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formula-ghost · 1 month ago

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Supermodel (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: Franco can’t understand how you, the love of his life, could ever feel insecure—so he goes above and beyond to show you (and the world) how beautiful he thinks his girlfriend is. This can be read within the RYD universe or as a stand alone one shot!

WORD COUNT: 6.1k

WARNINGS: SMUT, 18+, MINORS DNI. Teasing, light dom reader/ sub Franco at the beginning dom Franco at the end, body dysmorphia/reader insecurity, worship, mirror sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk/mentions of AFAB anatomy (reader has a vagina), use of the word whore, protected sex. Use of YN. Also the song doesn’t match the vibe of the story but I wanted to stick with the Måneskin theme lol.

A/N: Some more Franco content! I need some more time with the Oscar fic, plus I’ll be returning to regular life since the holidays are over soon, so I figured I’d tide you over with a spicy Franco one shot. Since (in my head at least) this is set in the RYD universe, I’ve included the same tag list, and I hope you all enjoy it!

TAGLIST: @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle

Yeah, she’s a master, my compliments

If you wanna love her, just deal with that

She’ll never love you more than money and cigarettes

Every night’s a heartbreak

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Franco panted, his eyes trailing your curves up and down just as his fist squeezed tightly over the growing bulge in his pants.

Your cheeks were flushed red, almost as dark as the wine-colored matching lingerie set you now wore before him, leaving little to the imagination. You couldn’t help it—no matter how long you’d been with the Argentine, you still got bashful when he complimented you.

“I hope you know I mean it,” he began, leaving his spot on the bed to advance toward you. He gently brushed your hair away and kissed the top of your shoulder, looking up at you with his deceptively innocent doe eyes. “You’re the most perfect thing in the world to me.”

You smiled, blissful at the feeling of his touch. “It’s easy to say that when I’m standing in front of you in my new set.”

“I love you,” he said, as if it was as simple as telling the time. “So much. More than words can say. And I want you to remember that when you’re mad at me after I rip this off of you.”

He grabbed the strap of your bra, and you giggled, “You better not!” You playfully pushed him back on the bed. “No touching, not yet. Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, obedient to only you. The grip you had on him was intoxicating.

You climbed up on the bed, straddling him, running your featherlight fingertips up and down his arms and chest.

“Mi amor,” he exhaled, “you are cruel to me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” you asked, sarcastic yet seductive.

“Don’t you dare.”

You laughed. If he thought a bit of teasing was cruel, he would not be having fun for the rest of the night.

But, of course, he loved nothing more than ravishing your body, evident by his labored breath, laying next to you when the deed was finished. He stared at you with awe, your eyes still closed. He listened as you tried to catch your breath, placing gentle kisses on the top of your arm and into your shoulder.

You just let out a little noise in response, feeling safe and comforted by his touch. When you two were alone, he always needed to touch you in some way, much to your dismay during the sweltering hot months of summer.

His kisses traced their way up to your neck, chin, and finally to your cheek, where he gently moved your hair out of your face to gaze on the gorgeous image of your face.

“I wish there were better words in English to explain how I feel about you,” he said, his voice low and genuine. “Something stronger than I love you. Something more than just beautiful.”

“You know I love it when you speak to me in Spanish,” you said, letting your eyelids flutter open to meet his gaze, only inches from your own.

“Yes, but I want you to understand what I mean.” He smiled softly.

“My Spanish is getting better.”

“It is, you’re doing great,” he joked, nuzzling his nose into your neck, leaving you in a fit of giggles. “You’ll be talking circles around me in no time.”

“I wish. You’re fluent in yapenese,” you joked. You playfully mocked his voice, “Mi amor, you are so beautiful, the light of my life—”

“Oh hush,” he said, smiling ear to ear. “You love it.”

“I do.”

“And it’s true.” He cupped your face, bringing you into a sweet embrace with a gentle kiss. “Join me in the shower?”

“In a minute,” you answered, as he got up from the bed and started the warm water. After a few more moments of rest, you got up, picking up the discarded items of clothing that now dotted the floor, thrown aside in the heat of the passionate moment.

You crossed the room to open the bureau and grab a fresh set of pajamas, before you caught sight of your reflection in the floor-length mirror.

You had gained a little weight. It was normal, you supposed; a natural result of your many nights out with your lover.

But you felt stuck in front of the mirror, your eyes rolling over the curves at the bottom of your stomach, what once was somewhat flat. Little thunderbolt-shaped lines now decorated the dimpled skin. And as you brought your arm up to grip the loose fat, you saw the extra flesh there too.

“Mi amor, you coming?” Franco called from inside the bathroom. You hummed in response.

You turned, noticing how the light caught every imperfection. The puffiness in your face, the roundness of your jaw, the lines and bumps and discoloration. You sucked in your stomach, seeing the surface flatten, then exhaled, watching with disgust how your body shifted.

“Amor?” Franco said, poking his head outside of the bathroom. Seeing you in front of the mirror, he crossed the room, finding his way behind you. He was covered only with a towel, wrapping his arms around your naked form and kissing your neck. But the sight of his flawless, athletic body behind yours did nothing to dismiss your insecurities.

“What are you doing, pretty girl, hm?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder.

“I’ve gained weight.”

“Did you? I didn’t notice.” His voice was tinged with a genuine confusion.

“I look like I’m pregnant,” you said, gesturing to your bloated stomach.

“No it doesn’t,” he assured. “But if you want to be pregnant, we can arrange that.”

You ignored his attempts at banter. “I look gross.”

“Mi amor,” Franco began, his voice more serious. “Do I need to fuck you again to show you how beautiful you are?”

“Franco—”

“YN.”

You looked away. “You could be with a model.”

“I’m with you. And you’re perfect, and I love you with my entire heart.” You bit the inside of your cheek. He continued, “Look at me.”

You brought your gaze back to his. “Your body has changed a little bit, so what?”

“It’s easy for you to say. You’re an athlete.”

“That doesn’t matter. No more of this talk. You’re beautiful. End of discussion. Now, let’s stop wasting water and get in the shower.”

You weren’t really feeling any better. If anything, you felt worse, now self conscious of your nakedness as Franco ran his hands up and down the soapy surface of your skin. You wanted nothing more than to get out of the shower, put on your clothes, and bury yourself so deep under the covers that you’d forget that you ever even possessed a physical form.

And, much to Franco’s dismay, that’s what you did, turning away from him as you laid your head down to sleep. He pushed himself up next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. He tapped his foot on your leg, initiating you to throw it over his is like you usually did every night.

“You know,” he whispered, “this is when you’re supposed to pretend like you like me.”

“It’s not you, Franco,” you whispered back. “I love you. But it’s not something you can fix.”

“I know.” He sighed. “But that won't stop me from trying.” He placed a gentle kiss on the back of your neck, and you fell into a tense sleep.

Although Franco hadn’t initially noticed your physical changes, he now noticed your emotional ones. You wore loose clothing more often, as if to hide your body not only from the outside world, but from yourself. You skipped breakfast occasionally when you were having a really bad day. And now, when you made love, you wanted the lights out, preventing him from seeing the shapes of your body.

He knew that what you had said was true—he couldn’t fix this. No matter the amount of love he showered you in, he couldn’t change the way your mind thought when you looked at yourself in the mirror. And it broke his heart knowing that you couldn’t see the same version of yourself that he saw, the perfect girl who he loved so dearly.

Your pain was beyond his fixing, but not beyond his helping. If he had showered you in love before, it was monsoon season now. Flowers every week. More lingerie to model for him. Touching you nearly every second of the day. More sex than your body could handle.

Of course, you welcomed his affection. But none of it helped that wound deep inside of you.

It was at work, of all places, that he got the idea.

“We’ve got a meeting with the new sponsors today,” his manager explained as they quickly trotted down the long hallway to the conference room. “That luxury brand I was telling you about? I’ve sealed the contract, they’re just here to plan the promo materials.”

Now, sitting in the conference room, the brand representative explained it to him. “The idea for the campaign is risque luxury. We want something… elegant, yet dangerous. Formula 1 fans are the perfect audience. Most of the shots for the initial campaign would just be in-studio, and then, we’d need you to wear some pieces we provide at official Formula 1 events.”

“That all sounds fine,” he said.

“Great! We’re still looking for some more representatives for the women’s line, but when we find them, we can set up a date for the shoot.”

“Wait, like a female model? I’d need to pose with her?”

“For the first shoot, yes. And if we can get some shots of you and whoever we choose at official events, that’d be perfect.”

“Uh, well, I have a girlfriend. I can't just…be taking random women to events.”

The rep laughed. “Oh, it’s not like that. The models are all professionals. I assure you that no one would be trying to take you away from your partner.”

“If you all need a female model, why not just use her? We’ll be seen together a lot more than anyone else, no?”

His manager shot him a death glare. Was it highly unprofessional to be suggesting his own girlfriend for a job like this? Absolutely. Did he care at all? Absolutely not.

The rep asked, “Oh, does she model?”

“Eh�� no, not professionally. But this could be her big break, no?” Franco laughed, and the rep did too, for obviously different reasons. But Franco was, unfortunately, serious.

