#Anyone have tips on how to write more words :(

[l-in-the-light]

This cultural mechanism of denying humanity of certain individuals (most often villains) has a name. Rene Girard wrote about it in his book called The Scapegoat. I tried finding ANY reblog of this post which actually mentions this, but despite scrolling through at least half of reblogs, I couldn't find it, which means even if someone did point it out then it still went pretty much unnoticed.

We all know who or what a scapegoat is. It's that thing or that person, the root of evil, the source of chaos, the troublemaker, the trickster disrupting the long established safety and order (which is, ofc, the ultimate good). If you only get rid of the problematic individual, everything will be okay again. That's how it works. But there's a problem with it. There's never one scapegoat. After one comes another, and another, and another, till you get hundreds and thousands of them and you can't fit them in one neat grave or prison anymore. They keep coming and there will be more and more of them, this will never stop, because it's a cycle. A cycle of violence. If you really want for "things to be okay", you need to break that cycle, instead of finding YET another scapegoat, yet another villain to bury for all of our sins. By sacrficing another villain, another victim, another scapegoat on the altar of society, you only support the cycle to keep on going.

Yes, you heard me right. Villains are scapegoats. But victims ARE scapegoats as well. Anyone we forcefully silence and refuse to give agency to is the scapegoat. The homeless, the LGBT, the mentally different, any disabled people etc. Anyone who fits into a very broad category of "otherness". But here's the catch. Because this category is so broad it's very easy to become that "other". That's why people are willing to go to extreme lengths just to make sure no one sees them as "other". They will deny their disabilities, they will deny they're not like those "others", they will even deny their own struggles, just to fit into the safe mold of "normal". And if you silence yourself just because you're afraid you might be the next one victimized or villainized, you're also a scapegoat, btw. Your inner life and self-consistency is the sacrifice on the altar of society that doesn't care if you actually have a heart. All it cares about is for you to make sure you're "normal", which has a very murky definition too. Who's normal? The one who acts like the majority of others? The one who has the applause? (applause can be shortlived and depends on trends, it's dangerous, you're dancing on the edge). Every time we see someone as the "other" we judge, we're scapegoating them. Yes, all of us, by succumbing to our fear of being judged, contribute to this mechanism. Otherwise the seams of the society might fall apart and we can all turn against each other, we can rip apart the system, they warn us of anarchy, you might get killed in the middle of the street, there will be no police to guard the order, no prisons to keep the bad eggs away from you. Stay quiet, endure, it's for the safety of all of us.

No one should have to carry that weight of the whole world on their own shoulders. Not like this. But we do, every single day.

We're all capable of being bad people and often are. But we also all want to believe we're good. People think if someone didn't get love there's a reason of why they didn't receive it. That belief didn't come out of nowhere. It's internalized violence and judgemental mentality. You prefer to doom someone else as long as it saves yourself from being doomed. You're not only hurting others with it, but YOURSELF as well in the process. You get rid of your true empathy for others, you decide whose pain or suffering is the one "worthy" of acceptance and which is not and needs to be condemned. You can't afford that empathy for anyone else than you after a while, after all you live in constant, silent fear of "being next" if you just stop for a moment and look too long at the scapegoats buried around you. And what you fail to see is that you're also a scapegoat. If we all accept each other and ourselves as "others", if we're all just different people and no one is normal anymore, will this finally break the cycle?

You want to feel like a good person? Of course, we all do. But you can't achieve that if you're too afraid to look into the abyss/mirror and realize you also do bad things. You also need to redeem yourself. You can do better, but it's not easy. You know what's easy instead? Finding a scapegoat and blaming them for their own misery. Literally requires no work, the world will applause you and all you need to do is repeat same words after others. The mechanism works like a perpetuum mobile at this point, it will mostly do this job for you. Just take a stand, deem the villains, blame the victims, ignore the struggles and pain of others.

But here's the catch. If you're too cold, you're also gonna be judged and called a psychopath. That's also a no-no, you're becoming the unacceptable "other" again. You have to show, in specific, allowed circumenstances, that you feel sorry for others. That you know how to choose the "right" side. That you understand "good" needs sacrfices and sometimes you're even expected to cry for them. And if you see those sacrfices as not-human "others", it's easier to accept it all.

Many people claim how scary it is to face certain truths, like "victims can turn into villains too", but the real truth no one wants to face is actually this: we allowed this to happen. We allowed the villains to be formed, all of us. Every time we engage in judgemental actions, every time we police someone dealing with their pain "in wrong way", every time we call someone "born evil". Every time we point a finger and call someone a villain, a victim, a barbarian, the other. By doing that we trap them in endless world of pain and suffering and abuse. They also want to be out of that cycle, but we keep trapping them, by silencing them and adding our own narrative on top. They suffer for our sins. Because they're our scapegoat, the sacrifice we made to keep on going, thinking how good this world is and how much worse it could have been, just look in the right places. Just don't look at the scapegoats too long. They corrupt. Maybe their otherness is even contagious, so stay as far away from them as possible.

You're allowed to be mad about this, btw. Anger is a neccessary emotion, it points at injustice done to you. But the society wants you to throw that emotion away and supress it, so you're tamed and silenced. It might even create a "safe space" to vent it out, by encouragig you into physical activities or taking part in some entertainment, so you can lose your steam in a way that doesn't challenge the system. It's a distraction. (the point here isn't to condemn sport or popculture btw, it just serves as an example, ok?)

All communities work like this. We're all trapped in endless cycle of violence. We bury endless scapegoats under our communities, they become our foundations. After all, nothing unites different people better than finding a common villain, it's us (the good) vs them (the evil). Wait, did I just say "different people"? But we're supposed to be all the same! No, that's a myth. We were all always different. We just have to choose who is "more different than others", so we can unite ourselves against them.

You know what that reminds me of? "We're all equal. But some are more equal than others". Animal farm was about power structures. By accepting easy scapegoats, by abiding to this mechanism, we support the power system that oppresses us. Think about it. Our civilisation is build on this and it would not thrive the way it did without the scapegoats.

And all of you blaming christianity for this instead, you need to understand one thing. What Jesus taught was actually the reverse of scapegoating. “Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her”. This is literally Jesus telling people "you all have sinned, so why are you judging them if you don't judge yourself?". What you all mean by christian/puritanist beliefs is how christianity got distorted and institutionalized into a power abusing system called religion. Swallowed up by what it tried to fight against. Always identify the actual source of abuse, instead of doing more scapegoating. I'm in no way inclined to defend christianity (not in the form it exists now), but also if we keep on muddling the truth we will always make the same mistake, so, always dig deeper to avoid it. Thank you.

not to post even more Villains Discourse on main but it really bugs me how people read giving villains tragic backstories as inherently excusing their actions and/or demonizing trauma survivors.

the actual message of Tragic Villains is (almost) always “people who are never taught or given any healthy, constructive outlets for their emotions will often find unhealthy, destructive outlets.” it’s that people who are traumatized and never learn how to cope with that trauma can become a danger to themselves and others. the message isn’t “trauma makes you evil!!!!” or “genocide is okay if you’ve been sad before!!!!” it’s “people need compassion and help to recover from trauma instead of becoming increasingly angry and harming themselves and others in the process.”

this site takes an alarmingly behaviorist and punitive approach to everything and it’s literally the most annoying thing. y’all have this concept that “if we just punish people hard enough, if we just scare them enough, if we just make them feel guilty enough.” that people just Do Bad Things Because They Do Bad Things, I Guess, and Because We Didn’t Threaten Them And Shame Them Enough. but humans are an innately social species. at our very core, we need compassion and kindness. we need healthy relationships with other humans.

you can keep looking at traumatized villains and being like “haha this dumb pathetic sadboi thinks murder is okay because his parents died” but as a survivor myself, unaddressed/untreated trauma absolutely can make you ragey and destructive. i was lucky enough to have support and eventually get the treatment i needed. but it’s not hard at all for me to imagine how, if that hadn’t been the case, that could’ve been me. obviously not on a movie-villain scale like murder or war crimes, but it’s so irritating as someone whose trauma has always manifested as anger to watch people on this site be like “this is just bad writing!!! real survivors/good survivors don’t end up like that the writers just hate survivors and want the audience to condone murder!”

[burningembers91]

The Beauty of Vulnerability - Choi Su Bong (Thanos) x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up Piece to: Not Who I Want to Be

Synopsis: Thanos is ready to show who he really is

Warnings: Alcohol and drug misuse/addiction, p in v, oral, 18+ only!

Your phone buzzed once, twice, three times before you finally picked it up. Thanos had sent you a selfie of him posing on his balcony, the Seoul skyline in the background. He had his usual goofy expression on his face, his tattoos visible on his shirtless body. He’d followed the selfie up with several emojis and a plea to join him on his balcony. You couldn’t help but smile, couldn’t help but zoom in on his abs visible in the lower lefthand corner of the screen. It had been six weeks since your meeting in the nightclub, and as much as you’d tried to resist, he’d charmed his way into your life.

Thanos was unlike anyone you’d ever met. He was so vibrant, so full of life and yet so broken. His eyes were filled with such sadness, a sadness that never quite went away no matter how hard he laughed, or how many jokes he told. He was the classic class clown, always striving to make you laugh. You hadn’t believed him when he told you he was a famous rapper, not until you’d Googled him the next day. Your friends didn’t believe you’d met him either, not until you showed them the message you’d sent him. you’d listened to his music, and although it wasn’t entirely to your taste, there was no denying the man had talent.

You’d met a few times since then, mostly at Thanos’ apartment. You’d once made the mistake of heading to a restaurant for dinner and spent the entire time fighting off screaming girls armed with iPhones and killer glares in your direction. You hadn’t quite got a feel of who this man was, didn’t quite understand what made him tick. He was a wildcard, but there was an underlying sweetness about him.

While you were reserved with your feelings, Thanos was head over heels for you. You gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, gave him purpose on days that without you would have been filled with drugs and booze. He hadn’t quite managed to quit the narcotics, but a lifetime habit was hard to break. But you’d inspired him to write music again, had given him an entirely new lease on life. The day after he’d met you, he spent all day messaging you on Instagram. The next day, he removed the parasites from his apartment, the ones who only came round when they wanted to party, take drugs or cling to his coattails. He deep cleaned his apartment, tipping bottles of booze and pills down the toilet. He sat at his piano for the first time in years, penning a song that was so different to anything he’d written before. The music seemed to flow through him, the words coming so naturally. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d written something sober, the melody overwhelming him until he was reduced to tears. He’d spent so long pretending to be someone else, it was nice to have a piece of the real him shine through.

He understood you wanted to take things slow, and he’d be a fool to rush into this headfirst. That had always been his mistake. Thanos usually acted first and thought later, but he didn’t want to fuck up whatever this was that he had with you. There were a few times when he slipped back into his old habits, taking a pill when the world got a little too much, drinking himself to sleep when his racing thoughts wouldn’t let him rest. He hadn’t told you about his addictions, but you knew.

You saw it in his eyes, saw the ways his hands shook when he was starting to withdraw. You’d seen friends addicted in the past, and it hadn’t ended well. That’s why you were taking things slow; you were waiting for the moment Thanos would inevitably break your heart. Your head screamed at you to leave, but your heart told you this man was worth fighting for.

You joined him later that evening on his balcony, just as the sky turned candy floss pink as the sun began to set. He handed you a glass of champagne worth more than your monthly salary, kissing you softly on your cheek. His days were long and lonely without you, counting down the hours until he saw you again. You were the anchor that kept him grounded to the world, the woman who stopped him from floating away into the clouds. His fingernails were painted black today, the colour matching the thickly tattooed line that snaked from his middle finger to his neck. you liked to trace that line, smiling as he shivered against you. you hadn’t slept together yet, but every day you found it harder to find a reason not to. His lips skimmed your cheek again, making their way down to your lips. Thanos loved kissing you, loved the way your lips felt against his. You were impossibly soft, your tongue meeting his as you wrapped your arms around his neck, the glass of expensive champagne long forgotten.

“I wrote a song for you,” he whispered, playing with them hem of your skirt. “Can I play it for you?” You nodded, tilting your head back as his lips continued to kiss you, trailing across your jawline and down your neck. He was so crazy about you, so head over heels he felt like he might go insane. You made his entire body tingle, from his scalp to his toes, and he found himself constantly getting lost in your eyes.

Pulling you from the comfort of his outdoor sofa, he led you to his music room, offering you a seat on his plush leather stool. He sat at his piano, nerves wracking his body as he took a deep breath. Usually, he’d pop a pill to calm his nerves, or down a few shots of tequila. But not tonight. Tonight, he wanted to sit with those nerves, to show his vulnerability to you in a way he’d never shown anyone. As he began to play, his voice singing in perfect harmony with the notes, you watched in silence. Every inch of you was covered in goosebumps, the tune on the piano so beautifully encompassing his feelings towards you. Never had a man treated you the way Thanos had; he made you feel like a Goddess.

When the song was over, Thanos stayed at the piano, his bottom lip trembling. You watched him for a few moments, your heart aching as a lifetime of emotions bubbled to the surface. He was so tired of being someone he wasn’t, of surrounding himself with people who didn’t give a shit about him. Until 6 weeks ago, he had no one to call when he was lonely, no one to hug him when he was feeling sad. He’d had no one to turn to when the world got dark, but you were here now. Sitting across from him, your eyes brimming with tears, he didn’t know how to convey his feelings towards you other than through song.

Nothing about him was real; nothing was authentically him. His name wasn’t even real; he’d modelled it on a fucking purple CGI villain. A single tear fell from his eye, landing on the ivory keys with a splatter. A deep, wracking sob escaped him and his closed his eyes as he felt the darkness closing in. He longed for a release, longed to feel the numbness that came with the pills he popped like candy.

Your arms encircled him, pulling his shaking body into yours. You stood there for a while, stroking his shock of purple hair while he sobbed into your chest. He’d never cried in front of a woman before, had never shown any emotion other than unabashed confidence. ���My name isn’t even Thanos,” he choked after a while. “I know,” you smiled, “I doubted your parents named you after a Marvel villain.” You wiped his tears away with the pad of your thumb, placing a soft kiss on each of his eyelids. He looked so fragile, so broken as his head slumped against your breasts, his body still shaking with the occasional sob. “What is your name?” He looked up at you. He hadn’t said he real name for years; Thanos had become his brand, the crutch he used almost as much as the drugs and alcohol. “Choi Su-Bong,” he whispered. “My name is Choi Su-Bong.”

