be alcoholic. You can’t really say that he picks them out because he sees potential in them to be a ninja or would be useful, since with Izutsumi she had no fighting training and Inutade doesn’t fit the skills they seek like stealth and she has trouble fitting in. You could assign noble goals to him like maybe wanting to help or relating to the misfits, but I think with what we see of him it’s more likely that he likes to pick up "oddities", like a catgirl at a freakshow or an ogre, especially since one of the only things we know of him is he wants his sons to bring back interesting trophies from their travels. Toshiro, about his father buying Inutade, says: "People in power desire ogre as servants, and ogres are chosen as opponents in tests of strengths or military exploits. My father bought her for similar reasons."

Also from this we can infer that he goes out to events often, like circus and sumo wrestling, again mostly for entertainment from what we see. I like to think it’s implied that he used to travell maybe still does, due to his own liking for it as a test and because he visits various places like the sideshow, plus his forearm scars in Toshiro’s extra… But him being a samurai in service of a lord could definitely explain that.

This all paints an interesting picture doesn’t it… The Nakamoto’s lifestyle is super encased in rules and social propriety, duty and hierarchy. Old noble man who’s been surrounded by propriety all his life and just wants some spark of interesting stuff happening amongst the humdrum of his lavish cushioned life at home, and is shitty to people around him in consequence and due to his privilege allowing him to. He’s despicable, but from his 3 appearances he becomes an interesting well-fleshed character, at least proportionally to the screentime he gets…

We also know that the affair with Maizuru is well known at least inside the household, so there’s no genuine secrecy around the topic. Makes sense that the wife would hate her guts.

Ahh yes the mother. Little is known about the mother, except that from Maizuru’s profile "Shuro’s mother can’t stand the sight of her, to the point where there are areas on the property Maizuru is forbidden to enter. Maizuru, however, is impressed by his wife’s strength of character." From this I glean that she does have enough power/respect in the house that she can make rules like where Maizuru is allowed to go. Also the implication that otherwise Mazuru would have access to EVERYWHERE in the house despite being only a (high-ranking) servant is a bit interesting. Wether the mother’s "strength of character" is overt and hot-headed or understated and cool-headed is unsure, but I imagine the latter more. I could see Maizuru’s angle in many ways, from being able to tolerate "that fool" aka the father both just in general and with knowing that he’s cheating on her, to knowing how hard it is to be respected as a woman and admiring her putting up with it all and still being able to have sway in the household. This is I think the only mention of the mother anywhere. Doesn’t seem like she is an important figure to Toshiro at all: in fact we hear about her on Maizuru’s profile, and seeing all of this we can see the importance of her in Maizuru’s backstory and life, moreso than Toshiro’s. I imagine she’s a bit of a recluse, which is part of why Maizuru not being allowed to roam the full house is important, because them running into each other at the house is high.

It’s unsure how much contact the parents have with their kids. What we know is that they left the principal tasks of raising the kids, or at least Toshiro, to servants. Toshiro’s profile says that he’s more attached to Maizuru than his parents, and that’s the phrasing. From the comic where their father summons the sons, it does seem like they’re more or less used to interacting, with the sons’ "This again?". So it’s not that they’ve only interacted with them few times enough to count on fingers, but how meaningful were those interactions? From Toshiro’s profile we know he has a complex where he thinks he’ll never get recognition from his father or be able to measure up to him… But is that more born out of secondhand gossip and expectations, or from direct interactions with him that made him feel that way? Likely a mix of both, especially since the father does seem to be very dismissive, uncaring and insulting with his sons. Oh, but it’s definitely notable that in the Hag monster tidbit (below in Maizuru’s section) six years old Toshiro runs to his father scared shitless for help against the shikigami, and his father casually helps him without batting an eye. Toshitsugu knows how to deal with Maizuru’s shikigamis, and he does so efficiently and without any sense of worry or urgency. Although the event traumatized Toshiro and he was very scared, it doesn’t seem like his father offered any comfort, beyond just helping getting rid of it and letting him cower behind him without comment. Toshitsugu gives hungover vibes in that one imo haha. It’s shown he was already training as a ninja, perhaps this event only reinforced Toshiro’s complex, seeing his father, the samurai the achieved man who has expectations for him, so unfazed and uncaring like that.

The Maizuru situation

Let’s establish a timeline first. It’s left vague how much time she’s served the Nakamoto family for, or how she came to be in their service. The central point is that "She was put in charge of raising their children at a young age". If straight from his birth, Maizuru started taking care of Toshiro when she was 15 years old. If from toddler age, then 16. It’s uncertain if when she stopped getting front-line espionage missions, but we know it’s late rather than early despite having kid raising duties. But well, since she’s also in charge of the ninjas she’s definitely has a multitasking role even now.

The dad prob has around 5-10 years more than Maizuru, I’d say. We only see half of his face and only a good few years in the past, around ~3 years ago probably with the shuro quest and a good 7 years with Izutsumi as a kid, but visually those are the vibes I’m getting. From Toshiro’s birth, it’s possible that the father was 15 when the baby was born too? But conception would have been closer to 14 years old then, and yeah I don’t think they marry and have kids that young. Toshiro is 26 years old in canon and is unmarried, and the heir hasn’t been officially picked, so marriage and kids don’t seem to be in the family’s priorities. Even if Maizuru do say that the father would love if Toshiro brought back a wife.

Now the elephant in the room: she has an on-and-off affair with the father and it has been si for many many years, at LEAST 7 years since that’s when we see that comic of him going into her chambers about Izutsumi, and in the comic above, Hien in that panel has an ambiguous age. Regardless it’s definitely implied that it’s a long, long-standing thing. Hien’s phrasing above makes it sound as if it’s not purely physical, as if feelings are involved, "he’s head over heels for his confidante", and who knows if this relationship is part of why Maizuru was chosen to be the governess, or even hired at all.

It’s in the feud with his father that we learn about maizuru’s affair and how after learning it he started shutting her out emotionally. It’s left vague when Toshiro learned about it, Hien made it sound as if everybody always more or less knew but I don’t think Toshiro started shutting her out when he was still pretty young. Regardless, the two are implied to be linked, his dislike of his father/complex and how he stopped getting along well with Maizuru/being emotionally open with her. Is it that he now feels as though Maizuru is actually on his father’s side and not his own, that after all if she had to choose she’d pick him over Toshiro too? Or is it that, because his father’s known to be a self-centered frivolous jerk, that knowing she lets it happen, "can’t seem to shake it", he respects her less? He has an irresponsible reputation and she does give off the vibe of needing to clean up his messes, so that wouldn’t be unplausible either.

On the flipside from her perspective, since he learned she was his dad’s mistress he emotionally shut her out, which can partly explain why she’s SO fussy with him and happy at the slightest hint of happiness or compliance, like when he listens to her and eats, or maybe even being happy that he lets her help him dress and keep tidy (imo this is supported by how they interact in the page showing him interacting with all his party members). She wants to regain that closeness they once had and for her baby chick to be alright as he’s slipping through her fingers. Man so sad to think about him rejecting her when he’s the only thing in her life. She’s raised him for 26 years, no wonder she’s so attached to him, the only thing in her life she feels true unconditional attachment for. Maizuru says that she thinks Toshiro’ll be a better head of the house than the father, too. The respect and care is somewhat onesided, given freely from her side but repressed from his end. When she cares for Toshiro is when her demeanor immediately and drastically softens. She gets easily carried away when it comes to him, rambling enthusiastically or smiling widely or tearing up. Her tendency to ramble or tell anecdotes about Toshiro is shown making Hien and Benichidori go "Here she goes again…" twice through canon.

With Izutsumi’s timeline we see Izutsumi was taken into the Nakamoto household at 10 yo, and since in the comic with Maizuru and the dad she’s shown as stinky and all I imagine she arrived there the same day, so Maizuru was in charge of her since she was first here. In fact if we assumed that it’s the same day as when he bought her at the circus show, then we could assume that buying her was a drunken whim like mentioned.

Since Izutsumi was taken in at 10 and she’s 17, this would mean that Maizuru is 34 years old here. She looks younger without makeup, but lower than that is mathematically impossible besides maybe 33 if Maizuru and Izutsumi’s birthdays line up just right.

Time for the second elephant in the room!!