“Does she have social media?” the rep asked, and Franco pulled up your instagram as the rep scrolled through.

“Well, first of all, she’s beautiful,” the rep said, clearly trying to be polite. “But, modeling is not just about being pretty.”

“Then why am I here?” The room erupted in laughter, but Franco hadn’t intended the statement to come out like a joke. “No, I’m serious. I drive Formula 1 cars. What are my modeling qualifications?”

“Well,” the rep began, carefully choosing his words, “you have the Latin American market in a chokehold—”

Franco cut him off. “My fans love her, too.”

The rep pursed his lips. “I’m sure they do.”

“Look, I’m not trying to be difficult—”

“Not at all,” the rep said, cutting Franco off as well. “Let me ask, though… is this a deal breaker for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we get a real model, are you saying you wont pose or be seen with her?”

Franco looked at his manager across the table, who was nothing short of fuming. He began, “You said the theme was ‘risque luxury.’ I’m not going to pose for risque photos with another woman, no.”

The rep sighed. Franco continued, “And honestly, I still don’t even understand why you all even want me to model for you. Nobody in Argentina can even afford these outrageous prices—”

“Okay Franco, that’s enough!” his manager said, a false happiness in her tone. She turned to walk the rep outside, saying, “This has been a wonderful meeting, we can’t wait to hear from you…”

Once he had exited the building, she returned, looked at Franco, and said, “I hope you know you just lost us that contract.”

“Did you sign me up to do a photoshoot with a random woman?”

His manager paused. “...It’s business, Franco.”

“C’mon,” he said, “you knew about this, and you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought you’d understand. Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to do.”

“You knew that was too much.”

She sighed. “Yeah, okay, I took a gamble hoping you wouldn’t care and I lost. But that sponsorship money is coming out of your bonus.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want to promote this overpriced shit anyway.”

“You’re the bane of my existence, kid,” his manager said, patting him on the back as she walked out of the room.

At the end of the day, all Franco could think about was coming home and collapsing in your arms. When his manager was mad at him—which was often, given his refusal to be media trained—it was his favorite way to destress.

So when he arrived home and collapsed on top of you, interrupting whatever mindless show you had been watching, you just smiled to yourself. As he exhaled, you placed one hand through his soft curls, and threaded the other under the collar of his shirt to scratch his back. He melted into your touch.

“Hello,” you said, placing a kiss on his head. “Long day?”

“She’s mad at me again,” he murmured, closing his eyes.

“What’d you do this time?”

“Why do you assume I did something?”

You softly chuckled, “Because I know you.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” he pouted.

“I’m sure it wasn’t.”

He sighed. “I fucked up a sponsor contract. But really, it wasn’t my fault! They wanted me to pose with a bunch of models to sell their overpriced jewelry.”

You hummed. “I thought you liked doing photoshoots?”

“They’re fun, yeah, when they don’t want me to touch random women,” he frowned. You could hear the genuine disgust in his voice.

“I think you’re the only man in the world who would turn down the opportunity to be surrounded by models,” you laughed.

He lifted his head up to look at you. “Seriously?”

“What?”

“Why would I want a bunch of random women touching on me when I have a girlfriend?”

You laughed again. “Because they’re models.”

He gave you a look of confused disgust and said, “Oh, hush, YN. You’re the only woman I want within a hundred feet of me at any given time.”

“There’s nothing wrong with acknowledging that other women are beautiful.”

He looked at you sternly. “Um, no. This is when you tell me I’m not allowed to look at, let alone touch, anyone other than you.”

“Franco, you know I’m not like that.”

“You are, though! What has gotten into you, lately?”

“I don’t know what you mean, I’m fine.”

Franco sighed. “No, you’re clearly not. What do I have to do for you to understand that you are the only woman in this world that matters to me? I don’t care what you say, you are the only one I want, the most beautiful girl in the world—”

He leaned up to kiss you, but you dodged his affection.

“Hey!” he protested. You got up from the couch, feeling overwhelmed by the whole interaction.

“YN, come back—” you just ignored him as you went back to your shared bedroom, barricading yourself in the attached bathroom and exhaling.

Franco was right. The insecurity had been eating at you for weeks, and somehow, Franco’s commitment to trying to make you feel better had made it worse. Most girls would be happy that their boyfriend (especially their young, famous, athlete boyfriend) wanted nothing to do with other women. But somehow, it just made you fear the worst—when Franco finally saw you as you saw yourself, and you became nothing more than just another one of the many women he ignored.

“YN, come out and talk to me,” you heard him softly plead from outside the door.

“I’m sorry, I just need a minute,” you said through the tears that welled up in your eyes.

“No need to apologize, take all the time you need,” he said. “But when you’re done, promise you’ll come talk to me about it?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you answered weakly.

“Okay,” he said. You could hear how he pressed his forehead to the door. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Your voice was shaking.

You just needed 5 minutes to breathe and calm down alone. That’s what you told yourself as you took another deep breath and wiped away the tears that now spilled over the corners of your eyes.

“I’m okay,” you whispered to yourself. “I’m okay, it’s okay. It’s okay.” You’d say it until it was true.

When you'd finally calmed down somewhat, you still waited in the bathroom, not wanting Franco to see your puffy, bloodshot eyes, the evidence of your tears. But he knew you were crying. And he knew you’d keep your word and talk to him when you were ready.

He knew you inside and out. So when you silently emerged from the bathroom and found him in the kitchen washing dishes, he knew no words were needed. You slipped your arms around his waist and rested your head against his back as he turned the water off and dried his hands.

He turned around and met your embrace, holding your head beneath his chin and enveloping you in his strong arms. His tender touch brought the tears back.

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t apologize.”

“No,” you corrected. “You’re so good to me. I don’t know why I’m like this.”

“It breaks my heart to see you hurting like this. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”

“Just hold me,” you said, burying your head deeper into his chest, smelling the familiar scent of his cologne and the warm comfort of his breath rising and falling.

The next day, Franco woke before you, spending a moment staring at your sleeping form before he had to get up and leave for the day.

He knew you had been struggling, but for the life of him, he couldn’t understand how your mind saw something so much more different than his saw. It broke him to know you thought of yourself so negatively.

But he’d hold you all day everyday if it meant it helped even a little bit. He would do anything.

So, when your alarm began screeching and you lazily turned it off, he let you sleep in, simply pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before he went into yet another one of endless meetings with his manager before the season started.

She walked in and slammed a stack of papers on the desk. “I don’t know how you keep getting away with this shit every fucking time,” she said.

Franco raised a brow. Her tone wasn’t angry, as he expected, but rather…frustrated?

“The contract,” she continued. “The rep called me last night. They want you to do the campaign no matter what. They’ll let you do it with YN.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes. We’ll have to get her in here to sign the contract, then we’ve got fittings and we still need to set the date for the actual shoot…”

His manager’s voice faded into the background as Franco remembered the previous night. The idea of you, dolled up in designer clothes posing next to him, had excited him at first. Now, he was unsure if that would just make things worse.

He had to be…deliberate in bringing it up. At home that night, as you two ate dinner, he decided to choose his words very, very carefully.

“So, you remember that contract I said I lost?”

“The designer stuff?” you asked. He nodded.

“Yeah. Well, I…actually didn’t fuck it up as bad as I thought I did. They still want us to do the campaign.”

“That’s good. It’ll get your manager off your case.” Your gaze drifted to the plate of food in front of you. The unspoken question lingered in the air.

“Please don’t be mad at me—” he began, but you cut him off.

“Franco, you’re a professional. I trust you.”

“Well, um… they want you to model.”

You looked up at him, perplexed. “Me?”

“I showed them your social media.”

“And they want…me. To model for them.”

“Well, they want you to do the campaign with me, yes. And wear a dress of theirs to a fancy event or two.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a model. And all my followers are just your fans, anyway.”

“Other driver’s girlfriends have done it, why can’t you?” He put down his fork and looked you in the eye. “YN, I think this would be a great thing. I can show you off to the world, and they’ll dress you up and make you feel beautiful. You’re beautiful without it, of course, but you know what I mean. I can’t make you say yes, but I’d love to do this with you.”

You took a beat to think. You couldn’t deny that you wanted the experience of going to lavish galas in designer gowns and seeing Franco grace the covers of magazine and social media home pages. Besides, you thought, if you truly looked bad they could just photoshop you to hell and back.

“Okay,” you answered, “let’s do it.”

So, a few weeks later, you found yourself in one of those cloth chairs that you had only seen in movies, having powder liberally applied to your face by a makeup artist.

“The heavy makeup is just for the lights. They’re warm and harsh, so it’ll drown you out and make you look greasy if we don’t apply this much.”

You hummed in response, afraid to move your face. “I can tell this is your first time,” the artist said. “Just relax and let us work our magic, yeah? When they all say celebrities are fake, this is what they mean.”

You would have chuckled if you weren’t already sweating with nervousness. “Close your eyes,” she said, and you obeyed, only flinching as she generously sprayed setting spray over your makeup.

“Alrighty, off to hair for you.”