You kissed him, pulling him down onto the soft carpet of his music room floor. “Choi Su-Bong,” you smiled, “My Choi Su-Bong.” He made love to you right there on the floor, the sounds of your moans melting into the sound-proof walls. Su-Bong had never felt like this with anyone before. He was usually completely numb when he fucked someone, if he remembered fucking them at all. But with you, he was sober, perhaps for the first time in his life. He felt every touch, every thrust so deeply. He let you take charge, straddling him as you lowered yourself onto him. Your fingers traced his abs, the sensation overwhelming him as your nails dragged gently across his skin, tracing the tattoos that littered his torso and chest. He’d never known something could feel this good, had never realised that your entire body could feel like it was on fire in the best way possible. He was desperate to touch every inch of you, to feel every part of your exposed skin. He guided your chest towards his mouth, his lips locking around your sensitive nipple as he took it gently between his teeth. Your moans were heavenly, more beautiful than any song he’d ever heard. He came with an earth-shattering groan, his fingers gripping the skin on your thighs as he finished inside of you. He carried you to his room after, laying you down on his silk sheets before drawing out your pleasure again and again. Your body shook for him, your breathy moans spurring him on. You tasted like heaven, your slickness coating his mouth and tongue as he devoured you again and again.

You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, waking up as the sun broke over the horizon. Thanos was gone, but Choi Su-Bong had replaced him. His arms cradled you as you watched the sun rise, his lips peppering kisses along your shoulder and neck. Finally rousing from bed, he padded through to the kitchen. He was no chef, but last night had worked up quite the appetite. He ordered breakfast from a local café, spreading out the food across his expansive kitchen. He wasn’t sure what your favourite was, so he ordered one of everything. You sat and ate together, smiling at each other over your coffee mugs.

There would be hard days ahead, but Choi Su-Bong was determined to start fresh. New music, new friends, a new perspective. He’d never had anything in life that made him want to be a better person. But now he had you, and you were worth fighting for.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She thought that coming up the hill would be the hardest part, but that proves to be wrong once she’s at the top.

Max hadn’t had the courage to visit by herself. Hadn’t wanted to experience the awkwardness of being both alone and un-alone, talking to someone and no one.

Most likely no one.

She thought about buying a Ouija board, but Robin very narrowly talked her out of it.

This seemed like a better alternative anyway.

Of all the birthdays she knows her brother spent alone, held up in his room with no gifts or cake because he claimed to not care about that shit, she figured that he shouldn’t get to choose this time.

So, there’s a blanket spread out on the grass with an unopened cake from Melvald’s on top, and a bouquet of flowers.

“Man, he would’ve called this gay,” Steve muses.

He leans against his hand, legs semi-stretched beside him, admiring the inscription on the headstone like it’s nothing more than a rock with writing on it.

And maybe, to him, it isn’t.

Max huffs a laugh, but it’s clipped near the end. Heavy, when her throat bobs, and she nods as tears slip down her cheeks.

“He’d call me a shithead and probably still try to steal a slice when nobody was looking,” Max says with a chuckle.

Steve huffs amusedly and shrugs.

“He was a funny guy.”

His gaze wanders off as he tugs some blades of grass up from the ground, snapping and sprinkling them into a small pile at his side with his free hand.

The finality to his words has Max’s brows drawing together.

She often wonders if, maybe, she and Steve never clicked for a reason, and if she probably shouldn’t have invited him up here when Robin suggested it.

Trust me, she had said. Take Steve, if you take anyone.

“Guess so,” Max murmurs.

Her eyes wander down to the cake sitting between them, blank, just as it was on the shelf. She wipes her eyes and thinks about reaching out to pop the plastic lid off when Steve shifts.

“Wasn’t really big on sweets,” he says.

Max blinks at him.

“What?”

“Billy,” Steve says, glancing over at her and gesturing vaguely to the headstone. “He didn’t like sweets.”

She stares for a long moment, searching her mind for a protest. Comes up blank when she tries to think of the two of them getting ice cream or something together, but she can’t recall him ever ordering anything for himself.

Across the blanket, Steve hums amusedly and smiles to himself, fiddling with a single grass blade between his fingers.

“He liked the apple pie at the diner, though. With a scoop of plain vanilla ice cream.”

“You guys went to the diner together?”

Steve’s face flushes a light pink and he shrugs again.

“Yeah? Quite a bit, actually. I think they still have his senior photo up by the register. Guy could demolish a burger.”

Max’s eyes mist over again, but she chews her lip and nods. Pushes a hand through her hair and turns her gaze down toward the blanket.

“I always thought he was, like, out partying or something.”

“We partied,” Steve admits. Shifts and lays down on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “But we usually… found somewhere quiet and just talked. Sometimes at the diner, sometimes the quarry, I think even the pool once or twice.”

He suppresses a grin as he thinks to himself, lightly nudging his sneaker against the stone. Like he’s unaware that it’s even there.

The line between Max’s brows deepens.

“If you guys were so close, then why weren’t you at his funeral?” she snaps.

Immediately, she cups a hand over her mouth, eyes widening as Steve glances at her again.

His brown eyes grow bigger for just a moment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. A new heat rises to the surface of his skin, eyes becoming glassy. “Felt like maybe I wasn’t supposed…” he pauses to clear his throat before continuing, “I, ah, visit a lot, though.”

“You do?” Max blurts.

Steve nods. Nudges the slightly older, more brittle bouquet lying next to the fresh one with the tip of his shoe.

“Who do you think leaves the flowers?”

With her hand still clamped over her mouth, Max stares at him again.

“How often do you come here?”

“Oh, just… whenever,” he says. “Maybe like three or more times a week?”

“Three or more times a week?”

Now, Steve sits up, brows drawing together.

“What’s your deal? If I knew you were gonna freak out and yell at me about everything I say, I wouldn’t have agreed to come up here.”

Max holds her hands out in front of her.

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she says. Sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “I guess I just… I dunno, we were never close, but I kinda always thought I knew him best. Now I’m finding out you guys were apparently linked at the hip, and he never… I didn’t even know he didn’t like sweet stuff…”

Her skin grows hot and her eyes well with tears again. Chapped and boiling over.

Steve’s expression relaxes, and he drops his shoulders.

“He wasn’t just secretive with you. Most of what I learned about him was just by observing,” Steve reassures. Then chuckles. “He was always calling me these stupid nicknames, and the one time I called him something back — angel face — he flipped and yelled at me. No idea why.”

Max sniffles and wipes her eyes with her palms, accepting the small bundle of napkins when Steve passes it over to her.

“Angel face?” she asks.

Suddenly, Steve looks away bashfully.

“Dunno, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing I said. He hated it, so I never used nicknames again.”

Max shakes her head, which earns a puzzled look.

“He didn’t hate nicknames,” she says. Glances briefly at the headstone and then away again. “Angel face is what his mom called him.” It feels like a betrayal, to say it out loud, and Max winces. “I overheard Neil mention it in their arguments once or twice.”

She fiddles with her pant leg in her lap for a moment. Looks up to see Steve’s eyes nearly overflowing with tears, staring at the headstone.

“Oh,” he croaks.

The sight, the sound of his voice has Max’s throat going tight.

She shifts in place. Watches as Steve takes a shaky breath and reaches up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm. Then, she’s pushing herself up and shuffling across the blanket on her knees, reaching her arms around his shoulders.

At first, he doesn’t react. Then there’s an arm stretching around her back.

Hugging him is exactly like she thought it would be. Like he’s comforting her, and not the other way around. Steady, grounding, like she knows him to be for others.

She makes a mental note to thank Robin later on.

“He really was a funny guy.”

[platinumink]

Headcanon Vol.2: Odysseus had unruly hair in his youth but grew out of it but Telemachus now has to deal with it and Ody helps his son and it all ends in a beautiful hurt/comfort moment

Not as good as my other headcanons for this fandom but I really do think about situations where Telemachus is just struggling to tidy his hair which is just going crazy all of the time and is about to give up when Odysseus strolls into the bathing area and notices his sons struggles.

Not wanting to embarrass him any further after the whole clothes stealing shenanigans, he simply nods in hello and does his thing with cleaning himself. When he's done, he notices that Telemachus is still not any closer to figuring out his hair so he comes over and mentions how he also had impossible-to-deal-with hair and age and growing it out (the added weight) helped with it's upkeep but he did have some tricks he learned to aid the issue.

So he tells his son about it who becomes completely enraptured in the story, not wanting to miss a single word his dad tells him. Telemachus asks for tips and Ody asks if it would be okay to show him and his son agrees.

Ody spends the next hour ir so explaining hair care for curly hair to his son, going over herb tinctures and oils he can use to make his hair submit to his will without damaging it as well as special brushes and movements that help with detangling and finally braids that help with the right curl forming overnight. It becomes a whole thing with them and even though Telemachus gets the hang of it very quickly, he keeps on asking his dad to do it for him and Ody is bever going to decline because quality time with his dearly missed son is everything to him.

So during their hair care moments, they talk about each others days, what they were going to do the day after and eventually, Ody feels confortable enough to confide in his son as well about his Odyssey (hehe) and they things he went through and had to do and Telemachus is then there for him, reassuring him and comforting him as well.

Eventually Telemachus does his dads hair as well so they can spend even more time together.

Penelope does know about this because of course Ody had to tell her all about how much he loves his son and how much he enjoys their new father son bonding moments, but one day, when she enters the bathing area earlier than usual, she sees the two of them and observes their little time together. She does not intervene because while she also loves her son deeply, she will allow her husband to have this time for himself to catch up on all of the lost time.

I also imagine their time together always ends with them touching foreheads (because I am a sucker for those between parents and their kids), hugging and Ody kissing his sons hair. They then always leave the baths together before Telemachus artives at his room first where they hug again and wish each other a restful night and then Ody leaves fir his own room and lies down beside his wife, talks with her just as long about their days and then they fall asleep in each others arms thoigh Odys head is 100% on Penelopes chest to hear her heartbeat because he has still trauma from Calypsos bullshit and needs it to convince himself that he is home.

He then sleeps, thinking about his family.

And now i've brough myself to tears yet again. 😭🩵

Also if anyone wants to write or draw something with this, you of course have my full permission. Just tag me please, I want to say thank you and admire your work 😭🙏🏻🩵

[sammylkcho]

Hey I was wondering if you could do a sprout x reader*g/n* (romantic/fluff) with just a reader who likes to bite him like in a vampire away since he’s like a strawberry so the reader likes to bite and just slurp the flavor like a vampire (I don’t know how to explain it so Srry if it’s hard to understand)

I decided to turn this into a half-headcanon with a oneshot because when I tried writing the full oneshot, I hated the result. So, here we are jnwdajkdsa

hope you like it! <3

—I feel like the first time you bit him, it was simply because a voice in your head said: "He's like a strawberry; strawberries smell good and have a tangy juice that makes them taste nice... would he taste like that too?" (A bit of a silly way of thinking, but hey, no judgment here)

—So... *sip*

—It happened during a hug, and you just buried your head into his neck and gave him a small bite, nothing too serious!

—Yes, he tasted exactly how strawberries would taste.

—Though Sprout’s flavor leaned more sweet than tangy

—Our dear Berry Boy must have been VERY confused when you did that

—"Oooh, they look like vampire marks! :D" That’s probably what you said after getting a tiny taste of him

—He likely just felt a slight tingle on his neck after you did it, unsure what to make of it

—Eventually, when the two of you discuss it and agree that it’s okay, it might turn into a peculiar but endearing little habit.

—Oneshot time!

You had been patiently waiting for Sprout to finish baking an apple pie that both of you had been craving for days. Today was the perfect day to make it since neither of you was busy—especially Sprout, who was usually the busier one as one of the mains.

While the pie baked, you kept him company, chatting about your activities over the past few days. You mentioned how Teagan had invited you for tea and how Glisten had given you some tips on "the perfect attire."

The atmosphere was cozy, almost domestic, as if nothing else in the world mattered except for the two of you. It was a sweet, heartwarming moment.

The timer Sprout had set finally went off, pulling both of you out of your little bubble.

He smiled at you before turning around to grab oven mitts and carefully remove the pie from the oven. He handled the tray with precision, ensuring he didn’t get burned.

Moments like these weren’t uncommon between the two of you. Sprout’s love for cooking, especially baking, often led to such shared experiences, where you’d keep him company in the kitchen and spend time together.

But this time, you didn’t tease him about how impatient you were to taste his creation, as you usually did. Your thoughts were elsewhere, swirling with curiosity as you kept watching him.

How would your beloved Berry Boy taste?

Sure, anyone would assume that Sprout, being a strawberry, would taste like one. But the idea left you unsatisfied.

You needed to know. Would his juice lean sweeter or more tangy, like some strawberries could?

“All done. Now we just need to let it cool” Sprout announced, his voice breaking through your cloud of thoughts.

You noticed the apple pie resting on the counter, steam curling lazily from its surface as it cooled. Oddly, you didn’t feel the usual craving for the dessert.

“Mmh... it looks delicious!” you replied with some enthusiasm, though your focus was elsewhere.

Before your sweet tooth could kick in, you stepped closer to Sprout and hugged him from behind, surprising him with the sudden action.

Resting your chin on his shoulder, you inadvertently loosened his scarf.

You pretended to nuzzle into his neck, eliciting a lighthearted chuckle from Sprout, who seemed to find your playful antics endearing. Then, without much thought, you gave him a gentle bite—like a cat—and even sucked a little to settle your curiosity.

It was..

Silence stretched as you tried to find the right words to describe the strawberry-like flavor of Sprout’s juice.

That’s it! It was a mix where sweetness dominated over tanginess. Unusual, but delicious.

Pulling back slightly, you inspected his neck to see the results of your impulsive act. The area was tinged a pale red from your playful nibble.

“You did that like you were some kind of vampire” Sprout remarked, his tone more amused than anything else.

“Oh, oh! Yes, like a vampire!” you replied with a soft laugh, still clinging to him like a plush toy.

It wasn’t a bad thing, you thought. If Sprout didn’t mind, maybe this could become a quirky little habit. You’d be his personal vampire, savoring his precious, sweet, and tangy “blood.”

[neowonderland]

Touch || l.yy

Pairings: Liu Yangyang x reader Summary: Yangyang finally indulges in his obsession with your skin Warnings: 18+, smut, noncon Wc. 0.4k

Dark Content, Minor please DNI

Disclaimer: this is a work of pure fiction. I do not condone the actions of any characters in this story and the actions do not reflect the idols in any way.

Yangyang swears he’s in heaven.