Maizuru’s magic

Maizuru is the only person in the Nakamoto household, anyone from Wa really, who we see using magic, I doubt she’d be the only one who can use magic in the household but as the governess it wouldn’t be unplausible I suppose. From what we see, the magic is estimated by Marcille to be an "appropriation of gnomic magic" with an eastern script. For my analysis of written magic (though with only a brief glance over Maizuru’s magic), see this post.

If you scroll up and read the little section on Maizuru’s profile, Ninja art: babysitter: "One of the curses put on Izutsumi is Ninja Art: Babysitter, which manifests as a terrifying hag shikigami. Unless Maizuru touches the victim within a set time frame, this terrible curse makes a hag appear and chase them around with a carving knife. Maizuru originally created it in an attempt to keep Shuro from getting lost, but it ended up traumatizing him…"

From Izutsumi’s profile: "Maizuru, who was Shuro’s governess, is the one thing Izutsumi fears. […] Since Izutsumi refused to listen to her, Maizuru set a curse on her that would activate if Maizuru didn’t touch her within a set time frame: "Ninja Art: Babysitter." It was put on her when she was 12. Since Toshiro had it as a kid, presumably the curse can be lifted off rather easily, Marcille was confident on reverse engineering it as well. It’s unsaid what the time frame is, it’s kept vague everywhere and Izutsumi herself says "who knows" how long it is. Izutsumi ran away despite the very real risk of it killing her. Essentially, Maizuru can put people in a timebomb collar

… MAIZURU WHAT THE HELL

As we might have expected, Maizuru being given the task of rasing a child at 15 did not go perfectly. This, a babysitting technique??! This comic happens when Toshiro was 6 and so Maizuru was 21. Interesting to note that Toshiro didn’t even know it was Maizuru’s doing before this conversation during canon, and he doesn’t know how to bring it up or deal with it how it affected him. Maizuru seems surprisingly uncaring of Toshiro’s feelings on the matter here, oblivious to his conflict her and fondly recalling it all.

This curse is a shikigami. From her profile: "A shikigami user, Maizuru has a variety of shikigami that have been sealed in paper as her servants. Her favorite seems to be Gyuki, a bull ogre." Now don’t ask me when Gyuki appears, I do not remember it. But before we go into the cultural/historical basis for this practice, let’s take a second to recognize the parallel that Maizuru has servants she keeps sealed unless useful in the moment, even despite having enough "attachment" to have a favorite. She’s the governess in charge of the other servants, and she has shikigamis, which she has used on the heir and the runt at the bottom of the hierarchy alike.

Shikigami, in traditional japanese folklore, are conjured to exercise risky orders for their masters, such as spying, stealing and enemy tracking. Shikigami are said to be invisible most of the time, but they can be made visible by binding them into small, folded and artfully cut paper manikins.

Shikigamis are from onmyodo, onmyoji is a profession-legal title historically but it’s what you call a practitioner of onmyodo, and so I feel content in saying that Maizuru is an onmyoji, or based on it. Her outfit reminds me of a shinto priest. It’s interestingly closer to a shinto priest outfit than a miko/shrine maiden’s (in picture below, 2 instead of 5), and I feel like red being chosen for the inner sleeve is a very charged decision since the white & red color combo is the shinto clothes color combo. Especially white clothes with red inner sleeve. Shinto priests can be women nowadays but they’re rare, and onmyojis can be considered shinto priests though it’s a more complex than that. Image below as example, source. Now I don’t think Maizuru has the role or prestige of a priest at all- But the association with onmyodo and spirituality is definitely meant to be made I think. Onmyojis are usually clothed similarly to this.

The babysitter ninja art seems to be based off of the hannya yokai. "They were once human women who were consumed by jealousy and transformed into demonesses", twisted by anger and resentment. Interesting considering her being a mistress to a man whose wife hates her. Hannyas are associated with wisdom because of its name, but there is nothing positive about them. At its highest level of "demonic corruption" if I can call it that, their body tend to become serpentine, fun link to make with her name being from the snakeberry plant.

Other cultural ties or symbolism on Maizuru’s character could be found in the motif of cranes due to her sleeves, in the tales of the crane wife, origami cranes (called orizuru, from deformation of 鶴 "tsuru" aka "crane". All names are written in katakanas in Dungeon Meshi, but thus if we had had the kanjis it’s possible her name would have been written with the kanji for crane), tennyos, and japanese crane symbolism in general. I thought cranes might have been associated with motherhood, but seemingly not in japanese culture at least, I was thinking of storks haha.

Ok speaking of her name. Maizuru is the name of an existing japanese city (舞鶴), meaning "dancing crane". From @room-surprise’s work in progress research paper on Dungeon Meshi characters’ names: "Maizuru is her ninja code name, and comes from “maizurusou”, which is maianthemum dilatatum, the snakeberry plant/two-leaved Solomon's seal/false lily of the valley. Lily of the Valley is a plant associated with motherhood and virtue… So Maizuru being a false Lily of the Valley implies that she is a false, replacement mother, and also hints at the way that Toshiro became cold towards her when he realized she was his father’s mistress, and not a pure, virtuous mother-like figure that he thought she was. Also, lilies are toxic to cats, which makes sense since Maizuru and Izutsumi have an extremely bad relationship." For more details I’ll leave it up to Room when the paper is ready to be released. Edit: It’s out!! Click here! Incredible meta that goes into a ton of details not only about Maizuru.

So some big themes of her character are: (false) motherhood, spirituality/magic, control, cranes, woman’s jealousy.

The siblings

Alriight so besides Toshiro the eldest at 26 years old, there is Toshiyuki (Toshitsuge in one fantranslation) the middle son and Toshizane the youngest (Toshikage in one fantranslation). They were all said to be raised by Maizuru. "A strange level of distance" is interesting. Why strange? I feel like this implies they do interact regularly, and that they’re all rather civil wirh each other, but they still have little bond to speak of. That wouldn’t surprise me, especially since even inside the family etiquette and propriety and rules are enforced, the summoning by his father feels very formal and they all listen to him standing in silence despite having snappy inner thoughts. It’s unsure if they were largely raised together or apart, but since Maizuru was their (at least main) caretaker/governess it implies that they were imo. They were put in competition with each other for the title of heir to the house, though it’s unsure to what degree. It’s examplified by their family all having names that start with "Toshi" that the legacy is very important and thrust upon them, cogs in a machine almost. They all think the same thing when their father summons them and has a spiel, so they’re used to the same sort of treatment and they are indeed brothers for being on similar wavelengths haha.

Toshiyuki, as seen in the comic about his retainers, the poor soul sent into Darkest Dungeon, is brattish. Rude, selfish and rather lecherous, does not hesitate to be mean to his retainers and complain he wasn’t given women retainers. Visually he looks what, 14 years old top. I wonder if Maizuru stopped using her babysitter ninja art on the heirs after it traumatized Toshiro, and if so maybe that explains why Toshiyuki Knows No Fear In His Heart™️ and that’s why he can spout off stuff like that.

The retainers for the youngest brother, Toshizane, don’t seem to be as clad in ninja gear as the other two, seems like the priority is to take care of the very young young master there? Rather than truly go adventuring and dungeoneering, perhaps. Not that it’s ever said by anyone that their quest is to go into dungeons specifically, only to find something "interesting" to bring back, but both Toshiro and Toshiyuki are shown to have ended up drifting into dungeons. Toshizane looks young, I’d clock him 8 years old personally. He’s drawn looking rather innocent, especially the headshot doodle above and in the Toshitsuge complaining about his retainers comic. ALTHOUGH on the latter, interestingly as we see with Toshiro having a smug smirk in that same panel (or alternatively a smug indifferent/uncomfortable "i don’t care about this, even though you want it so much" look which at the very least is very exaggerated from how he emotes in reality), it’s Toshiyuki’s unreliable/exaggerated vision of his brothers and it doesn’t necessaeily reflect reality, though it’s still interesting to note that that’s the vision Toshiyuki has of his brothers/the impression Toshizane gives off. That can imply juicy dynamics for the brothers, for example if Toshiyuki feels as though he’s in competition with his brothers, feels superior to them, that instead of pushing the shitty family dynamic angst onto his father he puts the blame for it all onto Toshiro. Toshizane seems maybe too young to notice the tensions and seriousness around him, maybe more coddled… IS WHAT I WOULD SAY BUT in the comic where their father send them away he’s as well-behaved and serious as the others, so clearly he has a grasp on his role.

