#Why does my brain do this HOW DOES MY BRAIN DO THIS

[mwphisto]

Simple things that turn LnDs men on~

Including: Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Sylus, and Caleb x reader. Reader is implied female but most can be interpreted however you please!

Warning, this post is 18+! Some lighter smut since my brain cannot handle anything else atm (I’m graduating university in 3 weeks)

Shifting banner from @cafekitsune <3

Xavier

Cuddling with you, seeing you sleepy and warm and soft in his embrace, under his blankets, in his bed. He can’t help it, you’re just so perfect, so sweet in this state. His hands can’t help but wander, sliding over your soft tummy, your thighs, eventually landing to cup your chest. His nose nuzzles into the crown of your head, inhaling your shampoo, and the next thing he knows? His hips are swiveling softly into the plush of your ass.

When you get mad. He’s not capable of explaining why his body has the reaction it does. Other than the plain statement of “you’re hot when you’re mad.” Which isn’t a lie, Xavier finds you so hot when you’re angry. Seeing you so passionate about something that it gets your blood boiling? He’s thinking of ways to get you to cool down. How easily he could switch the downward tilt of your brows into something far more… relaxed… pleased… blissed out…

Sitting on his lap is a definite way to get his attention. Xavier can get a bit lost in his hobbies, whether it be reading or scrolling articles on his phone. Sometimes the call of his name doesn’t snap him out of his trance. But you know what does? Settling your pretty self on his muscular legs, a smile on your lips, your hands cupping his cheeks and guiding him up towards your glittery eyes. The weight of you on him, the warmth, the surprise of his train of thought being interrupted, all of it has his heart rate spiking. Until all he can see, hear, and feel is you.

Rafayel

Matching his energy can totally catch the artist off guard — the absolute best way. To be blunt, you’re able to match his freak so well he can’t help but get turned on at how in sync the two of you are. His beautiful bride, perfect in every way. When you two are so effortlessly on the same page, he finds himself struggling to keep his composure. Luckily for him, you always seem to know what he’s thinking without him so much as saying a word.

Willingly being his muse just might send Raf into a coma. Seeing you sprawled over his couch, barely dressed so he can do some anatomy sketches has him shifting uncomfortably on his stool. Your sweet smile, delicate and skilled hands, the way you whisper his name while he scribbles on his paper with a rosy blush on his cheeks. You’re just so effortlessly beautiful it drives him insane.

Noticing the smallest details about him will get his head spinning. Rafayel harbors a lot of mixed emotions regarding his past and he loves you wholeheartedly but sometimes he just can’t… let go. When you take the time to get to know him — or as much as he’s willing to give you — and you actually pick up on things that go unsaid? His head is spinning, his heart pounding, the seal on his chest burning brightly. He wants to devote himself to you, it’s just part of his nature at this point. Eventually, he’ll work through it all and give into what he needs most…

Zayne

Your laughter sends his heart into a nose dive. He’s never been one for jokes, his dry humor often carrying him through. But when he says something that genuinely has you belly laughing, his name a sweet melody on your lips as you try and contain your giggles? He’s shifting his legs to hide the growing tension between his legs. You look at him with such adoration, so sweet and delicate, he has to reign himself in before frost creeps up his neck.

Giving him your full attention when he begins to ramble about nerdy medical things definitely causes the surgeon to lose his train of thought. You may not understand the scientific terms he’s using, and you may feel a bit bad when he has to explain them again with simpler terminology, but your attention is undivided regardless. And Zayne notices, of course he does. His heart is pounding as he rattles off all of his fascinations — such as new research he’s compiled about neonatal heart defects. You’re so engaged with him, nodding along and even asking him some questions. He’s fighting the urge to kiss you senseless. After a long day you’re so willing to listen to him ramble on about his research? He’s going to marry you, and fuck you senseless for being such a good girl.

Taking care of him, such as shaving his face or washing his hair will have Zayne be putty in your hands. He does so much for others, puts so much care and effort into making their lives better. It’s only right that you step up and do the same for Dr. Zayne. Though, bless him, he didn’t expect you to straddle his lap and shave him with a straight razor. Didn’t expect to be engulfed by the sent of your perfume as you settle your weight on his legs and glide the razor over his skin. It’s intimate, the proximity of your bodies is close enough to generate some warmth. He’ll lose it before you’re able finish one side of his unshaven cheek.

Sylus

Skinship with the leader of Onychinus is pretty special. Sylus savors every second of it, given that your hands rarely touch him outside of holding his waist when on his bike. The feeling of your fingers on his cheeks, your legs caging his as you sit together on the couch, your fingers intertwining with his. He’s a goner, so touch starved it’s nearly pitiful. He’s always been a man of composure, but god dammit you’re just so soft compared to him. You’re so warm and smell so good and you’re just so… you’re so sparing with your touches. As if you’re hesitant, not sure if he’d want your hands on him in the first place. Drives him so insane, he craves to hold you close but doesn’t want to push you before you’re ready.

Seeing you wear clothes he picked out for you has Sylus adjusting his collar and inhaling deep through his nose. His mark is on you, even if it’s not on your skin, you’re dressed so beautifully. You match him, compliment him perfectly. You look so breathtaking he has to mentally pat himself on the back for having such damn good taste. Seeing you feel yourself in what he’s picked does wonders for his already big ego. Seeing you twirl and smile as you admire yourself in the dress, the skirt, the pants, the shirt, whatever he’s picked out for you for the occasion. It gives him a sense of pride, like he’s done good, and it’s a genuine plus that you look so goddamn perfect in every outfit.

Kissing his knuckles nearly sends him over the edge one night. You had finished cleaning some wounds while his evol recharged and sealed the deal with a gingerly placed kiss on his battered knuckles. Sylus nearly sees stars because of it, such an overwhelming surge of possessiveness and heat flooding his weary veins that he nearly pops a hard-on then and there on the floor.

Caleb

Stealing his clothing is something you’ve always done. Something about it being comfier, softer, smelling like him. God he doesn’t even care for the reason, he just knows you look so divine in his shirt, his boxers, his hoodie. So cute and small compared to him, marked as his for anyone who has the gracious opportunity to see you in such a state. He guesses it’s only fair you steal his clothes, since he has a small — but growing — collection of your panties—

Relying on him 100% would put Caleb on cloud nine. Giving up your tough guy act and simply putting all of your needs on him would have him struggling to keep his composure long enough to actually see the tasks through. Could be something as simple as asking him to cut up some fruit for you, could be as complicated as giving your bike a tuneup. Regardless, Caleb is blissed out and glossy-eyed as he shows his love for you in his favorite fashion.

Slipping into his bed in the middle of the night has been something you’ve done since childhood. Bad dream, can’t sleep, anxious or stressed, Caleb’s arms have always been your biggest comfort. He waits for it, waits for the creak of his door and your quiet whisper of permission. He craves the dip of his mattress, the weight and warmth of your body next to his under his sheets. He has to be mindful of where his hips land on you, purely out of fear that you might feel something you’re not supposed to just yet.

[satrs]

Good lord that post with married au of Caleb and Mc had me sweating. Could you please write one more with the same au. I love the way you write, it’s so poetic and beautiful!

Hihu nonnie! I‘m flattered, really! Tysm!!! And tbh, I‘ve been wanting to write more about husband caleb HIHIHI soooo I'm going crazyyy now LETS GET IT LETS GET IT ^^

Husband!Caleb who's never one to follow tradition until your wedding. He dips down infront of your seated form to slip under your wedding dress infront of everyone. His teeth graze your thigh as he pulls down the white stroking wraped around your thigh, just as tradition calls him to. Before he comes up he licks a sly stripe up your laced panties, already excited to rip them off after this whole ordeal is over. He's met with your gasping and laughing guests, the fabric tucked between his teeth, shooting your flustered form a mischevous grin.

Husband!Caleb who can't keep his hands throughout the wedding off you at all. Wheter it's a kiss to your temple, his hand stroking your waist or a playful squeeze to your breast when no one's looking. Because, why should he? From today onwards, You’re his by law now. His wife. Everybody and their momma in here are gonna know that too, even if he has to drill it into their brain.

Husband!Caleb who's on you the moment you both get into your hotel room on your wedding night, not even bothering to take off your wedding dress as he scrambles through the layers of lace to bury himself deep into you. He cries as bad as he did infront of the altar earlier today, completely showering you in praises, dooting you with soooo much love.

Husband!Caleb's always jealous. But now that you both are married and some dickheads can't seem to see the fat shining rock on your finger, he's got you pinned to the door after a night-out now. "Hate those bastards flirting with you", he mutters between kisses, jaw clenching at the thought of that damned waiter from earlier, daring to slip you his number under the bill he paid for. “Mine. Say it, say you're my wife. Mine ta' love—” he fucks you slow but deep, marking every inch of you like a man starved, "and that sweet pussy of yours is mine ta' fuck."

Husband!Caleb lovesss to do daily activities with his wife— like showering. You’re brushing your teeth in the morning shower in a rush because you're late for work (your husband refused to let go of your body in the morning) when the culprit silently joins you. He pulls you in without a word, kissing you hard, groaning into your mouth as if he didn't have his full last night, “Already miss bein' inside of ya'. C'mon, call in sick today,” he takes you up against the tile, water cascading over your tangled limbs, steam clouding the space and the world beyond it, "Wanna love on my darlin' wife."

Husband!Caleb loves how you let him do what he wants, even at a formal fleet dinner like this. His hand disappears under the tablecloth halfway through the night, and you try to keep a straight face and listen to the unimportant higher-ups ranting on and on how well of a job your husband does while he lazily teases your slick folds. "M-mhmmm, I know, he's— incredible!" Caleb chuckles at your slight slip-up, fingers now dipping into your heat as he places a soothing kiss to your temple, eyes locked on you as he speaks to the backround characters, fingers curling right against your g-spot, "Truth is, I just married wayyy up. All credits to my wife."

Husband!Caleb who bends you over the counter as you're making breakfast in nothing but that cute apron he bought you that says 'Hotter Than My Oven'. His fingers are teasing, squeezing your perked tits under the apron before landing a playful smack to your exposed ass, “You really think I can wait till after breakfast when my wife 's all cutesy in this apron? Hell nah.”

Husband!Caleb cherishes moments like these, when you visit him in his office as a surprise just to “check in.” You end up bent over his desk, muffling moans against his hand, wedding band cold on your pursed lips while he fucks you into oblivion. “C-could visit me more often here— f-fuckkk! Loveeee your company—", he cuts himself off with one bullying thrust to your cervix, surely bruising something inside you and you're worrying if you can even go home by yourself after this, "—and her's too."

Husband!Caleb lives for lazy morning sex because he's just insatiable when it comes to you. He slips one hand between your thighs to make enough room so his leaking tip can align to your soaked entrance. He starts kissing down your back as he stuffes you full, inch by inch, softly coaxing you awake with soft bites and low groans. “Just lay there and lemme spoil my wife, pretty girl."

Husband!Caleb can't deny the weird feeling in his gut as he sees a baby of one of his officers in your arms as you coo little nonsense to it. He married you already, and maybe it’s time for some mini you‘s running around now, no? So he makes it his life's mission to pump you full of his seed from every day onward, catching neighbours complaint after complaint. But he couldn't care less, not at the image of you round and plumb with his child (or twins, he wouldn't mind), a lovestruck grin on his face as his neighbour gets on and on about you both being too loud for the nth time this week.

Husband!Caleb's dedication is actually out of this world. He's so certain that after he'd plugged you full of at least four of his loads and propped a pillow below you to lift your legs up, that you're surely pregnant now.

Husband!Caleb just smirks in triumph after you show him the two pink stripes on the test, strong muscles lifting you up, spinning around, telling you 'how excited he is on being a papa' and 'how good of a mother you'll be', before he settles you down onto the matress, celebrating his victory by having a nasty make-out session with your cute obidient cunt as a 'thank you'.

Husband!Caleb can never get enough of you and would never want to, because you both are bound together. Forever. Not even death will do you two apart, because he refuses to ever leave you. You're husband and wife—bound, destined and live together happily ever after.

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 2025. 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

[beautifullilacsky]

The lights remind me of the thoughts racing through my head, making my heartbeat spike. I know better. I should know better, yet my brain and body always heavily respond to even the mentioning of her name. I try to tell myself otherwise; I remind myself I am safe, I can safely trust. The thoughts don't stop, though.

A while later, he mentioned that it didn't even come to his mind before, but he realized now how this situation could really make me overthink a lot. He reminded me that him telling me to sleep home doesn't have anything to do with her; he just worries about my safety when I drive back so late. He asked me if it came to my mind. Yes, it was the first thing that did. With everything, my thoughts seem to find a way to lead it back to her. Ah, the weather will be good? All he thinks about is how he can drive with the roof down, while my first thought is what short clothes she will be wearing.

I wish he'd say it directly to me multiple times. But at this point, I shouldn't need that. And I don't NEED it. I would just like hearing the reassurance, reminding me that my trust is safely placed. Reminding me how much I mean to him and how he'd never hurt me like that. But I can tell myself that, too. I don't want to question him; he doesn't deserve to feel like I don't trust him. Why does that tiny voice in my head remind me of the time where I convinced myself and was so wrong to trust my intuition? This is different. This isn't intuition speaking, it's trauma and hurt. I will hear and understand it. I will love and nurture it. I am okay. I am safe. I trust.