You feel so heavenly underneath him, the sweaty skin of your back pressed against his chest paired with the bite marks and hickies littering your skin, He can finally feel you completely, your velvety walls enveloping him, the soft expanse of your skin pressed against him, the scent of sweat and sex heavy in the air. 

You’re sobbing, crying as Yangyang ruts into you on your bed. You can feel your body stretching painfully to accommodate his length, his hot breath against your neck, his sweaty skin against yours. It disgusts you and you beg him to stop, to pull out, to leave you alone. 

But Yangyang can care less about what you want. How can he when it feels so good to finally have what he’s longed for? Yangyang’s finally being able to feel you, able to indulge in your body as he wishes. Yangyang doesn’t have to spend hours in his locked room, chasing his high, imagining the idea of what you’d feel like. He’d spend hours in his imagination, imaging what it would feel like to run his hands across your skin, to sink his teeth into your plump skin, to grope at your body, to feel your supple flesh pressed up against him

Now, his daydreams are a reality. You’re here with him, here against him, and Yangyang cannot be more thrilled to finally be able to do what he wants with you. He’s finally able to touch you, to run his fingers across your skin, to have his mouth against your skin, to feel your shake against him, to feel your sobs wrack your body. Yangyang’s obsessed with how you feel, the silkiness of your skin, the ease of sinking his fingers and teeth into your skin. He’s obsessed with how your body feels around him. You just feel so good and your body is just so pliant, so welcoming towards him that he’s convinced that although you say you don’t want this, your body surely does. You fit him like a glove, drawing him further into your body and you’re just so addictively warm around his length, making him want to fuck you for hours. 

And so he does, keeping you pinned beneath him, his skin pressed against yours, the smell of sweat in the air, and the sounds of your sobs and pleas echoing in the room.

[therantingsage]

just wanted to pop by and say your writing is amazing like how is this even possible to be this good?

Gut response: askdjfhaksdjfhksadjf thank

Actual response: practice. Lots and lots and lots of practice. Did you know that, to this day, my most popular story on Wattpad is still Did you know you're my hero? That was back in 2019, on Wattpad with more than twice the amount of reads that the version on Ao3 has, and I still look back on some of it and cringe because it feels old and bad to me. And, maybe this is presumptuous, but I'm guessing this is about Communing with the dead which is, just checked this second, literally the most popular thing I have on Ao3. And one of the most popular Dedllie fics on there PERIOD.

Was there a point to this tangent? idk. Never give up I guess? I've been writing for a really long time but the first stuff I ever posted online dates back to like.....2016 or earlier and I never ever even look at stuff that old because I feel its age is obvious. Back then I wasn't even decent at separating paragraphs lol. Writing is an art form and like all art, you become better with practice. Do it long enough and people will think it's unreasonably good lol

[willryist]

Next fic is either Springtrap/Henry or not a ship and just Henry and Charlie depending on which one I feel like doing first. I also have two x readers and another willry fic planned for the future if I ever feel like writing. Also I lowkey wanna write a Jessica/Charlie fic because I've been thinking about them so much as of recent and I never write w/w ships. Problem is I have literally no ideas for them and ideas for writing have to come naturally for me. I can't just. . . TRY to think of it. I came up with three fic ideas while writing the last fic I did just out of pure coincidence and I don't think I'll ever get that kind of creativity again

[hayatheauthor]

20 Flirty Remarks to Build Romantic Tension Without Being Overbearing

Feeling stuck trying to give your characters a good flirty one-liner that doesn't sound cringe/overdone? Here are 20 ideas/dialogue prompts for you (that I may or may not have stolen from my own books): 

“I must warn you: you have a dangerous effect on my heart rate.” / "You have no idea what you're doing to my heart right now."

"If I said I wasn’t thinking about you, I’d be lying. And I’m a terrible liar."

"You know, I could get lost in those eyes, but I'd probably trip over my words trying to find my way back." (could also double as description/inner monologue).

“I can’t tell if you’re really charming or if I’m just easily charmed.”

“You have a knack for making me forget what I was going to say. It’s kind of impressive/infuriating.”

“I think you owe me a drink. When I saw you, I dropped mine.”

“I’ve been trying to find the perfect excuse to hang out, but I keep forgetting everything when I’m around you.”

“I bet you get away with a lot of trouble with that smile.”

“You must be a magician because every time you walk in, everyone else disappears.” (The right character could pull it off I swear)

"I’ve been trying to think of something clever to say, but all my brain can come up with is how much I want to (kiss) you."

"I saw that little glance—you’re not as sneaky as you think."

"How do you manage to make even the most mundane things sound exciting?"

"You do this cute thing with your hands when you’re nervous, you know?"

“One more word, and I might just have to kiss you.”

"Finally, there's that pretty smile of yours. I've been waiting for it all day."

"You keep staring—should I be flattered?" / "Keep looking at me like that and I might start thinking you have a crush on me."

"Do you have any idea how fun it is to watch you try to keep a straight face?"

"I’m pretty sure you could charm the socks off anyone, but I’d like to keep mine on for now."

"If laughter is the best medicine, then I’m pretty sure you’re my favorite doctor."

"Is it bad that I kind of like the way you’re trying to mess with me?"

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Check out the rest of Quillology with Haya; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! Instagram Tiktok

[moon-goggles]

I miss sixteen year old me who cranked out my episodic FANFICTION one after the other and had a blast for a couple of years what happened to them. Legit hope she’s still there inside me I just need to wake her up right? o7

[the-ellia-west]

HOW TO WRITE ROMANTIC ATTRACTION FOR DUMMIES

For anyone who wants to learn, (especially aro/ACE, aspec, ect.)

Requested by the lovely @darkandstormydolls

Alrighty! Welcome back or welcome to my blog! I'm dipping my toes back into the category of posts that gained me my exposure!

So if you're here, you want to know how to write romantic attraction/romance!

Strap in and let's begin!

(Pls spread this to people you think would benefit from seeing it, or anyone who requested it bc I forgot, ANY ASPECS)

Step one -

Your characters must admire one another at the beginning, Romantic feelings usually do not present themselves as obvious until you really think them through, meaning your characters may not notice they have a crush until it's too late

These are general statistics and light stereotypes. So feel free to not use this tip:

Male characters usually tend to notice physical things first, like body shape, hair, skin, clothing, the way their lover moves, ect

And Female Characters Generally tend to notice more small things and personality-based traits first, like their lover's humor, speaking mannerisms, shifts in expression, ways they fidget, emotion in their voice, ect.

And someone who is in love will generally show more interest in this particular person's movements, actions, words, and anything in general.

Step 2 -

The character will show more interest in sharing their love language with their lover/crush

Physical touch - People with physical touch love languages may want to hold hands, cuddle, hug, or just lean on their crush whenever they are close to them moreso than they want to with others

Gift giving - Gift givers will want to get more gifts more often for their crush, probably thinking of them whenever they see little trinkets or wanting to get them big gifts for special occasions or signs of appreciation

Acts of Service - Acts of service people will offer to do extra favors and a bunch of extra stuff they don't have to do twice as much as normal

Words of Affirmation - Flattery, they will generally flood their crush with kind words and compliments

Quality time - Quality time people will want to spend time with their crush at almost every turn, and when they want company, will turn to their crush first

Step 3 -

After a while, these urges while become very prominent and more noticeable to the person having them

They may find themselves fantasizing about their crush or having them show up in their thoughts more and more, feeling nicer and happier when they're around, or when they're thinking about them

Smiling when they think about them, cutsey little fluff thingies like that

A crush is essentially: I want to date that, I want to be near that always, I want to marry that, I want that to snuggle me (or other love languages)

Or in simpler terms: if that asked me out, I would say yes (or at least want to say yes if your character is in denial)

Step 4 -

The character's urges to be close to this person grows strong enough that they do smth about it, whether prompted by another character. Or they just don't know I how to not anymore (like when you wanna eat candy and you don't want to, but you do anyway bc I JUST NEED THE CHOCOLATE OKAY?)

(Or for Aro/Ace, garlic bread)

People who are in love are generally very prone to be all dreamy and poetic and VERY EXTREMELY BIASED towards their crush

Then Yada Yada they kiss & shit

You're welcome, BYEEEEEEEE 👋

Happy writing!

Love you! Thanks for reading, And Ghost Tumblr Mother says go drink some water and have a snack, you've earned it, and you are beautiful <333

Have a good day! :]

@blue-kyber @thisisntrocket @cosmolumine @i-do-anything-but-write @paeliae-occasionally

@supercimi @the-letterbox-archives @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @artsandstoriesandstuff

@corinneglass @wyked-ao3 @urnumber1star

[heywriters]

Rescued Writing Links!

When cleaning out the HEY, Writers! Pinterest I moved some links here. The internet has changed a LOT since I started collecting these, so some links may include outdated info. All were still active when I made this, but it's been in my drafts for a hot minute.

Protip! In Firefox, check to toggle reader view when reading these (mobile: the page icon in the url bar; desktop: same icon or hit F9). This removes popups, ads, screen clutter, and often has an audio option.

Survivors of Internet Decay Award!

These active sites featured most often in my collections so they get the top of the list.

Helping Writers Become Authors

Mythcreants

Bryn Donovan

Getting Started (Ideas & Intros)

How to Start Writing a Book: Learn One Writer’s Process | Marian Schembari

How to Start a Story: 30 Opening Scene Examples | Bryn Donovan

Don’t Panic! What to Do When You Have Too Many Story Ideas | Faye Kirwin

How to Write a Killer First Chapter | Rae Elliot

How To Write A Captivating Opening Sentence

Outlining

How to Create a Flexible Outline for Your Novel | Faye Kirwin

Protagonists

How to Write Believable Characters | Bridget McNulty

4 Ways to Write a Likable Protag at the Start of the Character Arc | KM Weiland

5 Tips for Writing a Likable "Righteous" Character | KM Weiland

I Hate Your Protagonist! Want to Know Why? | KM Weiland

The Secret to Writing Dynamic Characters: It's Always Their Fault | KM Weiland

A Protagonist’s Moment of Realisation

Antagonists

Blurring the Lines: What Are Anti-Heroes and Anti-Villains?

Antagonists: Inner & Outer Demons | Kristen Lamb

How to Write Multiple Antagonists | KM Weiland

Character Building

The Epic Guide to Character Creation, Part 1 | Kylie Day

Pick Up A Bad Habit | Maggie Maxwell

How To Write Characters from the Opposite Gender | Rachel Poli

Top 4 Tips for Using Backstory in Your Novel | Diana Anderson-Tyler

Depicting Background Characters | Chris Winkle

Scene Building

The 5 Elements Of A Good Scene | Amanda Patterson

A New Way to Think About Scene Structure | KM Weiland

2 Ways to Make the Most of Your Story’s Climactic Setting | KM Weiland

8 Things Writers Forget When Writing Fight Scenes | Lisa Voisin

Descriptions

Master List of Facial Expressions | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Words to Describe Voices | Bryn Donovan

Master List of Physical Description for Writers | Bryn Donovan

Writer’s Guide to Serious Injuries and Calamities | Bryn Donovan

How to Ground Your Reader (in the setting) | Rachel Craft

The Forgotten Fifth Sense | Writer's Relief

Never Name an Emotion in Your Story | KM Weiland

Show, Don't Tell: How to Write the Stages of Grief | Ruthanne Reid

100 Words for Facial Expressions

Dialogue

How To Write Good Dialogue: Ten Tips | Irving Weinman

Seven Dialogue Don’ts | Jason Bougger

10 Keys to Writing Dialogue in Fiction | Katherine Cowley

Points-Of-View (POV)

What Every Writer Ought to Know About the Omniscient POV | KM Weiland

Motivation & Support

What New Writers Need To Know About Fear | Bryan Collins

How to Discover Your Writing Process with Gabriela Pereira | Kirsten Oliphant

Editing & Revising

18 Overused Words to Replace When Writing | Oxford Tutoring

An Easy Way to Immediately Improve Your Character’s Action Beats | KM Weiland

Want More Depth to Your Writing? | Sacha Black

How Much is Too Much Backstory? | Ellen Brock

Why Your Writing Sounds Weird (And What You Can Do About It) | Joe Brock

Self-Editing for Fiction Writers | Jenny Bravo

Favorite Revision and Editing Tricks

Short Stories & Flashfic

How to Write a Story a Week: A Day-by-Day Guide | Emily Wenstrom

How Flash Fiction / Microfiction Can Help With Your Writing | Rhianne Williams

Worksheets & Downloads

Writing Worksheet Archive

If anyone out there loves making lists and wants to transport this to another site, you have every right to do so! Just let me know in a reblog so I can share it here again :)

---

HEY! Writers' Links

Tip Jar! If you enjoy my blog and advice, support me on Ko-fi!🤗

Follow me on AO3 for fanfiction

Visit my Pinterest & Unsplash for visual inspiration

[whorelaud]

꒦꒷ 𓈒 𓈒 𓈒 hushed fantasies ¡

pairing brother's best friend¡nicholas chavez x fem¡reader

summary thinking you were messaging your friend, you accidentally sent your brother's best friend a thirsty paragraph about him, with Nicholas opening it before you get a chance to delete it. what you were not expecting was the leading conversation, causing realization to wash over you as he hints your desire is not one-sided after all.

contains suggestive, sexual tension, a bit of dirty talking, a brief kiss, flustered reader, cocky nic, hes also very freaky (uhh???)

a/n this is the silliest thing ive ever written i was giggling the whole time while writing it. likes and reblogs are v much appreciated!!!

word count 1.7k

You: the amount of self control i have is insane because why do i not have this mans dick in my mouth rn please i need nic so fucking bad its not even funny anymore he is everything i want in life id let him use me any day morning afternoon n night im available ugh i dont even get the ick when its him he was acting like a dad earlier yelling at us to grill the meat right and it was so adorable ill call you daddy u want me to call u sir i dont kink shame im down for whatever king omg stop he got hurt earlier and he GROANED???? i almost fell to my knees YAHOOO he definitely whimpers #needthat 10/10 i just know its thick ooh tip pink shade #d97e77 thats insane till my knees are bruised and my throats scratched my panties fell tears are rolling down my thighs OMG PLS can you feel my pain hes so bodangshis how does my brother look at him and not wanna fuck him id be all over him if that was my friend gahhhd!!! hes actually so sweet he kept speaking to me earlier so i dont feel left out of the conversation and i find that adorable do u think he slaps it before he cums oh my his girlfriends so lucky im ab to put her in a headlock ahaha this is gross no man should have this much of an impact on u unless their dick is big and the sex is absolutely amazing yooo what he probably knows how to please a lady id be hard if i had a dick rn STOPP he has a happy trail im gonna lose it hahah lets find out where it leads i dont wanna think ab that im going crazy literally pulling my hair out that should be u baby GIVE ME A CHANCE?!!!! thinking ab him makes me so nervous this is getting a little too srs ahaha okay im sorry hows life?!? i miss u :(

Sending that message, you were anything but expecting the response you got in return, not from the man himself, that’s for sure.

nic: oh?

nic: i think you got the wrong person

You audibly gasp, realization washing over you as you read over the message. That was, in fact, not for Nicholas, nor was it for anyone but your friend to see.