When talking about which retainers go with who, it’s said it was the father’s choice. I’d like to assume it wasn’t an airheaded/random choice. Maybe he knew that Toshiyuki would be weird about having women in his team of retainers? And wants to forge their character or protect them in the way they need. Though how Toshiro’s party only has women isn’t only pointed out and commented on by the comic with Toshitsuge but also in the main Dungeon Meshi story, both Marcille and Chilchuck going "his party is fully made up of women", one more loudly than the other haha. So it does feel like a somewhat pointed/purposeful decision, if not that the 4 girls were already a team like I mentioned.

The other retainers

Already made an analysis of Hien and Benichidori’s relationship (+ moment compilation) here. Honestly my juices are exhausted so quick rundown:

Hien’s parents both serve the Nakamotos, so she grew up with the family and was even a childhood friend of Toshiro. She assumed he and her might end up in a Maizuru-Toshitsugu situation ‘just because that’s how things are’/‘it’d be a natural development’ if we’re to believe Hien, ahh what growing up at the Nakamotos’ with those role models will make you believe is normal hah, and was surprised when it ended up not in that way at all. They grew more distant with time, in good part because of the professional nature of their roles in relation to each other (truly a reversal of the Maizuru-Toshitsugu situation). She’s the leader of their lil squad, under Maizuru, she’s very confident and she gets the perks, like getting the bedframe in the shared inn room. For all the details just read her page. She has two dots, showing her rank as a full fledged ninja. I made a more in depth more speculative reading of her in this post.

Benichidori was bought, by "the Nakamotos" so we don’t know who made the final decision. She’s perceptive and submissive, her specialty is implied to be disguise. She never had much contact with Toshiro before she became part of his party. She has facial dysmorphia where she fears the judgement of others if she doesn’t wear makeup and highly values beauty, in her extra her anxiety really shows and she ends up angrily snapping at Hien. Benichidori ends up taking a big liking to Hien and from there on they’re implied to be inseparable. She has two dots, showing her rank as a full fledged ninja.

Inutade is said to worship Toshitsugu because he "saved her" from her horrible life conditions, buying her personally from the sumo matches, she’s extremely grateful to the family and is happy to do any work they give her and is highly satisfied with her current living conditions. She seems to find Toshiro intimidating, though. She was separated from her parents from before she can remember and raised as a sumo wrestler in inhumane betting matches, where her front tooth broke. It seems she has very littke ambitions and dreams besides obeying orders day to day, but after Izutsumi fled away she was happy for her and mused that she’d love to go out and find her one day. They’re so besties Izutsumi gave her a dream of her own I’m sobbing… </3 She has one dot, showing she still has to be attributed her role and earn her stripes.

Their approval rating of their leader. The highest total score from all the parties.

Izutsumi

Sighh where to even begin. Her timeline was put in Maizuru’s section of this post but the rundown is "taken away from parents and turned into a beastkin" at 6 yo (the human half of her soul), "sent to a sideshow on the island of Wa" at 7 yo and bought by Toshitsugu at 10 yo when he took an interest in her when he visited the sideshow. Maizuru put the curse on Izutsumi at age 12, so from then on she always had to not stray much far from Maizuru or risk death, it’s unsure if Inutade’s extra is from before that time, before she was 12, so she could still attempt many many tries to run away. If that’s the case, then Maizuru’s curse was very much treated as a last resort, honestly beyond everything else I can see it being a pain that Maizuru would need to touch her every so often on Maizuru’s schedule as well. The alternative is that, not unlike Kabru who had no regrets dying in a dungeon rather than staying with Milsiril, she’d risk her life to get a taste of freedom. Besides, you know, being a slave and having a timebomb collar with Maizuru’s curse, her frustrations with her life with the Nakamotos is most concisely put in the comic just up above, Inutade’s extra.

She has no dot tattoo, meaning she’s at rock bottom of the hierarchy. It makes sense, since unlike Inutade she’s rebellious and needs threats to obey orders, and even then might try shifty business.

This last part where Izutsumi tries sleeping with Toshiro is most interesting to me. So she’s sought out contact with Toshiro before, she considers him "the stuck-up guy" but she doesn’t exactly hate him. I wonder if this comic is set in the inn on The Island or back at the Nakamoto household, because if that’s the latter it implies that she could get access to his room if she’s sneaky.

Oh oh also, this is fanon but since Toshiro’s weapon is one used usually on horseback, and with the steadfast and upright character of horses I associate Toshiro with horses a bit, though this is wild fanon. What’s interesting is that the plant Asebi was named after is a plant infamous for being toxic to horses. Hehe hehehe he wears a ponytail… Hm now that I think of it hairdos have importance for samurais, should look into that.

Toshiro

God. Ok. Everything was leading up to this guy. Need to split open his head like a geode and vibecheck his brain crystals. Let’s get some interesting details out of the way first.

His weapon is a tachi, not a katana. The wikipedia on tachis is more in depth if you want, but I consider the article I linked to be in deoth and digestible. Tachis are heavier and longer blades than katanas, and make for better horseback weapons than close combat. The way Toshiro uses one instead of a katakana shows that he’s extra strong… And does make sense, since most monsters won’t fight in as close quarters as human fighters. If katanas aren’t a thing in the world yet could make a difference, since tachis were invented first, and once the katana was invented and spread tachis became something more common in higher-ranking samurais. In the monster tidbit of the Hag, it’s shown that even at 6 years old Toshiro was training and learning ninja skills, his first instinct to the shikigami besides running being to fight.

Toshiro knew that Izutsumi wanted to leave, for sure. He may have been sympathetic, if his cryptic look back at her in the ‘Toshiro interacting with his party members’ page means anything. As seen below though, him being sympathetic doesn’t necessarily mean that much. Also, Toshiro had to have known about the curse on Izutsumi, where if Maizuru doesn’t touch her once in a while she’d die. "Asebi must have ran away, leave her" can be seen as subtle support for her to gain her freedom, but it could just as easily be seen as him leaving her behind to die. Because the outcome options are 1) she gets killed by Maizuru's curse, 2) she finds a way to break the spell, 3) she finds a way back to them.

He’s very conflict averse. Wether it be in relationships like with Laios or the status quo. Will not stand up for 99% things including himself. He obeys his father quietly despite his anger and dislike. This is the same guy who can't even get himself to speak up to correct the butchering of his name, the slippery slope that got him tangled in the Laios party seemingly without resistance. It’s very japanese etiquette from even nowadays, never saying a direct no to not be rude. ALSO THAT PANEL, has Toshiro beaten an ogre before?? Is that a brother of his?? Does seem in character for Toshiyuki the most, unless Toshiro was desperate to earn his father’s attention with feats. On the right I’d say the ones in the foreground are two of the brothers, maybe the third being the one to gesture to the ogre. It’s worth noting that inheritance laws during the Edo period often made the heir the son with "the most merit".

When with a goal that’s important to him he’s fine with even starving for it. Although what we see him be like that about in canon is Falin, aka self-admittedly in the post-canon proposal comic "the first person he has liked this much", which for him I feel is like admitting she’s one of the first things he has truly wanted for himself and fought for, soo… It’s more like an exceptional freaking out moment than something that would be recurring, most likely. How disheveled he got is a testament to how much he would forego propriety and rules for people of his status for the person he cares about most. Maizuru says the first personal request he’s (ever?) made was for them to help him rescue Falin.

Which ahh yes, his crush on Falin. I do think idealization plays into it, he doesn’t know Falin that well for sure, but it’s more complex than that too. Falin is pretty and can have an ethereal energy to her, she’s caring and gentle kinda motherly which Toshiro would find soothing I imagine, BUT MOST OF ALL. She’s weird!! She’s just weird enough to allow and be charmed by!! Shuro was fully shaped by his upbringing and environment of nobility, social etiquette and whatnot. Yeah she’s weird and quirky, but still quiet and sweet-mannered enough that he’s like "Yes, she wouldn’t bring shame on my family name". And why would he be charmed by her weirdness? Because all he’s ever known is rules!! Conformity, fitting in!! Unlike the others he knows, she is weird without being overbearing as well. "Woah she’s so different… She’s kind and soft and doesn’t care about fitting in… She is out of this world, she’s free, she shows me a world where tenderness and authenticity is possible…" She’s like his comfort character. MOREOVERRR I had totally forgotten about it, but Toshiro was shown watching a snail behind a bush and losing sight of everything else (like Maizuru calling him) as a kid in the Hag monster tidbit, the moment he fell in love with Falin it was when she looked enthralled at a caterpillar and he mentions how "most girls would have screamed or recoiled in disgust", and in the beach chibis page he’s crouching and collecting shells thinking about Falin… He likes bugs and crawly critters guys, he wishes he could be cottagecore too… It’s a genuine shared interest… . Someone pointed out that Toshiro & Falin’s relationship probaboy references this japanese folk tale, and I think that’s very interesting to note.