[nugwon]

You should write having a smoke sesh w Jungwon and then they start getting freaky

💌 writing this while i’m high so i can feel something 😪

it would start innocent, you and your friends always hung out with jungwon and his. smoking, youd typically only smoke alone, its safer that way.. but occasionally, you’d indulge in the group setting. and jungwon hasn’t forgotten about the last time—how you and his eyes locked. silently undressing each other, but with all your friends around it was hard to talk to you. then one day. he invited you to match with him one day, a smoke for a smoke if you will.

you didn’t hesitate to say yes, “sure, come to my dorm later.” you smiled, walking to your next class. and when the night came that’s exactly what he did. jungwon and you sat on the floor, leaning against the couch—the slow drag he pulls from the pearled joint, before he passes it to you. it took a minute but he leaned his head back. “fuck i’m so high-.” he laughed half heartedly. you laughing softly with him.

you took the next pull, hard and but loose, your long clouded and so did your brain. jungwon watched and he was amazed. “you always this quiet when you’re high?” he licked his lips. you turned to face him—smoke ghosting from your lips, nodding your head. “why?” he was curious—and hot. he was really hot—everything felt tighter all of a sudden.

“i guess,” you shrugged, “i’m just waiting for you to make the first move.”

“that’s dangerous.” he chuckled, taking the joint from you, “you don’t have to wait much longer.” and he meant that. the higher he got the hornier he got—usually smoking would calm him down from that but he’s been on rock since he stepped into your room. his hand was on your thigh, pulling it closer and over his leg.

before you knew it, the joint disappeared—sitting in the ashtray. honestly forgotten about. your body was moved to his lap—he picked you up like it was nothing. jungwon was all about taking control, you’d never have to do anything if you didn’t want to or feel like it. his lips ghosted over your lips—taking in what’s in front of him before he kisses you. his hands getting handsy, grabbing your waist and shifting down

his lips finally find yours, soft at first, like he’s still teasing, still testing how far you’ll let him go. but you part your lips and pull him in deeper, and that’s all the permission he needs. his hands slide under your shirt, fingers grazing your skin like he’s memorizing every inch. the heat between you builds fast, almost dizzying, and you’re not sure if it’s the high or just him—but it’s got your head spinning.

you’re straddling him, that kiss got heated super fast. with his hands dragging down to your ass and grabbing it. just how it felt in his hands—he imagined feeling on his cock. with a quick, professional shift of the knees, you were closer than you already were, chests slightly touching and his hand guiding your hips to rock back and forth.

grinding while staring into each others eyes, the kiss had stopped once the both of you felt that butterfly in your stomach—imagine a not tying itself and you can’t untie it. the warm feeling from between his legs—made your body run hot. he guided you with such ease, biting his lip as he felt everything—his bulge only grows bigger.

jungwon head tilts back slightly, moaning quietly. “fuck, i can only imagine what your pussy feels like..” this felt way too good to him—like he hasn’t been touched in ages. the harder your rocked the better it felt—to both of you. the skirt you were wearing wasn’t helping—because now your panties we’re soaked. “don’t you want to fuck me wonie?” you’d boldly ask him. and you know he does.

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝓉𝓎𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝜗𝜚 𝒽𝓎𝓊𝑔𝑜

We’re back again with the “type of boyfriend” headcanons—this time for the best baby boy in TKATB. That’s right, it’s finally Hyugo’s turn. People have been asking for him (loudly), and since there’s barely any content on this chaotic rooftop menace, I figured... fine. It’s time.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Also, I was only gone for like two weeks and suddenly y’all hit me with 1K followers—??? Why?? T-T

I’m not even a consistent writer, I just be vanishing like a ghost with commitment issues. But seriously, thank you. I’ll try to get to your requests after finals, once my brain cells recover from the academic warfare.

Anyway, writing him? Pain. He’s sweet, playful, has beef with the college, possibly a knife in his back pocket 24/7, and still manages to be boyfriend-coded. Balancing all that? Not easy—especially studying for finals kicking me in the face. But even while dying academically, I think I’ve got a solid grasp on him now.

Honestly? I might just become the main Hyugo writer. 

Someone has to. Let’s get into it.

[ 𝓂𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ]

Let’s be clear—Hyugo was the one catching feelings first.

The boy was already gone for you long before you realized what was happening. In the game, it’s mentioned he has a “certain crush,” and the way he stares a little too long or makes offhand comments about how you “remind him of someone”?

Yeah. That someone is you.

He doesn’t confess right away, though. That’s not his style. Instead, he lingers around you more often, steals your pen to “borrow it” even though he never returns it, pulls you into weird places like the rooftop “just because,” and randomly brings up your name in conversations with Sol—pretending it’s no big deal. (Spoiler: it is.)

✑ Unpredictable Lover (But With Bite)

Hyugo doesn’t ease into love. He trips, stumbles, and full-body slams into it like a cartoon character hitting a wall—and then laughs about it while nursing emotional whiplash. One minute you’re just the guy who shares notes or laughs at his dumb trivia. 

The next? He’s looking at you like you invented gravity.

When the MC reminded him of his old crush? That was it. Game over. His brain short-circuited and fully convinced itself you were his soulmate. Not in a clingy way (okay, maybe a little clingy), but in that wide-eyed, heart-hammering, "Oh, you're real? You're mine?" kind of way.

It’s not even subtle. If Sol’s the type to bottle everything up until it explodes, Hyugo’s just… holding the bottle upside down, watching it pour, and asking if you want a sip. He’ll tell you he likes you in the most offhand, dramatic, heart-melting ways—laughing as if it’s no big deal while simultaneously dying inside.

“I like you too much. It’s annoying.” cue deflection into food talk like he didn’t just ruin your emotional stability for the week

He’s drawn to people who get him—the weird parts, the unpredictable schedule, the random ass facts at 3 a.m., the way he vanishes and reappears with rare cassettes or bags of stolen berries like a chaotic little cryptid boyfriend. People who don’t try to "fix" him, but instead hand him a spoon and ask to share dessert.

He doesn’t do patterns. Doesn’t do expectations. What he does do is follow his gut, sprint into romantic territory like it’s a speedrun, and somehow still make you feel like the center of the universe—his odd little galaxy.

One day he’s got your favorite fruity snack in hand, saying, “Skip class with me. I found a crime documentary we can heckle together.” The next? He’s ghosted for two days. No texts. No calls. Reappears like nothing happened, dumps a bag of cassette tapes in your lap, and mutters, “They sounded like you. Messy but good.”

His version of sweet nothings?

“If I threatened the dean, do you think I’d get expelled or promoted?”

What.

Anyway, Hyugo’s idea of a confession is the kind of thing that makes you pause for a full ten seconds wondering if he just insulted you or proposed.

Like the time he sauntered over to you with a slice of cake in a paper napkin, tossed it on your desk, and casually said:

“I got this cake the other day and it reminded me of you. It was horrible—like, truly disgusting—but really pretty to look at.”

And then he smiled.

Not even sheepishly. Just smug. Like he thought he was being romantic.

And somehow? It kind of was.

Because beneath the trolling and chaotic delivery, there’s a genuine, rare honesty. That cake? It was real. He hated it—but he thought about you. He bought it thinking about you. He shared it, thinking that even if it sucked, he wanted you to be part of the joke, part of the moment. And that’s what Hyugo does. He doesn’t wrap his feelings in a bow—he throws them at you like a dodgeball and laughs when you flinch.

But that’s the thing: Hyugo’s love isn’t elegant. It’s not scheduled. It’s messy, spontaneous, way-too-loud, and utterly sincere. One day he’s skipping class to show you a crime documentary he downloaded illegally off a sketchy website, and the next, he’s vanished for 48 hours without a word. Then he returns like nothing happened, hands you a crumpled bag of sweets and pretty flowers and mutters:

“I don’t know. These felt like you.”

He doesn’t believe in doing things the “right” way. He believes in feeling. And if being with you makes his heart do that hiccup thing in his chest? He’s going to chase that.

His affection isn’t routine—it’s a riot. He’ll flirt by arguing with you about fictional crimes. He’ll compliment you by comparing you to garbage-eating birds. He’ll confess his feelings mid-snack, while chewing.

“I like you too much, it’s annoying. Can you pass the chips?”

And honestly? It’s kind of perfect.

Because Hyugo doesn’t do romance the normal way—he does it his way. Unhinged. Blunt. Endearing in the most unpredictable fashion.

If you can survive the whiplash of dating someone who gifts you detective movie posters, late-night existential rants, and a stolen plush frog from the student store—He’s already yours.

Sidenote, now thinking about—Let’s just say… if Sol finds out Hyugo has feelings for the MC too?

Sol is the type to internalize every emotion until it calcifies. He doesn’t say he’s upset—he just stiffens around you, goes quiet, disappears from hangouts, and starts writing darker poetry. But make no mistake: he sees everything. And Hyugo? He’s not subtle. Not even a little.

Hyugo would catch on instantly. He’d tease Sol. Not maliciously—more like poking a sleeping wolf with a stick to see if it barks.

“You’re awfully quiet, Sol. Something bothering you?”

leans a little too close to MC

“Or someone?”

And maybe he laughs. Maybe he makes a show of being the light-hearted one. But behind all that noise is a sharp, protective loyalty—Hyugo’s jokes are weapons, and he’ll use them to keep the people he cares about close.

He might pretend to flirt just to mess with Sol.

But when it comes to you? He’s serious. Hyugo doesn’t play around with the things that make his heartbeat go crooked.

If you’re the one who makes him feel free—if you accept all his chaos without trying to change him—he’ll give you everything. The good, the bad, the oddly sweet bird-themed analogies. The ugly truths he doesn’t tell anyone else.

Because once Hyugo falls?

He falls all the way. No brakes. No caution tape. No escape plan.

Just you, and a heart too loud to ignore.

✑ Smart but Soft (and a lil scary)

Hyugo’s the type who confuses people on purpose. He’s top of the class one day, doesn’t show up the next. Cracks the most complicated equation in five minutes, then sticks googly eyes on the school vending machine and blames it on aliens.

Some say he’s a delinquent. Some say he’s a genius. All anyone really knows is that Hyugo always gets things done. He’s reliable.

Strangely so. You call him at 3AM with a crisis? He shows up.

You’re in tears over nothing? He distracts you with candy and half a conspiracy theory. He’s not ashamed of affection either—not even a little. 

Hyugo doesn’t care who’s watching when he grabs your hand in the hallway, when he hugs you from behind, or when he loudly calls you embarrassing pet names in front of Sol, or pretty much anyone.

Yeah. He's that guy.

But there’s something… off about him too.

Not in a bad way. Just—off. Like, he’s always smiling. Always laughing. But sometimes you catch that flicker in his eyes that’s just a bit too sharp. Sometimes his grin feels like it’s hiding something sharp behind it. Something practiced. Like he's worn that mask for years and just got good at making it look natural.

And the truth is? You’ve seen things.

Once, after class, you were heading toward the train station shortcut—an alleyway behind the older school buildings. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the voice that echoed off the brick stopped you cold. It was rough. Deep. Too serious. Too cold. Not Hyugo’s voice.

“If I catch you touching her again, I’ll carve out your throat and make you apologize with your last breath. Say ‘thank you’ for the warning.”

And then you saw him.

Hyugo. Your Hyugo.

Back pressed to some guy’s chest, hand gripping his jaw like he’d snap it clean. Not smiling. Not even blinking. Calm in a way that felt unnatural. There was a flick-knife in his hand. The same one he later used to peel an apple while lying on your floor like it never happened.

And what did you do? Nothing. You minded your business.

Like, what were you supposed to say? “Hey, babe, nice threats today! Who was the guy? Should I be worried?” Because how do you ask someone if they’re dangerous when they’re laying in your lap, pressing absentminded kisses to the inside of your wrist? When he’s curled up beside you with all his warmth and nicknames and that childish excitement in his voice whenever he finds a weird bug or sees a raccoon?

How do you bring it up when he's sweet?

When he traces your knuckles with the same fingers that curled around a knife so naturally. When he leans into your neck and mumbles, “You smell like strawberries,” like it’s a confession.

When he tells you, “Don’t ever leave me, okay?” in a tone too soft to be anything but sincere. That duality is what makes Hyugo dangerous. And irresistible.

He’s smart. Very smart. Too smart, maybe.

But beneath that chaotic, happiness-bomb energy, there’s a darkness he doesn't talk about. A history he won’t explain. All you get are glimmers—warnings painted in pretty smiles and sugar-sweet kisses. And maybe he isn’t an assassin. Maybe he just knows how to handle himself. Maybe he is too cute for that sort of thing. ...Right? Or maybe the same hands that cup your cheeks gently could, without hesitation, end someone who hurt you.

And maybe—just maybe—that’s why you feel safest right next to him.

✑ Certified Cling Wrap™

Hyugo’s a walking paradox.

He’s an extrovert, yeah. The guy who can light up a room just by showing up, who always has something weirdly fascinating to say ("Did you know slugs have four noses?"). The type who remembers everyone’s birthday, even if he doesn’t show up to class half the time. He’s fun. Loud. Chaotic.

But when it comes down to it?

There’s nowhere he’d rather be than with you.