You panic, putting your phone down to process what happened, needing a moment before responding. Right, you needed to do that.

But why did he see it so fast? He didn't even give you time to comprehend your message, the text switching to read in an instant.

Hell, it was midnight, and it’s been a long, tiring day for the both of you, having been out the whole afternoon, merely to come back to the hotel and spend more time with your other friends.

Everyone decided to end the night off early; early being a bit before midnight, with you heading to your room afterwards. Your brother and his best friend shared the room taking place next to yours, making it easy to reach out to him.

And for that, you were grateful since Nicholas was with him; meaning you got to see more of him throughout this trip.

You’ve had a crush on Nicholas for god knows how long, with it starting the moment your brother befriended him. You’ve technically gone through all the phases he experienced, hell, you saw him more than your own parents.

He was sweet, a little too sweet, perhaps it bothered you. Nicholas was very known among women, he knew how to attract a lady, showering her with praises until he eventually got what he wanted.

That made you extremely jealous, knowing you couldn't have him. He was forbidden, off-limits, someone you could only admire from afar.

And that stupid crush of yours led to this conversation, one you didn't want to discuss.

You: i didnt mean to send that to you

The text switched from delivered to read right away, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

nic: clearly

nic: i dont have a gf btw

Why did he feel the need to clarify that, and why were you relieved over hearing it?

You buried your face in your pillow, feeling heat reduce from your body. You’ve never been this embarrassed before, not around Nicholas. While you were weird sometimes, it was never this bad.

He wasn't supposed to know about this, nor discover it the way he did.

You: cover your eyes pls

You: this wasn't for u

nic: you sure?

nic: are there any other nics in your life?

Your stomach twisted at the message, hand coming up to cover your mouth as an audible gasp escaped your throat. How could he say that?

You felt all sorts of emotions wash over you, unable to process each one of them as you read the message over and over again.

You: what if there is

The question was risky, it could either end with him telling your brother, or him teasing you over it and brushing it off. Either way, you couldn't have him, so why not just fuck it and go with the flow?

nic: then that would be disappointing.

Your breath caught in your throat, vision going blurry as Nicholas’ bubble kept appearing and disappearing.

nic: id really hate that you feel this way about someone else

Oh my god, were you dreaming?

You could not believe your eyes. You turned off your phone, letting the dimness of the room seep through for a moment before you unlocked your device once again, heart skipping a beat when you realized it was real.

Nicholas, your brother’s best friend, might have been flirting with you, but that’s just in your head, right…?

You: ??? wdym

nic: you first

nic: was this about me, doll?

The pet name made you weak to your core, spiraling you over the edge as you put your phone down for a second. You took a deep breath, feeling your face heat up at how suggestive the boy sounded.

He sounded so desperate, you weren't sure if it was the tiredness, or him being genuine. Either way, you’re fucked, because you’re willing to do anything for him, even if it means breaking your heart.

You: what if it was

You: what will you do ab it

You felt nauseous as you waited for a response, groaning when the boy disappeared for a minute. Did you say something wrong? Why did he suddenly leave?

nic: then id risk it all

Speechless. Your mouth hung open, chest filling with lust as a breath heaved out of you.

You: are you saying this because you’re tired

nic: no

nic: god no

There was no ounce of self control in your body left. You almost screamed, overwhelmed by a new sense of emotions.

Is this how it felt? Because fucking hell.

You: it is

nic: it is what?

You: this is so embarrassing

You: why are you making me admit it you know exactly what im talking about

nic: baby

nic: jus tell me

You: no you suck im going to sleep

nic: WAIT no come here youre so cute

You blushed at the message, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. God, he’s such an idiot. And you were totally swooned for him.

You: i literally just sent you a message talking ab how much i wanna suck your dick what about that is cute

nic: oh? so you do admit it

You: …

You felt nervous, realizing how serious this has gotten. From a silly message turned into you contemplating whether this was a good idea. The last thing you were anticipating while typing that message was a confrontation, one from Nicholas; at that.

nic: you couldve told me yk

You: do you hear yourself

nic: ? what

You: nic you know this is wrong

You: youre gonna wake up tmr and forget all ab it

nic: you knkw

nic: yoirw so fucjinf hot

You came to a halt, noticing the amount of mistakes the boy was making. Your mind wandered somewhere else, feeling heat crawl past your neck, all the way to your face.

You: what are you saying

nic: fucking hell

nic: take the hint baby

You froze in your spot, tongue coming out to wet your lips, suddenly feeling heat travel to in between your legs. Don’t give in, don't give in, don’t give in.

You: what

nic: you couldve asked me if you were curious

nic: i wouldve happily showed you

That sent you over the edge. Your mind went fuzzy, unable to process the last few texts you received from Nicholas. He was being serious, dead serious, you were sure of that.

The texts you exchanged always revolved around your brother; usually Nicholas asking whether he was home or not. However, this one was different.

He was hinting something, something very risky that you were unable to resist.

You: dont say that

nic: what, you don't believe me?

You: nic

nic: give me five

You stared at the message on the screen, confused on what he meant. Your eyebrows furrowed with puzzlement, awaiting a message, merely to get nothing in return.

As you were about to shut your phone and go to sleep, it pinged, the notification startling you awake. You clicked on it immediately, mind going hazy as you read the message over and over again.

nic: open the door

nic: im outside your room

You didn’t hesitate as you got up, swiftly walking your way to the door. You unlocked it with haste, vision going blurry as you caught sight of Nicholas, who was standing inches away from you now.

He looked just as desperate as you were, maybe even more. And that was it, it was all you needed to pull him by the collar and cease the distance between you two.

The moment his lips collided with yours, you realized that maybe it’s worth ending up with a broken heart, because Nicholas tastes fucking addicting, and you found every way to make good use out of that obsession.

The possession of knowing he’s off limits, yet here he was, eagerly kissing you numb.

[cameronsprincess]

reader fucking rafe so he can get her an expensive item he didn’t wanna get her previously? like when he’s cumming she will ask just so he says yes

plsss bc this man would be so pussy drunk he’d say yes to anything! thank you for the request nonnie <333

CW: reader lowkey manipulates rafe into buying her something, unprotected sex (it’s all i write, sorry), praise, dirty talk, slight breeding kink, maybe sub!rafe and dom!reader? idk you tell me.

You wanted those heels so bad. You knew Rafe would tell you no though, he’d already dropped a couple grand on you this month and you could hear him now, “No baby, not this time. I love spoiling you, but I also need to teach you how to take no for an answer sometimes.” It happens every time.

It’s not that he can’t afford it, hell he could buy you ten pairs of the heels you wanted and more but he didn’t want you to become a “spoiled brat” as he’d say.

You needed to find a way to get him to say yes, and you knew exactly how to get him to give in. Was it manipulation? Possibly… But you weren’t harming anyone, you were simply going to let him fuck you so you could get what you wanted in return. Rafe always got drunk off your pussy, so the likelihood of him saying no while he’s balls deep inside you were slim.

You’re currently straddling Rafe’s hips, his cock buried deep inside you while you gyrate your hips. His fingers dig into your thighs, gripping at them tightly while his head is pressed into the soft pillows, eyes squeezed shut as he groans.

“Fuck, princess. That feels so fuckin’ good, don’t stop.”

The corners of your lips tilt up into a smirk. You place your palms flat on his toned chest, digging your nails into the skin as you begin to bounce yourself up and down his length. You dip your head down, your lips kissing and licking the sweat slick skin of his neck. You kiss your way up to his ear, lightly nipping at the lobe before sucking it into your mouth.

You release it with a pop, letting a soft moan escape you, the sweet sound traveling right to his head from how close you were. You lift your hips slowly, leaving just the tip of his cock inside you before you slam yourself back down. Rafe groans again, his nails biting into the skin of your hips.

“Goddamn, you’re so fucking perfect. I fuckin’ love you, you know that?” He rasps, his eyes popping open, his bright blue oceans consume you.

You smile, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his dick. “Yeah? I love you too, baby.”

Rafe’s dick swells inside you, and you know he’s close by the way his grip tightens on your hips and the curses and grunts flowing freely from him. Rafe is his most vulnerable when coming, and you know that’s your best shot at getting him to say yes to anything you ask.

“You gonna cum for me, daddy?”

Rafe groans, biting down hard on his bottom lip. “Fuck. Fuck yeah, gonna fill this sweet cunt up with my cum, goddamn.”

His dick pulses inside you. You pick up the pace of your hips, moving up and down his length faster and harder while you dig your perfectly manicured nails into his chest. Rafe breathes out a slow curse as his warm cum spills deep inside you.

“Can I get those shoes? Ya know, as a reward for treating you so good today?”

Rafe’s hands slide to your ass, gripping the fatty flesh tightly in his palms as he rides out his orgasm. The next words from his lips have you smiling in victory. “Yes. Fuck yes, you can have whatever you want, baby girl.”

RAFE TAGLIST: @princessslutt // @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles // @rafesthroatbaby // @sturnioloshacker // @starkeysprincess // @rafescurtainbangz // @atorturedpoetx // @redhead1180 // @jjsmarijuana // @romaescapes // @kisses4angel // @maybankslover // @bellbottombaby // @simars3 // @rafesgiirl // @urbimom // @heartsforrafecam // @antagonize-me-motherfucker // @araminsstuff075 // @araminsstufff // @chaneydoll // @bi-zowee // @princesssuki21 // @zrm004 // @ijustwanttoreadlols // @baennied // @hyperfixationgirl // @justheretoreadthestories // @chiaraanatra // @chimindity // @juniebugg // @unsaidjaelinrose // @momoewn // @spid6y // @wearemadeofstardust0 // @vallovesyou

rafe cameron masterlist | requests | taglist form

[mononijikayu]

think about things — fushiguro toji.

“I don’t want to mess this up, babe.” he finally admitted, the words coming out in a low, almost reluctant rumble. “I don’t want to mess him up. I don’t want to be like my father, babe. I wanna be a good father to him. I want to love him so much and I just….” Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, at the vulnerability he rarely let show. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your cheek against his chest. For a moment, he stiffened. He always did, as though he wasn’t quite used to comfort—but then he relaxed, his arms circling around you. “You won’t mess him up, baby.” you said softly. “You love him. You won’t end up like your father. You love Megumi, he is our treasure. That’s why you love him. That’s what matters most. And you’re trying. That’s more than enough.”

GENRE: alternate universe - canon convergence;

WARNING/S: intense fluff, romance, mild-angst, pet names (baby, babe, treasure etc), love, humor, light-hearted, parenthood, married life, healthy relationship, newborn baby, being in love, slice of life, domestic life, family, anxiety, emotional trauma, emotional suffering, self-doubt, encouragement, depictions of anxiety, depiction of healthy relationship, depiction of married life, depiction of parenthood, depiction of self-doubt, depiction of emotional trauma, mention of familial issues, mention of childhood trauma, mention of emotional suffering, mention of breast-feeding, husband! toji, mamaguro! reader, baby! megumi, normalize having a proud house-husband and father at home, ladies, gents and non-binary friends!;

WORD COUNT: 7k words

NOTE: after writing so much sad stuff, i knew i had to write something really cute and something relatively happy, for the most part. i asked my beta reader what they wanted to see from me - toji or gojo and they said toji. and well, here we are. the song this is based off from is called think about things by daði freyr.

also what megumi accidentally said was ゴミ which expresses waste/garbage, encompassing things made by human acts. precious little megumi intended to say ごま which is sesame. megumi is still only a few months old!!! he's still learning how to speak!!! in any case, i hope you enjoyed this. i love you all!!! see you in the next one <3

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FUSHIGURO TOJI THINKS HE’S NEVER BELIEVED IN WONDER. From the moment he was born, such a thing did not exist. Not even his mother believed it. Not even when he was born. But he thinks that after her sufferings, he wouldn't doubt it that he too inherited such grief and pain too.

Even having grown up in a sorcerer clan, where he saw things that could make anyone go in awe — nothing about it had made him feel like there was anything worth the thought. Nothing about being a Zenin was worth wondering or for that matter, worth remembering. 

But everything after that, especially when you came into his life, did he think they were possible. That wonders did exist in this life and he could have it. He was worth having. He was worth giving such wonders to.

And everything about wonder, he had learned from you. Every sense of the word, the texture, the taste, the feeling. Everything started when he met you. Every good thing sprung into life, like spring, when he met you. 

Fushiguro Toji believed that each person has only truly had three special wonders in their lives, nothing more and nothing less. It was almost something out of a genie’s lamp. Three wishes, three gifts, three wonders.

And Toji likes to think that he’s used up all his three wonders. But he was alright with that. He liked to think that he was content with having used it up. Because everything about his life now consisted of those three wonders. 

The first was when he first saw you, and then smiled at him so warmly. The second was when you agreed to marry him and spend the rest of your life with him. And the third? Oh, nothing could ever beat the third. That day when you made him a father, the day when your precious son Megumi was born into this world. 

Toji couldn’t help but stay there for a moment, his large frame silhouetted against the soft light spilling in from the hallway. He didn’t dare move too quickly or too loudly, worried that even the smallest disturbance might wake his precious son Megumi. And yet, despite the quiet, his mind was anything but still.

He had fought the worst of the worst in life, faced death more times than he could count, and lived a life dictated by survival. But none of that had prepared him for this: the weight of fatherhood.

Not the kind of weight that came from responsibility or the logistical burdens of raising a child. No, this was heavier. This was the realization that he was holding the entirety of someone else’s future in his calloused, scarred hands.

When Fushiguro Megumi had first been placed in his arms at the hospital, Toji had frozen. The baby was impossibly small, a bundle wrapped in a soft blanket that felt foreign against his skin.

Toji had stared down at the little face, this precious little face and saw that little face be endlessly red and then pale. He saw that face turn red again as the features scrunched up and echo into those heart-wrenching fits of crying. 

For a split second, all he could admit to was his heart racing so fast against his chest. He was nothing but panicked. Toji never thought he would ever end up finding himself terrified of something.