And Maizuru is like his mom but it’s a Thistle situation where they can’t just be a normal family and normal affectionate either- and when he learns about his father having a thing with her he feels weirded out. And like. Who knows how much he even got out of the mansion. He got homeschooled. He’s distant with his brothers. The family is in shambles

Shuro’s issue is that he was taught to be perfect and have the upmost respectable behavior, so if something annoys him he has to be righteous about it and that it’s the annoying thing’s fault or moral failing. Bro just let yourself be petty sometimes it’s healthier. With the feud with his father it’s explicitly stated that the pressure and expectations of the family name weigh on him a lot.

But then, that makes his beef with Laios so understandable doesn’t it. Not justified, but explained certainly.

Laios & Shuro and the whole mess coming to a head

I’ve made an analysis of the Laios-Shuro fight from Laios’ pov before, here. This is the Shuro pov analysis. Yes yes in The Fight, Shuro is dehydrated sleep-deprived and underate, he’s majorly off his rocker, BUT his frustration and the underlying issues are still things he felt on any day and it’s interesting to note.

Toshiro has been raised from his birth with the priority of propriety, nobility, etiquette, rules, conforming elegantly, appareances and reputation are everything. He’s modest, humble, quiet, stays in his lane and bottles all his feelings up. Wait who is this loud guy coming up to me being inconsiderate and loud af?? Does he not see me blinking in morse code that I’m not enjoying this and want him to leave?? Was he raised in a barn?? He’s overbearing and rude and way too friendly- He’s weird wtf! Not conforming to basic etiquette is illegal??! And people just… Let him do whateve he wants?? He lives well, no one stops him or kills him?? What the fuck, I’ve followed rules and etiquette thoroughly all my life, and it’s thankless work I get no recognition for, meanwhile he gets to be oblivious af and do whatever he wants without getting clapped?? Resentment, frustration, dislike, anger anger anger, jealousy.

Laios might even remind Toshuro of his dad in a way, because he SEEMS impulsive and like he does whatever he wants without a care to people around him, without thinking of how it might affect them. Doing things without thinking through the Implications. And interestingly this is a bit paralleled to to how Shuro is serious, strict, and big on the duties that come with having a leader role and the family dynamic it brings, like Laios’ own father, who Laios also dislikes… Dealing with his anger towards Laios, especially knowing that Laios doesn’t mean anything bad by it like Toshiro admits, is probably very healing to him. He stops repressing and thinks through his issues a bit, realizes what parts of his life he’s unhappy with and where all the negative feelings come from. I do think he bottles up his dislike for his father a bit, he has to at least for appearances. His beef with Laios is repackaged internalized anger for his father, but it’s ALSO repackaged frustration from his etiquette-bound lifestyle. He says it himself, when Laios is like "You never told Falin how you feel…? Alright, when I can I’ll tell her for you buddy!!", "that’s the part of you that I envy". Laios’ ability to just come out and say what he wants to, what he means. He wishes he could be free of all the rules more, that he had te courage to speak out, like with Inutade, or talking things out with Maizuru, or nit having to act like he’s not angry with his father. This narrative point of Toshiro envying Laios’ ability to say things freely and being frustrated by not being able to himself is ESPECIALLY examplified by their first interactions, the basis of their relationship: Laios enthusiastically befriending him, giving him a bad nickname and roping him into joining his party, with Toshiro never turning it all down despite wanting to, too hesitant to act possibly rude.

And now is time for the laishuro addendum… Because of personal experiences it’s a bit of a sensitive spot to me so while I see timelines in which I enjoy it I’m very picky… This is all further theorizing from me btw I’m not pushing my view here onto ppl as facts, but I think there’s more interesting bits and scenarios to bite into here. Laishuro has very cute and sweet potential. I personally don’t see the "Oh wait Laios is just girl Falin… 😳" angle because to me if anything that’d just make Shuro disillusioned with Falin lol, but like yes make Shuro learn that it’s ok to be weird with Laios 🥺 They DO have differences first of all, important ones, especially from Toshiro’s perspective. Laios is overwhelming, whereas Falin is soothing. Laios is loud and asks things of him where Falin is a calm, quiet presence. Laios pushes himself onto Toshiro, whereas Falin is content on just doing her own thing in her corner alone.

Hot take but the ultimate laishuro timeline is the one where he DOESN’T bring Laios back home, because he knows he’ll be seen as an oddity and clown by his father, and he doesn’t want Laios to be treated like the tapdancing monkey there to please and entertain his father the way he himself has always kind of been. Wouldn’t inflict that onto someone he loves. He can recognize when people are taken advantage of (mostly) like Inutade, and it doesn’t settle right with him. He might be especially sensitive to it in Inutade’s case because it’s about seeing his dad in a better light than he deserves, though. His father is his weak spot, THE weak spot.

It gets me so emotional thinking about it actually because seeing Laios played like a fiddle by his father, Laios so happy to find someone who’s enthusiastically listening to him ramble and engaging, would destroy Shuro emotionally I think. Like. On one hand being like "Oh of course my dad would find Laios fun, unlike me his boring son", super angry as coping mechanism for his intense sadness of not having positive parental attention, and then on the other he’d see Laios being treated as a clown and identify with it and that would remind him of how he gets treated similarly which he’s in denial about (more or less, but since he puts up with the family rules and follows along he hasn’t given up on getting recognition. He wants his father’s approval, and he couldn’t blame Laios for being happy with it despite how hurtful that attention truly is without Laios’ knowledge), which would be such an overwhelming conflicted mess of emotions and his worldview would shatter a bit because he has to repress it all even now, and he’d have a breakdown.

And similar deal but if he brought Falin home… Bc ok yes he idealizes her and doesn’t even know her all that well, but like I said imo what he sees in her is that "Woah she’s so different… She’s kind and soft and doesn’t care about fitting in… She is out of this world, she’s free, she shows me a world where tenderness and authenticity is possible…" So meanwhile with Laios he’d have mixed feelings on him getting treated like a clown and identify with it, bringing Falin home and having her be demeaned would be like having his perfect comfort character dunked on and he gets reminded that the world can’t have anything good actually. With both Toudens it’d make his resentment towards his father even worse, he might snap. I’m not the biggest on gendered analysis tbh but Kui evidently does like to do it to some degree, with the genderbending changing their life considerably and different fantasy cultures having different gender roles and all, but Shuro idealizing the Touden sister as something perfect he cannot attain while being jealous and frustrated at Laios for being something he cannot attain is like. So compelling actually. With Maizuru’s hannya of female rage weaponized there could be a theme of pushing the blame and responsibilities of things onto women too, the responsibility to raise and to manage and to dish out the work and to clean after mens’ reckless decisions. Anyways just a tangent.

Shuro on a bad family angst day is everything I love in a blorbo… He can be a lil shitty as a treat to make his healing arc more fulfilling. Toshiro snapping after he sees how they treat Laios/Falin and he gives up the family headship to LEAVE. Maizuru arc where she has to choose between loyalty to the clan and loyalty to Toshiro, will she stay with the boy she raised or go home… To me Maizuru is much less sympathetic than Shuro, but she is pretty tragic and her selfless love for Shuro is her one redeeming quality. Babygirl take no shit no more, but also better yourself and turn your life around please and thank you… She is so evidently taken advantage of but like. What else does she have? So she just takes care of and loves the boy she raised like her own kid and goes about her daily life in servitude and doesn’t think too much about it all.

Shuro is awful a nickname but also, I think Shiro would be a good nickname for Toshiro, because it gets rid of that ‘Toshi’ first part of his name that all the male members of his family share. It severes the link to his father and the tied pressure from his family.