Hair was the same—a nervousness that clearly identified you as an outsider to this world of glitz and glamor. You coughed when she nearly drowned you in hairspray.

Then it was time for the final touches, the dress and jewelry.

You gasped as they brought it out. A long silver satin gown, custom measured to hug your curves perfectly. Your neck was adorned with diamonds, your lips blood red, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulders.

When you finally made it into the studio, Franco was already there, clad in a simple yet elegant black suit to contrast against the shiny fabric of your dress. He wasn’t facing you when you first entered, but hearing the click of your heels against the wooden floors, he turned and stopped in his tracks.

“Oh my God,” he exhaled. “You look…” He was, quite literally, speechless.

You let out an awkward laugh, unused to having so much attention on you.

“Amazing!” the brand rep said. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

And that, you did. The first shots were simple: you resting your arms on a chair while Franco sat, looking off into the distance, his perfect side profile on display. Both of you staring down the camera, arms placed in dynamic positions.

Then you switched to the more sensual shots. Franco kneeled before you, kissing your hand, allowing you to show off the ring they had placed to contrast your black gloves. Another one, a shot of you holding his cheek as he gazed up at you in admiration.

Then you switched, with him taking the more dominant role in the poses. His hand around your neck, showing off his own ridiculously expensive rings, as you tilted your head upwards towards him and he glared at the camera. A shot of Franco holding you up against a wall; his arm was draped above you to show off a watch, but his other hand found your waist and his head was turned as if to kiss you while you stared at the camera.

“Okay, play with the pose a bit,” the photographer instructed. “Let’s get some candids.”

You turned away from the camera, trying to ignore the incessant clicking and flashing in the background.

He smiled. “Hi, pretty girl.”

“Hi,” you replied, smiling as well. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Franco leaned closer to your ear to whisper, “I really want to rip this dress off you.”

“Franco!”

“Oh, that was good!” the photographer yelled. “Whatever you said, do it again, her expression was golden.”

You laughed as you both repositioned, standing in front of the dark backdrop.

“How much will it cost if I damage this dress?” Franco asked, looking at the photographer.

“Probably more than quadruple my salary,” the photographer laughed. “So please don’t.”

“But I have an idea. Just hear me out.”

Franco leaned down and gripped the strap of your dress in his mouth, eliciting a gasp from you and a thousand clicks of the camera.

His most bold suggestion, though, was the shot from the floor; he laid down and had you crawl on his chest and kneel above his head, draping his shoulders in the luxurious fabric and showing off your bedazzled garter beneath a silt in the dress. Though the photo would only expose a little bit of thigh, you couldn’t deny the rush of adrenaline that the position gave you.

When the shoot was over, it hurt your heart a bit to have to take off the dress and jewelry. Franco could tell. A sad smile painted your face as they carefully removed the diamonds from your neck and ears. But the one that hurt most was the gorgeous diamond ring, which you gently slipped off your gloved finger with a pang of sadness.

Franco was right; it had been fun to dress up and show off, but it was over now. So you said a silent goodbye to this false world of luxury as you walked off to the dressing room, and Franco went over to the brand rep who was packing up your jewelry.

“A lovely job, both of you!” he said. “I’ll admit, I was hesitant at first, but you all definitely proved me wrong. These photos will come out amazingly.”

“How much is the ring?” Franco asked, gesturing to the lockbox that it was now hidden away in.

“Ah, I could tell she liked it. Are you thinking of popping the question soon?”

“Ah, well…” Franco said, nervous now. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was an engagement ring.

The rep laughed. “Well, this one’s from the new collection, expertly crafted. Usually goes for around $130,000, but that’s just with the base without any modifications.”

Franco choked on his own saliva. He certainly wasn’t making that much money yet, and besides, he didn’t know if his little working-class heart could ever justify spending that much money on a shiny rock.

But for you? Anything.

The rep could sense his hesitation. “Well, if you decide to go for it, here’s my card. Maybe we can work something out.” Franco nodded and accepted the card, stowing it away in his wallet after he changed out of his suit.

Once you arrived home, the mountain of makeup and hairspray that you were both still covered in acted as the perfect excuse for a shower together.

As Franco lathered shampoo into your hair, he whispered, “You looked beautiful today.”

You smiled. “I felt beautiful.”

The photos were released a few weeks later, sending the internet into chaos.

YN!?!?!?! CAN FRANCO FIGHT?

Does YN know that we’d all kill to be her right now

The hand placement!! The look in his eyes!!! That man is IN LOVE!!!!!

You chuckled to yourself as you read through the comments on your Instagram post.

You saw the most important comment: the one from Franco.

Eres el amor de mi vida <3

You felt butterflies rise up in your stomach as you tapped the little heart to like the comment, as if that same man wasn’t taking you to the F1 Grand Prix Gala in Monaco tonight.

You wanted nothing more than to walk in on his arm, basking in the glow of the photoshoot. It wasn’t just the glamor of the shots or the makeup that made you feel better; it was Franco. The way he looked at you like you were a goddess—you finally understood what he meant when he said he wanted you to see yourself as he saw you.

As you donned the loaned dress from the same brand—less extravagant than the gown from the shoot, but still gorgeous—you were so thankful you had let Franco talk you into this.

Everyone was abuzz at the event, and you were getting kudos left and right from strangers, which was slightly embarrassing, but you soaked in the attention anyway. But the best feeling was your lover’s hand at the small of your back, guiding you through the crowded ballroom.

You stepped out onto an empty balcony, drinking in the clear night air, now alone from the crowd. Of course, he followed like a lost puppy.

“Mi amor,” he said as you leaned against the ledge, “I don’t know what’s more beautiful, you or the night sky.”

You smiled and rolled your eyes. “That’s too much, even for you.”

“Maybe,” he joked. “And, maybe, we should get out of here. I’m tired of pretending to like all these old rich people.”

“That sounds lovely.”

You two sped home, where Franco wasted no time taking off your dress and decorating the floor with it.

“Let me worship you,” he said, grazing his lips over the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Don’t you already?” you joked, evidence of your returned confidence.

“I do,” he said, “because you’re divine. I want to taste you.” He grabbed your panties with his teeth, pulling them down slowly, enjoying the burning desire you both felt as his skin grazed against yours.

But even now that he had you fully undressed, he still teased you, gently kissing your thighs, looking up into your eyes with every kiss. You pushed his hair back, softly inhaling with every inch of skin that his mouth touched.

“Franco…”

“Mi ángel,” he exhaled. “Mi reina, mi cielo, mi vida.”

With a featherlight touch, he brought his mouth to your wetness, kissing your clit before rolling his tongue around the soaked bundle of nerves. Your breath hitched.

He brought two fingers to your entrance, teasing you until you were dripping with want for him. “You’re perfect. So perfect for me.”

His praise felt like your native tongue, the way your bodies and words naturally curved to each other, fitting together like you were made for this.

He echoed your thoughts, continuing, “You take me so well.” He curled his fingers to hit that sensitive spot inside of you that made you see stars, eliciting a moan.

“I live to pleasure you, mi amor.” He brought his mouth back to your clit, pointing his tongue and swirling circles around it as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

You squirmed under him, overcome by the pleasure of both his hands and his words. As he continued his movements, he never shifted his gaze from you.

But you looked away, to the mirror in the corner that had been moved as you got ready. You had a perfect view of Franco pleasuring you, and God, was the sight beautiful.

Franco saw you looking and stopped, eliciting a frustrated whine from you.

“Come here,” he said, climbing on the bed. “Keep facing the mirror.” He positioned himself behind you, grabbing your chin to keep your face straight as you both gazed at your reflections. “I want you to watch me fuck you. I want you to see how perfect you look when I take you.”

You wordlessly nodded, loving the vulnerability of being at the mercy of the man who worshipped you.

As Franco unwrapped and put on a condom behind you, you studied the patches of red that colored your cheeks, flushed from your lover having nearly brought you to the brink of orgasm only moments before.

He spanked you and you playfully yelped. “Don’t you dare take your eyes off this mirror.”

“What if I do?” you asked. “Will you punish me?”

He spanked you again, the other side this time. “Don’t even think about it.”

Then, slowly, he placed his hands on your hips and found his way to your entrance, filling you with a swift but gentle motion. You both let out a low moan.

“Even your pussy is perfect,” he said as he began to move. “Taking every inch of me.”

“Yes,” you moaned.

“You feel so fucking good,” he growled, increasing his pace and intensity, making you scream. “I want to fuck this pussy every day for the rest of my life.”

His words went through one ear and out the other; you couldn’t focus with his fucking you into the mattress with every thrust.

You cried and closed your eyes, hanging your head as you tried to hold back the waves of pleasure that were building in your core. But Franco roughly grabbed your hair and yanked your head back up.

“What did I tell you? Look at yourself, getting fucked like the perfect little whore you are.” You loved it when Franco was a little rough with you, but combined with the praise, it nearly sent you over the edge.

“Now,” he said, slowing down his pace, “since you didn’t do what I told you, you don’t get to cum.”

You whined in protest as Franco pulled out, leaving you feeling cold and empty. “Please,” you begged.