He was terrified that he couldn’t stop his baby from crying. He was terrified of how small he was, and how big his hands could be to hold something as precious as this little boy. Just as fast, Toji had ended up thinking about all the things he didn’t know: how to soothe him, how to feed him, how to even hold him properly.

He didn’t know how to. How does a father look tenderly at his baby son and tell him it’s going to be alright? How does a father let his voice be the calmest and quietest comfort in the world? How does a father have soft kind hands with such scarred, brutish hands?

Toji couldn’t help it but he stood there, holding the most precious wonder in life and had just as quickly thought of all the ways he might fail — panicked and afraid, wondering if there was ever going to be a chance that he’ll end up doing well. That he’d end up doing right by this precious wonder, this precious treasure. 

But now, almost eight months later, Fushiguro Toji stood here watching his son sleep, something shifted.

His little Megumi’s tiny fingers twitched again, his expression relaxing into something peaceful. He was so precious in this way, Toji thinks. The world stops and becomes a bright wonder for his son.

Toji’s lips quivered into a crooked smile, a tender warmth spreading through his chest that he hadn’t known ever existed before he’d had his little boy, his precious treasure. He crouched down, resting his forearms on the edge of the crib, and let his voice drop to a murmur, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

“You’re so small still, hm?” he said softly, almost as if confessing to the baby. “Smaller than I thought. And yet you are growing so much. Even bigger than back at the hospital, when you were born. But... I guess it’s cos you’re a big boy already, aren’t you? Our Megumi’s already growing, huh? Doin’ everything you could to be stronger.” 

For a moment, he couldn’t help but hesitate as his fingers brushed against Megumi’s back. His little son moved slightly, against the touch. He must know his father was here. But Toji felt weary about waking his little son up.

He was up for a while, and only just fell asleep a while ago. But Megumi went back soundly to sleep. And Toji felt some relief. His precious boy is going to get some rest tonight.

“Hey ‘gumi. I’m gonna be here, okay? Not like my father.” His voice felt thicker at those words, despite the fact that  Every step of the way. I don’t know if I’m good at this... but I’ll try, kid. I’ll always try.”

The words came out unpolished, unpracticed, but there was a rawness in them that surprised even him. Toji never thought of himself as the sentimental type, but Megumi had a way of drawing things out of him that he didn’t even know were there.

Maybe it was the way your little son had come to look like you, or maybe it was the undeniable fact that your precious treasure named Fushiguro Megumi was part of him—a part he didn’t know he could love so much.

As he continued to watch, Megumi stirred again, this time letting out a tiny sound that made Toji’s chest ache. He reached out hesitantly, his hand hovering over the crib for a moment before finally brushing against the baby’s blanket-covered chest. It was a small, tentative gesture, but it felt monumental.

“I don’t know what you’ll think about the world, or me one day, you know?” Toji murmured, his voice almost a whisper now. “But I want to know. Someday, when you’re big enough to talk, I’ll listen. To every little thing. And until then... I’ll keep trying to figure this out.”

The baby’s breathing deepened, a soft sigh escaping him, and Toji let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He straightened, glancing down at Megumi. The truth was, Toji had never expected to live a life where someone else depended on him. 

He’d grown up in a world where strength was currency, where attachments were liabilities, and where survival meant keeping your guard up at all costs. That was how it was when you were born a Zenin. No ifs, no buts.

He had lived in the shadows of loss and anger for so long that the idea of something so beautiful and uncorrupted and pure, something as delicate and innocent as his precious treasure Megumi—felt almost impossible to comprehend. And for that pure existence to be born from him, because of him. 

Toji couldn’t help but feel like it wasn’t real. That something with such a cursed existence as him could ever have something like happiness. And yet, here he was. His precious son, born out of love between you and him. And he could see him. 

Even now as he’s standing outside that room, chest tight with a strange combination of fear and determination — he convinces himself that his son was here, his precious son was here, because he loved him. Because he loved you. And he deserves this. This was the life he deserves. He always will. 

For a moment, he closes his eyes and takes a breath. Before long, he whispers a good-night to his little one and flees to the living room, just near his son’s room. If Megumi gets hungry, he’ll bring him some of your milk stock from the fridge. There was no reason to wake you. You still had work later.  

He goes to the couch and closes his eyes again. He had to go and get some rest here. If he comes back to bed, he might be too loud when he gets back in. And he’d want to be there quickly if Megumi needed anything. That’s what he was here for, as your loving house-husband. But he finds that he can’t sleep. 

Even now, he still can’t help but feel restless. What if he gets too much sleep and he doesn’t wake up? He had to make you and Megumi breakfast in the morning too. He opened his eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling before a soft voice pulled him from his thoughts.

“Toji? Baby?”

It was you, standing a few steps away, wrapped in the oversized robe you always wore around the house. Your hair was slightly mussed, your face soft with the haze of sleep, but your eyes were sharp, focused. You must have noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched as though he was wrestling with himself.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, voice gentle but edged with concern.

Toji turned to look at you, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, almost sheepish shrug, he nodded. “Yeah. He’s asleep.”

You stepped closer, your hand finding its way to his arm. Your touch was grounding, and Toji found himself leaning into it without realizing. “You’re sure? You look... tense.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Tense, huh? Guess that’s not wrong.” He glanced back at the door, his voice dropping to something softer, more vulnerable. “I was just... thinking.”

“About?”

“About him.” His blue–green eyes met yours briefly before flickering away, as though the weight of his thoughts was too much to share directly. “I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, you know? I look at him, and... he’s so small. So... breakable. And I—”

He stopped, biting back the words, his brows furrowing. You squeezed his arm gently, waiting for him to find the rest of his sentence. You knew that your husband has had a lot of concern about being a father.

He’s told you some of what he’d experienced as a child, and sometimes about his father. But not everything. So, this was the first time you’ve heard things from him personally, this loud and this vulnerable. Your face contorts at his pain.

“I don’t want to mess this up, babe.” he finally admitted, the words coming out in a low, almost reluctant rumble. “I don’t want to mess him up. I don’t want to be like my father, babe. I wanna be a good father to him. I want to love him so much and I just….”

Your heart ached at the rawness in his voice, at the vulnerability he rarely let show. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his middle and pressing your cheek against his chest. For a moment, he stiffened. He always did, as though he wasn’t quite used to comfort—but then he relaxed, his arms circling around you.

“You won’t mess him up, baby.” you said softly. “You love him. You won’t end up like your father. You love Megumi, he is our treasure. That’s why you love him. That’s what matters most. And you’re trying. That’s more than enough.”

He let out another shaky breath, his chin resting lightly on the top of your head. “Trying doesn’t feel like enough,” he muttered. “Not for him. He deserves... more.”

“He deserves you, baby.” you corrected, pulling back just enough to look up at him. “The you who’s here, who’s holding him, who’s promising to be there. That’s all he needs. That’s all we both need.”

For a long moment, Fushiguro Toji just stared at you, his blue-green eyes searching your own bright orbs as though trying to find something he couldn’t quite name. Finally, he nodded, a small, almost imperceptible dip of his head. His face looked a little bit more relaxed, with your reassurance.

“Yeah…..” he said quietly. “Okay.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of his face. “Come on. Let’s get some rest. You’ll need your energy when he wakes up in the middle of the night.”

“Babe, I should stay here—”

“No, no. You have super hearing, baby. You can get up when he wakes up. Come on, stop being a helicopter parent already and let our son sleep.”

Toji groaned softly at your words, but there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he let you guide him down the hall. For now, he would take things one moment at a time. One step at a time.

Because for all the uncertainty, for all the fears that lingered in the back of his mind, one thing was clear: he had a family now. A real one. And for them, Fushiguro Toji would do anything.

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YOUR MATERNAL LEAVE IS FINALLY OVER. So in a way, the house was quieter now. Quieter than Fushiguro Toji had expected it to be with a growing baby around, though the stillness wasn’t something he disliked.

And with how you’d gone back to work today, leaving him to take care of Megumi for the first time on his own. So Fushiguro Toji was certain, he was going to have all hands on deck. 

He’d joked about it before you left, tossing off some comments about how hard it could be. But now, standing in the living room with his tiny son in his arms, he was realizing it was more daunting than he let on.

He’d had you around the house for a long while and he had gotten used to it. He had become a rusty house–husband and more so, an already rusty father.

Fushiguro Megumi couldn’t help but fuss a little, with his little face scrunching up in that telltale way that meant a cry wasn’t far behind.

Toji sighed a little, looking softly at his precious boy as he shifted him gently, cradling him against his chest and bouncing on his heels like he’d seen you do a hundred times before.

“Hey, ‘gumi. Easy, okay?” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “I gotcha. No need to get all worked up.”

Megumi quieted, though his tiny fists still curled and uncurled against Toji’s shirt. Toji looked down at him, his expression softening. Tired as he was, he was always content when he looked at his son. Everything pays off.

It wasn’t often he let himself feel this—this quiet kind of contentment. But when he was holding Megumi, feeling his warmth and hearing his little breaths, it was impossible not to. Everything Toji does, everything you both do; it’s all for Megumi.

“Toji?” You’d asked that morning, lingering by the door as you prepared to leave. “Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Me?” he’d scoffed, smirking. “I’ve handled worse than a baby, you know. I’d be fine with our son, babe. Trust me.”

But now, hours later, Toji found himself pacing the living room, humming softly under his breath to keep Megumi calm. A melody came to him,something his mother used to sing. It was very rare for his mother to hold him for that long, that he’d remember. But she’d held him enough to hum melodies to him. Those were Toji’s first memories.

They weren’t overcomplicated tunes, if one was to hear it. If anything, they were the kind you don’t think about too hard—something simple, warm, and steady. But sometimes, he’d remember the lyrics. And Toji would find that those words would stir something in his little son, as much as they do for him, remembering his own mother.

Toji didn’t know if his voice was good enough to be heard, or to be enjoyed in a song. But Megumi seems to not mind his voice. If anything, little Megumi seems to be fond of his voice. And Toji relished that thought. He might not be the best in the world in singing, but he’s glad that at the very least, it comforts his son.

“When we are together….” he sang quietly, his deep voice surprisingly tender. “There isn’t anywhere that I would rather be.”

Megumi stirred, his dark blue–green orbs tiredly blinking up at his father, and Toji couldn’t help but smile softly at the sight. He kept rocking his little boy gently, the words of the song coming easier now, as though they belonged to this moment.

“Three birds of a feather…..” he continued, his lips quivering in a half-smile, memories of his mother flooding his mind. “I just hope you enjoy our company.”

His little son couldn’t help but gurgle softly at his words, and Toji took that as a good sign, his confidence growing. He walked to the large window overlooking the bright flourishing garden he had planted and let the beckoning sunlight spill over them both.

“It’s been some time and though hard to define, as if the stars have started to align…” He continued to sing softly. Toji looked down at Megumi again, his expression uncharacteristically gentle. “We are bound together, now and forever. And I will never let you go.”

His little baby boy cooed, his little hand reaching up to grasp at the fabric of Toji’s tight shirt. Toji stilled, staring at the tiny fingers that clung to him as though Megumi understood every word he’d just sung. He couldn’t help but snicker.

“Yeah, you and me, kid.” he murmured. “And mama, too. Never forget your precious mama, hm? We’re always going to be three birds of a feather, okay?”

The quiet stretched on as Toji carried Megumi back to the couch, easing down into the cushions while keeping the baby close. He thought about you, about how hard it must have been for you to leave this morning, even though you tried to hide it. He thought about how much you trusted him to take care of Megumi, how much faith you had in him to do right by your son.

And as the baby drifted off to sleep in his arms, Fushiguro Toji felt it again—that strange, overwhelming sense of belonging. It wasn’t something he’d sought out, and it sure as hell wasn’t something he thought he deserved. But as he sat there, holding Megumi, he realized that this was it. This was everything.

When you returned home later that day from work, you were tired. But you couldn’t stop smiling. As you got closer inside you found them both on the couch. Your husband Toji was leaning back, his head tilted to the side, dozing lightly. Your treasure, little Megumi, was nestled against his father’s chest, his little hand still clutching at Toji’s shirt.

You stood there for a moment, your heart swelling at the sight, and whispered. “Three birds of a feather, all three of us. Just like you said, huh, baby?”

And though Toji didn’t stir, a faint smile tugged at his lips, as if he’d heard you all the same. You stepped closer, the quiet creak of the floorboards barely stirring the peaceful scene in front of you. Toji’s chest rose and fell steadily, his broad arms wrapped protectively around Megumi. 

Your heart swelled as you watched them, a moment of stillness in your otherwise chaotic world. It wasn’t a sight you’d ever imagined when you first met Toji, but now, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Careful not to wake either of them, you crouched by the couch and reached out, gently brushing your fingers through Megumi’s soft hair. His tiny face was relaxed, his mouth slightly open in the kind of sleep only babies seemed to achieve. Your gaze shifted to Toji, his sharp features softened by the faint glow of the setting sun spilling through the window.

“Toji, baby.” you whispered, keeping your voice low. “I’m home.”

His bright blue–green eyes cracked open, the colors of his irises catching the light. He blinked slowly, as if pulling himself out of a dream, and then his gaze landed on you. He processed the world and it stopped when he looked at you. Like when he met you. A small, lazy smile crept onto your husband’s beautiful lips.

“Hey, babe.” he murmured, his voice rough from sleep. “You’re back. Welcome home.”

You nodded, your fingers still brushing over Megumi’s hair. “How was it? Your first day as the primary stay at home parent for the first time?”

Toji huffed a quiet laugh, shifting slightly without jostling Megumi. “Didn’t burn the place down, did I?”

You grinned, leaning your chin on the edge of the couch. “I don’t see any scorch marks at all, baby. I’d say that’s a win.”

He snorted softly, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his expression—something vulnerable. “He’s… a lot quieter than I thought he’d be. I’d always thought that young kids would be like that but….Megumi spent most of the day just watching me like I was some kind of puzzle he was trying to figure out.”

“That’s Megumi for you, you know?” you said, your smile softening. “He’s always been observant. Like someone else I know.”

Toji raised a brow, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he looked down at the baby in his arms, his hand shifting to rest against Megumi’s back. For a moment, he was silent, and then he spoke, his voice quieter this time.

“He’s a good kid, our little ‘gumi.” he said, almost to himself. “He doesn’t even cry much. Just stares at me like he’s waiting for me to say something smart.”

You laughed softly, careful not to wake the baby. “And did you?”

“Course not, babe.” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “But I… I talked to him. Sang, too.”