Laishuro brotp turning slow burn romance would be so lovely. I think college au for laishuro would be peak actually… Shuro so is the repressed "I am so normal" guy who has a furry liberation identity crisis arc… I also quite like the potential he’d have with Namari, as both work-oriented misfit foreigners cast out of their homes, and she’s also bolder so it’d be good for him, and he could bring her stability… That’s a topic for another day tho. Even he and falin are sweet tbh, they could have traveled around together even if just as friends… Bc yeah she does value him as a friend at least somewhat, she says she’ll visit him~! Mostly I want Izutsumi-Toshiro brotp fancontent.

Conclusion

The household is very hierarchy oriented, and honestly the system doesn’t seem to make anyone happy, or at least not healthily so. Sighh feudalism.

Obviously their situation are very different, but still Toshiro and Izutsumi react to the same conflict in opposite ways: when a hierarchy and lifestyle of rules and duty is thrust upon them, Toshiro obeys and believes that it’s how things simply are, always having it been drilled into him since being a baby and being privileged enough to live ok with things as they are, meanwhile Izutsumi rages and eventually breaks free and never wants to submit herself to rules or hierarchy ever again, even if that perceived hierarchy is a mutually beneficial professional party dynamic or having a role inside a well-meaning team, like Laios’ party. WHICH IS WHY THEY SHOULD HANG OUT AND HAVE AN ARC TOGETHER. LET HER INFLUENCE HIM TO GET WILDER AND THINK OF HIMSELF MORE. FUCK INHERITING THE HEADSHIP. THE SIBLINGS NARRATIVE.

As always if I find more stuff to add i’ll edit it in. Rn I’m thinking that I’ll look into ninja & samurai feudal history and try to find specific terms that might fit their roles and situations more. I should reread try to cover Izutsumi’s end of the Toshiro-Izu dynamic as well.

I greatly recommend this paper for more excellent meta on all named Dunmeshi characters and their culture!

Ah yes yes, I forgot to talk about it but we don’t know what Toshiro’s retainers have been doing with their time on The Island, especially while he was dungeon diving with Laios and co. Although in the anime’s ed in this shot we see them "stealthily" follow him around, so presumably when he’s not in dungeons they’re tailing his moves.

Afterword here, it has summary charts about the power structure & relationships and complementary pages and artworks, couldn’t put them in here because SIGH 30 pictures per post limit.

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

[burst-of-iridescent]

yall need to stop this “but katara choose aang!” nonsense because a) idk how she personally told you that when she doesn’t exist and b) even if katara were a real woman, this is some choice feminism bs that willfully ignores a lot of the social pressures and dynamics within heterosexual relationships that kat.aang as a relationship taps into both within the world of atla & as a narrative.

the creators themselves have alluded to the fact that katara & aang’s relationship draws from the trope of a younger boy pining after an older, more mature woman who doesn’t give him the time of day at first but is eventually brought around with his persistence and determination to win her heart.

and this dynamic bleeds through into the show itself, especially when aang is talking to people about katara. he is told multiple times that she’ll come around because he’s the avatar and that all he needs to do is not give up. the social dynamics of the kat.aang relationship even within atla reflects the prevalent narrative around straight relationships in our world: if you keep trying, the girl you like will obviously give you a chance eventually, because how could she not?

that’s troubling enough but then comes the second half of book 3, and now this narrative isn’t reflected just in those around aang, but in aang himself. what began as a sweet, harmless adolescent crush warps into something more dangerous, more familiar: entitlement. the aang of ember island players is one who demands katara’s love, not one who wishes for it. just look at the language used here:

i thought we were going to be together, but we’re not.

why don’t you know?

when is the right time?

the line delivery here is frustrated, almost accusing — this is not the way you talk to a girl you claim to love. this is the irritation of a long-promised reward that continues to be denied, something you wanted but cannot yet possess. this is eerily, intensely reminiscent of real-world gender dynamics, and it continues to be reinforced when katara responds according to the same gendered script:

aang, i don’t know.

we’re in the middle of a war. this isn’t the right time.

i’m sorry but right now, i’m just a little confused.

katara gives neither a yes nor a no but a neutral, noncommittal in-between. her tone and body language are apologetic yet clearly tense, uncomfortable — dancing that fine line most women are familiar with, of having to let down a man yet protect his feelings at the same time.

it’s one thing for the narrative of kat.aang to be misogynistic from a doylist perspective, but when the same applies within a watsonian analysis as well, that’s a far bigger problem. when you set up this dynamic for kat.aang in the show and double down on it as their last romantic interaction, you cannot then remove the implications that follow when katara inexplicably, wordlessly, obediently kisses aang in the finale:

that she loved him because she felt she had to.

because that is the underlying societal expectation of this particular dynamic, the same expectation the show itself has set up within the advice aang receives: that a woman’s affections are owed to the man who fights for them, and if he fulfils his obligations in pursuing her, she will fulfill hers in turn by dutifully rewarding him.

as with women in the real world, no choice katara makes in her world is free of the delicate, insidious entanglement of social pressures and gendered expectations that underlie and drive those choices, even subconsciously.

so yes — katara chose aang. but as the show ends with no insight on her part as to the nature of this choice, the question still remains: did she choose him freely, joyfully, unfettered and unburdened by the weight of expectation? or did she choose him as the girl who always did what had to be done, who took on duties that she was too young to shoulder for the sake of the people she loved, who could never let down the child she fiercely, lovingly protected from the moment she met him?

[bleachification]

⸻ JEALOUS, JEALOUS BOY

pairing: sanji x reader

word count: 5.7k

synopsis: life as a pirate is never boring, especially when your best friend is sanji—a flirtatious chef who can’t seem to sort out his feelings, or yours, for that matter. that makes things all the more complicated when you’re forced to go undercover and sanji is dragged along with you as your very fake husband. the million-dollar question is: when lines start blurring, how do you differentiate between what’s fake and what’s real?

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

“We broke up.”

“How long? Two months?”

You shrug. “I stopped counting anniversaries after the first couple of failed ones.”

Sanji swings his knife a tad too forcefully. The loud THUD of it smashing into the cutting board causes you to jump. You peer over the counter and grimace at the sight.

“God, what did that poor tuna ever do to you?”

Sanji continues slicing into the red flesh, more aggressively than before, but still with the same care and precision that he affords every ingredient he touches.

“Why?”

“Why what?” You lift your gaze to his face, smiling softly at the concentration twisting his features. It’s one of the things you admire greatly about Sanji—the sheer dedication and love he has for his craft.

“Why did you break up with him?” Sanji repeats. He’s chopping up a variety of garnish now. Again, with more aggression than necessary.

You raise a brow, but decide not to comment on it.

“What makes you think I was the one who called it quits?”

He sets the knife down and turns to you, blonde bangs falling across his face. Sanji flashes you his signature flirtatious smile, but there’s a strange hint of tension attached to it.

“Who would ever think to break up with you?” He leans in, gaze darkening. “They would have to be crazy.”

You pull back, rolling your eyes. He’s always like this. Coy. Intimate. The ultimate womanizer. Sometimes… you wish it could be different.

“Well, he must have been crazy then.”

“What?” Sanji pauses, confusion etches his expression. “You… wait… he broke up with you?!”

“Don’t sound so surprised. He only beat me to it by a week. I had the decency to try and wait until after Valentines,” you note. You aren’t particularly broken up about the whole thing. Your ex is barely an ex—a summer fling, if anything. But Sanji, on the other hand, is acting as if some horrible crime has been committed.

“I’ll kill him.”

You blink. “Okay. A bit of an overreaction.”

“How dare he…” Sanji mumbles, not hearing you. His hand tightly grips the knife handle, and you swear the temperature just dropped even in the presence of boiling pots and simmering roux.

“Alright, enough. Don’t be so dramatic,” you laugh, moving to gently pry his fingers from their iron grip on the handle. He lets you—watching as you take the blade from him, and relishing in the soft feel of your skin against his. He itches to grab your hand and pull you closer. But he doesn’t. He won’t.

He can’t.

Sanji learned very quickly that his charms and gimmicks weren’t going to work on you. In all fairness, they rarely do, but for some unfathomable reason, he can’t seem to let that particular rejection go. He will always resent that part of him for pushing you away and drawing that boundary—a line you both delicately toe, never to cross over to each other’s side.

Your first meeting was… disastrous, to say the least. Sanji had just met the crew, and was tripping over himself to impress Nami, when you had made your way back to the others after a quick break in the powder room.