He laid down on the bed. “If you want it, do it yourself,” he teased. “Ride me. If you want to cum, you have to watch as you make yourself cum on my cock.”

You didn't argue, instead just obeying and sinking yourself down on him. You watched in the mirror as he disappeared in you, mesmerized by the way your bodies connected.

His hands found your waist again as you began to bounce on him, chasing your release with an relentless pace.

“Fuck, Franco, I’m close—” you moaned, and you felt his hand come down hard on your ass again.

“Are you watching?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell me how beautiful you look.” If he had said this at any time other than in the heat of your passion, you would have cringed. But now, moments away from an orgasm, you obeyed.

“I fit perfectly on top of you,” you began with a shaky voice. “And I look…I look perfect riding your cock.”

“What else?”

“I look beautiful covered in your love bites.”

“Good girl,” he growled, matching your pace, fucking up into you. “My perfect, beautiful girl.”

With his final statement of praise, you shook, letting yourself drown in waves of pleasure as he continued fucking you through it.

He had switched back to Spanish now, babbling away what you assumed to be your praises as he chased his own orgasm, quickly finishing from the heavenly feeling of your walls gripping around him.

When you all collapsed in a pile next to each other, he threw an arm around you, wordlessly holding you in his embrace. His words could never truly make it better, he knew that.

But thankfully, his words weren't needed anymore. Now, you believed him.

612 notes · View notes

brunchable · 4 months ago

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This is Your Boyfriend Mom? [3]

Pairings: Beefy Bucky Barnes x Our savage wittle boi Lucas x f!Reader.

Summary: It's Lucas' 7th Birthday and Bucky finally meets the Dad from Finance. Bucky also FINALLY got a haircut lmfao.

A/N: I will just keep posting Step-Dad Bucky content, this doesn't really have set plot, just cute and funny moments while Bucky navigates how to be a Dad.

The Night Before the Party

You were busy setting up the last of the birthday decorations when you heard the front door open. You didn’t think much of it at first, but then Lucas came sprinting into the living room, eyes wide, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.

“Mom!” he shouted, excitement and shock mixed in his voice. “Bucky’s back, and... uh, something’s wrong with him!”

You raised an eyebrow, turning toward the door just as Bucky strolled in, a smirk playing on his lips. You froze, your hands still holding the banner you were about to hang up.

Bucky had chopped his hair. Gone were the long, unruly locks he’d been hiding behind for months, replaced by a clean, short trim that made him look—well, if you were being honest—like he’d just walked off the set of a cologne commercial. Looking absolutely handsome.

“Wow, look at you. All... polished.” You blinked, trying to suppress a grin.

Before Bucky could respond, Lucas crossed his arms, pacing around him like a tiny detective on the case. “So, Mr. Metal Mop finally decided to join the human race, huh?”

“Really, Lucas?” Bucky sighed.

“Oh yeah. You’re like a whole new person,” Lucas continued, squinting at him. “Seriously, who are you, and what have you done with the walking disaster that usually lives here?”

You let out a snort of laughter as Bucky’s jaw twitched. “It’s just a haircut, kid.”

Lucas tilted his head, eyes narrowed as he pointed dramatically at Bucky’s head. “This? This is not just a haircut. This is a ‘I’m about to show everyone I’m the coolest guy at this party’ haircut.”

“What? No, it’s not! I’m not trying to show off.”

Lucas raised an eyebrow, smirking like a seasoned detective who’d just cracked the case wide open. “Oh really? ‘Cause you didn’t care about looking like a caveman until now, right before my party. Coincidence? I think not.”

“I just felt like a change, alright? This has nothing to do with the party. I’m not trying to outshine anyone.” Bucky crossed his arms, standing taller, trying to play it cool.

Lucas grinned wider. “Uh-huh. Sure. So, you just happened to get a haircut right before a big event? Not competitive at all?”

Bucky groaned, clearly trying to keep his cool. “I’m not trying to compete with anybody. I just thought I’d make things... easier for tomorrow.”

“Yeah, right. Easier. You know, if you wanted to look good for once, you could’ve just said so.” Lucas snorted, shaking his head.

Bucky’s jaw twitched as he quickly looked to you for backup, but you were too busy laughing to jump in.

Lucas leaned in dramatically, whispering, “You can relax, Bucky. We all know Mom doesn’t love you for your looks.”

You burst out laughing, clutching your sides as Bucky stared at Lucas, half-amused, half-offended.

“I’m not—,” Bucky started, running his hand over his hair again. “It’s just a haircut!”

“Oh, sure,” Lucas said, stepping closer, his face serious but his eyes full of mischief. “So it has nothing to do with the fact that Patrick’s gonna be here tomorrow? You’re not trying to look cooler than him? You know he works out, right?”

Bucky frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “Patrick works out?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yup. I heard him mention it once. But hey, at least now you look like you can keep up.”

“Please. I don’t need a haircut to keep up with your Dad.” Bucky crossed his arms and scoffed.

Lucas smirked, still circling him. “Mmhmm. That’s why you’re all cleaned up—so you can make sure nobody at the party outshines you.”

You were practically doubled over at this point, tears streaming down your face from laughter.

“I’m not competing with anybody!” Bucky insisted, throwing his hands up.

“Right, because getting a ‘too cool for school’ haircut right before the party is totally not competitive.” Lucas grinned wider, seeing that he had Bucky cornered.

Bucky clenched his jaw, still trying to hold his ground. “This is a tactical haircut. Streamlined. It’s practical.”

Lucas grinned, clearly not buying it. “Oh, tactical, huh? Right. Is that what you’re gonna tell everyone tomorrow? ‘Hey, check out my tactical haircut. You like?’”

Bucky chuckles and points at Lucas, “Okay, that’s it. You’re done.”

Without warning, he lunged forward, scooping Lucas up and flipping him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

Lucas squealed, laughing uncontrollably. “Bucky! Put me down!”

“Oh no,” Bucky said, shaking his head as he carried Lucas toward the couch. “You’re gonna sit here and think about your life choices.”

Lucas, still flailing and laughing, managed to gasp, “At least I didn’t need a haircut to look cool!”

Bucky plopped him down onto the couch, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re gonna pay for this tomorrow, kid. You just wait.”

Lucas grinned up at him, still breathless from laughing. “Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, give me a tactical timeout?”

“Unbelievable. You’re supposed to be on my side here.” Bucky glanced at you, exasperated but unable to hide his smile.

You finally managed to calm down enough to speak. “Oh no, I’m staying out of this. Lucas is absolutely right.”

Lucas beamed with pride as he gave you a thumbs-up. “See? Mom knows what’s up.”

Bucky groaned again, dropping down onto the couch beside Lucas. “Alright, fine. Have your fun tonight. Tomorrow, though, I’m stealing all your cake.”

Lucas gasped, feigning horror. “Not the cake!”

Bucky grinned, leaning back. “Oh yeah. Tactical move.”

× × × ×

The birthday party was in full swing, with kids running around, balloons everywhere, and Lucas at the center of it all. You were watching from a distance, laughing softly as Bucky awkwardly navigated the chaos. He was holding a cupcake in one hand, clearly out of his element, but smiling nonetheless. Everything was going smoothly.

The Avengers were scattered around, trying their best to blend in. Clint was at the snack table, sampling every kind of chip he could get his hands on. Tony was in full I’ve-paid-for-everything-here mode, handing out goodie bags like they were shares in Stark Industries. Nat and Steve were casually watching the kids play, exchanging side glances, while Sam was trying (and failing) to explain some complex game rules to a group of seven-year-olds.

Everything seemed perfect.

Until he arrived.

“Uh, hey,” Bucky muttered to you, nodding toward the door. “That’s, uh… him, right?”

You turned to see Lucas’ dad, Patrick, making his way into the party, looking a bit too put-together for a kids’ birthday—pressed suit, perfectly styled hair, and an aura of someone who had just closed a very important deal five minutes before arriving.

“Yep. That’s Patrick,” you said, trying not to laugh at the grimace on Bucky’s face.

Patrick spotted Lucas and waved. “Hey, buddy! Happy Birthday!” He strode over confidently, handing Lucas a brightly wrapped present.

Lucas opened it, pulling out a brand-new Nintendo Switch. He looked up at his dad and gave a polite smile. “Uh, thanks, Patrick.”

Bucky, still watching from a few feet away, cocked his head. “Why’s he callin’ him Patrick?”

You shrugged, whispering, “Lucas just started calling him that on his own. I think it confuses him.”

Patrick glanced over, finally noticing you and Bucky standing there. He smiled—though it was more of a tight-lipped one—and made his way over, extending his hand to Bucky.

“Hi, I’m Patrick. Lucas’ father,” he said, with an air of someone who’s used to introductions being brief and businesslike.

Bucky hesitated for half a second, staring at Patrick’s perfectly manicured hand like it might explode. Then he awkwardly wiped his own hand on his jeans before shaking it.

“Bucky. You know, the boyfriend.”

The words hung in the air like an awkward mist. Patrick’s smile twitched. “Ah, yes. The… boyfriend. Great to meet you.”