Your eyes widened slightly. You slowly smiled. You loved your husband’s voice too. And you were certain that your love for his voice was transported to your son too. “You sang to him, baby?”

Toji rolled his eyes, though a faint blush crept up his neck. “Don’t make a big deal out of it, babe. He seemed to like it, that’s all.”

Your heart melted at the thought of Toji singing to Megumi, his deep voice wrapping around words meant only for his son. You reached out, your hand covering his where it rested on Megumi’s back.

“You’re doing great, baby.” you said softly. “You know that, right? I’m so proud of you.”

He glanced at you, his expression guarded for a moment before it softened. “I’m just… figuring it out as I go. Don’t wanna mess this up.”

“You won’t, baby. I’m certain about your success.” you assured him. “Not with how much you care about him.”

Toji didn’t respond right away, but his grip on Megumi tightened slightly, as if to anchor himself. After a moment, he nodded, his gaze dropping back to the sleeping baby. He lets out a relieved sigh before letting a small smile echo on his lips.

“Yeah, I guess so.” he murmured. “We’re figuring it out. The three of us.”

“Three birds of a feather, you told me before.” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could think about it. “We’ll figure it all out.”

Toji’s lips echoed into a bigger smile, and he glanced at you, his green eyes warm. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

As the sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the room, you stayed there by the couch, your hand resting over his. It wasn’t perfect, and it wouldn’t always be easy.

But as you looked at the two of them, your husband and your son, you felt the stars aligning. You were bound together, now and forever. And none of you would ever let go.

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TODAY WAS A DAY OFF. So Toji had let you doze off for a little while longer. He thought that with how you were trying to still settle with balancing life as a new mother and also a career woman, it takes a toll on you.

And more than anything, you deserve a chance to have some chance to just relax. So, you hadn’t noticed how long you had actually slept until you saw the clock by your bedside table. 10:30 am. You sat up immediately.

The moment you stepped out of your room, you tried to be as quiet as possible. A smile echoes across your lips as you find yourself stopping and listening for a moment. You could hear Toji’s deep voice coming from the living room.

It had that playful lilt he used only with Megumi—low and teasing, with just a hint of childish mockery. You smiled to yourself as you moved toward the source of the commotion.

In the living room, you found the two of them on the floor. Your two boys had a little bubble of their own. And you suspect that they've had that bubble since before dawn. Megumi gets angsty and wakes up at that time, wanting some milk.

Your husband Toji was sitting cross-legged, Megumi perched in front of him on a soft play mat. Your son’s little face was scrunched up in what could only be described as a glare, his tiny fists clenched at his sides. Your husband Toji, still rather oblivious to the budding storm brewing in his child, was grinning like an idiot.

“Megumi, hey..... kid….what’s that look for?” Toji was saying, leaning down so their faces were at the same level. “What’s with that intense focus, huh? You pooping or what? You gotta let papa know, so he can prepare. Your poop goes nuclear, you know that? Papa smells it on his hands even after he washes, hm?”

Megumi let out a frustrated sound, his little glare intensifying, which only made Toji laugh harder. “Yeah, you’re definitely working on something, aren’t you? What’s it gonna be, huh? A big one?”

“Gomi!” Megumi suddenly blurted, his little voice sharp and determined as he glared daggers at his father.

Fushiguro Toji couldn’t help but freeze up. He found himself blinking in surprise. For a moment, the world stood still as he tried to process what his little son just said, as perhaps — his very first word.  

“What?” he asked, tilting his head like he’d misheard. “Did you just call me gomi?”

You couldn’t hold back your laugh anymore, clutching the wall for support as you doubled over. The absurdity of the situation, paired with Toji’s stunned expression, was too much.Your son was always so full of surprises. 

“Oh my god, baby…..he called you trash!” you managed between laughs.

Toji turned his wide-eyed gaze to you, his mouth opening and closing like he was trying to figure out how to defend himself. “Hey, wait a minute! I don’t think he meant—”

“Gomi!” Megumi said again, louder this time, pointing a tiny finger at his father. His glare hadn’t wavered in the slightest, his baby cheeks puffed out in sheer indignation.

“I swear to the heavens above…” Toji said, now more flustered than you’d ever seen him. “I’m not gomi! What the hell, kid?!”

Still laughing, you finally found your balance from the laughing fits. You walked over and lowered yourself as you scooped Megumi into your arms, kissing his head as his tiny arms flailed indignantly. Your husband’s frown was evident frustration. 

“I don’t think our son’s not calling you trash, baby.” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “He’s trying to say goma. Sesame. He’s been seeing it in TV commercials when I feed him some milk these past few nights. He might have caught up with it and babbled it and…it just didn’t end up as translated.”

Toji stared at you, then at Megumi, who was now nestled against your chest, still glaring at him like he’d committed the ultimate betrayal. “Sesame?” Toji repeated, frowning. “Why the hell is he glaring at me, then?”

“Maybe because you keep asking him if he’s pooping, baby.” you said with a grin, bouncing Megumi lightly to calm him down. “Honestly, baby, would you want someone to do that to you?”

Toji groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great. First real word he says to me, and it’s calling me gomi, babe. Kid’s already taking after you.”

You snorted, pressing another kiss to Megumi’s cheek. “Don’t blame me because he’s got taste, baby. Our son takes after his mother well!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Toji grumbled, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. He reached out and ruffled Megumi’s hair, despite the baby’s continued glare. “Fine, kid. I’ll let it lose this time okay? You win this time, hm? But papa is not a gomi, got it?”

Megumi didn’t respond, but the glare softened just enough for Toji to let out a relieved sigh. “That’s what I thought. Just like your mama.” he muttered, before looking back at you. “Are you laughing at me the whole time?”

“Absolutely, baby.” you said with a grin. “And I’ll be telling this story forever.”

Toji groaned again, but you caught the corner of his mouth twitching upward, unable to hide his fondness as he watched Megumi settle back into your arms. Even when his son thought he was trash, Toji couldn’t help but adore him.

As the laughter subsided and your little Megumi relaxed in your arms, you couldn’t help but keep grinning at the ridiculous scene you’d just walked in on. It was like your husband found himself in outer space. And he was still debating whether aliens were real.

Fushiguro Toji sat back on his hands, still looking flabbergasted as his blue-green eyes darted between you and Megumi. HIs eyes narrowed for a moment and then a short breath releases from his lips. He shook his head, muttering under his breath.

“Unbelievable.” he grumbled, though there was a clear hint of amusement now in his tone. “First words. Gomi. What are the odds?”

You chuckled, bouncing Megumi lightly on your hip. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He’s been trying to say goma all week, and you just happened to push his buttons at the wrong time.”

“Pushed his buttons?” Toji said, straightening up. “All I did was ask if he was pooping! That’s fair game when someone’s giving you that face!”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, glancing down at Megumi, who was still sporting a little frown but had mostly calmed down. “Maybe he’s tired of you questioning his dignity, baby.” you teased. “He’s got standards, you know.”

“Standards?” Toji repeated, narrowing his eyes at his son. “This coming from a kid who tried to eat his own foot this morning?”

“Gomi!” Megumi declared again, his little finger pointing accusingly at Toji, as if to double down on his stance.

You burst out laughing, nearly stumbling as you tried to hold Megumi steady. “Oh my god, Toji, baby. It's rough! you’ve been officially labeled. There’s no coming back from this now!”

Toji let out a long, exaggerated sigh, dragging a hand down his face before flopping dramatically onto his back. “This kid’s out to get me. This is just....ugh.” he mumbled, staring up at the ceiling. “First it’s gomi, next thing I know, he’ll be telling his teachers I’m a garbage dad.”

“You’ll survive, baby.” you said with a grin, moving to sit beside him on the mat. Megumi squirmed in your arms, reaching out toward Toji with his chubby little hands. “See? He doesn’t mean it. He loves you, trash talk and all.”

Toji sat up just enough to take Megumi from you, holding the baby in front of him at arm’s length as if inspecting him for further insults. “You’re lucky you’re cute, Megumi.” he said, narrowing his blue-green eyes towards his little boy.

Megumi stared back at him, his lips twitching as if he was trying to form another word. For a moment, both you and Toji held your breath, waiting to see what would come out next.

“Gooooo-ma.” Megumi finally said, his voice softer this time, and he clapped his little hands together as if proud of himself. "Go-ma!"

Toji blinked, his expression shifting from stunned to triumphant. “There it is! Goma! That’s what you meant, huh? Not gomi. Goma! Great job, ‘gumi!”

“Good job, my little treasure!” you cheered, clapping along with Megumi.

Toji puffed out his chest, grinning at you like he’d just won a major battle. “See? I told you the kid doesn’t think I’m trash.”

“Oh, don’t act like you weren’t sweating there for a second, baby.” you teased, nudging him playfully.

“Whatever.” he said, pulling Megumi closer and nuzzling his cheek, much to the baby’s delight. “This little guy knows his old man’s the best out there, hm? Don’t you, kid?”

Megumi giggled, reaching up to grab a handful of Toji’s hair. Your rather contently resigned husband snickered, taking a deep sigh and letting his son do as he wished.

You let out a small laugh, your heart warm. Life was great like this. And you were truly grateful, as much as you know Toji was, that this was your life day to day.

“Yeah, yeah, baby.” you said with a fond smile, watching them. “For now, at least. Just wait until he starts picking up on all your bad habits.”

Toji shot you a playful glare, but there was nothing but warmth in his eyes as he cradled Megumi against his chest. “Bad habits, huh? I’ll teach him the important stuff. Like how to dodge a jab and—”

“And maybe not how to taunt people until they call you garbage.” you cut in, smirking at your husband.

Toji groaned, but the sound was filled with affection. “Fine, fine. You win this one. But just wait. Next word he says is gonna be dad. Calling it now, babe. Third time’s the charm!”

“Whatever you say, gomi–kun.” you teased, unable to resist one last jab.

He shot you a look, but the soft laugh he let out was enough to tell you he didn’t mind. In fact, you could tell he was enjoying every bit of this—your teasing, Megumi’s growing personality, the quiet chaos of your little family.

And as you watched him hold Megumi, the baby now giggling uncontrollably as Fushiguro Toji playfully poked his chubby cheeks, you knew there was no place any of you both would rather be.

Especially your beloved husband. Even if Megumi decided to call him gomi again tomorrow. That all didn't matter. As long as you were together, happy and content.

══════════════════

epilogue 

The next morning, after breakfast and while you were doing the laundry, the air was thick with anticipation. The kind of anticipation that only a determined father can have when his child is on the verge of accomplishing a great feat—like calling him "oto-san" or "dad".

Toji, sitting on the floor cross-legged like he was preparing for a life-altering event, had a ridiculous amount of hope in his eyes. Megumi was seated in front of him on the playmat, his big bright blue–green eyes wide and serious, as if he understood the gravity of the moment.

“Oto-san.” Toji said, his voice impossibly soft, practically dripping with encouragement. “Say it with me, Megumi. O-to-san. You can do it, little man.”

Megumi, who was sitting cross-legged just like his dad (it was adorable how he tried to copy every little thing Toji did), looked up at him, his tiny face scrunched up as he processed the words. He was staring at Toji like he was decoding some ancient language, his eyes darting from Toji's mouth to his eyes, clearly focused.

Toji waited, leaning in a little closer as though the two of them were sharing a secret. “Oto-san. Come on. Say it.” Toji repeated slowly for his little son. “O-to-san.”

Megumi blinked once, twice, and you could practically hear the little gears turning in his mind, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was exaggerated. “Gomi!”

You couldn't hold it in anymore and burst out laughing. The way your Toji looked completely deflated at the sound of the word—again—was too much. He had been trying so hard to do what he could since this morning and so far, Megumi hasn't been cooperating.

He slumped back onto his hands, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though you could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite his best efforts to act annoyed.

"Not again, kid!" Toji groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I’m not gomi! I’m Oto-san! You’re really gonna call me trash again, huh?”

Megumi, blissfully unaware of the comedic frustration he was causing, grinned up at Toji. His tiny face lit up like a lightbulb, pleased with the attention, clearly proud of himself for having mastered the art of taunting his father in a single syllable.

“I swear, kid…..” Toji muttered, but his voice was full of affection. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching the whole thing unfold, utterly charmed by the two of them. Toji, the intimidating figure who was capable of single-handedly taking down enemies twice his size, now reduced to a pile of goo over his son’s simple interactions. 

And Fushiguro Megumi, with his wide, innocent eyes, staring at his dad like he was the most important person in the world.

“Let’s try again, okay?” Toji said, his tone shifting back to encouragement. “Come on, Megumi. O-to-san. You can do it.”

Megumi was still focused on Toji, his big eyes narrowed in thought, like he was really going to work for this one. And for a moment, Toji’s gaze softened, watching his son struggle so seriously with something as simple as a word. There was no trace of impatience on his face now, only patience and quiet joy at being in this moment with his son, who was so determined.

“O-to-san” Toji repeated slowly, the words rolling off his tongue like they were sacred, full of meaning. “O-to-san.”

Megumi blinked again and then, just as you thought the whole thing was going to repeat itself with another triumphant “Gomi” — your little treasure of a son did something that was rather unexpected, even for his own father.

He looked down at his little hands for a moment, and then, in a burst of focus, he looked back up at Toji. This time, his little mouth formed the word slowly, with effort. “O...to...san.”

Toji froze. His entire body stilled, as if the universe itself had shifted. He blinked, then blinked again, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Did... did you just say—” His voice was breathless, almost as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Did you just say... Oto-san?”

Megumi’s face lit up with an innocent pride, a mischievous little grin spreading across his face as though he knew he’d just done something monumental. He reached up, patting Toji’s cheek, as if confirming what had just happened.

Toji, his heart swelling with emotions you didn’t even know he was capable of, immediately scooped Megumi into his arms. The baby squealed, giggling in surprise as he was lifted up, and Toji held him close, pressing his cheek against his son’s own chubby ones.

“You did it, kid. You really said it. O-to-san.” He repeated it like he was relishing every syllable. “Dad. Oto–san.” he whispered, almost in awe. “You said it.”

You couldn’t contain the warm laugh that bubbled up from your chest, a soft, happy sound that filled the room as you walked over to them. You bent down, brushing a hand through Megumi’s soft hair as he clung to his dad, who was still holding him in a vice grip, clearly elated.

“Oh my god, Toji, baby.” you said, grinning from ear to ear. “You did it. You’re officially Oto-san.”

Toji looked up at you, a grin breaking across his face, his eyes shining with joy. “You hear that? Oto-san! He said it!” His voice was practically vibrating with excitement.