You had witnessed all of his shameless flirting and blatant promiscuity on your way back. You immediately took a strong dislike to the blonde chef, his behaviour reminiscent of exes that were none too pleasant.

“I’m back.”

At the sound of your voice, Sanji beamed, turning to strike up another flowery bombardment of compliments and flattery… only to freeze in place when he saw you.

For once, his silver tongue lacked its luster, fumbling before the sight of you.

For once, he knew not what to say or do. He could only stare. Only admire and behold.

“Good job. You broke the chef,” Zoro deadpanned.

You pulled an expression of slight concern and mild annoyance.

“Um… are you alright?” You waved a hand across Sanji’s face. No reaction. The rest of the crew barely paid him any mind, too busy either eating, drinking… or arguing, in Nami and Zoro’s case.

You slipped into the booth next to Zoro, choosing to ignore the bizarre situation, when a deep, rumbling voice belonging to a peg-legged old man boomed from across Baratie.

“SANJI!”

It snapped Sanji out of his stupor, grounding him back into reality.

“Marry me.”

But perhaps not logic.

“What?”

Zoro pulled a face of disgust eerily similar to your own. Somewhere in the background, you vaguely heard Ussop choking on his drink. Nami clapped thunderously on his back. Is she trying to help him or kill him?

Luffy, through all of this, watched with bright, curious eyes.

“Yuuummphh fuu’yyy,” exclaimed Luffy, his mouth full of bread, gravy, and what you can only assume is a whole ribeye steak.

Zoro turned his disgust toward the captain. “Are you kidding?”

Luffy scarfed down another forkful of food, grinning wide as he swallowed the last of his meal. He patted his stomach, content, before turning his attention back to Sanji.

“You’re funny!” He laughed.

“That’s what you were trying to say?!”

Luffy ignored Zoro’s exasperation and just giggled in his usual carefree manner. Sanji ignored them all, choosing only you to spare his attention. You shifted uncomfortably, tension coursing through your veins at the way he watched you. As if you were the greatest treasure in all of the Four Seas and he was the king of the pirates—a man would do anything to covet it. Covet you.

Zoro and Luffy didn’t seem to grasp the situation as they continued to bicker in the background.

“Boys. Stop… FIGHTING!” Nami barked out. A swift smack from the ginger settled them both down, each sulking in a corner as she berated them for their behaviour.

You took a deep breath, willing your nerves to calm. You met Sanji’s eyes and they shone with hope.

“You want me to marry you?”

“Yes. Desperately,” he breathed out.

If heart eyes were real, they would beat within the passion of his gaze. Strong. Intense. Unabashed. You despised it. How could he look at you in that way after mere moments of greetings? It was lust. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“SANJI, GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!”

Sanji clenched his jaw at the voice, frustration and irritation barely contained. His expression smoothed over as he spoke to you.

“Think it over?”

You raise a brow. “What? The proposal?”

“Precisely that,” he smiled. Gorgeous asshole.

“Over my dead body,” you scoffed. Your rejection didn’t seem to deter him though, the grin on his face still present even as he left for the kitchen.

So many sleepless nights later and Sanji still can’t help but sigh whenever he remembers that day. He wishes he could take back his words, his actions… his everything. Maybe you would love him back if he did. Maybe you wouldn’t be dating morons who don’t even come close to deserving you—not that he does, but he would try.

For you, he would try it all.

Your soft voice breaks him out of his trip down memory lane.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” you reassure.

Sanji wants to shout, But it is! Don’t you get that? How could losing you not be a big deal?

Instead, he shakes his head and takes a long draw from his cigarette. He watches the clouds waft up in lazy rings, circle around your head, and disintegrate into the kitchen heat. Sanji finds it increasingly difficult to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

His genuine concern for you makes you smile. “I’m alright, Sanji. I wasn’t that attached, anyway.”

That twinkle in his eyes. It's back again.

“Really? Then what about my initial offer?” he jokes. Though it doesn’t sound like a joke to him. Doesn’t feel like one either.

“What are you talking about?” You ask. You take a spoonful of the broth and bring it to your lips, ignorant of the tense atmosphere. At least until the magnitude of Sanji’s next words drops.

“You know… marrying me.” Sanji holds his breath.

Shit. Why did I say that? He thinks, regretfully.

You falter, the spoon quickly forgotten in the pot. Your appetite disappears just as swiftly.

“Everytime I think we’re having a nice, serious conversation, you just have to go and… say something like that. Aren’t you bored of it? Tired of all the false promises and sweet talk?” You shake your head and stand up to leave.

“[Name], I–”

You cut him off. “I’m disappointed, Sanji.”

“Please, just hear–”

The kitchen door bursts open to show Usopp, who hurriedly beckons you both outside.

“Crew meeting, come on!”

Sanji turns to you, about to say something else, but you ignore him and follow Usopp out into the hallway and up to the deck. Sanji has no choice but to do the same.

Winter has arrived in the form of early nights and fresh snowfall—as if the chilling temperature itself isn’t enough of an indicator. Your breath crystallizes in the air as the three of you venture outside to where you meet the rest of the crew.

Nami has a large sheet of parchment spread flat across the floor with each member of the crew positioned around it in a wide circle. Upon closer inspection, you realize it isn’t one of her usual cartographic maps. It’s a blueprint. And the subject of it… is a castle?

“Nami, what is this?” You ask as you take a seat next to her.

With a pen, she circles a small room located in the eastern wing of the building’s upper level. It sits above a sprawling space. A ballroom, you wager. The schematics look complicated enough.

Nami begins to explain. “This is a blueprint of Ceres Palace, a high-security manor sitting atop the nearest port city. It is home to a powerful noble family…”

She flips the paper over. “…and this.”

A mass of glimmering golden ink shines under the moonlight, every meticulously painted stroke deliberate and delicate. The image is clear.

“Is that a devil fruit?” Robin inquires, eyes narrowing.

“One crafted from solid gold and pure diamond dust, gilded with sea jadeite. It is the most monetarily valuable ‘devil fruit’ in the world, depending on who you ask,” Nami answers. She flips the parchment again. “And we are going to steal it.”

“Wait a damn minu-“

“Hold on-“

“Are we sure that’s-“

A chorus of protests and concerns rise from the rest of the crew, and for good reason. From just a first glance of the palace grounds, you can tell this will be a risky heist, and something in your gut tells you that there’s more to it.

Nami shuts them all up with a pointed glare.

“Do you realize how long I spent drawing up this stupid thing?! One more word from any of you and I will shove it down your throat. Whole,” she threatens.

No one speaks.

“Good. Now, as I was saying, this heist will consist of two parts. The actual theft and the distraction.”

Sanji raises his hand. Nami points at him and nods.

“Why, exactly, are we stealing someone’s gold…er…artifact? I get that we’re pirates but… a bit out of the way, isn’t it?”

Nami, Ussop, and Chopper sigh in unison. The latter ambles your way and climbs into your lap, snuggling for warmth.

“Hello baby,” you murmur. You smile softly as the little reindeer tucks himself into your welcome embrace. You give Chopper a scratch under the chin before turning your attention back to the conversation at hand.

Zoro barely pays any attention, head bobbing a bit. He’s already falling asleep. Typical. Robin, on the other hand, seems to recognize the object.

“I’ve heard of this. Its original name was The Monarch’s Heart. It belonged to the royal family of that island. Twenty years ago, the king’s most trusted advisor spearheaded a coup d’état and a violent rebellion broke out, ending with the execution of the royal family, as well as the usurpation of the former, now exiled, king.” Robin crouches and lightly brushes the blueprint, tracing along its curves. “All this time, the Heart was believed to have been lost amidst war. You’re saying one of the nobles stole it?”

Nami scratches her head and grimaces. “Well, yeah, kinda.”

“What do you mean, ‘kinda’”? You ask.

“We don’t have any proof. Not really,” she shrugs.

“So, again, why are we doing this?” Sanji reiterates.

“We have proof!” Luffy grins. Your captain finally speaks up, too preoccupied with messing with a sleeping Zoro moments ago.

“Luffy—” Nami starts.

“What? I believe the old man. He’s a good guy.” Luffy pats his stomach. “He fed me.”

“What old man?” You’re getting more and more confused as the meeting drags on.

“Luffy. You met the exiled king, didn’t you?” Robin’s eyes twinkle with curiosity.