He’d trade a party for your couch in a heartbeat. Scratch that—he wouldn’t even consider the party if you were available. You could literally say, “I’m thinking of watching a movie tonight,” and he’d be like:

“Say less. I’m bringing snacks.”

He just wants to exist in your space. Quiet or loud, chaotic or cozy, rainy or sunlit—if you’re in it, that’s where Hyugo wants to be. And when he’s there? Prepare to lose all personal space rights.

Hyugo is Certified Cling Wrap™

Affectionate in the most relentless, devoted way. He’s the kind of guy who:

Will sit on the floor beside you just so he can lean his head against your thigh while you're working.

Wraps his arms around your waist from behind while you’re cooking, swaying with you and humming some dumb made-up song about your hair smelling good.

Steals your hoodies even though he already has a closet full of his own (“Yours smell like comfort and bad decisions.”).

Sleeps like a cat in a sunbeam—curled up on you, gripping your shirt with a soft little snore in your ear.

He doesn’t care if your hair’s a mess, or if you’ve said three words all day. To him, that’s the dream. A quiet afternoon, curled up together under a blanket, him reading some wild conspiracy thread aloud like it’s bedtime poetry, your legs tangled under the coffee table—that’s his definition of paradise.

And it’s not just physical closeness.

It’s emotional, too. Hyugo pays attention.

He notices when your laugh doesn’t sound real. When your “I’m fine” isn’t. When you’re holding back tears or trying to carry more than you should. And in his own strange, lovable way, he makes it better. Sometimes it’s through chaos—dragging you out of bed at 2AM for gas station candy and an illegal rooftop view of the cityline. Maybeee say for a bit to sun rise.

Sometimes it’s through comfort—sneaking in your favorite drink with a dumb note taped to it (“Drink this or perish.”).

And sometimes, it’s just… silence.

Him resting beside you, letting his fingers run lazy circles on your arm while you process whatever’s weighing you down. Not asking for anything. Just being there.

Hyugo’s the guy who’ll whisper “I love you” into your hair when he thinks you’re asleep, just to be safe. Who calls you nicknames like he’s been doing it his whole life—“bug,” “babyface,” “sweet disaster,” depending on the mood.

Who holds your hand like it grounds him.

And maybe he’s a little too clingy. Maybe he gets pouty when you’re not around. Maybe he whines into your voicemail if you ignore his texts for too long (“I’ve withered like an unloved plant. You better come water me or I’m dying dramatically.”).

But that clinginess? It’s love. Undeniable. Raw. Real. Because Hyugo doesn’t just want to be with you. He wants to build with you. A life. A routine. A weird little bubble of shared chaos and safety and inside jokes that no one else understands.

You’re his home. Not the apartment, not the school rooftop, not the alleyways where he sometimes does questionable things.

You.

And he’ll remind you in a hundred little ways, every single day.

✑ The Ass Silly Flirt

Hyugo flirts like it’s a full-time job and he's trying to get promoted.

He’s not smooth about it either—he’s annoying. Like, he’ll text you “thinking of you 😘” and then immediately follow it up with a picture of a traffic cone wearing a wig with the caption: “This u?”

And the worst part? You laugh or offended. Every time.

He texts you non-stop, like you're both in some private group chat that never shuts up. No context. No warning. Just raw, unfiltered Hyugo brain static 24/7:

“Do you think ghosts get boners?”

“Be honest would I survive if I just ate bubblegum and vibes for a week.”

“I saw a pigeon with a limp today and now I’m emotionally compromised.”

Mid-class, 3AM, during a fire drill—he does not care. You’re getting these texts whether you're ready or not.

And the memes? OH, THE MEMES.

Hyugo’s meme game is so strong it’s criminal. He’s got folders. Archives. A whole reaction gif arsenal like he’s been preparing for emotional warfare. He sends one for every situation, no matter how inappropriate.

You text him “I’m sad.”

He sends a gif of SpongeBob playing the world’s smallest violin and follows it up with “come cuddle or perish, dramatic ass.”

It’s his love language.

He doesn’t know how to say “I care about you deeply” like a normal person—he just sends you 38 TikToks in a row and expects you to watch them all immediately and react to each one like you’re being graded.

Now. Let’s talk about The Streak™.

Y’all have had a TikTok streak going for months. At this point, it’s longer than some people’s relationships. It is sacred. And if you break it? Hyugo will take it personally. You think he’s kidding? No. This man will hit you with voice notes that sound like break-up letters. 

“Hey. So. I noticed we haven’t exchanged any TikToks in the last… 14 hours. Are you okay? Are we okay? Just let me know if you hate me now. It’s fine. I’ll just go stare out a rainy window like a Victorian widow.” You better send something—anything—before he starts live-posting his descent into madness.

Speaking of voice notes?

He loves those. You open your phone and there’s just a five-minute recording of him rambling while pacing his room like a raccoon hopped up on sugar.

“Okay so listen—I saw this guy trip on the sidewalk and somehow launch his phone into a trash can, and I SWEAR it was cinematic. Like, Academy Award level physics. Anyway I thought of you. Wanna get dinner?”

Or sometimes it’s just him humming some random song he heard in the background of a YouTube ad and begging:

“Can you find this song? Please. I’m in shambles. I don’t have Shazam and my dignity won’t survive me asking a stranger.” And you do find it. Because you love him. And because you’ve accepted that being in love with Hyugo means acting as his personal Google assistant and meme judge.

Hyugo doesn’t flirt to impress. He flirts to torment. To tease.

To infect your brain like a catchy song and live there rent-free until you’re giggling like an idiot alone in your room just because he sent you a picture of a cat with bad bangs and said, “our child if we never discipline them.”

He’s a menace. A menace with heart eyes and a clingy streak. 

He’s the kind of guy who’d write “I love you” on a bathroom mirror with lip balm and then blame it on ghosts. The type who’d kiss you mid-sentence just to watch you stutter. Who’d steal your charger but bring you snacks to “make up for it” and then never give the charger back.

In short: He’s loud. Annoying. Borderline illegal levels of clingy.

But he’s yours. And that’s kinda the best part.

✑ Tailored to You

— Words of Affirmation?

Hyugo speaks your praises like he’s reciting scripture from a holy book only he knows how to read. 

It’s constant. Casual. Deadpan-delivered and terrifyingly sincere.

You’ll be mid-rant about your day and he’ll just go:

“You're the smartest person I know, and I hang out with Sol. That man knows Latin and still doesn’t know how to say sorry. Meanwhile, you? You breathe and my brain goes ‘yeah, this is the one.’”

Sometimes he insults you, sure, but in that “I’m obsessed with you but emotionally stunted” way.

“You make me want to be a better man. Unfortunately, I’m lazy and emotionally unhinged, so you’re stuck with this version of me. Congrats.”

And don’t even think about crying in front of him. He’ll switch from “hey sexy” to “you are the most brilliant, beautiful, badass person I’ve ever met” so fast it’ll give you emotional whiplash.

— Acts of Service?

Hyugo would absolutely walk into a war zone with nothing but your to-do list and a Monster energy drink and say, “Don't worry babe, I got it.”

He’ll do your homework shockingly he’s smart asf while you nap, call customer service on your behalf (“Hi yes, my partner’s about to commit murder over a billing error, please help”), and will not let you carry your own bag if he’s around.

Did your phone die? Suddenly, his is at 92% and in your hands.

Craving something? It’s on your bed before you even finish the sentence.

Exhausted? He’s already drawing you a bath and setting a snack tray like he’s your overworked but loyal butler who’s also in love with you.

He doesn’t even act like it’s a big deal. He just shrugs and says:

“If you’re good to me, I gotta be good back. That’s the rule.”

— Receiving Gifts?

He gives gifts like he’s on a scavenger hunt where the prize is your smile. They’re not always expensive—but they are weirdly specific.

A ring from a claw machine he swears “vibes with your aura.”

A charm bracelet/ring/necklace with tiny objects representing inside jokes only the two of you understand.

An old book with your favorite quote already highlighted, because he “happened to see it and thought of you.”

A dumb little vending machine toy he’s convinced is your new emotional support trinket. And the wrapping? Forget it. He’ll give it to you in a paper towel and say,

“Presentation is for cowards. Love is raw and weird. Take it.”

— Quality Time?

This man thrives on being around you.

Not even doing anything, just existing in your orbit. He’ll lay sideways across your bed like a lizard sunbathing while you read. He’ll follow you from room to room like a haunted but affectionate cat. You’re watching a movie? He's not even watching—he’s watching you watch it. “You scrunch your nose when you get invested. It’s cute. I like it. Shut up and let me admire you.”

Wanna nap together? He’s already curled up next to you.

Want to work in silence? He’ll bring snacks and just vibe, occasionally sending you memes while sitting 3 feet away.

Your time? His favorite gift of all time. 

— Physical Touch?

Oh you want space? Too bad, babe.

Hyugo is basically a heated blanket with limbs. 

He’s all over you—shoulder leans, back hugs, thigh squeezes, lap pillows, forehead touches, neck nuzzles. He’s like Velcro with feelings. He has zero shame. “You’re soft and warm and smell like my favorite person, why wouldn’t I be on top of you right now?” And yes, those hands? Again, the same ones that once threatened someone in an alleyway after class?

Those are the ones that cup your face so gently it makes your stomach flip.

That brush your hair behind your ear. That hold your hand even in public, especially in public, with a smug little grin like he’s bragging silently: “Yeah. This is mine.”

In conclusion, Hyugo doesn’t just love you in five languages.

He’s practically multilingual in affection—loud, devoted, and unfiltered. Tailored to you. Perfectly chaotic. Inescapably real.

Want to cry a little about it later? Yeah. Me too.

✑ Tailored to Him

— Words of Affirmation?

Hyugo thrives on your praise like it’s oxygen laced with espresso.

Tell him he’s smart? He’ll preen. Tell him he’s handsome? He’ll smirk and pull you into a kiss so sweet it tastes like a dare. But whisper to him, all soft and serious, “I’m proud of you” or “You make me feel safe” and he short circuits. Full-body blush. Ears red. Eyes everywhere but on you.

He might laugh it off, say something dumb like,

“Babe, stop it, I’ll fall harder and it’s already embarrassing out here…”

But he replays your words over and over in his head. He craves your approval like it’s sacred. He doesn’t want empty compliments—he wants real ones, the ones you mean. The ones that come out when you think he’s not listening, but he always is. He remembers your voice in detail. 

If you say something sweet in the morning, expect him to bring it up casually three days later like it didn’t melt his heart into syrup.

— Physical Touch? 

Let’s not play.

He’s got the soft hands, the smug smirk, the “come here and sit in my lap while I tell you about this video game I saw played last night” voice. But under that cuddly, somewhat short golden retriever exterior is a problem in the best way.

He’ll touch you constantly—absently tugging your fingers, nosing at your neck, kissing your knuckles like some old-timey heartthrob who listens to rap music and fights demons on weekends. Bro what?

But when he wants you? Oh, he wants you.

He leans in close when he talks, voice dropping an octave, and his fingers splay against your hip like he knows what he’s doing. 

When it’s just the two of you, he goes quiet. Focused. His usual chaotic flirty energy simmers down into this heated, steady burn. And God help you if you wear something that shows your skin—because suddenly he’s behind you, dragging his fingertips along your arms, whispering in your ear with that teasing-laced purr like:

“You really gonna look like that around me and act innocent? That’s wild.”

He’s cute. But he’s also lowkey hot in that "I’d ruin you with love and cheek kisses and then also maybe leave scratch marks you didn’t know you liked" kind of way.

— Quality Time?

Hyugo’s a social creature, yeah—but you? You’re home.

He could be surrounded by people, laughing at memes, bouncing from conversation to conversation—but the moment you walk in, he shifts. Eyes locked. Energy redirected. Like you’re his true north in a galaxy of distractions.

He doesn't need an occasion. Doesn’t need a plan.

He’s the kind of guy who shows up at your door with snacks, a blanket, and zero expectations other than being near you.

Spending time with you recharges him. Whether it's lying in bed watching weird documentaries, going on midnight walks, or sitting on rooftops eating vending machine junk food—if it’s with you? 

It’s worth it.

He memorizes your routines, your reactions, your sleepy habits. He makes mental notes like:

“They like their tea a little sweeter at night.”

“They squint when reading—they need a lamp, I’ll buy one.”

“They hum that one song while brushing their teeth—learn that on guitar maybe?”

Time isn’t just time with Hyugo. It’s devotion made casual. It’s “I choose you” in every second. It’s you matter most, no matter what else I could be doing.

So yeah. Hyugo’s a mess. But he’s your mess.

He’s a walking contradiction of softness and chaos, affection and absurdity. He loves in ways that feel like warm thunderstorms—loud, unexpected, but still soothing if you know how to listen. And when he loves you, he tailors it perfectly.

Words that lift you up. Touches that say "stay." Time that says “you’re all I need.”

He’s all in. And he’ll make damn sure you feel it.

✑ Joystick Jerk 

Oh, Hyugo’s a gamer gamer.

Not some flashy streamer, not a try-hard clout chaser—no face cam, no Twitch, no mic unless it’s Discord with you or the inner circle. He doesn’t stream, and when you asked why, he just shrugged and said something cryptic like:

“Gotta keep some parts of me hidden, y’know? Too many eyes makes the game less fun.”

Which like… okay. Cool. Normal people say that.