They stood there, shaking hands for what felt like five or ten seconds too long, neither one letting go, each one’s grip tightening ever so slightly. You watched from the side, holding back a laugh as the tension built.

Finally, Patrick cleared his throat and let go. “So, uh, how’s the party going?”

Bucky shrugged. “Good. You know, kids. Loud. Messy. Chaos.”

Patrick nodded, chuckling awkwardly. “Ah, yeah. Well, you know, in finance, things are a bit more... orderly.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Finance, huh? That sounds... fun.”

Patrick straightened his posture, clearly missing the sarcasm. “Oh, it’s very rewarding. Numbers, investments... making sure the market flows smoothly.”

Bucky blinked. “Yeah, I bet. I usually just stop markets by throwing people out windows.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Patrick stared at Bucky, unsure if that was a joke or a confession.

You stifled a laugh behind your hand. “So, how about that gift?” you asked, trying to change the subject. “Lucas, do you like it?”

Lucas, who had wandered over to Bucky’s side, gave a polite nod. “Uh, yeah. Thanks, Dad.”

Patrick smiled, clearly not noticing how forced Lucas’s enthusiasm was. “Glad you like it, buddy.”

As Patrick turned to talk to one of the other parents, Bucky crouched down next to Lucas and whispered, “Hey, what’s up, buddy? You don’t seem that excited.”

Lucas looked up at Bucky and sighed. “I already have a Switch. He bought me one for my 6th birthday. He just… forgot.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, glancing between Lucas and Patrick, who was fidgeting with his phone. “Ah. I see.”

Patrick, overhearing, laughed nervously. “Well, uh, you can never have too many Switches, right?”

Bucky stood up, crossing his arms with a smirk. “Yeah. Or, you know, you could... I dunno, maybe remember what you got your kid for his birthday last year.”

Patrick blinked, clearly not sure whether Bucky was joking or not. “Well, you know, with finance and all... numbers just blur together sometimes. I have a lot on my plate.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Right. Numbers blur. Must be hard to forget when you’re counting millions.” His voice was laced with sarcasm.

Patrick chuckled, but it was the kind of chuckle people do when they’re uncomfortable. “Yeah, well… finance life.”

Bucky gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, but I bet remembering your kid’s birthday gifts doesn’t really blur with anything, does it?”

Patrick looked away, clearly flustered, mumbling something about "busyness" as he shifted awkwardly in his suit.

From the other side of the party, you could see Clint and Tony watching the exchange with amusement, whispering something to each other while Steve shook his head at the spectacle. Nat gave a sly smile in your direction, clearly picking up on the tension, while Sam made a “yikes” face, pretending to zip his lips as if to say, Yup, this is awkward.

You couldn’t hold it in any longer, and you let out a snort of laughter, patting Bucky on the arm. “Well, Lucas, now you can... switch between your Switches?”

Lucas looked up, a confused smile on his face, while Bucky chuckled softly under his breath. Patrick, however, just stood there, looking like he wished the earth would swallow him whole.

Patrick, cleared his throat and forced a smile. “So, Bucky, what did you get Lucas for his birthday?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, glancing at you for a second before smirking. “Oh, I didn’t go the ‘two-of-the-same-gift’ route,” he teased, earning a snicker from you.

Patrick’s forced smile faltered slightly, but he maintained his composure. “Right, but I’m sure you got him something nice.”

Bucky gave a nod, gesturing toward the corner of the room. “Got him a custom-built bow and arrow set.” He paused for effect. “You know, something a little more memorable.”

Patrick blinked, clearly caught off guard. “A… bow and arrow? For a seven-year-old?”

Bucky crossed his arms, still smirking. “Hey, I’ve got a friend who’s pretty good with those. Thought it might be a good skill to have. Besides, Lucas loved it.”

Patrick glanced over at Lucas, who was currently showing the bow set to Clint, who was eagerly demonstrating how to hold it properly. Lucas was grinning from ear to ear.

Patrick, trying to recover, chuckled awkwardly. “Well, I’m sure the Nintendo Switch will still get plenty of use.”

Bucky leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough so only Patrick could hear, a mischievous glint in his eye. “You know, if Lucas forgets he already has one.”

Patrick's smile tightened again as he awkwardly laughed, clearly regretting asking.

From the sidelines, you could see Tony and Sam observing the whole interaction with raised eyebrows. Tony leaned over to Sam, whispering,

“I’m giving this five minutes before Finance Dad taps out.”

Sam grinned, nodding in agreement.

× × × ×

The birthday cake was finally brought out, candles lit, and the room filled with the excited chatter of kids and adults alike. Lucas stood proudly at the center, his face glowing in the soft flicker of the seven candles. Everyone gathered around the table, cheering him on.

"Alright, everyone!" you called out, smiling down at Lucas. "On three! One… two… three! Make a wish, Lucas!"

Lucas squeezed his eyes shut and puffed out his cheeks before blowing out all seven candles in one swift breath. The room erupted into cheers, and you bent down to kiss the top of his head.

Just as the cheers started to die down, someone in the crowd—most likely Tony—yelled out, “Time for a family picture!”

The laughter and chatter quieted as you, Lucas, and Bucky moved toward the cake, ready for the photo. But, just as Bucky stepped up beside Lucas, Patrick appeared at the other side, standing just as close.

Both Bucky and Patrick froze, their eyes locking in an awkward stand-off. Neither moved, both unsure of what the protocol was in this moment. Patrick chuckled nervously, shifting on his feet.

“So… family picture, huh?” Patrick said with an awkward smile, trying to ease the tension.

“Yeah. Family picture,” Bucky replied, his tone flat, clearly unimpressed.

The two men stood on either side of Lucas, staring at each other, neither willing to give up the spot closest to the boy. Lucas, meanwhile, was too focused on choosing the biggest slice of cake to notice the tension brewing between the two.

Clint, who had been quietly observing the whole thing from the side, leaned over to Natasha and whispered, just loud enough to be heard by others, “Looks like someone's gotta blink first.”

Natasha smirked but said nothing, her eyes fixed on the scene in front of her.

Sensing the growing awkwardness, you tried to step in. “Um, you know what, why don’t we take a couple of pictures? That way, everyone gets in,” you suggested, hoping to break the standoff.

But neither Bucky nor Patrick moved. Instead, they both shuffled even closer to Lucas, determined to be the one standing right beside him. Patrick forced a smile, trying to mask his discomfort.

“Well, I mean... I’m his dad, so...” Patrick began, his voice light but strained.

“And I’m here every day,” Bucky shot back, his voice deadpan, arms crossing as if he was daring Patrick to push further.

They stared at each other, tension hanging in the air, both waiting for the other to step back. By now, the Avengers had all noticed. From the other side of the room, Tony leaned over to Sam, his voice a stage whisper that was impossible to miss.

“Who’s taking bets? This is about to get good,” Tony said, grinning.

Sam chuckled. “Ten bucks on Bucky. He’s got that murder stare locked and loaded.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, stepping forward before things got any more awkward.

“Alright,” you said, laying down the final word. “Bucky, you can be in this one. Patrick, you’ll be in the next one.”

Both men blinked in surprise, caught off guard by your no-nonsense tone. Bucky gave a small, smug smile and slipped into place beside Lucas, casually throwing his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

Patrick nodded stiffly, his smile tight and forced. “Sounds fair.”

“Great,” Tony clapped his hands dramatically, clearly reveling in the tension. “Alright, let’s get this show on the road. Everyone say ‘awkward’!”

The camera flashed, capturing the moment, Bucky’s subtle triumphant grin beside Lucas, while Patrick stood to the side, looking like he was mentally calculating how soon he could make a polite exit.

627 notes · View notes

mylovesstuffs · 27 days ago

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SEVENTEEN with a low-maintenance s/o

Request: How will svt be like with a low maintenance s/o?

Seungcheol: Ah, Seungcheol's the type who just loves to spoil you, and it's honestly like, how dare you are low maintenance when your partner is this rich and generous? You’re just content with the simple stuff. At first, it throws him off a little because he’s all ready to spoil you and show you love with whatever you need but then he gets used to it, He's the type to sneakily load your bags with little treats and extra cash just because he knows you won't ask for it. You won't even have to say a word—he'll just drop it on you, insist you take it, and then act like it's nothing. This man... is a giver, and sometimes it gets overwhelming. You'll be low-key annoyed because you didn’t ask for it but secretly feel so loved. He's literally the perfect balance of caring and showering you with affection through little things—gifts, dates, even the car he buys just to ensure you're comfortable. It's ridiculous but also, please stop buying me things. Well, no, you don't want him to stop. It’s both adorable and frustrating for him, but he loves that you’re so easygoing, and it makes him feel all protective and just more in love with you. But, seriously, he’s so cute omg.