“Um… I don’t know? I forgot his name but he was nice. Told me about how his stuff got stolen unfairly so I promised to get it back for him.”

“So you don’t even know if he’s telling the truth? What if he was the bad guy, and the nobles who took over overthrew a tyrant?” Sanji blows smoke from his cigarette as he prods.

“He was not,” Robin states factually. “The king was known to be kind and benevolent, catering only to the needs of his people. Since that nation's birth, the royal faction was always at odds with the avaricious nobility. That tension came to a head in the form of a brutal uprising. Though massacre is much more fitting of a description for what occurred.”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm.” Luffy nods vigorously at her words. “So we’re gonna get his gold back for him.”

“Liberating another nation, are we?” Zoro yawns, barely waking up.

“Seems like it,” Nami sighs.

“It’s what the captain wants,” Robin smiles.

“And what Luffy wants…” you begin.

Everyone else groans.

“Luffy gets.”

“So…” Sanji shifts next to you. Closer. His warmth clouds your senses a little and you try to ignore the dizzying effect it has on you. “How do we do this, exactly?”

“I bust down the door and slice ‘em up,” Zoro offers.

“In your dreams, Mosshead. I could take down—”

You pinch his side. Sanji jumps and turns to you, a slight pout on his face. Despite what happened earlier, you find yourself trying not to laugh.

“You’re not doing that, Zoro,” Chopper scolds.

The swordsman tsks. “Fine. Then how the hell are we actually pulling this off?”

Nami explains the plan.

Sanji turns white.

Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?!”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

“Oh god, I’m going to throw up.”

Robin chuckles as she hands you silken gloves. “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine. Remember, get in, pull the alarm, get out.”

“Easier said than done,” you grumble.

The plan is actually much more complex than what Robin makes it out to be.

The palace itself has two separate alarm systems—one for the vault, and another in case of fire. If both are activated at the same exact moment, they cause a complete system break, and the fire alarm overrides the theft security, forcing an evacuation with everyone none the wiser.

The plan is for you and Sanji to infiltrate the party under the pretense of a foreign dignitary and his spouse, survey and locate the alarm, cause a distraction, and pull the alarm the precise moment Nami unlocks the vault. All communicated via Den Den Mushi earpieces.

Easy peasy.

Your clothing sticks to you uncomfortably—tight in areas you don’t normally expose to the world. The scented oil in your hair makes you smell like you had just popped fresh out of the oven. A layered film of glittering makeup rests on your features, rendering the person in the mirror a complete, hapless stranger.

“Why did it have to be me?”

And Sanji?

You don’t voice that last bit.

“Nami’s the thief, the other boys would blow their covers immediately, I have other matters to attend to, and Chopper… Well, Chopper’s a reindeer.”

You run a hand through your hair. Anxiety claws at your skin. You feel a sudden urge to feign illness and rid yourself of this ridiculous plan.

“Must we pose as a couple? Surely there are other ways,” you implore.

“The invites we swiped were from married nobles,” Robin reminds.

You groan. Robin pats your shoulder supportively.

“There there. Don’t fret, you’ll do fine. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Robin gives you another encouraging pat before she ushers you out of the dressing room.

You make your way outside, shivering slightly as the winter winds bite into your skin. The thin fabric of your garments do nothing to shield the cold.

Someone lets out a sharp inhale. You turn towards the noise. Sanji stands to your left, clutching an envelope in hand. His usual suave demeanour is displaced by an air of buzzing anxiety and a starstruck expression.

He’s dressed in a sleek three-piece black suit. It pains you how devastatingly handsome he looks.

“You clean up nice,” you note.

“I…uh. You—Sorry, yeah, what?” Sanji replies, all smooth and intelligent.

“…Pardon?”

Robin watches the entire interaction with a pained grimace. Having enough, she steps up and gently steers you towards Sanji.

“Hurry up, now. They’re expecting you both soon. Don’t forget to stay in character, lest you end up blowing your covers.” She winks at you both, but you can’t help but think it was directed more towards Sanji.

“Shall we?”

Seemingly recovered from whatever alien had possessed him seconds ago, the chef offers you his arm with a small smile. You place your hand around his bicep and try to ignore his rippling muscles underneath your fingertips.

“Color me surprised. I really thought you’d have showered me with compliments by now,” you joke.

“I thought you didn’t like that part of me.”

Disappointment blooms in your chest.

“Right. I don’t. I just…” you trail off. You just thought you looked nice tonight. And maybe a small part of you was hoping he felt the same.

“Never mind.”

You slip your hand out of the crook of Sanji’s arm and start walking a little bit faster, hoping he doesn’t notice the conflicting emotions on your face.

When Sanji first joined the crew, you made yourself a promise: that you would never fall for his charms. But as time went on and he showed you a mountain of kindness, understanding, and empathy… that promise, steadily, became much harder to keep and much easier to forget. It wasn’t his flirting and charms that were dangerous—it was the man buried underneath all that playful pretense. A man who has stubbornly found his way into your guarded heart, despite your best efforts of keeping him out.

It was always easier that way. Easier to turn away, to shut him out. Easier to walk away when you catch him with others who drew his interest and to stop listening as he murmurs sweet nothings in their ears—the very ones he had whispered to you. It was easier to accept that you are not, and will not, be special to him.

You refuse to be just another mark in his book of conquests, and if all it takes is a silent heartbreak to avoid such a fate, so be it. You’ve survived much worse before.

The palace soon comes into view, a grand structure that stretches into the vertical horizon. The path towards the marbled entrance is busy with bustling guests and the glowing orbs of rainbow fireflies. You steadily, and as elegantly as possible, make your way towards the host out in front.

“Good evening, may I see your invitations for the night?” He asks, gloved hand outstretched in expectation.

Sanji flashes him a million-berry smile. “Of course, my good sir. I have them right here.”

He pulls out the envelope you had seen earlier from inside his black suit jacket. The greeter accepts the documents and diligently scans them. After a few seconds, he nods, satisfied by what he sees, and hands the papers back to Sanji.

“Enjoy your night.” He moves aside to let you pass and holds an arm out, guiding you both through the white stone doors.

As soon as you step through the entrance , you are greeted by a foyer fit for kings. A cascading staircase blanketed by red velvet leads to even larger double doors, both white like the walls, but trimmed with gold linings and spiral handles. A crystal chandelier, bigger than you ever thought possible, hangs from the ceiling. It casts shining diamonds in every reflection of the room.

Sanji holds out his arm for you again as you both prepare to execute the mission, but you don’t immediately go to take it. Sanji must sense your hesitation because he sighs and gives you a strained, yet still affectionate smile.

“[Name], please. If not for me, then for appearances. We’re married, remember?”

“Fake married,” you correct, although you relent and slip your hand in the crook of his elbow anyway.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

Arm in arm, Sanji leads you to the ballroom. The doors open to reveal hundreds of nobles draped in silk and pearls, dining on delicacies, and mingling with others of their same social echelon. You already want to go home.

You both find a small table tucked into a corner and stand around it.

“We have to wait until Nami gives us the signal. First, let’s blend in and make sure to look like we belong,” you whisper.

Sanji leans in to hear you better. “What do you suggest? We could hit the banquet table, the food doesn’t look half bad.”

You peer over his shoulder at the platters of hor d'oeuvres and fancy desserts. “They don’t look nearly as good as what you make.”

“Was that a compliment?” Sanji grins.

“Don’t get used to it. Your heads already far too big,” you smirk.

“I don’t have that much of an ego,” he grumbles, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Hey, don’t do that.” You gently swat at his hand, admonishing him for trying to pull the string out.

“Why? It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’ll ruin it even more if you just yank at it. Hold on.” You pluck a small oyster shucker from a passing waitress’s pocket, with her none the wiser. With the knife, you smoothly cut away the thread and flick it into a bin behind you.

Sanji stares at you in awe. “Did you just pickpocket the…”

“Not a word.”

“Got it.”

“Anyway, we don’t want to ruin these clothes. They’re borrowed. And so much nicer than what we’re used to.”

You pull at your collar to adjust it, only to realize Sanji is staring at you again, but with a different glint in his eyes. One with more… heat. It is only now that you realize how close you are to him—pressed up against his side, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, as you both converse away from the crowd. Sanji exudes warmth that, mixed with your own cluttered feelings, makes you a bit dizzy. You take a step back. Sanji’s gaze never leaves you.