Totally not suspicious. Definitely not assassin-coded behavior. Definitely didn’t say that while sharpening a pocketknife and humming anime opening themes under his breath.

But listen, the man’s cracked at every game you throw at him. FPS? Headshots for days. Fighting games? You blink, you lose. Racing? Don’t even try it. Even rhythm games? He gets full combos and doesn’t even break a sweat. He’s got the focus of someone who’s either a pro… or someone who’s trained their hand-eye coordination to kill a man in silence.

And worst of all? He always wants to play with you. 

And when I say always, I mean always.

“Babe, let’s do co-op, I’ll carry you.”

“Play a round with me? C’mon, I’ll give you a kiss every time you die.”

“If I win, you have to say I’m hot. If you win… okay that’s never gonna happen, but I’ll still say you’re hot.” It’s cute at first. Until you realize he never loses. Not unless he lets you win.

And yes—you noticed.

He tries to act slick about it. Pretends he “accidentally” missed that final hit or “slipped” during the last lap. But the smug look on his face gives it away every damn time.

You: “You let me win, didn’t you.”

Hyugo, grinning: “What? No way. You’re just getting better. Natural talent. Gamer instincts. Maybe I’m rubbing off on you—”

You: “I’m going to delete your save file.”

Hyugo: “Wait—WAIT I’M SORRY—”

There was a time you swore off gaming with him completely. “Sore loser? Absolutely. Certified D1 crash-out? No shame.” But lately, he’s been playing way too much.

Like… you come over and he barely looks up from his screen. Just tosses a lazy “hey babe” and keeps mashing buttons like his life depends on it. Sometimes he forgets to eat. Sometimes he forgets you’re in the room.

So what do you do? Be normal? Communicate?

Nah. You’re evil.

Beautifully, diabolically evil.

Let’s say one day, Hyugo’s deep into a match. He’s playing some online team shooter with Sol, both of them barking callouts like seasoned war generals. His voice smooth and laser-focused as he barks commands into his mic. The screen flashes with rapid gunfire, his fingers a blur over the keyboard. He’s locked in, absolutely locked in—with that deadly kind of concentration that makes you want to ruin it.

So naturally, you do.

You drop to your knees without a word and slip under his desk, the soft whir of his PC fans the only warning he gets.

At first, he doesn’t notice. At first.

Your fingers trail up his calf, slow and innocent.

Then not so innocent. You press your palms to his thighs, feel the twitch under your hands. And when you start fiddling with the buttons of his pants, he pauses—just for a second.

His voice stutters.

“Y—yeah, flank left—mnn—flank, I meant flank! Just—move, damn it!”

Sol’s voice crackles through the headset, confused: “Yo, you good?”

Hyugo clears his throat with the subtlety of a panicked cat. “Yup. Peachy. Total—nghh—focus.”

You don’t stop. If anything, you get bolder—running your nails along the seam, watching him shift in his seat, those long fingers faltering for just a beat. You don’t even need to look up to know his jaw is clenched, teeth gritted in pure restraint. You can hear it in his breath. Shaky. A little desperate.

Then, finally, a low, bitten-off sound escapes him—a moan. Not loud. But real. Raw. The kind of sound you feel low in your stomach.

“Fuck—” And still? Still he wins the match. Freak of nature. You almost applaud. “GGs, I’m out,” Hyugo mutters into the mic, voice hoarse. “Emergency. Real life critical hit.”

Click. Call ends. Silence.

Before you can even shift, he’s got one arm under your shoulders, dragging you out and straight into his lap. The headset’s tossed somewhere across the desk. The game’s forgotten. All his focus now? On you.

Those baby blue eyes? Sharp. Wicked. Burning.

“You wanna play dirty now?” he breathes, voice low, chest heaving. “You think you can tease me while I play the game with Sol and just walk away?” His hand slides up your thigh, firm and slow.

“Nah, sweetheart. You started this.”

And Hyugo?

Oh, he never leaves a game unfinished.

✑ Sugar, Spice, and Chaos

For someone who lives on the edge of unhinged and adorable, it’s no surprise Hyugo is a menace in the kitchen—but only if it involves sugar. Actual meals? Nah. He either burns them, forgets them on the stove, or looks at savory ingredients like they personally offended him. 

But sweets? Baking? That’s his love language.

He’ll never say it, but there’s something almost calming about it—the measuring, the mixing, the slow transformation of flour and butter into something warm and golden. He’s got a soft spot for berry shortcake, especially ones layered with cream and strawberries. It’s nostalgic, he once said. You don’t press further, but the way he lights up when he tastes it? 

Tells you all you need to know.

So one weekend, he drags you into the kitchen with that signature grin, sleeves rolled up, apron tied (yes, it says “kiss the baker,” yes he wore it on purpose) and says: “Today, we conquer the cake.”

You start with the cake base—he insists on doing the measuring himself, swearing he has “baker’s intuition.” You don’t argue, even when you notice him eyeballing the flour instead of using the cup.

The moment the batter’s mixed, he tastes it with a spoon like it’s a gourmet meal. Then gives you a spoonful too. 

“Here. For quality control.” It’s… actually amazing.

While it bakes, he turns the kitchen into a war zone of whipped cream, sugar, and cut strawberries. He tries to pipe roses onto parchment and ends up with something that looks suspiciously like a slug.

“Abstract art,” he claims. “Put it in a museum.”

You laugh. He grins wider.

Then comes the fun part—assembling. You’re trying to do it neatly, but Hyugo? He starts feeding you strawberries like some dramatic prince and smearing whipped cream on your nose when you’re not looking.

“Look at you,” he smirks, “cuter than the cake.”

You chase him around the kitchen with a spatula in revenge. It ends in a tie. And a kiss. (With a side of whipped cream.)

Finally, the shortcake’s done—messy, chaotic, but somehow still perfect. Just like him.

The kitchen’s a battlefield of bowls, whipped cream smears, and flour footprints. You’re both a little sticky, a little out of breath from laughing too hard, and the oven’s still faintly warm behind you. Hyugo licks a smudge of berry syrup off his thumb with the same lazy grin that always gets him his way.

You’re sitting on the counter, legs swinging, and he’s nestled between them, sharing forkfuls of cake straight from the dish. His eyes flicker up every time you chew, like he’s not watching the dessert but you enjoying it.

He hums low after a bite, leaning against your shoulder. “I’d burn water for dinner, but damn if I won’t make you the best dessert of your life.”

You snort, licking cream from the side of your lip.

“Cocky much?”

“Confident,” he says, swiping a bit of whipped cream with his finger and tapping it onto the tip of your nose. “But also a little hungry still…”

You tilted your head, lost. “For the cake?”

“Sure,” he smirks, “let’s go with that.”

He kisses it off your nose—soft and teasing. Then off your cheek. Your jaw. The corner of your mouth. Each one slower than the last. Until it’s not about the cake anymore.

You reach for the bowl of whipped cream—because why not?—and dip your fingers in it. His eyes track you like prey, curious and wide as you smear a little on the side of your neck. “Oops,” you whisper, “missed a spot.”

Hyugo freezes. Then laughs, soft and dangerous. “Oh, you really wanna start something, huh?”

The next moment is a blur—his hands are on your thighs, spreading them wider around him as he presses closer. His lips find the cream on your neck and he bites—playful at first, then deeper. Your breath catches. That baby blue gaze turns sharp, electric with mischief.

He kisses down your throat, slow and purposeful, tongue chasing the sugar and teeth chasing your pulse. You’re not even sure how the bowl got knocked over, but it doesn’t matter. The spoon clatters to the floor. Your back arches into him.

“Tastes good,” he mutters against your skin, “but you’re sweeter.”

His hands slide up under your shirt, warm and insistent. The cake is long forgotten now, half-eaten and melting beside you. His mouth is busy elsewhere—your collarbone, your shoulder, the curve where your neck meets your jaw. He’s painting you with sugar and heat, and licking every trace away.

You’re not sure who pulls who in first for the kiss, but it’s messy and desperate and just the right amount of wrong. And when he pulls back, panting, pupils blown wide?

“Kitchen’s already trashed,” he grins, voice rough, “might as well finish the job.”

Let’s just say the next round doesn’t involve frosting—but it’s still very much dessert.

✑ Partners in Cosplay (and Crime)

You knew Hyugo liked crime flicks and video games—but this? This was a full-blown obsession.

He’s not just a fan. He’s a geek. Deep in the lore, the trivia, the obscure theories that only like four people on the internet care about—and he’s friends with all four. He’s the kind of guy who can quote entire movie scenes, word for word, with the dramatic voice shifts and everything. One time he paused a shootout scene just to explain the gun model they used and how it’s “totally unrealistic, but looks so fucking cool.” His eyes literally sparkled.

So when convention weekend rolls around? Oh, he’s already packed.

Costume? Secured. Prop weapon? Custom-made.

And when he asks you to go with him? He doesn’t even care who you dress up as—just that you’re there. His partner in crime. Literally.

You pick a character that kinda matches his—maybe one from his favorite show, or the one you think would annoy his the most. Either way, when you step out in your outfit, Hyugo malfunctions. Full on, mouth open, hand to chest, “I think I just fell in love again” levels of dramatic.

You walk the con floor hand-in-hand, him constantly pulling you over to booths like a kid with too much sugar and no parental supervision. 

He buys crime-themed keychains, limited edition figures, posters with ridiculous quotes, and sketches from artist alley like his life depends on it. He compliments cosplayers like a pro—“Damn, that’s clean! Bro, how’d you make the holster?”—and flirts with you every chance he gets. “You look way too good in that outfit. You trying to kill me or get me arrested?”

By the time you get to the hotel, his and yours arms are full of merch bags, his wallet’s empty, and his energy is still sky high.

You barely make it through the door before he’s tossing his stuff onto the couch and pulling you onto the bed with him. 

Still in cosplay, the both of you. 

“Okay but like… what if our characters actually hooked up? For research purposes.”

You raise a brow. “Research?”

He just smirks and leans in closer, fingers already unbuckling whatever fake tactical vest he’s wearing.

“I’m just saying… we could be committing crimes of passion right now. Or passionately committing crimes. Whichever hits harder.”

Before you can reply, his lips are on yours, hands warm and eager as they slide beneath your costume, tugging fabric aside and leaving goosebumps in his wake. He kisses like he’s still acting in character—cocky, sharp, teasing—but with that unmistakable Hyugo sweetness that always slips through.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispers between kisses, “real talk.” And when you end up tangled in a mess of half-off cosplay and breathless laughter, his voice is low and rough in your ear:

“Next year? We’re going all out. Couple cosplay. New characters. New roles. New positions—wait, did I say that last one out loud?”

You’re pretty sure he’s still joking… mostly.

✑ He’s Pansexual (lil angst)

Hyugo is pansexual—genuinely and unapologetically so.

He doesn’t care if someone’s masculine, feminine, both, neither, fluid, strange, loud, quiet, or something the world hasn’t learned how to label yet. If he’s drawn to you, it’s because you’re you—your voice, your presence, the way you move through a room, the look in your eyes when you’re focused, angry, glowing, grieving. He falls in love with essence, not gender.

“I don’t give a damn what you are on paper,” he once told you, head resting on your stomach, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt. “I like what you are to me. And that? That’s something nobody else gets to have.”

He says it so confidently, like it’s not even up for debate. 

Because it isn’t. But love—real love—terrifies him.

Hyugo plays it cool, because he’s always been good at pretending. But when he lets himself really care for someone? It unlocks this whole hidden, trembling part of him that he usually buries beneath bad jokes and gaming trash talk. That part of him that lies awake sometimes, staring at the ceiling, scared out of his goddamn mind that one day the world might take you away from him.

“I don’t… live a quiet life,” he admitted once, when things between you were still new, still fragile. “I got people who know my name and don’t say it fondly. I got enemies. I got… unfinished things. If I ever pull back, disappear for a while… it’s not ‘cause I’m tired of you. It’s ‘cause I’m trying to protect you.”

You hadn’t said anything right away.

Just looked at him—really looked—while he sat still, shoulders tight, like every second of silence chipped away at his confidence. Like he was bracing himself for you to sigh, to shake your head, to say you didn’t sign up for this.

Like he’d seen it happen before.

Because he had.

People have left Hyugo before. Screaming matches or messy, dramatic exits or Just… quietly. Gradually. Like a candle flickering out in a room he hadn’t realized had gone cold.

Some said he was “too much”—too chaotic, too unreachable, too unpredictable. Others didn’t say anything at all. They just disappeared. Let go without warning. Walked out while he was still holding on.

So when he opened up to you, even a little—when he admitted how messy his life was, how much danger it might bring, how scared he was of dragging someone good into his world—it wasn’t just a warning.

It was a test. And he hated that it had to be.

But you didn’t walk away.

And something in him cracked open for you after that. Slowly, cautiously—but it opened. Still, there are moments… quiet, stupid moments where the fear creeps back in. When someone else’s eyes linger on you a little too long. When your attention slips away for just a beat too long. When you laugh with someone else in a way that used to be his alone.

And then? Hyugo gets quietly possessive.

Not cruel. Not jealous in the way that burns everything down. But in the way that digs in—firm, unyielding, scared in the places he refuses to show.

He’ll pout first, like it’s all fun and games. Arms crossed, an exaggerated sigh, brows cocked high with all the drama of a man auditioning for a bad soap opera.