Jeonghan: He’s lived a life where convenience and indulgence are part of the package, so being with someone who finds joy in small, simple pleasures is a breath of fresh air. He's just so chill about it. Like, he's not the type to be wild with gifts or gestures, but he’s always thinking about the little things. He’s the type to ask what you want, but it's never like an overwhelming thing. He listens when you casually mention that you like a certain snack or a type of book, and he just...gets it for you randomly one Saturday morning. His approach is so smooth that it’s hard to tell how he feels about your low-maintenance side at first. He appreciates that you don’t make a big deal out of anything, and he can just relax and enjoy your company without feeling like he has to perform. He’s probably impressed, honestly, because you’ve made his life so much simpler. He’ll notice that, while others might be stressed about doing extravagant stuffs or trying to spoil their s/o, you're just happy to hang out. It’s the subtlety that makes him a low-key spoiling king because he does want you to enjoy the finer things in life. You’re his priority, but in this smooth, low-maintenance way. Plus, he’s the king of thoughtful gestures that don’t scream ‘I’m trying to spoil you,’ but somehow make you feel like royalty. Oh, and when you give him compliments? He’s just like, I know, right? but in that modest way that you (we) love.

Joshua: Joshua’s vibe is very ‘whatever makes you happy, babe.’ He doesn’t have strong preferences either way, but he loves that you aren’t overly concerned with high-maintenance things. It aligns with his grounded nature, and he secretly feels a sense of relief that you aren’t caught up in superficial things. This guy who'd still gently spoil you, but not in an obvious way. You won’t even know he’s doing it, but you’ll find that your favorite ice cream is in your fridge or you have fresh flowers by your door, and he’ll just be like, “Oh, it’s no big deal,” and you’ll think, “No, but this is, like, a big deal.” He’s so genuine and calm about it. It's the sweet and subtle moves that kill you. He's is so in awe of how low-maintenance you are. He’s used to people wanting more, but with you? You just vibe. He loves that you don’t demand anything extravagant, and it’s honestly a breath of fresh air for him. He’d totally fall in love with how effortlessly chill you are about life. He’s never over-the-top, but he’s always got your back. His vibe is honestly just... like, how do you get this perfect chill, thoughtful, and hilariously endearing? I’ll tell you: he’s Joshua, and he just knows how to be the perfect balance of everything. That said, if you ever express a fleeting interest in something high-end, he’s pulling out his credit card without hesitation. He’s just happy to spoil you when the mood strikes. He’d never push you toward extravagance but likes to sprinkle in little luxuries because you deserve it.

Jun: Look, Jun is absolutely wild when it comes to you. Jun is the type of person who would go all out for someone he cares about, so when you don’t demand anything, he’s like, “Wait... Are you sure?” He’s dramatic in a good way, and sometimes it's a lot, but he’s also fun and playful. He loves to see you happy, and if that means buying you things to make you smile, he's all in. He might not always know how to tone it down, and you'll find yourself drowning in an absurd amount of cute trinkets you didn't even ask for, but somehow, it’s just a Jun thing. You can't even get mad. He's like a walking, talking gift machine, but it’s the kind of gift-giving that just feels right because of how heartfelt it is. Honestly, you're just sitting there, thinking, He just wants to see me happy, how can I be mad at that? That’s Jun, though. No one else could make you feel so spoiled without the cringe. He feels a sense of pride that you don’t need a lot to be happy and realizes that you don’t love him for what he can do for you, but because of who he is. That’s like a total win for him. It makes him feel more secure and connected to you, knowing you’re not trying to impress him or anyone else. He’s just happy to be in your presence.

Hoshi: He’s that guy who’s spontaneous with his gifts. At first, Hoshi is a bit taken aback by how easy you are about everything. He’s used to over-the-top reactions, but with you, it’s just chill. But he quickly falls in love with it. One day he’ll show up with flowers, the next day he’ll randomly hand you a bag of your favorite collection. You won’t know where the gift-giving came from, but it’s always right on time. If he catches you skimping on yourself, neglecting the things you need or deserve, or not taking proper care of yourself—oh, best believe he’s not standing for it. He’ll drag (lovingly, but with no room for argument) your ass off to get what you need, reminding you that you’re far too precious to settle for less. Of course he respects your lifestyle but if those decisions mean you’re not treating yourself like the queen you are or missing out on the cozy, soft life you deserve, he’s not tolerating it. He’ll step in, unapologetically feral in his devotion, making sure you’re living your best, most pampered life whether you like it or not. He’s not the kind to lavishly spoil you, but he’s the kind that sneaks in those thoughtful gestures that make you feel seen. Also, when he gets extra, you know it’s coming from the heart. It’s a mix of I know you’re a low-maintenance person but still vibes, and he knows how to make it feel special. It’s like the cutest thing ever. He adores your low-maintenance nature because it gives him a sense of freedom in the relationship.

Wonwoo: This guy? He's actually so fine with whatever you do. If you want to take the low-maintenance route and keep things simple, he’ll do it right along with you. He doesn't really have strong feelings either way. If you like simple things? Great. If you like the occasional splurge? Also great. He just wants to see you happy, and there are no wrong answers in his book. He enjoys the way you find high-maintenance things unnecessary and admires your practicality because, let’s face it, he’s not the type to go out of his way for luxury unless it’s necessary. But if you ever do show interest in something pricier, he’s unbothered—it’s just another way for him to make you smile. Thrifting with you becomes one of his favorite casual dates, and he low-key loves finding hidden gems you might adore. The balance of simplicity and occasional indulgence? That’s his ideal.

Woozi: Rich as heck, but low-key insists on spoiling you with that small but high-value energy. Woozi is initially a bit unsure of how to handle your low-maintenance personality because he’s used to doing everything perfectly and might be afraid that he’s not doing enough or you're not taking care of yourself. You're walking down the street and somehow he’s just... casually buying you a coffee or picking up the tab without even mentioning it. You’ll feel spoiled but not in an overwhelming way. He knows exactly what you want without saying it. He’ll take one look at your self-denial streak, roll his eyes, and drag you to the nearest store or café, where he’ll insist you pick something out. And if you try to refuse? Good luck. His favorite phrase in those moments: I’m not asking, I’m telling. Sure, it’s a bit dramatic, but it’s all love.

Dokyeom: Oh god, DK. This is the guy who would buy you something ridiculous just to see your reaction, and then act all proud like, “YEAH, I KNOW, I’M THE BEST,” with that big grin of his. He’s a total sweetie about it, though. Kyeom is honestly in love with how you are. He finds it a bit funny at first because he's used to seeing people being high maintenance more, but once he realizes how chill you are, he’s all in. He wants you to feel good, and he’ll happily go the extra mile to make sure of it. Sometimes it’s over-the-top, but like... it’s DK, so you can’t even get mad. He adores your low-maintenance vibe, but if it veers into self-neglect? Oh, he’s stepping in, no questions asked. He’ll pack you up, take you out, and force you to prioritize yourself for once. His energy is very If you won’t take care of yourself, then I’ll do it for you. And yes, he means it. There’s no winning against him when it comes to making sure you’re living comfortably and happily. He’s just a ball of sunshine with a love language that’s super generous. He has no chill when it comes to you, but you honestly don’t mind.

Mingyu: Low maintenance you? Oh, he’s not in. Mingyu’s all about the grand gestures. He’ll shower you with gifts, but it’s never too much. It’s always a big gift, but you know it’s just him being him. He loves seeing you happy, and honestly, he’ll drop any amount of cash if it makes you smile. But it’s not because he feels like he has to—it’s just his vibe. Big gestures, big heart (big titties). Let’s be clear: he respects your decisions, but the second he notices you holding back on things you want or need, he’s ready to pounce. He’ll whip out his wallet, pick out what he knows you love, and hand it to you without giving you time to protest. And if you so much as think about arguing? He’s hitting you with a too bad, you don't have a choice. To him, pampering you isn’t optional—it’s his love language. He knows you don’t need anything extravagant, but he still loves to spoil you because, well, that’s Mingyu. It gives him this warm, fuzzy feeling that he's never had to try hard or go all out for you. He sees it as a sign of maturity and emotional security on your part, and that makes him feel so special. The fact that you don’t demand anything makes him want to spoil you even more, but in his own way, without the pressure.

Minghao: Minghao loves your low-maintenance nature, especially because it matches his own laid-back attitude. He’s quiet about it but don't get me wrong, he gives you space to be yourself, and in return, he’ll do little things, like find you something perfect that makes your day. No pressure, no grand gestures, just subtle things. He feels so at ease with you. It’s like you both found each other in a sea of high-maintenance people, and it just works. He finds it refreshing that you don’t make a fuss over anything, and it makes him feel even more comfortable in the relationship. If you’re the kind of person who’s not into flashy gifts, he gets you. But there’s a side to him that loves to buy you random things because he knows you’d appreciate it, and when you don’t make a fuss about it, he’s all I knew you’d be cool about it. He’s patient, but he’s not blind. If he sees you letting things slide—skipping meals, avoiding new clothes, or ignoring little joys—he’ll swoop in like the self-care fairy you didn’t ask for. He won’t make a big scene, but he’ll leave hints: a new candle on your desk, fresh fruit in the fridge, or even a pre-paid appointment at a spa. He respects your choices but secretly makes sure you’re living the life he knows you deserve. He’s so natural about it in a way that just works. He just likes to get you, and there are really no wrong answers.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan might be dramatic. It’s like, he literally pulls out the cutest little thing you didn’t even know you wanted. He can be a bit much sometimes with his enthusiasm, but it’s all from the heart. He feels like he’s found someone who’s not only down-to-earth but also genuinely loves him for who he is, not his status or wealth. The best part? When he does you something, it’s often because he’s already thought about what would make you the happiest. It’s pure, and it’s adorable. Seungkwan tolerates extravagance as part of his job, but in his heart, he’s a simplicity-loving guy. He’s relieved that you don’t need fancy outings or constant gifts to be content. Your love for local coffee shops, and chill nights in is such a contrast to the high-maintenance world he navigates, and it’s one he loves. Still, he’ll sometimes sneak in an upgrade here and there—a better pair of shoes, a nicer version of something you own—just to subtly pamper you without making a big deal out of it.