You leaned in to kiss Megumi’s cheek, and he responded by beaming up at you, his tiny arms reaching toward both of you as if he was basking in the love that was flooding the room. "He’s got his first word," you said softly, holding him gently. “Oto-san.”

Toji’s expression softened, his hands tightening around his son as if he were trying to hold onto this moment forever. “Man, I never thought I’d get to hear that. First ‘gomi’ and then ‘Oto-san’... I’m already getting my father of the year award.”

“Definitely, baby.” you teased, sitting down beside them. “First he calls you trash, now he’s calling you dad. You’re on a roll!”

Toji grinned widely, holding Megumi up like he’d just won a trophy. “Yeah, well, I’m Oto-san now. All the ‘gomi’ in the world can’t take that away from me.”

Megumi, as if he understood the gravity of the moment, raised his hands in a victorious gesture, causing both of you to laugh. Toji’s joy was practically radiating off of him, and you could tell that, for him, this moment, this small, perfect moment—was everything to your husband.

As you all sat together, with Megumi snuggled between you and Toji, you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. Toji might have started this whole "Oto-san" lesson with a bit of desperation, but now, he was on top of the world. 

The way Megumi had slowly figured out the word, and the way Toji had been so patient—there was a deep love in the room. It wasn’t just about the word itself; it was about the bond they were building.

“I think he’s got it, baby.” you said, watching as Toji continued to whisper the word to Megumi. “Oto-san... your first real word. He’ll be saying it a lot from now on.”

Toji, still holding Megumi close, sighed happily, a sense of peace settling over him. “Yeah.” he said, his voice full of warmth and affection. “Oto-san. I’m good with that.”

And in that moment, with the three of you together in the warmth of your home, everything felt right.

[bitchimasnake-sss]

☆ trophy wife!

synopsis: you and oliver aiku were married — had been for what felt like ages now. everyone knew it: the media, his fans, his teammates — everyone. but what they didn't know was that... it was a marriage of convenience and that you were nothing more than a trophy wife. but then, why — after three years of ignoring you — was oliver aiku backing you into the wall and telling you he needed you? pairing: afab!reader x oliver aiku [aged up.] wc: 5.7k cw: NOT PROOFREAD. dual pov. loads of mutual pining. idiots to lovers pairing. both of them are pretty pathetic, i swear. marriage of convenience trope. i'll write smut if anyone wants it mwuah mwuah. m.list

.࣪ ִֶ☾. part 01: through her eyes.

30th of june, 2:33 a.m. incident: AITA for freaking out when my husband tried to kiss me on his birthday?

you were well-prepared. you knew what was to come. there was absolutely nothing that could throw you off - other than this.

"a-aiku..?" your breath hitched, eyes widening as the man backed you into the same room you both has chastely slept in for the past 3 years.

the lights were off, the city right outside your window was buzzing, and you swore you felt like you were losing you mind as aiku drew out his long steps towards you.

thump! the back of your knees made contact with the wooden frame of the bed.

having nowhere to hide anymore, you stared at him — all but going insane, "hey."

"need you."

"aiku, listen—" you tried again, words laden with apprehension, eyes jittery as if one look away from him and he'd disappear, "you're drunk."

"no." his heterochrome eyes fell to your red-hued face, and he brought up a thumb up to swipe up at your bottom lip. as the tip of his finger made contact with the soft pout, he almost hissed, "'m not."

"you are." you repeated, deflecting his hand with a careful hit, "you're drunk."

but the man persisted, annoyingly again bringing up his hand up to your cheek and planting it there. his voice was soft, the question so innocent, "so what?"

"you'd—" your eyes met his, lips wobbling as he bent towards you all so greedily slow, "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

so... what?

how could he ask you that knowing very well that he was breaking rule number 04 of your agreement?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

three years ago, you and your husband spent your entire wedding night setting down rules.

you clad in a white dress that had wrinkled by the time the filtered sunlight had streamed through your window, and him in an expensive suit he didn't give a shit about — his heterochrome eyes had met yours in a careful dance.

"i know you didn't want this. me neither." your legal husband sighed, a broad hand sifting through his dual toned hair as regret interwove into his low decibles, "and i know i cannot make it any better but—"

he sled the piece of paper that you both had spent hours perfecting towards you. the white sheet against the mahogany table, such a striking contrast — and, there was fine-print with two blanks for yours and his signs at the very bottom.

"so this is... final?" dragging the sheet towards yourself with your index, your gaze ran across the rules that you both had thought would make this 'marriage' thing work.

"hm." he nodded, "technically, this is a legally binding document."

your eyes shifted over the words, taking in the phrases you were to consider your holy commands from now on.

there were four simple rules, to be specific:

1. don't interfere in each other's sex lives. 2. don't get caught up in any scandals. be careful. have affairs in private. 3. pretend to be the most perfect couple on camera. no matter what it takes — lies, pr, more lies. whatever. 4. kiss, kiss, don't fall in love!

your brows knitted together, a frown across your painted lips as you read the sheet again and again, and then, once more for good measure. "you want me to be nothing more than a trophy wife, right..?"

"yes," the ex-captain huffed, looking from you to the sheet he had co-authored, "and i promise to be nothing more than your legal husband."

"I'll do my part, you do yours." oliver gave you a re-assuring smile, the kind that made your stomach coil inwards at it's polite implications, "and none of us fall in love with the other."

hopefully.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

being the only daughter of a high-ranking national sports committee member, the starstruck fans and fame-hungry reporters had chalked up your and aiku's pairing to the fates.

"the pro-player and the daughter of the sports committee member," they had discussed in loud whispers, "no wonder they're getting married. so romantic!"

"he was such a womanizer before he met her, you know? who knows what he's like now? probably the same." one school-girl probably had scoffed on the subway, and another had retorted, "that's because it's true love, idiot. people change for love."

"how did they never get caught, though?" others had asked, "it's like their marriage came out of the blue. but well, i guess — when it's fate, then, it's fate!"

well, what they all didn't know was that 'fate' was your father and aiku signing a bunch of paperwork in an office a few days before your wedding ceremony, binding you both to this twisted relationship. not so romantic now, is it?

but eitherways, both of you did your part diligently — that's how this had worked out for so long. this arrangement had worked more than well enough for the past three years.

during his matches, you were dressed in his jersey, his number, cheering his — no, yours — family name as loud as you could. after the same match, aiku would come running upto you and hug you till you felt his tensed muscle slacken against yours like he wanted to hug you. you didn't quite miss the way he whispered against you, "sorry for making you do this, ma."

in the interviews afterwards, he would call you his lucky charm. he would laugh, the sweat beads trailing down the planes of his handsome, perspired face, "what can i say? it's probably my girl that makes my game."

'his' girl? right.

when on a pre-planned date night, he would catch your smaller palms in his, and hover his lips over your skin — fooling the world into believing his lips ever touched yours. next morning, you'd find your faces plastered in the morning tabloids.

oliver aiku was such a good actor, it was sickening.

during every red carpet, you and him were dressed in complimentary suits and dresses, smiling up at each other as if you weren't stuck in whatever the fuck this relationship was.

and when the interviewers would ask him one fine evening, "mr. oliver, you're presenting the award this time, we've heard."

"hah, yes but have you seen my wife yet?" he would gush expertly — somehow even turning his nose and ear tips appear red on command, a pro liar. "i am afraid i wouldn't be able to remember my lines on the stage if i look at her."

and you would look on from the side-line, amazed, because how could that man lie so easily? lie to everyone — the media, his friends, to himself? how could this man tell the cameras you were the very thing he adored, and then go home just to fall asleep after a simple goodnight?

most importantly, how could you ever trust such a big liar? a liar who could even make you believe for a fleeting second that he loved you (even though, according to rule number #4, that was prohibited.)

how, oh how, did oliver aiku make you feel so utterly stupid? how did he even fool you into thinking he may love you?

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

3rd of december, 1:06 a.m. incident: my husband comes back from a long night.

"aiku..?" a soft sigh of his name tumbled past your lips, your eyes narrowing at the figure standing at your shared bedroom door in the middle of the night.

it was one in the morning, and you were sure under that once-crisp linen shirt lay foreign lipstick stains and faint whispers of feminine perfume. it was normal — this was normal — your husband getting home late at night after being with another woman. this was normal. and according to rule number 01, you weren't supposed to care about it.

and yet, your mouth grew drier as the same husband walked into the room in the dark — agile footing easily navigating through the learned pathways.

"aiku?" you tried again, this time a bit louder as you sat up on your shared bed. the fabric shifted under your hips, your eyes trying to trace out his outline in the comfortable darkness.

at the sudden sound, the man jumped. flicking on a light with a quick click of his finger, he stared at you all wide-eyed, "you're still up..?"

you nodded and the man cocked an eyebrow, nimble fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

well, who was supposed to tell aiku that it was the third anniversary of your 'marriage' — or rather, the contract? who was supposed to tell him that you had stupidly cooked a meal and thought you two could celebrate this utterly dogshit arrangement of yours? who was supposed to tell him? definitely not you.

after all — according to rule number 03 — you didn't need to behave like the perfect wife when the cameras weren't rolling. and according to rule number 04 — no falling in love.

so instead, you pressed your lips into a thin line, "jus' couldn't sleep." forcing your lips into a smile, you asked, "you were out late. had fun tonight..?"

aiku shrugged, "eh, nothing special."

and despite rule number 01 still in effect, you bit out a meek, "jessica?"

you had heard the name slip past his lips once late night and immediately associated the name with a beautiful, striking woman — a woman aiku could possibly love. not you.

"nah..." aiku hesitated for just a second, and some selfish part within you wondered if he was about to lie just to keep your heart. if he was about to say 'i saw nobody' just to make you feel like you meant something to him — but the man crushed whatever hope you had under his boot, turning it to ash and soot. "it was crystal, actually."

crystal..?

pulling his closet door open, he didn't even bother turning to look at you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

crystal...?

"yeah, right." at his casual demeanour, at his absolute nonchalance at whichever woman he was currently seeing — you brought your knees up to your chest, a disgusting pang in your ribcage that traveled down your spine and to your toes, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" shimmying off his shirt, you watched your husband flex his well-trained muscles involuntarily as he searched for another shirt in his closet, "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

"no."

aiku glanced back, the muscles in his shoulders shifting at the action, his eyes narrowing just a little bit, "sure?"

"mhm." you nodded, trying to take your position back on your usual side of the bed, "anyways, eat up if you get hungry. i'm... off to bed. goodnight."

"g'nite."

this was normal.

and according to the rules you both had set, oliver wasn't breaking any. then, why did you have that death grip on your sheets as you heard him close the door to the shower? why did you still cling onto the name 'crystal' like it was your very last thought before death?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my husband's busy (again.)

"'m not sure if green is my colour." you confessed as you gawked up your own reflection in the humongous fitting room.

"oh no! you worry too much, madam." the manager of the clothing studio grinned, fanning a hand at you as if it would make your worries disappear, "you look phenomenal!"

still looking at your reflection in the mirror, your brain tried to scramble helplessly for any excuse for you to not go to the charity ball tomorrow. flimsily searching for your salvation, your eyes drifted to the man seated on the sofa behind you — busy sifting through his phone, unbothered to your very presence.

he didn't care for you — he never did — but maybe, he could validate that green wasn't your colour. maybe he could give you an excuse to not go to that charity ball... because it hurt to see your husband pretend he loved you in front of the cameras, it hurt to know that he could love you that way if he wanted to and he just didn't want you.

biting down whatever traces of self-esteem left within your system, you called out for him, "does this look... okay?"

at the mention of his name, he lifted his gaze from his phone to you. taking in your figure once, twice — he nodded satisfied, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

a soft ping! of his notifications drew his gaze back to his phone screen. your fist tightened, nails digging into the soft skin as you went back to being ignored. there goes your excuse to skip tomorrow night.

it would always be some event — a charity ball, a reunion, a sports meet, a fucking conference or whatever — and you had to doll up just to smile up at him. it didn't matter if you didn't feel like going, or if it was a pain, or if that shade of green didn't go well on you.

it didn't matter, as stated by rule number 03.

"—and not to mention that green is really mr. oliver's colour." the same manager prattled on, cashmere words as she tried to persuade you.

your eyes still bore against the man as if the staring at him would be enough for him to understand your grievances and bail you out from this hell. but ofcourse, oliver aiku was only the perfect husband on camera.

the woman concluded with a well-practiced, corporate smile, "—and you both have to match, right?"

ofcourse, you both had to fucking match — courtesy of rule number 03 yet again.

even after moments of heating staring, your husband was more busy on his phone than you.

"i guess if he likes it." you finally shrugged, losing your resolve to the 2v1 match going on in the fitting room right now, "we'd take this, then."

"wonderful choice, madam!" and with that the woman clapped, happily guiding you to a private room so that you could take the dress off.

as you followed her, you looked back at oliver once more — as if you'd catch him staring or something equivalently stupid. instead, the man stayed engrossed on his phone — furiously typing.

probably texting jessica, or crystal, or whoever was interesting enough for oliver aiku to fuck into rented hotel sheets — whoever it was that wasn't you.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: WAG duties.

here you were, sitting in the same spot in the VIP seating area as you had for three years.

his jersey number proudly flashing on your back, you brought your hands up to your mouth to cheer and clap as oliver defended yet another goal, "go, baby! you're doing so well!"

you knew the camera was on you — it was half of the time. the audience ate up every crumb of your relationship online. so, you just smiled, clapping proudly.

honestly, it wasn't hard to fake the genuine enthusiasm every time he skillfully stole the ball from the opposing team — you were proud of him. after all, three years of being someone's greatest supporter eventually becomes a habit, not a chore.

"didn't you get super lucky with oliver?" someone next to you mumbled.

snapping your head towards the sound of the voice, you saw a pretty redhead — oh, chigiri hyoma's sister.

you frequently ran into the woman on and off the field, and had struck up some semblance of friendship with her.

"hah, nice seeing you here, koyuki." you hoped that the laugh didn't sound as strained as if felt in the back of your throat. chasing the pathetic laugh with a practiced smile, "sure did get lucky, but why do you ask?"

"ah, nothing." the redhead grinned, a teasing lilt to her carefree voice, "just that it's been three years and aiku still tries to catch a glimpse of you whenever he defends. if that isn't love, i don't know what is."

love? love?? LOVE???