“You ignoring me now? Damn, babe. Who’s this new cast member and what do they have that I don’t? ‘Cause I will up my stats. I’m not above DLC bribes.”

But if the other person gets too bold?

That’s when the shift comes. Subtle, but sharp.

His fingers slide to your waist, grounding himself in your warmth like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His voice softens, drops an octave—but there’s steel under the silk now. His whole energy changes, like a storm smiling through the sunlight.

“That guy’s not gonna steal you away, right?”

The words brush your skin just before his lips do, heat trailing over your neck, a kiss so casual it feels like a claim.

“I mean… you are mine, yeah?”

It’s not a threat. Not a demand. 

It’s a plea he doesn’t know how to voice.

Because he doesn’t want to trap you—he wants to be chosen. Every day. Every hour. Loudly. With intention. Just like he chooses you.

Even when the world’s unfair. Even when he’s neck-deep in shady jobs, fractured loyalties, or the weight of who he used to be. Even when he’s afraid. He’ll still love you like it’s the only thing keeping him real. Because Hyugo doesn’t care what you are. Only that you’re his. And yeah… sometimes he still wonders if he’s too much to stay with. 

But damn if he won’t spend the rest of his life giving you every reason to stay anyway.

✑ Flaws? Suprisingly there’s only Two…

Again—no one is perfect.

Hyugo’s learned, consciously or not, that being the comic relief, the sunshine, the dependable one earns love and keeps people around. So that’s the role he plays. Laughing through pain. Masking exhaustion with trivia. Brushing off his own needs with a practiced smile.

Which is a classic avoidant coping style, often stemming from early experiences where expressing pain or emotional needs either resulted in abandonment, punishment, or dismissal. He’s not unaware of his hurt—he just doesn’t believe there’s space for it. Or that anyone will stay if they see it. So he internalizes the belief:

“If I keep everyone happy, if I’m useful and entertaining, they won’t leave.” But emotional suppression is a time bomb. Eventually, the mask cracks.

It started small. Missed texts. Delayed replies. A few vague excuses about errands or errands or “sorry, I fell asleep.” But the dark circles under his eyes weren’t from sleep.

And you knew it.

So when you drop by his place unannounced and find him sitting on the edge of his bed, shirt halfway off, eyes glazed over in thought—You don’t say anything. You just step in quietly and sit next to him.

“Didn’t expect you,” he says, voice soft. He smiles—but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I look like a mess, huh?”

You don’t reply to the joke. You just ask, “Are you okay?”

That’s when it happens.

A twitch in his jaw. A flicker of discomfort. A sharp inhale. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just thinking. Long week, y’know?” Then a quick subject change: “Hey, did you know in some countries, strawberries used to symbolize perfection? Which is kinda dumb, 'cause they bruise so easily—”

You cut him off gently. “No trivia tonight, Hyugo.”

He goes quiet. The tension in his shoulders rises like a tide. He won’t look at you. Just stares at the floor like it might rescue him from the weight settling in his chest. “I’m good,” he says again. But softer this time. “I have to be. I don’t really get to fall apart. People expect me to… I dunno. Handle things. Be cool. Be funny. Be the guy who keeps the mood light.”

You put your hand on his knee. Anchor him. Pull him back from wherever he’s floating off to. “You’re allowed to fall apart sometimes.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. It cracks midway through. His head drops, and for the first time in a long while—he doesn’t hide the exhaustion. “But if I do… what if you leave too?”

And that’s the real fear. Not pain. Not stress. Abandonment.

You pull him in. Let him lean on you. His arms wind around your waist like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip. And for a while, neither of you speak.

Eventually, he murmurs, “You’re the only one I want to be weak with. That’s… scary. More than anything else I’ve done.” And he means it.

He’s not fixed. Not magically “healed.” 

But tonight, he let himself be seen. And that’s the start of something more powerful than any armor he’s ever worn.

Next is that, Hyugo doesn’t just love.

He attaches—deeply, instinctively, and without conditions. The people he chooses are more than friends, more than lovers—they’re extensions of his purpose. And if protecting them means lying, fighting, getting hurt, or burning bridges?

He’ll do it. No regrets. No hesitation.

This stems from survivor’s guilt and a deep-rooted sense of self-worth that’s tied to usefulness. In his head, if he isn’t saving someone, then what is he even for? There’s a quiet belief that he’s more tool than treasure—someone meant to hold the line so others don’t have to.

But in doing so, he forgets:

You love him for who he is. Not what he can suffer through for you.

You’d told him not to come. 

You made it clear: “I’ll handle this. Don’t get involved.”

But that was like telling a storm not to rain. The moment he caught wind of someone cornering you—someone threatening, someone bigger—Hyugo was already halfway to the alley behind the gym building, jaw tight, mind made up.

By the time you arrived, breath ragged and furious, the guy was on the ground. Groaning. Bloody lip. Hyugo stood over him, fists clenched and knuckles torn open.

He didn’t even look at you at first. He just said,

“Don’t worry. I handled it. He won’t bother you again.”

But you didn’t feel safe. You felt sick.

Not because he lost control—but because this wasn’t his burden to bear, and he didn’t even stop to think about the cost. “Hyugo,” you said, your voice shaking, “what if he presses charges? What if someone saw?”

He finally looked at you. Eyes wild. Heart still in war mode. But his expression softened when he saw the pain in your face—not from fear of him. From fear for him. “I didn’t care,” he said honestly. “I still don’t. No one’s hurting you. Not while I’m breathing.”

That should’ve made you feel safe.

But instead, it made your chest ache.

You stepped closer, grabbing his bloodied hands. They trembled slightly against yours. “You don’t get to set yourself on fire every time someone throws a spark near me.”

He blinked. Confused. Quiet. And that silence? That was the part that stung most—Because it told you he genuinely didn’t see the problem.

You reached up, cupping his face. “You think I want to watch you destroy yourself in my name? You think that’s love?”

His throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing guilt. But he didn’t pull away.

You added, softer: “You’re not a weapon. You’re my heart. And I want all of it. Whole. Safe. With me.” That was the moment he broke—just a little.

He leaned forward, forehead resting against yours. “...I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just… I didn’t know how else to protect you.”

You held him tighter. “By letting me protect you, too.”

This flaw will never fully go away. It’s wired into how he loves. But now? He’s learning there’s strength in restraint. That protecting someone doesn’t always mean throwing himself into every fire. Sometimes, it means staying close.

And staying whole—so he can keep loving you tomorrow, too.

✑ Thoughts + Ranting

Okay. So I said Hyugo only had two major flaws.

...I lied. It’s three. Sue me.

There’s one I didn’t name before. One that’s not easy to admit, even if it’s written all over him like an unspoken scar. Here it is: Hyugo is a perfect example of someone who’s been sexualized—and who learned to play into it, because it was the only way he ever felt seen.

But let’s set the record straight, because the internet loves to twist things: I’m not saying he’s a pervert. Absolutely not. Don’t even try it. This isn’t a man hiding in your closet or panting in your bushes. He’s not creeping in the dark. (Save that energy for Sol and his dramatic, stalker-coded tendencies—respectfully.) 

Hyugo isn’t that type of man.

What he is, is someone who developed hypersexual behavior—something that’s often misunderstood. Hypersexuality isn’t about being horny all the time for fun. It’s an intense, sometimes compulsive fixation on sex or sexual behavior, often as a way to cope. It’s not inherently predatory, and it’s not inherently wrong. But it is a reaction. 

A symptom. And in Hyugo’s case, it’s a wound.

See, I was sitting in class when the thought hit me like a truck: What if people really do treat Hyugo like a walking fantasy? A quick fix? A body to burn through and discard before sunrise? What if that’s how he’s always been viewed—never as a person, just a fleeting high, a secret, a sin?

Because that kind of dehumanization sticks. 

It doesn’t fade. It etches itself into the softest parts of you until you believe it too. And maybe, just maybe, Hyugo learned somewhere along the line that his worth lies in how easily he can be desired—not in who he is, but what he can do for others. What he can give.

He doesn’t feel loved. He feels used. And to protect himself, he leans into it. Becomes somewhat flirt, the temptation, the chaotic late-night call you regret in the morning. Not because it’s what he wants—but because at least this way, he’s not being rejected. He’s being chosen, even if it’s for all the wrong reasons.

And that’s why he can’t let you go.

Because you didn’t treat him like a performance. 

You didn’t treat him like a transaction. You saw through the chaos and the charm and found the person. The equal. The soul. The boy who still believes in love, even if he’s too scared to admit it out loud.

You made him feel real.

Sidenote—completely unrelated to everything I just said—but I can’t stop thinking about the fact that Hyugo lost his virginity to a man.

Fantasia said it. I’m not taking it back. It wasn’t for shock value. It’s canon. It means something. It says something about him—and the more I sit with it, the more it adds layers to his character that I can’t ignore.

First of all, it confirms what we already sensed: Hyugo’s pansexual. He doesn’t box his heart or desires into categories. He loves people, not parts. He's comfortable in his skin, open with his identity, and doesn’t shrink himself to make others comfortable. He owns who he is with that same bold, cheeky confidence he brings to everything else. And that kind of honesty? It’s rare. He doesn’t make a show of it. He just is. Unapologetically.

But here’s where it gets tangled in my head—I keep wondering about the context.

Was it a casual hookup? Something spontaneous, wild, and curious, sparked by the need to feel alive or wanted in a moment of vulnerability? Or was it more than that? Did he love this person? Did they matter to him in a way that left a mark? Could this have been the crush he mentioned once, the one he speaks about with that strange softness, like he’s remembering something half-sweet, half-sore?

Did it end suddenly? Did it end at all?

There’s something quietly haunting about the idea that Hyugo’s first time wasn’t just a physical milestone, but an emotional one too. Maybe it was one of the only times he gave himself to someone not as a game, not as a performance—but as a person. Whole. Nervous. Real.

And maybe it didn’t last. Maybe it broke him a little. Maybe that’s where the cracks started—where he learned that intimacy and pain can exist in the same breath. That being vulnerable doesn’t always lead to safety. That being wanted doesn’t always mean being kept.

That’s why it sticks with me. Not because it’s scandalous.

But because it’s human.

And in Hyugo’s story, humanity is the one thing he keeps offering—despite how often the world tries to strip it from him.

Let’s take it deeper—Hyugo and… Geo.

I know I never shut up about Geo (he’s my husband, deal with it), but this isn't just about gushing over him. There’s something worth unraveling here. Something that speaks to how trauma doesn’t create a blueprint—it creates a battlefield. Two people can grow up in the same wreckage, and walk away with completely different scars.

See, Hyugo and Geo? They’re two halves of a shared history. 

Geo likes to say they’re stepbrothers—like that somehow distances them, makes the connection less binding. But let’s be honest: blood means nothing when you’ve been raised under the same roof, weathered the same storms, and built your sense of self from the same broken foundation.

That’s your brother.

That’s family. Whether you want to admit it or not.

And that’s the thing with Geo—he doesn’t want to admit it. Cold, closed-off, “don’t touch me unless it’s about business” 

Geo would rather die than openly acknowledge Hyugo as his older brother. But that truth lives in his bones. It’s there in the way he bristles when Hyugo’s hurt, in the way he silently watches over him from across a room, like a knight who doesn’t want to be caught caring. And Hyugo? He knows. He never says it outright, never demands affection or acknowledgment. But he knows. Geo is his little brother. End of story.

What’s fascinating—and heartbreaking—is how differently they responded to the same trauma.

Geo shut down. Became all logic and sharp edges. He put walls up so high no one could climb over, and he keeps his emotions buried so deep even he forgets where he left them. He’s aromantic/asexual, what if he’s emotionally scarred to the point of numbness, one thing’s certain: Geo is the embodiment of survival through detachment. He chose silence over softness. 

Distance over danger.

Meanwhile, Hyugo? Did the opposite. If Geo’s pain froze him solid, Hyugo’s set him on fire. He threw glitter over his wounds. Covered the screaming with laughter, with noise, with affection that sometimes feels like too much—until you realize it’s the only way he knows how to ask, “Will you stay? Will you care?”

That’s why people call him two-faced. 

Why they mistake his flirtation for manipulation, his touch for control. But it’s not conquest. It’s not about power. It’s about connection. About feeling real in a world that kept trying to erase him. Hyugo wants to be loved, and not just in passing. He wants to be seen—fully, achingly, intimately.

So yeah. In my eyes, Hyugo’s hypersexual.

But not in the shallow, performative way people think. It’s not about predation. It’s not about conquest or control. It’s about feeling. About proving to himself that he’s real, that he matters, that someone sees him and still stays.

Every touch is deliberate.

Every kiss is a question: Do I still exist to you?

When Hyugo reaches for someone, it’s like he’s trying to anchor himself to this world before it slips away again. 

Because to him? Intimacy is safety. Desire is reassurance.

And love—true love—is survival.

When he touches you, he’s not just touching skin—he’s tracing the shape of a future where he doesn’t have to be afraid. When he looks at you, it’s not lust—it’s hunger for warmth, for stability, for someone who doesn’t leave.

You don’t become his partner. You become his reason. His rescue.

And once you have Hyugo’s heart?