Vernon: As we all know, Vernon is laid-back but will surprise you with thoughtful stuffs every now and then. They’ll be totally unexpected, but never excessive. "He’s the kind of person who’d stumble across your favorite book at a tiny shop and buy it without a second thought, or pick up a charming little trinket from a street market just because it reminded him of you. He’d surprise you with tickets to a concert you casually mentioned months ago or insist on taking you to a spa day because, in his eyes, you absolutely deserve to be pampered. Even if you protest, he’ll insist. He’s always chill about it, and you’re just standing there. He’ll do the least, but in the best way possible. It’s so Vernon.

Dino: Dino’s the one who’s genuinely low-key about it. He’s kind of shy about doing something for you, you just know it’s because he cares about your individuality. He’s a bit more cautious about it—he’s not trying to flaunt anything or go over-the-top. So it's always the small stuff with him, like randomly bringing you your favorite flowers because he remembered you said you liked it. His gestures are quiet but so thoughtful that you can’t help but appreciate them. It’s like the cutest thing, and you find yourself falling for him more everytime.

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jaggedamethyst · 1 month ago

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circuit breaker 🔬🌌 (part three)

tutor!jayce talis x reader college au

content: adding tutoring to an already packed schedule has gotten overwhelming. there's so much to do, yet not enough time, it seems.

pining (but im not saying who lmaooo), mentions of mental health (panic attacks, anxiety, etc).

notes: hiii. i am addicted to writing for this i fear so don't be surprised if i just keep updating randomly. i've also just started school so this is all in my free time!! but chat...its about to get good af *smiles mischievously*

word count: 1.2k

series masterlist

⭑·ﾟﾟ·*:༅。.。༅:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　✿✼:*ﾟ:༅。.。༅:*·ﾟﾟ·⭑

You didn’t enjoy this, scrambling for the countless time today to make a meeting. Even more so, you hated the idea of being late to see Ekko, again. He was always so empathetic—understanding. Even if he was upset with you, and you knew he was, he would never make you feel bad about it. He understood things happened.

It didn’t stop you from speeding into the dining hall and turning to your usual table in a complete frenzy, though. “Ekko, I am so sorry. Time literally got away from me today.”

He grips a chain he’d been holding, a locket at the top, and pushed it back into his pocket quickly. “It has a way of doing that…time I mean.”

You sat down, immediately feeling way worse than you already had. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, I’m sure you had a reason, right?”

“Yes,” you sighed. “I was at tutoring with Jayce. We went over vectors and I finally understand it better.”

His eyes lingered on the table, “Mm.” A hum from him, seemingly half paying attention.

“Mm?” You mimicked the sound he made, “What’s mm?”

“It’s just that I definitely could’ve helped you with that…being a STEM major and all…”

“I know that…of course I know that but-“

He cracked a smile, “I’m joking.”

You couldn’t help the smile on your face, the lightheartedness finally returning to you both. “I hate you, truly.”

“You don’t…and that’s okay! I’m extremely lovable.”

You nodded sarcastically, “Sure, I’ll let you keep believing that.” You looked around, finally taking in how desolate the dining hall actually was. It was a bit after peak hours now, considering you showed up a bit later than normal. A yawn escaped you, then, the day catching up to you.

Ekko perked up a bit, “You hungry?”

You tilted your head, “Always.”

He turned to grab a paper bag from inside his backpack—pushing it across the table to you. Your order down to the sauces, no tomatoes, extra pickles.

“Oh my gosh, I love you so much Ekko…you’re actually the best.”

He watched you inspect the bag, each little detail perfect. There was a glint in your eye; it was rather humorous that it was about food, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

You weren’t looking at him, but he was locked in on you. A genuine and soft look was on his face. “I love you…too.”

The fries you were eating fully occupied your mind and nothing besides the comfort of your bed could get your mind off of them. Ekko didn’t say much after, letting you eat in silence before offering to walk you back to your place. The sounds of the busy city filled the space between you, him occasionally ushering you ahead with a soft nudge. Neither of you spoke until you were outside your door.

You leaned in for a hug, “Thank you…I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yup.” He hugged you back, leaning his head into yours, inhaling deeply. “Tomorrow.”

“On time,” You pulled away, “I promise.”

His hands found his pockets, nodding simply. “On time.”

Exhaustion was creeping up on you. At this point, you had class most days of the week, Ekko meetings daily, and tutoring at least twice a week. On top of all of this, you desperately needed a job. Even with the hours that passed and the rest you got, the looming feeling of doom was making you feel anxious. There was a bubbling thought in you that in a few days time, you might genuinely have a panic attack. The signs were there, a fleeting feeling of irritation—the need to constantly be doing something. If you didn’t you’d be left alone with your thoughts and that never worked out well.

The next day's hours squished themselves together. Despite the feeling, you plastered on a smile and made your way to do everything you had to. You couldn’t chance anyone, especially Ekko, knowing that you weren’t feeling the best. Yet, the emotion often found you in silent cries. You took the long way to tutoring, walking on side roads you knew never had many people on them. In one ear, you let music play, sinking into the emotion as best you could with the consistent sounds of the world around you. It was best you cry now, you thought. You had to focus during tutoring.

You didn’t sob, but rather let the tears run freely. The cool sensation helped usually—a way for you to identify that you were present in the moment…in your body. You let your legs carry you to the resource center eventually, mindlessly walking toward the room Jayce had reserved. Truthfully, you were glad to see he wasn’t here yet.

You got comfortable, wiping your face free of the proof of your small breakdown. You straightened at the sound of footsteps approaching the door.

“Hey,” Jayce backed into the room, a small bag in his hands. He slowly turned, closing the door behind him. You weren’t looking his way, purposely avoiding his gaze—hiding your reddened eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m good,” a sniffle, “Just had a hard day…lot on my plate.”

He nodded, sitting across from you. “Well…I guess it’s good I made sure to bring some encouragement then.” You finally looked at him. His face contorted briefly at the sight of you before handing you the bag he walked in with. “Here…this should help.”

Confused, you reached for the bag. “But-“

“I asked Viktor,” he interrupted, “He said you would like some of these.”

“You really didn’t have to, I was just joking-“

“I wanted to,” he spoke quickly before pausing. He looked at you, swallowing the already lessening amount of moisture in his mouth. He needed some water. “Besides, the store was on the way here.” He cut himself off, gulping some of the water from his bottle.

You didn’t speak, just looking at your favorite snacks in the bag. The gesture was a lot to take in, but it was appreciated.

“Can I say something?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

“I kind of relate to you…what you said about school. I have a scholarship, too.”

“You do?”

“Yup. It’s just me and my mom and we can’t really afford it.” He repositioned in his chair, “I worked really hard before this…for years to make sure I could get a full ride. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting that burden on my mom. But, when I got here, it was like the burden was on me now, to not fail…you know?”

“Right…”

“I don’t want you to feel…you shouldn’t feel like it’s all impossible.” He didn’t acknowledge the way you started to cry a little—he thought better of it and you thanked him internally. Instead, he reached for a paper towel. “Sorry, this is all we have…with the white boards…”

“Thank you,” you chuckled a bit.

“So…are you gonna eat any of those or can I have it back.”

“I might be willing to share.”

Jayce rubbed his hands together, “That’s what I like to hear!”

The session was great, as usual. You were feeling even more comfortable—confident enough to take the next physics quiz.

More importantly, you made it just in time to see Ekko’s look of surprise when you got there before him.

“On time?”