“Did I tell you earlier how good you look?”

You swallow. “No.”

He steps closer, closing the gap again. “You look good. Really, really good.”

“Thanks. Formal clothing does wonders.” Your laugh comes out more nervous than you intended.

“Unbelievably good,” he murmurs, almost to himself—like he can’t believe what’s right in front of him.

“Sanji–”

A screeching violin note interrupts you and the strange moment you both got caught up in. Sanji snaps back to his usual self and quickly shakes his head, as if clearing away a fog.

“Food,” he coughs.

You blink. “Right. Food.”

“I’m gonna…” Sanji motions towards the buffet.

You’ve never seen him this… awkward. You’re not sure what to make of it.

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’m gonna scope out the place and figure out where the alarm is.”

He stiffly nods, then makes his way across the ballroom. You turn heel and begin walking along the corridors, scanning for anything that may resemble an alarm.

A static noise crackles in your right ear.

“Can…I—“

A sudden spike of sharp feedback makes you wince.

“Sorry! Can you hear me?” Nami’s voice pipes up.

“Yes. Comms are working. What am I looking for, Nami?”

“Something resembling a button, maybe? Look for a red button or something along those lines.”

“Understood..”

After about ten minutes of searching, you finally come upon it, a small red lever nestled in a corner behind the bar, protected by a square glass casing.

You spot Sanji across the room, mid-conversation with a beautiful, young noble. Your chest twinges, but you push the feeling away. His eyes flit to yours and you subtly wave him over, gesturing to the alarm handle.

Sanji excuses himself and briskly makes his way to you.

“You found it?”

“Of course. It’s the whole reason we’re here, remember?” You ignore the lump in your throat.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine, Sanji. You were having fun. You don’t have to apologize. Did you get her number at least?” You try and coolly play it off.

His eyebrows knit together. “No. No, I—”

“Anyway, we should figure out how to distract the bartender. He’s the only one who is in the way.”

If Sanji notices your blatant attempt at changing the subject, he doesn’t show it.

“Sure. Any ideas, beautiful?”

“One.”

“What’s the plan?”

You fidget with your sleeve. “He’s been eyeing me all night.”

Sanji makes a disapproving noise. “...I noticed.”

“I’ll distract him. You get the alarm,” you shrug.

Sanji’s eyes narrow. “How, exactly, are you going to do that?”

“C’mon, Sanji, you can’t be that dense. I’m going to seduce him.”

His reply is immediate and final. “No.”

You balk at his flat tone. “What do you mean: no?”

“No. As in opposite of yes. As in absolutely not,” he hisses.

“Sanji. I have t-”

“No as in not okay!”

You place a hand over his mouth in an effort to stop his outburst. “Shhh! Stop that. Are you trying to draw attention to us?!”

He pulls your arm away, undeterred by your growing panic of being found out. “If it’ll get you to reconsider, then yes!”

“Sanji, enough. What is wrong with you? Why are you so worked up?”

“Do you seriously have to ask that?” He cries out, exasperated.

You open your mouth to retort, but Nami’s voice interrupts you.

“Sorry to break up whatever dumb fight this is, but I need someone to pull the alarm in exactly 60 seconds.”

You give Sanji an expectant look. He firmly shakes his head.

“Not happening.”

Before you can stop him, the chef makes his way to the bar, stumbling as if drunk. Before you know what’s happening, Sanji pulls a whiskey bottle from behind the bar, much to the bartender's protests and dismay. He takes a large swig, and you blow out a breath of relief when he sets it down.

Then he picks it back up again. You watch in horror as he lifts the bottle up and… accidentally pours the entire thing onto the champagne tower beside him. The glasses overflow, and the weight of the extra liquid becomes too much. One by one, the glasses come tumbling down in a landslide of alcohol and crystal.

The bartender cries out in distress. Sanji is unapologetic.

You run to the alarm amidst the mess.

“Ready, [name]?”

“Whenever you are, Nami.”

She begins counting down and the moment you hear: Now!, you pull the handle.

All hell breaks loose.

Blaring alarms ring out, drowning out every other possible sound. Sprinklers sprout from the ceiling and rain down on the partygoers, soaking them and the luxury furniture. Hundreds of panicked patrons scramble to leave, directed by equally flustered staff.

You feel a tug on your sleeve. It’s Sanji.

He tries saying something but is drowned out by the chaos around you. Frustrated, he beckons you over and motions for you to follow him.

After a couple minutes of navigating through screaming nobility, you end up on a secluded balcony away from all the activity. The alarms are barely louder than bells on this end of the palace.

You take a second to catch your breath. Both of you are drenched to the bone, and the chilly winter air does nothing to help your chattering teeth.

Sanji notices your shivering form and immediately drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

You smile gratefully at him, but falter when you see the frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.”

You blink. “What?”

“The earpiece. Take it out,” he says, impatient.

“Why?”

Sanji runs a hand through his hair in both irritation and anxiousness. “Because I’m going to confess my love for you and I don’t want everyone to hear it. They’d never let me live it down, especially that green-haired freak.”

You freeze. Your thoughts freeze. Every fucking thing stops dead in it’s tracks, including your heart.

“Sanji, this isn’t funny.” Your voice trembles.

“Baby, take the earpiece out. Let me talk to you,” he asks softly.

You don’t say anything, you don’t trust yourself to. With shaking hands, you take the Den Den Mushi out and turn it off.

It is only you and Sanji now.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo.

“[Name].”

God, why does he have to say your name in that way? Like it means something more than friends—like it’s worth its weight in both diamonds and gold.

“This still isn’t funny.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking,” he says, tone as serious as you’ve ever heard it.

You sigh. “What are we doing, Sanji?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to confess my undying love to my favourite person in the world. It’s scary.”

“You say that—”

“I mean it,” he interjects.

“What makes me different? What makes me…”

Worthy of your love?

Sanji reaches for you, but stops himself at your expression. You continue questioning his words.

“How do I know this isn’t just some temporary thing? A fleeting crush?” You swallow hard. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his steady gaze. “How do I know this is real?”

He rubs the back of his neck, conflicting emotions flickering across his face. Sanji struggles to find the words needed to convince you. He tries his best, anyway.

“I know what my reputation is like. I know the personality I present to the world. But after I met you, none of it seemed worth it anymore. There was no appeal to living that type of life,” he pauses. Sanji lifts his head and stares straight at you, unwavering in his words. “The moment I saw you, I thought I’d die if I couldn’t be yours. I still think that now.”

Oh. Your chest is trying to kill you. That’s the only explanation for the ache you feel.

“I trust you with my life, Sanji. But not my heart.”

The alarms have stopped by now. Soon, people will come trickling back inside and the mission will be over. This moment in time will soon fade into the background of reality.

“I only ask that you give me a chance.”

“What makes you so sure that you’re the kind of guy I want to be with?”

“As opposed to your exes? Those guys—none of them deserved you,” he scoffs, annoyed at the mere mention of them.

You raise a brow. “Do you?”

“No. Of course not,” he answers. “But I want to try. Please, god, let me try.”

Your hands are still shaking, but not from the cold.

“We should get back to the ship,” you say, a strained smile on your face.

Sanji’s face falls at your deflection, but he accepts it and doesn’t push. He nods, and you both make your way back to the Merry, an uncomfortable silence hanging over you like a wet blanket.

You are only a couple hundred meters out from the ship when you stop abruptly. Sanji almost crashes into you, but steadies himself at the last second.

“Is something wrong?” He asks in concern.

Before you can lose your nerve, you whirl around and utter two words: “One date.”

It takes Sanji a few moments to understand what you just said, but when he does, he lights up like a kid on Christmas Eve. One who just met Santa. The sheer joy on his face makes it all worth it.

“You’re not messing with me, right? Please say no,” he shakily pleads.

You shake your head. “One. Make it count.”

Instead of answering, he throws his arms around you, wrapping you in his warm embrace.

You loop your arms around his neck and he melts into you, never wanting to let go.

“I’ll make you say yes to a second one. And then a third. And then a lifetime of dates after that. I swear it on my honour as a chef.”

“It’ll have to be a pretty damn good date then,” you laugh.

Sanji presses his forehead on yours.

“It’ll be the best date.”

“And how do you know that?” You tease.

“Because you will be there.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007