There’s no in-between. No lukewarm affection. He’s all in. No backup plan. No armor. Just him—raw and real and terrified that you’ll disappear too. Loving Hyugo means being chosen. Means being seen in a way that strips you down to the bone, and yet somehow, makes you feel more whole than ever before.

It’s intense. It’s overwhelming. But it’s never fake.

Now pair that with his two-faced nature—the side of him people whisper about. The switch that flips from sunshine to shadow in a blink. Because yeah, Hyugo can be the kindest soul you’ve ever met.  Soft, attentive, radiant. But cross a line? Or worse—betray him?

He’ll smile while slicing you in half with words sharp enough to scar your soul. That duality isn’t an act. It’s survival.

One face to charm the world. The other to protect what little of himself he hasn’t already given away. 

And the reason that duality even exists? Because Hyugo grew up in the same haunted house as Geo. Same broken floorboards. Same locked doors. Same silence. But while Geo turned cold, Hyugo became heat.

One froze to survive. The other burned.

And they’re still bleeding from it. Two brothers.

Two different coping mechanisms. Same pain—processed on opposite ends of the spectrum. So call Hyugo hypersexual. Call him two-faced. But don’t you dare call him fake. He’s just trying to feel something real. And in this world? 

That makes him one of the bravest souls I’ve ever known.

[berryblosom]

SO TELL ME IS THIS LOVE ? •·.·''·.·•

Summary: your friend is convinced Satoru is in love with you, you think she’s crazy.

You’re insane.”

You’re in your usual seat at your favorite coffee place, tucked into the corner booth with your drink and your best friend across from you. As always, she’s on one of her rants, topic of choice? You and Satoru.

“What’s insane.” she says, pointing her straw at you, “is how blind you are. That man is down bad.”

You roll your eyes. “Do you hear yourself? In what world is Satoru Gojo in love with me?”

This has been going on for months. She’s got this wild theory that Satoru’s endless teasing and constant presence in your life means he’s secretly in love with you. And she won’t let it go. You’ve explained it to her a million times. Satoru is a flirt. It’s like second nature to that man . He’s like that with everyone. You never took his flirty comments seriously, because why would you?

“In the world where he drove an hour just to pick you up from work and take you home,” she counters, sipping her drink like she’s got all the evidence in the world.

You shrug, trying to sound unbothered. “He offered. Said he was already heading home.”

She gives you a deadpan look. “Right. Sure. What about those concert tickets you couldn’t find anywhere?”

“He said his friend didn’t want them. It wasn’t a big deal.”

You can almost hear her brain working, the way her eyes narrow and her fingers drum against her cup. She was not done.

“What about when your cat died, and he stayed over the whole weekend? Then got you a new one just because you just mentioned missing having a cat around?”

Okay. That one’s… a little harder to dismiss.

You were a wreck when your cat passed. Satoru just showed up, no questions asked, and didn’t leave your side for two days. Then, a week later, he handed you the cutest kitten with a bow around its neck.

But still. That didn’t mean anything. Right?

“Will you stop?” you sigh, setting your cup down. “Satoru is not in love with me. He’s just my friend.”

Rei throws her hands up like she’s about to strangle you. You could tell she’s losing her patience with your excuses.

“I don’t get why you’re so adamant he doesn’t like you.”

“Because he doesn’t. I just know. I’m pretty sure he has a date this weekend, anyway.”

She squints at you like you’ve grown two heads. “That’s just a load of shit. He’s gonna do what he always does.”

You pause, confused. “What do you mean ‘what he always does’?”

Now she’s looking at you like the answer is obvious.

“He goes on dates to get a reaction out of you. He dates the girl for like a week, tells you all about it, and when it doesn’t get to you? He breaks up her.”

“He does not do that.”

“He definitely does. Remember that girl from his gym last month? She asked him out, and he complained to you about how annoying she was. And when you told him not to lead her on, breakup the next day.”

“He told me she dumped him,” you mutter, frowning.

Your friend just snorts and shakes her head.

“You could tell Satoru to fly to France to get you a single rose, and he’d be on the next flight out. He hangs on your every word.”

You stare at her, heart doing something weird and fluttery in your chest. Could she be right?

“You really think he… likes me?”

But she doesn’t answer. Her gaze shifts to something, or someone behind you.

“Well, let’s find out. Satoru!”

You whip your head around so fast, you’re pretty sure something cracked. And of course, there he was. Satoru Gojo in all his smug, infuriating glory, walking straight toward you.

“Ladies,” he greets, his tone dripping with charm as he slides into the booth beside you.

“Toru, this isn’t your usual coffee spot,” you say, trying to sound casual as you scoot over to give him space.

“Yeah, Rei invited me. Said the cakes here was to die for.”

You shoot a glare at your friend. Traitor.

“Oh, definitely,” she says sweetly. “You know, Y/N was just saying how much she misses those muffins from that bakery that closed down last year.”

Your eyes widen. “I did not say that—”

“Really?” Satoru interrupts, eyes locked on yours. “You want them?”

His arm is draped casually behind your seat, but he’s a lot closer than he was a second ago. You can feel the heat radiating off him. And the way he’s looking at you right now?

It’s not how a friend looks at someone. Your heart is not behaving. Not even a little.

“I-I just said they were good.”

“But do you want them?” His voice is lower now, more serious. Like he’s offering to track down the bakery’s owner and revive the business or even bake them for your himself.

“The place is closed. It doesn’t matter.” You nudge your friend under the table when you hear her snickering.

“It does matter.”

“Why?” The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it and you’re afraid of the answer.

You know Satoru. You’ve known him your whole life. He’s not the boyfriend type. Never has been. He’s dated plenty of girls, all through high school to university, none of them ever lasting longer than a month. You’d always told yourself he saw you like a little sister and nothing more

But then he’s looking at you like this? Like he wants to give you everything you’ve ever asked for.

“Because I like doing things for you,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, then starts doing full sprints in your chest. You drop your gaze, staring down at your half-eaten cake on the table.

“Well isn’t that sweet,” Rei says, standing up and gathering her stuff. “I’d hate to leave, believe me, but I’ve got plans.”

You narrow your eyes. “What plans?”

“Dress shopping. Two of my favorite people are gonna get married soon.” She winks, blows a kiss, and practically skips out of the café.

You gape after her. She’s dead. So dead.

“What was that about?” Satoru asks.

“Nothing.” You scramble for a distraction. “So, uh… any special plans for your date this weekend?”

He leans back slightly but stays close. Still on your side of the booth. He casually pulls your plate toward him and takes a bite of your cake.

“Nah. Gonna cancel.”

Your eyes flick to him. “What? Why?”

He glances at you with a small smirk. “I’d rather be with you.”

Your mouth goes dry. “Really?”

He grins, licking frosting off his fork. “Yeah. Really.”

[velmalav]

The Giver - Frank Langdon pt. IV

masterlist

day one // night one // day two

night two - f.l.

synopsis: being the selfless person you are, you agree to travel to a 3-day conference with your biggest competition - dr. langdon. part 3 of I don't know how many yet :-)

warnings: cursing, oops there's only one bed, enemies to lovers, ANGST!!!!

Sometimes you just need to dance.

The gears in my brain haven’t stopped turning since I left Langdon in the lobby. Focusing in an academic setting has never been a problem for me; it’s when I thrive the most. Today was an exception. Notebook splayed open across my lap, pen clicked an excessive number of times in preparation, I kept reminding myself that I needed to take notes for Mel. Another task I’d been determined to complete to make me feel less shitty about making us late. And yet by the end of the eighth and final session, I hadn’t written one single word down.

This isn’t about the startling attraction I’ve realized I have for him; it’s the fact that somewhere from the airport to the hotel to the conference, I started to care about him. And it doesn’t make sense because he’s given me nothing to change how I feel. We’ve spent the entire trip arguing and avoiding each other. If seeing the man I hate naked one time is enough to alter my entire perspective on him, then I’m fucking doomed. And stupid.

But last night felt like we bonded. Yes, most of it out of spite, but somehow without noticing all these years, there’s always been a line to our games. We’ve never let it get in the way of our job and we’ve never actually hurt each other’s feelings. Until this morning. It took me crossing the line to find out there ever was one.

At some point, after waging war inside my head all day, my head started to pound. I was afraid to confront him, another thing I usually never hesitated to do. And so when a lovely ER nurse named Daisha made me aware of the mixer after the conference, I used it as a way to avoid the inevitable for just a little longer.

Theo, a senior resident like Langdon, also just happened to be another means of my avoidance. He was very forward, jumping from small talk to very transparent flirting to whisking me off to the dance floor. My entire aim of the night was to dance – my favorite coping skill – so I wasn’t reluctant to take his hand. In all honesty, it felt wrong. To dance with him. To flirt with him. I just don’t know why.

Well, at least I didn’t. Only half a song in, Theo’s arms around my waist and my fingers gripping into his shoulders, I lean my head back to shake my hair out. Just in time to spot Langdon pushing his way out. And it hits me. It’s the thought of him that’s making this feel wrong. I straighten up, pull away from Theo. He’s confused, trying to lean closer so he presumably can ask what’s wrong when I, like Langdon, start to push my way free.

I spin in Theo’s direction once I’m off the dance floor, giving a sheepish wave before booking it after Langdon.

.

The air is thick and filled to the brim with tension when I reach the hallway outside our hotel room. Langdon walks so fucking fast that he’s already comfortably leaned against the hotel wall, arms crossed with his neck craned upwards. His eyes are closed and by his expression, he seems to be in deep contemplation.

“Langdon,” I call out as I approach, holding up the key card he absolutely forgot there was only one of. His eyes drift open, but slowly, like he’s dreading my presence.

He’s silent, turns so he’s leaning beside the door. He avoids making eye contact. Having taken the hint, I simply unlock the door and let him enter first. Again, he does so without a word. But I can feel that whatever he was thinking about is laced with hostility.

Now that I’m alone with him, I have no idea what to say. Where to start. What to even bring up. But I have to say something, I have to cut this tension.

“Sorry about the keycard. I, uh, forgot to remind you that there was only one,” I say gently.

Standing on the other side of the bed, Langdon appears surprised by my words. I’m not sure I’ve ever apologized to him before. I never thought I’d need to or want to for that matter.

“It’s fine,” he says tightly, neck veins protruding and eyes fixated on everything but me. He begins to gather clothes to change into but there is no relief from his response. If anything, it’s starting to rile me up. I have a terrible habit of getting angry when I’m anxious, and I can feel it simmering underneath my skin.

“Langdon,” I repeat. It’s not a question but in the meek way I say it, it kind of sounds like one.

Nothing. Only the shuffling of bags can be heard. And fuck it’s hot in here all of a sudden.

“Listen, I know you’re pissed about this morning. And even though it’s hard to believe, I am actually really sorry. I should’ve woken you up,” I bite out, shutting my eyes. I’m fidgeting with the ring on my middle finger, awaiting the venomous response I’m sure will follow.

“Oh, you mean when you purposefully sabotaged my medical career? And then lied to my face like it was one of your games? Yeah, I’m still pissed,” Langdon snaps. His words are loud like he just yelled them right in my ear. I open my mouth to fumble out whatever I can think of, but he’s not finished. “And, yeah, it’s hard to believe you’d ever feel fucking sorry about anything. Especially that. Because all you’ve ever done is think about yourself, and it’s just fucking gross.”

Another line crossed. Seeing as though I was the first one to do so, I try and take the words in stride. But they keep beating in my ears like they’re on a timer. And instead of breaking down, my anger rushes in full force.

“Fuck you,” my voice scares me. Tears collect in the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall. It’s those words that finally get Langdon to look at me. It doesn’t take him long to realize he’s taken it too far.

I toss my purse on the bed and start towards the bathroom, prepared to lock myself in there for the night. But just as I reach it, Langdon’s hand is yanking me toward him. It’s not aggressive but firm, and his other hand moves to rest upon the top of the door frame so we’re facing each other.

It’s clear he hasn’t thought about his next words because we stand there glaring at each other for what feels like hours. Both breathing heavily, unable to break eye contact. I speak first.

“Say whatever you want, but you don’t know anything about me,” I seethe. “All you see is competition, someone who reminds you of everything you wish you had. And you know what, maybe I don’t feel fucking sorry.” I pull my arm out of his grasp.

Langdon flicks his attention between both of my eyes, trying to read anything he can underneath the coldness of my stare. I’m hoping he can’t see the devastation lurking just behind it.

“All I see is someone I don’t want to know,” he breathes. His voice has lost its edge, a vulnerability breaking through without his permission.

“Wow,” I reply softly, matching his tone.

“Wow,” Langdon mimics, more incredulously. “Now why don’t you go find that dude at the bar and find a place to stay for the night?” out of all of the things he has said to me tonight, this is the sentence he says with the most aggression. Like we’re competing again. Because despite all of the reasons he could be upset with me, the sight of me with another man is what hurt him the most.

I’m not even sure he realizes what he’s just given away. Finally, the relief I’ve been begging to feel all day comes. And I start laughing.

Langdon’s face falls in confusion, still leaning toward me with his hand on the doorframe. I put a hand over my mouth to stifle the laugh, “You’re fucking jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” he states in a way that seems a whole lot like he’s trying to convince himself, too.