"oh?" eyebrows bunching together, perhaps you were taken aback with what a good actor oliver was. you were always so caught up in giving the right reactions for the camera, that maybe you didn't see how well he played his side of the loverman role.

but even as koyuki pointed it out, you were too hesitant to actually check for yourself. what if she was wrong? what if you actually saw him looking at you? what if you fell for the elaborate act like a fool yet again..?

so, still focused on the woman in front of you, you spluttered out a pathetic script, "i mea—mean, yeah he just absolutely spoils me."

"i can see that." the woman laughed, "but you're always there to support him too, so I'm sure you spoil him back just as much."

"m-yeah..?"

you spoiled him? no, obviously not. because that wasn't mentioned in any of the rules, was it?

at the stutter in your words, koyuki jutted her bottom lip out, a sorry expression on her face, "oh come on now, don't give all the credit for your marriage to aiku. it takes two to make it work."

"hah," you nodded, coughing up yet another laugh to mask your half-baked lies, "yeah, i guess it does—"

"—i just really, really hope," the redhead cut you off, clasping her nimble fingers together, "that someday I can find a love as adorable as yours."

and at her words, you couldn't help the slight waver in your smile, couldn't help as your eyes drained themselves of any tangible emotion, "o-of course, you will. don't you worry."

"a love as pure as yours"? funny. cause you were yet to find that kind of love three years down the line.

━━━━━━━☆⭒⭒☆━

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 02: through his eyes.

3rd of december, 1:03 a.m. incident: shit, my wife's still up.

oliver aiku had made the genius decision to avoid you the entire day before, even going out of his way to make sure he didn't step inside your shared apartment before the clock struck twelve.

a simple man may question his actions and ask 'why?' and the answer was as simple as it came: oliver aiku knew it was your — technically, his too — anniversary.

oliver had woken up by the reminder on his phone that read "anniversary.", he had driven and got you a bouquet of flowers, he had even contemplated asking you out for dinner. and then, he had chickened the fuck out. oliver aiku had chickened out for the third time in the row.

see, the first year, he avoided doing anything because it was the first year. the next year, it felt even more awkward cause he hadn't even wished you on the first anniversary so why on the second? he had planned for the third, and that... also went to shit.

truth be told, oliver didn't want to seem like the fool who was holding onto a fake relationship by remembering or bringing up pointless things like this. cause that was just pathetic, right?

so, of course, he did the smartest thing a man could do — avoided you like you were the fucking plague. even if it meant sitting the entire night away in his car and waiting for the perfect time to return back home.

"aiku?" at your sudden chirp, oliver almost felt a wayward shiver run down his spine. flipping on the switch with a practiced flick, he found you sitting up in your shared bed, "you're still... up?"

and though oliver knew there was no way you knew he had been waiting in his car, his heart genuinely caught up a wicked pace. trying to distract himself — and perhaps, you — he undid the buttons of his shirt, "why so late?"

as you gave him a smile, the man knew something was off. shit.

you spoke so softly, looking so beautiful even in the absolute middle of the night, "jus' couldn't sleep... you were out late, have fun tonight?"

"eh," aiku tried his best to appear nonchalant, trying to be truthful amid the chaos of his mind, "nothing special."

he hoped, he stupidly hoped that you'd say goodnight and go to sleep. instead, you further enquired, "jessica?"

and despite being a sharp man who could lie to god while looking in his eyes, aiku turned his back to you — scared he may fumble in front of you that he hadn't seen another woman for the past three years. he started softly, "nah..."

opening the door to his closet, he tried to think of another name — any name. oh, what was that thing sendou was talking about a few days ago? crystal chandeliers? crystal? cry—

"—stal, actually." the pro-player lied through his teeth. rummaging through his closet, he tried to distract you, "'m gonna shower and then sleep, kay? you should go to bed."

"yeah, right." and oliver aiku almost confessed all his sins just at that 'right'. but instead of further grilling him, you just said, "well, i made some pasta if you're hungry."

"oh?" peeling the familiar shirt off of his body, for a moment, the man believed that you knew what yesterday was. but how could you? you had never been more than what he had asked of you — you had never been more than a contract, a trophy wife.

eitherways, he asked — to confirm. "you cooked? something special tonight, ma?"

but your answer was swift. a straight, sweet blow: "no."

and despite the answer, oliver allowed himself to glance back just this once, "sure?"

"mhm. anyways, eat up if you feel hungry." you nodded, shifting to go to sleep, "I'm off to bed. goodnight."

oliver turned his face back to the closet door, mumbling out, "g'nite."

as the man closed the door to the shower, he clenched his fist and unclenched it. what was he even so frustrated about? he had set the rules with you, didn't he? and you weren't breaking any of them.

you were the most perfect trophy wife, after all, weren't you?

23rd of december, 6:54 p.m. incident: my wife's dad sucks.

oliver aiku was sure he could rip his hair out right now.

aiku: listen, she has nothing to do with it. aiku: i said i don't feel like taking her to the charity ball. dad 2: Why not? Did she say she doesn't wanna go? aiku: for the last time, i said i don't wanna take her. dad 2: Did she do something to trouble you Mr. Oliver?

jesus fucking christ. oliver aiku could really rip his hair out right now.

as dense as he'd like to believe he was as behaving like an actual husband, aiku could still see that you truly did not want to go to that stupid charity ball. the entire ride to the fitting, you had been sitting far too still in your seat — asking him questions like, "is it important for me to go?"

you never asked for anything from him.

each game, you showed up. each event, you dressed to the nines and put on that painfully pretty yet fake smile. each day, you put up with him. and however bad of a husband aiku may be, he didn't want to discomfort his own wife for the sake of some stupid rule, or the sake of that old man who happened to be your dad.

you distant voice kissed his ears, "'m not sure if this shade of green is my colour."

your statement was followed by some candied prattle by the saleswoman, but aiku was too busy re-reading your father's heinous texts to actually look up and check for himself.

dad 2: If she has inconvenienced you in any such way, please let me know.

"—aiku?" and the soft sigh of his name past your heavenly lips, oliver's gaze immediately shot up. you met his eyes in the reflection of the mirror, "does this look okay?"

'okay'? you were beautiful beyond words.

hair hastily tied up, makeup not yet glam enough, dress not fitted to your measurements, only held up by clips — and yet, aiku almost lost his breath when looking at you.

thumb still hovering over the virtual keyboard, he took in your figure once, twice and nodded — all but dazed, "yeah, you look good, ma. don't worry."

he was about to say something more when another stupid ping! brought his attention back to his phone.

dad 2: Or you can reprimand her yourself, if you'd like. We have no objections to it.

'reprimand'?? what the actual fuck did that old geezer mean by that?

aiku felt his fingers gliding furiously across the keyboard, words nothing if not laced with the absolute venom in his system — because nobody talked about his wife like that.

aiku: listen here. aiku: i don't need your input on how to treat my own fucking wife. so, if i hear one more word out of you, just know that i will make you regret it. aiku: that's all. take care, dad.

aiku shut his phone, tearing his gaze away from the screen to where you were standing only to find you already gone.

he was late, like always.

9th of january, 7.23 p.m. incident: scatterbrained on the field.

oliver aiku knew nothing more than the adrenaline rushing through his veins, the blood that roared in his eardrum, the thoughts that bolted through his brain, the overhead lightings that blinded him when he jumped up to defend the incoming attack — oliver aiku knew nothing more than the ball and the field in front of him.

atleast that's what he had always felt when he played. keyword: had.

but lately, his brain was scattered — thoughts a jumbled incoherent tune that only sung to rhythms of your name. every time he closed his eyes, every strained breath, every involuntary flex of his muscles — you were there. you were there in the very fiber of his being.

so, ofcourse, when he defended yet another goal and the ball was expertly deflected off-field, he didn't care about the cheers of his name, didn't care about the teammates that whooped and ran to their spots, didn't care about anyone or anything that wasn't you.

lifting his gaze straight at the VIP box, his eyes frantically searched for you. and there you were — wearing the jersey that he had brought for you, smiling so wide as you clapped and aiku swore for a second, he froze.

no, ofcourse, his body kept moving ��� muscled thighs sprinting across the field like it was second-nature and eyes scanning for constant threats, oliver aiku was still in the game physically. but mentally? my god, weren't you the prettiest thing he had laid his eyes on?

stealing scarce glances away from the soccer ball, the man found you talking to a familiar redhead. you laughed at something she said, and oliver felt a feverish pang run it's course through his chest. did you ever smile at him like that? or at all, for that matter? did he—

"—AIKU. WHERE'S YOUR FUCKING FOCUS?" his teammate yelled, and the ex-captain's gaze tore back into the field instantly. his teammate ran across the field, chasing the opposing team as they brought the ball into oliver's side of the court, "AIKU, DEFEND. FOCUS."

focus..? focus?? what was that?

because even as the man shielded the defense line with his hulking body and fast-paced thoughts, he couldn't help but steal a glance at your still-conversing self.

what was a fucking match when compared to his wife, anyways?

30th of june, 2.23 a.m. incident: AITA for kissing my wife on my birthday?

oliver aiku was about to lie through his fucking teeth, and it was about to be as pathetic as he could get. but fuck it, how many more years of heartache should he have to endure without giving it a shot?

"a-aiku..?" your voice was so soft, that aiku couldn't help but walk onwards, backing you into the room even despite his clenched fist and trembling calves.

a soft thump! indicated the back of your legs hitting the bed — or wait, was that the sound of his heart dropping into his stomach..?

another soft hiss past your lips, "hey..?"

"need you."

frankly, aiku himself didn't know what the fuck he was on about. thank god, you cut him off.

"—aiku, listen." your eyes were frenzied, and aiku swore he saw your gulping harshly in the darkness, "you're drunk."

he was not... but he was pretending.

oliver aiku had come up with the most perfect plan. he would pretend to be drunk on his birthday and kiss you. if you slapped him, or threatened to divorce him, he could always blame the alcohol.

"no." he purposefully slurred, using his hazed state to bring up a careful thumb to your bottom lip. under his soft swipe, your lips wobbled and aiku felt his knees almost give up whole. keeping up the act, he pathetically worded, "'m not."

"you are." you pushed his hand away and aiku found himself yearning for your touch — even if was to push him away. you repeated, "you're drunk."

you sounded so scared, and aiku almost forgot his well-rehearsed script. as he stared at you, he started considering that perhaps this wasn't the smartest of ideas. but well, he didn't come this far to only come this far, so, instead he brought up the hand to your cheeks daringly.

you didn't slap his hand away, or flinch. so, he softly planted his calloused hand against your soft cheek and bet his sanity on a losing match, "so what?"

okay... maybe he did come this far only to come this far.

"you'd—" your words fell down in sordid syllables, and he took the soft parting of your lips as an invitation to bend forward. your eyes widened at his action but fuck it. here goes nothing. yolo or whatever. "you'd regret... this."

"so what?"

and he truly meant it. if kissing you once meant he would have to give up his sanity — oliver aiku was ready to trade. he was ready to go ahead and trade everything unholy and sinful he was for you. he was ready.

drawing closer, your warm breath fanned against his face and the man couldn't hold back physically. bringing up another hand to your waist, kneading the skin under the luxurious silk dress you had wore for his party, the man delved in to devour you.

his lips against yours in a lewd dance, and oliver almost fucking gasped from how sweet you were. despite dreaming on and on about this exact scene, he could have never assumed how fucking sweet you'd be. how he'd be able to taste the flavour of your gloss, how he'd be able to sync up his ragged breathing to yours, and how instead of pushing him or kicking him in the family jewels — you'd kiss back.

࣪ ִֶָ☾. part 03: through their eyes.

wrapping your shaking hands around oliver's neck, you found yourself pressing your body against his muscled ones. tongue against his, eyes clenched shut at the taste of whiskey in your mouth and his large palm on your skin.

the man pressed against you harder, his body heat almost setting you ablaze — and you let him, pressing against him with just as much fervour.

"a-aiku..." your serrated words got lodged in the back of your throat as the man kissed down your jaw— his actions so primal, unrelenting. you gasped at the soft nip of his teeth against the column of your throat — the action so dangerously intimate. straining, you repeated his name, "aiku...?"

"keep sayin' my name." his heterochrome eyes flicked up to yours, and the man lost all cognitive senses to come back and kiss you on the lips again. his actions were rough — depraved. and even when his lungs ached for oxygen, he used up the last in his body to utter out, "say my name."

"mmph— aiku..!" your kiss-bitten lips against his, the strings of saliva between you two. you repeated, chanting the word like a mantra, "aiku, aiku, a-aiku—"

"—fuck." his broad palm pulled up your dress, bunching up the fabric at your waist to expose your naked thigh.

what was happening? all you could feel and touch and know happened to be oliver aiku.

were you actually kissing him? was he actually kissing you? or was this another stupid plan of his... were there paps to catch this and post about it tomorrow?

at the absurd thought, you pushed him away.

the man looked far-gone. his pupils blown wide, cherry-red lips swollen, and spit drabbling down his jaw — in fact, oliver looked at you as if you had committed blasphemy. his words wobbled, "w-what?"

"why are you kissing me?" and you're sure you meant it genuinely, but the words came out so horrified. wiping your lips frantically, your unsteady gaze scanned the room, "why...? i-is there someone in the room?"

"huh?!" oliver's jaw slacked open at your question. were you drunk? he spluttered, "what..?"

"why are y-you... kissing me, aiku?" you asked, words tattered and confidence lost, "have you lost your mind?"

"i—" he stepped back, horrified he may have done something wrong. his tongue felt thick in his mouth, voice uneven, "di-should i not have kissed you?"

"the rules." your eyes widened, "we... you're not supposed to kiss me."

"but i just did."

"that's what i'm asking," your voice shot up a note, gaze growing hazy at the implications of him toying with your heart yet again, "why did you?"

"we are married." and you swore, you heard the tiniest twinge of disappointment woven into his fact-like statement.

"we are pretending to be married." you bit back, eyes clenching shut at his flimsy excuse.

"s-still married."

"still pretending." your eyes shot opened, the whites now tinted red, you spit, "i'm just your trophy wife, right?"

and at the phrase, aiku sifted his palms through his already tousled hair. eyes frantic, words maddened, "what... what if i don't want that anymore? what if i-i... want you."

what? how drunk was he?

"i want you." he repeated, and you couldn't decide whether the phrase was a curse or a blessing. he stepped closer, if that was even physically possible — hysterical, "i want you."

he wanted... you?

the same man that had ignored you for the past three year wanted you?

a/n: my fucking god, I LOVEEEE pathetic men hahaha. no smut in this one guys cause i was too consumed writing the mutual pining. tagging: @heartbingers @moodswing101 @isabellalovesyou @adollsdarkdiary [just tagging the people on my last oliver post.]