“Oh, we’ve said enough tonight. The least you could do is just admit it,” I push. “I mean, I knew you’d be mad about this morning, it was shitty, and I felt terrible. And maybe a little about the keycard. And I definitely know having to spend half your weekends this year at conferences isn’t helping either. But this mad?” He tries to interrupt, but I refuse to let him, holding up my hand in protest. “It all makes sense now. You saw me with that guy and now you’re fucking jealous.”

Langdon shifts uncomfortably on his feet, propping his other hand on the opposite door frame so he’s towering over me. He glances off past me, tongue swiping past his lips. He’s thinking hard about something. Then his head drops so I can only see the top of his forehead.

The silence is killing me slowly. My smile starts to fade in the thought that I might’ve gotten it all wrong. That he’s actually just pissed about this morning, and now I’ve made it all out to be one big joke. As he lifts his head, probably ready to lay into me again, I sputter out, “I-Frank, I’m sorry. I thought—”

Langdon’s hands drop from the doorframe, and within a second one hand curves around my cheek, the other gripping the back of my neck. My heart has just enough time to sputter once before his mouth is on mine.

My body relaxes into his touch like it’s second nature. I wind a hand into his side, jerking him closer until our chests are one. Senses flooded with only him, his touch, the sound of his uneven breathing, his smell. His mouth drags along mine, and I continue gripping him as to fight the moment we have to come up for air.

But it happens. We breath into each other’s mouths, reveling in the heat existing between us. Eyes shut; I prod at his lips with my own as if trying to find him in the darkness. His one tendril of hair grazes my nose.

“Fuck,” Langdon breathes. I open my eyes to be met with his immediately, harsh blue eyes penetrating me like I’m the first thing he’s ever seen. His eyes half-lidded, he dips down to rejoin our lips. With every second that passes, I crave more of him, wanting him so intensely I’m not sure my heart will remember to beat. I open my mouth, a wordless invitation to have more of me. We stay there, tongues competing against each other, a familiar dance that almost makes me laugh.

“So I was right,” I sigh into his mouth. “Definitely jealous.”

Langdon breaks the kiss, narrowing his eyes as his nose bumps against mine. “You are so fucking lucky you were, too,” he whispers, sending a tremor through my body. He gazes at my lips, temptation simmering in his expression. I anticipate more only for him to break out into a sinister smile. “Too bad we have an early morning tomorrow. Wouldn’t want to be late.”

Before I can protest or even muster of the courage to beg him to touch me again, he spins into the bathroom and shuts the door. And it hits me when the shower turns on. He played me – this is his revenge for me not waking him this morning.

A temporary truce, one that I know won’t even last through the night.

day three

[kxsagi]

heyy! would you be okay with writing headcanons with yukimiya and sae whose dating a reader who cares a lot about their appearance? like for example, whenever they go out on a quick errand, they essentially try to look their best. thank you so much!

“𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞”

a/n: long headcanons ahead for you, love! 

ft. yukimiya kenyu, itoshi sae

𝐲𝐮𝐤𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐮 – “𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐰?” 

yukimiya totally gets it. like, completely. 

he’s the last person who will ever judge you for wanting to look your best, even if it’s just a two-minute walk to the konbini (convenience store). in fact, when you first started dating, he thought it was cute. he’d wait patiently, playing with his rings while you put on your gloss. he didn’t even flinch when you pulled out a lash curler like you were going to war. 

you’re both on the same wavelength: “look good, feel good.” and honestly? it becomes your love language. 

he’ll straighten his bangs while you fix your baby hairs. he’ll fix your necklace clasp if it turns around. he carries blotting papers in his wallet just for you. you're basically that couple that walks into a store and people lowkey assume you're influencers. even if it’s just to buy toilet paper. 

one time you were running late to meet your friends and told him to go ahead while you “touched up.” 

he stayed. 

“we’re walking in together,” he said with the softest smile, perched on your bed, elbow on his knee. “you always wait for me when i’m being a diva, remember?” 

(you almost cried. it was just blush, but it wasn’t just artificial blush.) 

the only time he ever gets slightly annoyed is when you start spiraling. like if you're fussing with your outfit in front of the mirror for the fourth time and going, “i look bloated. i hate this top. should i change? be honest. do i look weird from the side?” 

yukimiya’s already behind you, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder like clockwork. “you look stunning. and no, i’m not just saying that. do you wanna wear something else because you feel like it, or because your brain’s lying to you again?” 

he doesn’t let you self-sabotage. he reminds you how you glow in every outfit. 

and the rare days you feel like crap and don’t wanna dress up at all? yukimiya always finds something to compliment. 

“barefaced looks good on you. it’s giving natural model in paris energy.” 

“your hair’s a little messy. i like it, it’s hot.” 

“you’re always pretty, you know that, right?” 

and you’ll roll your eyes like ugh shut up, but he’ll smile and whisper, “seriously. my prettiest girl.” 

𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐬𝐚𝐞 – “𝐰𝐞’𝐫𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐤.”

sae does not get it. 

the first time you delayed a quick coffee run by 30 minutes because you were fixing your hair, he just stood at the door with his arms crossed like “… you know this isn’t a photo shoot, right?” 

he’s not rude about it. but he’s definitely a little judgy. like he’ll stare blankly while you layer lipliner and mutter, “you’re stalling. again.” 

if he had it his way, you’d both leave the house in hoodies and unbrushed hair. but nooo, his hot girlfriend wants to look like a pinterest board every time you step out. 

“you literally look good all the time. stop trying to impress the cashiers.” 

“it’s for me, sae.” 

“… and the cashiers.” (he’s joking. mostly.) 

the weird thing is… he does notice the effort. he may not understand why you do it, but the little things never go unseen. 

he sees the way you match your earrings to your bag. the way you fix your collar in the reflection of a shop window. the way your eyes light up when he says something compliments-adjacent, like: “is that a new lipstick?” 

“you wore this jacket last time we came here.” 

“your makeup looks different today. good different.” 

he says it in that flat, lazy voice of his, but it still makes your stomach flutter. 

and god help him the day you don’t do any of it. 

you’re in his shirt, bare-faced, and your hair’s in a clip because you gave up halfway. and he pauses. blinks at you like you’re speaking another language. “you okay?” 

“yeah?” 

“… why aren’t you doing the whole… thing?” 

“i didn’t feel like it.” 

and suddenly, he’s on high alert. wrapping his arms around you from behind like what’s wrong? why are you not overdressing for literally nothing? 

but he won’t say all that. he’ll just grumble into your hair, “don’t get used to this. i like the little eyeliner flicks.” 

and even if he gripes about it every time, he still slows down his pace when you’re walking so you can reapply your gloss. still turns the car mirror your way without you asking. and when you ask, “do i look okay?” he doesn’t even blink before answering, “you always do.” 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[merakiui]

God to be friends with mama leech and then Jade one day finds out about you and becomes hopelessly whipped for his moms friend that he sees ocassionally thinking of imaginary dates and even m-marriage with you!??? But your his mothers friend aAH!!!

👁️ 👁️ maybe you’re one of her closest friends! You do all sorts of things together: have afternoon tea on the beach, shop together, chat about anything and everything, take strolls along the beach, etc. She talks about her children, doting on them so lovingly. You don’t have any children of your own (yet, she’ll always tease with a sharp smile), so you’re pleased to listen to her talk about her two boys and how well they’re faring at Night Raven College. She tells you that next time they come home to visit she’ll have to introduce you.

And that’s exactly what she does. It’s Jade who’s visiting with a few friends for the wedding. Georgina ensures you’re wearing a dress that is just as splendid as hers, with colors tailored to fit you perfectly. When she introduces you to Jade, he smiles pleasantly and shakes your hand, saying what a pleasure it is to meet a dear friend of his mother’s. And you look to Georgina and giggle: “Oh my, what a gentleman he is!”

It’s a compliment he’s familiar with, yet hearing it come from your plush lips makes him feel bashful somehow.

Jade is not the overly jealous type, but he does watch the way you and his mother interact and he almost wishes you were one of his friends or maybe even a professor at NRC. Oh, what he’d give to see you every day… he’s so marriage-brained because of the circumstances and can’t help picturing that one day these ceremonies and festivities will be for him and you. <3 he has the most lewd dreams with you, and if he doesn’t do something to fight his down bad demons he’ll snap. T_T so he writes about you in a private journal because, as he reasons and was taught, thoughts can be mostly harmless if you don’t act on them. That’s why he’ll write down all the things he wants to do to and with you, and they’ll remain simple thoughts on a page. :)

[kings-highway]

Why do i keep seeing people claim Sakusa being a germaphobe is made up. Did we consume different media? Did I hallucinate him specifically saying he was taking a bath early to avoid germs from other players? Does his severe discomfort at being in a crowded public place scan as regular for other people? Or is the broader public under the impression that a phobia is something that cripples you and makes you combust on sight all the time with no spectrum of phobia severity. When I say Sakusa is a germaphobe I mean he is irrationally afraid of germs. Because that is how he behaves. I have arachnophobia but I still kill spiders. I dont light on fire at the sight of a spider. I could probably pick one up if dire enough circumstances arose. "he plays a sweaty physical sport where they all touch the same ball he can't possibly be a germaphobe-" what part of irrational do you not understand. I'm more afraid of cobwebs touching my skin than actual spiders. Maybe his brain only dislikes skin-to-skin germ spreading. Maybe for some reason sweat simply doesn't ping as germs to him. Maybe it is irrational. I got caught in a spiderweb as a kid once. Sakusa being a germaphobe is not on the same level of fanon as Oikawa's knee injury. I keep seeing people behave as if it was some great fiction. Learn what a phobia is or step off. This post was sponsored by Invisalign.

[sircantus]

I love it when Sircantus’ demons win and I get to nibble on the lovely ideas and spin them around in my brain like a microwave <333

Fae!Tommy sending Wilbur out to go and retrieve trinkets and instead bringing back a wild Em Duo is so silly to me and I love it. Em Duo didn’t even realize that they were bargaining chips here- But now they’re stuck with the two of them.

Does Tommy try to get their names as well? Or is it more a matter of they owe him because Tommy freed them from prison and getting executed? I’d argue that a life debt is probably just as potent as handing over their names

OOOOOOH I DIDNT EVEN THINK ABOUT A LIFE DEBT BUT YOURE SO RIGHT

Tommy would absolutely demand names as payment for saving them from execution. He’s taking Wilbur’s “gift” with both hands and he’s utterly gleeful about it. Not sure how emduo would go about that but i do have a sideplot of the au in my head— in the specific moment of Tommy getting rid of the guards and breaking down the prison, Phil realizing at last why Wilbur has been a little odd all throughout their travele, it’s because he’s a fae’s human. Which then leads into a scene where Phil and Techno are about to escape in the chaos but hesitate at the sight of Wilbur being unable to join them (bc he got told by Tommy to stay until he’s done dealing with the other humans)

And from THERE comes Techno being SIGHHH OK EVERYONE BE COOL WE’RE GONNA TRY TO STEAL A NAME BACK FROM THE FAE

which. I dont even know how they would do that but A for effort on their part. Wilbur hears Techno say that and is like YOURE FUCKING INSANE but now Phil really wants to try stealing from a fae so there’s no stopping it, theyre so doomed

Overall though i feel like the inevitable outcome would be Tommy still getting all their names and then being like “well i cant say this trip outside of the forest wasnt worth it! That was fun. Anyway im going home, can you guys steal a dragon egg for me i want a dragon egg”

[stanhedonia]

(I agree that it's not the worst thing you can do but here's my explanation of why it's high on the list.)

Most people like consistency in sexual/romantic matters. It reduces transmission of STDs, and it makes raising children simpler when the parents' relationship is consistent.

Most people also want a life partner who will treat them as the #1 priority. Again, this is valuable because it brings consistency to life. I you're everyone's #2 priority, then you'll probably have a lot of support when life is easy, but when life gets hard, you might not have any support. Being someone's #1 priority ensures that you'll always have support from at least one person. It's like a safety net.

The simplest way to fulfill both of these requirements is to pair up in a group of 2 people, each of which treat the other as their #1 priority, more important than anyone else, and only have sex with that person. This is what most people opt for. There are other ways to live, and I'm not saying they don't work, but they're not the default for most people because they're more complicated and harder to keep track of.

You could separate the desire for sexual consistency and the desire for a mutual safety net into two different relationships. But it's simpler to have both relationships be merged into one, for most people. Also, because of how neurotypical brains work, the emotions associated with both types of relationships bleed into each other. When you see someone as a good partner you become more attracted to them sexually, and when you have sex with someone, you feel more bonded to them as a person. It's not just simpler intellectually, it's simpler emotionally to do monogamy because the emotions go together and reinforce each other. (For most people.)

The logic around STDs and pregnancy no longer applies as much in the modern day. But these desires are not just logical, they are also primal. For the same reasons I listed, most of our ancestors had an incentive to create stable and simple sexual pairings, so most people have an instinctual drive to do so. And when that bond is broken it feels primally, instinctually painful. Even if we created a society with no unwanted pregnancy or STDs, and a utopian system where children and adults have all the support they need even if relationships are constantly changing, some people would still retain the vestigial instinct to feel pain when their mate has sex with someone else.

So getting cheated on is like this: in one fell swoop, your partner intentionally

-undoes the system that is giving you a safety net by breaking the agreement (hurts you practically),

-suggests that they don't see the stable arrangement you've created as worth preserving (hurts your sense of self-worth),

-does something to cause you primal, instinctual pain (hurts you).

This is especially bad if this is a system you had been building for years and you were relying on it being stable for years to come; and if the person who is insulting your self-worth is someone who you thought valued you above all else; and if the person who caused you primal pain is the one who was supposed to protect you according to your agreement.

To do that all at once is seen as very cruel.

(I hope I provided a unique perspective and didn't just reiterate things you already understand. I think it was helpful for my understanding to lay the mechanics out like this, at least.)

being an amoeba level empathy autistic child, I got used to just not understanding things that made others feel upset & only getting it later in life. there's some horrific stuff that I've had to work to understand people's trauma around, but I usually come around eventually and start feeling the way I'm supposed to about it. all this to say, for a long time I have been waiting for that moment where I intuitively understand why cheating is the worst thing you can do to a partner and i still don't really get it.

[yvesssssssss]

HEAR ME OUT!!! Natsuki, shin, and Nagumo with a reader who’s just constantly plotting—and I mean PLOTTING. Like even in the most mundane situation they think about how every action could affect an outcome as if life were just a game of chess to them. Every move they make is planned and coordinated when it comes to daily life. A little hint of silliness perhaps 😼😼

Sakamoto days men with a 4D-chess brain reader

Natsuki seba

Natsuki stares blankly at the grocery cart.

"…You arranged the snacks by expiration date?"

You push up imaginary glasses. "If we consume the shortest lifespan items first, we’ll reduce food waste and maximize freshness. Obviously."

He blinks. "You color-coded them by brand too."

"To subtly influence your mood. Blue brands calm you. Red gets you hyped. I need you calm when we hit checkout—so you don’t accidentally get in a duel with the barcode scanner again."

Natsuki opens his mouth to argue, but stops. He does feel weirdly relaxed. “…What else did you do?”

You lean in with a grin. “I positioned a crying baby two aisles away to mask the sound of me opening a bag of chips early.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m thriving.”

Shin asakura

Shin tries so hard. He really does.

You’re both at a cafe, and he’s halfway through sipping his drink when he hears: “Move your cup three inches left. Now.”

“…Why?”

“The glare from the sunlight reflects off the ice, into the barista’s eyes. In seven seconds, she’ll miss the milk pitcher, spill it, and I’ll use the distraction to sneak an extra muffin onto our order tray.”

“…Why not just ask for a muffin?”

“Too obvious. This is the long game, Shin. The muffin must be earned.”

He grips his temples. “You plotted a muffin heist using optics and physics.”

“And the barista’s mild sleep deprivation. I did my research.”

“…I’m both impressed and mildly terrified.”

Nagumo yoichi

Nagumo catches on quick, but that just makes things worse.

You're laying out your socks in a specific left-right, color-coded pattern when he leans over your shoulder. “What’s this? Planning a heist or just doing laundry?”

You smirk. “Both. Sock arrangement dictates how the laundry load interacts with the spin cycle. I’m using centrifugal force to rotate the inner pocket of my hoodie—where I stored a flash drive—to a less detectable location.”

He pauses. “That’s the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You glance at him. “Don’t distract me. If I mistime the rinse cycle by three seconds, the entire operation fails.”

Nagumo throws his arm around your shoulder and grins. “You know what this means, right? You and me? We could take over the world. Or at least the laundromat.”

“Oh, I already have. I bribed Mrs. Tanaka in Unit 3 to let me run the machine on Sundays. She's the linchpin.”

Nagumo just laughs. “I love you. But also I’m scared of you.”

“Good. That’s part of the plan.”

Taglist:@shenwi @astronomyloveraster @yokaistirfry @shineinouzen15 @cjafjatkstke @starizzm @imightgoinsane @istillremembermissamericana @ilovewhattatops @elorajelaaa @takenbyacircle @ilylmwwifys @empty-void-of-dreams @reomikas

Hey lovelies! Just a heads up—if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist, now's the time to let me know! I don't want to flood anyone's inbox unnecessarily. 🫶

Drop a comment or send me an ask if you'd like to be added/removed!

Thank you all so much for being here! You all are the best!🫶🫶

[thatbitchery]

You can tell how much a lady will not level up by how much she doesn’t love herself—and you can tell how much someone doesn’t love themselves by how much they don’t understand themselves. I’ve been telling you ladies since the dawn of this blog: a level-up is personal. Custom-made. Made for you and only you. You cannot achieve another person’s goal.

Listen, the highest form of love is knowledge. To be loved is to be known. To love is to look—with the purpose of seeing—and then understanding what you see. To love yourself, you have to know yourself. And that takes nothing but self-observation. No judgment. Open acceptance.

What prompted this? I was talking to one of my girls in my personal coaching program yesterday. We started this month, so we’re still learning each other. My first topic is always fashion, because the outside world is a mirror of the inner—and you can easily understand someone from their presentation.

So this girl and I go through her closet, and I’m honestly both impressed and jealous. We are talking runway-worthy gowns. Designer bags. Louboutin heels. The kind of closet you get in your starter-pack Kardashian era. She looks at me like, “What do we think?” And apart from being impressed by the sheer amount that closet adds to her net worth… I am also deeply disappointed.

Why?

Because she is a textbook introvert. An AO3 nerd who spends all day in pajamas and works online (if you can even call it that) and is introverted even outside—i.e. would rather do indoor activities than outdoor. She’s also hyperactive and sporty. That is not the closet of an 18-year-old valedictorian homebody chess-playing video game addict online business owner. That is a Paris Hilton closet. You will NOT be wearing that micro skirt, ever. Let’s not lie to ourselves.

So she poured all that money (yes, she’s wealthy, but that’s not the point??) into another person’s closet—but inside her own house. What she does actually wear is three sets of loungewear that have seen the washing machine so many times they are fighting for their lives to hold on to color. And she won’t buy a new set because it’s “not elegant.”

So I know I will need Jesus and all of heaven when we get to the “self-love” section. Pray for me, people.

It is very important that you stop looking for trends and God knows what, and start observing yourself. Set your goals according to that, so you don’t waste time and money and actually—for once—achieve your yearly goals. Because they belong to who you are, not who you wish you were.

One of the goals I see a lot is “lose weight.” And you know what? Hell yeah. There’s no empowerment in obesity, let’s get healthy. I get it—I want to be a healthy BMI so I can clear brain fog, look better, feel better, function better, yes. But as a person who spends most of their day indoors, is barely attracted to men, and works in corporate… why are you killing yourself trying for a Bella Hadid body when you’ve got Salma Hayek genetics and you don’t need it? I get starvation if you’re a K-pop idol or a model. I get it. But you’re a regular civilian—just stop at “healthy BMI.” Because not only is it not fun, it’s also extremely unhealthy to have zero body fat. What are you even doing this for? It’s torture. If you don’t need to… what’s the point?

Or the classic “wake up at 5 a.m.”—makes sense, I see it. But if you’re a night owl, what are you doing? Your productive hours are 10 p.m. to 3 a.m.—why would you be awake at 5? That’s when you’re supposed to be going to bed after wrapping up your work.

Or “gym 3 days a week.” I love it, I do. But look at yourself in the mirror and say that again. Be honest—is it going to happen? Have you considered that maybe you’re not a gym person? That there are other ways to move your body that don’t require you to battle depression and poor time management in spandex?

You can easily tell who will not be achieving their yearly goals by comparing the goals to the person. No—those are not your goals. They are someone else’s. So another year goes by, and you achieve nothing. Again.

And if you just—if you just—observed your behavior, with no judgment, without slapping on classifications like “lazy” or “wrong” or whatever else… if you just said, “Okay, how do I make me work, in a way that works for me?” You wouldn’t need affirmations to tell you you’re good enough.

You’d just be.

BMAC

[inthekitschen]

Jabberwock and Sinostra Ghouls when you tell them you're pregnant

How I think the ghouls would react to having a baby with you, part 2.

Note: Somehow, Taiga's was my favorite to write so far. He's just so fun to put under a microscope.

*reader can get pregnant but is not given gendered pronouns.

The Ranger cries when you tell him. He lifts you and spins you around in excitement, promising to never let you down. And he doesn't. He carries you everywhere. You will never lift a finger, because if you try, he uses bahnti to get to it first.

When the baby arrives, Peekaboo's harness is moved to the back to make room. Haru takes your baby everywhere — the free advertising isn't his main reason for doing it, but it definitely helps.

The Free Spirit knew you were pregnant before you did, somehow. He never leaves your side throughout your pregnancy, and the weather is always sunny and bright.

The Slacker doesn't want kids. They're sticky, loud, and too much work. So when you tell him about the positive test, why does he feel a sudden rush of... joy? It takes him a while to come to terms with his feelings, but once he does, he's excited.

Towa takes the baby everywhere. You have to reign him in and remind him that infants are pretty limited in what they're allowed to do. He's just so happy that he has the both of you!

His favorite thing to do is dress the baby up in merch of his favorite movies. When Halloween comes, he's definitely putting your child in a monster costume. He gags when it comes to cleaning up a blowout, and complains about getting up in the middle of the night, but you catch him watching your sleeping child in awe.

The Gambler knows something is up with you. You're bitchier, but hotter too. He knows he has to keep an eye on you, to make sure no one fucks with you, but doesn't remember why until you start showing. Once he can't forget that you're pregnant, good fucking luck to anyone who so much as looks at you.

Once his little good luck charm is born, he's taking them to the casino. Gotta show them the ropes early, after all. He doesn't let your child out of his sight. Not to sleep, not to eat, nothing. That way, he won't forget.

The Sniper just about has a heart attack. He makes sure you're taking care of yourself throughout the pregnancy, keeping track of what vitamins you need and how much sleep you should be getting.

He's even more particular about the baby. He does his research on what foods to give them and what to avoid. He even eases up on the acronyms around your child so they're more likely to understand him. Just know that child is decked out in full designer the moment you get home from the hospital.

The Paralegal has been trying with you to get pregnant for some time, so when you finally come to him with the news, he's thrilled! He immediately sets up the doctor's appointment to figure out how far along you are so he can give his firm the notice of his upcoming paternity leave. He makes sure you're following the doctor's orders to the letter, and equally makes sure the doctors are giving the best care.

He plays classical music and reads classic literature to the baby to help them sleep, and has full one-sided conversations with them "because it helps with brain development." From the other room, you can hear your baby scream loudly in excitement and then Ritsu replying "Yes, I'm glad you feel the same way" fully serious.

[youhideastar]

Hello! I just needed to say that your tags on that ABO post (#maybe someday I will write that essay on how I think a/b/o starts from a fundamentally ace perspective#ie that it starts from a premise of no desire#into which desire arrives as a rare unexpected unwelcome and often traumatic deviation from the baseline) shook my brain like a magic 8 ball and I would like to subscribe to your newsletter.

I mean I guess I kind of already have since I follow your blog but like. That is genius and also I think that approach helps explain part of why I loved your ABO bingo series so much!

Anyway just wanted to say that, hope you're having an awesome day!

Aaahhhhh thank you so much! All credit to the initial poster for kicking my brain into gear on this. (For the curious, here's the series the ask mentions!)

But yes, to expand on those tags, there's so *much* about a/b/o as a genre that, to me at least, starts from an ace perspective.

For example, in most a/b/o universes where there are, in fact, betas (as opposed to another common take on omegaverse worldbuilding where there are just alphas and omegas), then the inherent starting premise of the world is that there are two kinds of people--people whose lives in large part revolve around intense, consuming, and uncontrollable sexual desire and people whose lives don't--which is to say, the inherent starting premise is that some people are (at least symbolically) ace. Indeed, in most of these fics, that's considered unremarkable in-universe... which is, from that point of view, a fantasy of a world where asexuality is commonplace and accepted. (Then again, it's rare for the main characters of such stories to be betas - it looks like a fantasy of ace acceptance, but the symbolically ace characters are relegated to the sidelines, as if a life that doesn't revolve around that kind of desire isn't worth telling stories about.)

In another example, a/b/o fics often posit a worldbuilding where the norm is that a person will only go into heat or rut (i.e., experience sexual desire) in reaction to a particular person--maybe a "fated mate"--and indeed, that the presence of sexual desire is proof of some kind of intense emotional connection between two people... which is basically just a sci-fi-ification of the experience of being demisexual. It's really that straightforward.

And that's without even getting into the ways that heat and rut often appear in fics as funhouse mirrors of what garden-variety allosexual desire looks like to people who don't experience it themselves. The original post says that "magical pheromones made them do it" sounds just as plausible to an ace person as "looking at someone in their underwear made them do it," but you don't even need the word "magical" - the idea that hormones could make you lose your head with desire and behave in ways that would embarrass you (or worse) once their influence wanes is both a sci-fi conceit for fanfic porn and actually how many, many people on this planet go through their lives on a regular basis.

What's ironic is how, despite all this, most a/b/o fic makes no room for real ace people (as opposed to symbolic aces, i.e., betas), especially sex-repulsed ace people. What are those folks supposed to do when heat strikes? Or other people who, for various reasons, might not want sex or be in a position to consent to it? I think a/b/o often teeters on the edge of body horror; in those situations, it tips right over. Most a/b/o worldbuilding does nothing to address this--and I think that's one of the great blank spaces in the genre that is ripe for exploring with all kinds of interesting fic!