“On time.”

chapter four

taglist

@juskonutoh @sseleniaa @aerina127 @sleepysoldier @bxxerry

#jaggedamethyst #circuit breaker #angst #jayce talis #arcane jayce #jayce talis x reader #arcane #jayce talis x you #jayce x reader #arcane x reader #jayce league of legends #jayce talis arcane #jayce x you #jayce arcane

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bookinit02 · 1 month ago

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genuinely i am going to say this once only because it’s the middle of the night but the level of tiktok hating i’ve seen on this app pisses me off so so so badly. you are not better than anyone else for not having tiktok downloaded, you are not smarter, you are not “more evolved.” tiktok is used by such a wide variety of people and of course there is low intelligence and empathy present on there, there is low intelligence and empathy EVERYWHERE. including here. there are also some of the kindest, most intelligent, most hopeful people i’ve ever seen. i do experience extremely low lows and high highs while scrolling tiktok because it is an insane range of content—it shows you pretty much everything you could ever imagine out of the range of human experience. i’ve seen a man who spent his life savings to buy out land and provide free housing for people. i’ve seen a woman document her journey to learn english and receive nothing but unconditional support and positivity. i’ve seen dogs learn how to “speak” and new mothers speaking openly about their depression and women encouraging each other to leave their abusive spouses. i have learned SO much in the last few years that i never learned in school. i guess really what i’m saying is that i don’t love the app itself so much as the power of human community, and it’s genuinely really upsetting and disheartening to see people continually shit on a platform that has done so much good for so many. it really does connect a lot of us to the world in a way that’s not comparably possible on any other app (yes, including this one), and i personally will be extremely upset if it really does get banned. not to mention how nobody should be championing government banning of any app, regardless of if you like it or not. just genuinely. can we cool it with the pretentiousness for a day or two. that is all i fucking want

#sorry long ranty post #i just like. genuinely i get so annoyed when people say shit like this #as if this app is not reblogging tiktoks half the time anyway.#and i do actually feel lucky for having tumblr as an additional ‘third space’#but that’s not the case for a lot of or even most people.#that Was their space and furthermore that was their livelihood #i think there is so so much value on there and i can’t comprehend why anyone would disregard it entirely #like personally do i think twitter is a cesspool. Yes. but i’m sure there is some value and community on there as well #like there is on ANY APP.#god.#ok goodnight sorry i will get off my soapbox now #tiktok #tiktok ban

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serqphites · 1 year ago

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VICTORIA NEUMAN X ASSISTANT!READER

format: blurb

warnings: nsfw content at the end

word count: 700+

not proofread! y/n used!

- the second you came in for your interview she pretty much decided she was hiring you LMAO

- now i’m not saying she only hired you because of her crush, because your resume genuinely caught her eye, but i’m also not saying it had nothing to do with it 🤷‍♀️

- she definitely asks you to do things she could easily do just as an excuse to see you

- “y/n! can you come here please?”

- “can you pick up this pen i dropped please? i’ve got suchhh a bad back” she’s so dramatic i love her

- you honestly think she’s just being a bitch and she’s messing with you

- that is until one day she comes to you in the morning, saying today she only has one task for you

- “will you eat lunch with me?” and she has the dorkiest smile of all time on her face

- lunch together becomes a regular thing, going from talking about your favourite tv shows to her telling you about her daughter zoe

- she’s so sad when you eventually tell her you thought she was just like every person you’ve ever worked for, just messing with you for the fun of it

- “no no never! i could never do that, especially not to you” OOOOOO it’s blush city for you both

- things are going great! you love your job. that is until something changes, and victoria randomly stops asking you to do things for her

- i mean you’re her assistant, shouldn’t you be getting her coffee? shouldn’t you be organising her files? shouldn’t you be having lunch with her and not hughie?

- to say this has you down is an understatement, you can’t seem to understand why she has randomly shut you out

- it’s not like she’s not speaking to you, she’s still asking you to do things but they’re all tasks that require you to be away from her. you haven’t even been in her office for nearly two weeks now

- after your hurt builds and builds, you can’t hold it in anymore. you storm into her office demanding to know why she’s avoiding you

- she plays it dumb at first but she knows what she’s been doing so she fesses up

- “fuck… i’m sorry, so sorry. it’s not you i promise, it’s me. i- i like you, okay? like a lot and i know it sounds stupid and i know it’s sooo inappropriate because you’re my assist-“ SILENCED BY A KISS WOOOO

- you’re discrete about it at first, sneaking around and making out in the bathroom stalls like you’re high schoolers

- her bringing you lunch everyday<3

- she so leaves post-it notes on her desk with cute lil messages whenever she has to leave for meetings because it’s where she tells you to just relax

- you don’t bother asking why you’re not allowed to meetings that involve voughts CEO, it’s probably just a confidentiality thing right?

- a bit random but whenever you’re standing talking to somebody i feel like she’d just squeeze your butt?

- canon she’s a butt squeezer

- you don’t fight much but oh boy is your schedule full when you do

- she gives you the stupidest tasks she can think of LMAO

- “can you walk someone’s dog please?” “someone’s dog?” “yeah, just go around asking who has a dog that needs walking” “are you being serious, vic?” “yes i most definitely am, it would help me soooo much you have no idea!”

- I LOVE HER SO MUCHHH

- dating your boss can be annoying at times, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world <3

NSFW TIMEEEE

- officesex!officesex!officesex!

- this honestly deserves its own blurb if i'm being honest

- i feel like she's already dominant in bed anyways but because she’s your boss it’s elevated TO THE MAX.

- “i have one really special task for you today, so listen closely”

- you can barely stay stood up with how weak your knees go (real)

- “i need you to be a good girl for me, how does that sound? you think you can do that for me?” in her husky voice im DECEASED

- one time she cleared her desk by pushing everything on the floor, she immediately regretted it when she realised she had broken almost everything

- “i always see people do it in movies and this doesn’t happen” she’s so upset while she’s picking up a broken picture of you both on the beach

- she’s so silly

- she definitely buys you lingerie to wear underneath your work clothes 🤭

- the amount of flirty texts she sends you during the day just to watch you blush uncontrollably is concerning (when is it my turn)

a/n: requests are always open, hope you enjoyed :)

#victoria neuman x reader #victoria neuman #the boys #the boys x reader #genv #how do i apply for this job NOW #mother isn’t good enough to describe her #i need her every where #i need her anywhere #i need her #I NEED HERRRR

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wreckingtickles · 6 months ago

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Only Uke Are Ticklish?!

Sasaki and Miyano relax in the former's dorm room, cuddling and reading a manga together... until the manga gives Sasaki a devious idea.

Though I'd write for a series I actually like for once! It's not sexy, but I hope it's cute. Might also write something for Hirano and Kagiura at some point, I already know their top spots (Hirano's thighs being ticklish is canon if it's not a mistranslation).

Characters: switches Sasaki & Miyano (hey, that's the title of the series!"

Words: 1,789

“Hey Miya~”

“Mh?” asked the brunette, feeling Sasaki’s chest vibrate behind him but too engrossed with the manga he was holding up so the both of them could read it to do anything but hum interrogatively.

“Will you read it to me?”

He was lying on his bed with his back resting against the wall, his arms draped around Miyano’s shoulders. The younger boy was lying against him, sprawled between Sasaki’s legs with his nape resting on his boyfriend’s chest.

Sasaki had never felt so quietly content. The small frame in his arms on a lazy Sunday afternoon, the comfortable silence, partaking in the interest that had brought them together. If he wanted to, he could crane his neck a little and kiss the soft black hair. But why would he move at all, when that moment of stillness was perfect?

The only danger was drifting off, and Sasaki soon stopped resisting the sweet pull as he couldn’t imagine a better sleeping arrangement. But as he closed his eyes, he found himself wanting to hear Miyano’s voice, the loss of one sense requiring compensation from another.

“I’m, uh, not a great actor,” objected the brunette, though his dramatic skills were the least of his worries. That was BL they were reading! How was he supposed to read it out loud with a straight face?!

“Who knows more about BL than you? I just want to hear your voooice~”

“…”

“…Just hold on a little longer. We’re almost out of the woods. ‘I can feel his embrace tighten around my chest. I know every time the hooves hit the ground, his wound pulsates with unbearable pain. I can feel it through him.’ I’ll keep you safe.”

Sasaki hummed contentedly. As shy as Miyano could be at times, he never let that stifle his passion, and his enthusiasm was infectious. While his boyfriend – his boyfriend! – grew more and more confident with the dramatic reading, Sasaki let the corny words lull him to sleep, until…

“S-Stop it!”

The upperclassman resurfaced from the border of unconsciousness. That awkward line read felt exceptionally genuine.

“Please? Fine, just stop it! Oh, is someone ticklish?”

Miyano paused. Was he supposed to read speech balloons that were just laughter? “Sasaki?” he whispered tentatively. Had he dozed off?

And then he felt Sasaki’s fingers flutter against his sides. “Ah!” squeaked Miyano. “S-Sasaki! Dohon’t!”

“Mh, I think I will, Miya~” teased Sasaki, trapping the brunette against his body and happily carrying on with the tickling.

“Ah! S-Sasahaki stahap!” protested Miyano, squirming and trying to propel himself forward and out of his boyfriend’s reach, but the much stronger upperclassman easily pulled him back into his grasp without even needing to stop the tickling, using his legs to pin down the chucklebug’s.

The brunette wasn’t going anywhere. Which allowed Sasaki to slip his hands under his top to get at the bare skin underneath.

“Ha! C-Cohome ohon, d-dohon’t!”

Miyano grabbed at the tormenting hands, but there was nothing he could do to stop them, Sasaki was strong enough to easily slip through his grasp and latch onto his defenseless sides again.

The brunette was flabbergasted. Sasaki rarely made a show of overpowering him, except to pick him up when he was “too cute to walk.” But the physical disparity was being made painfully obvious, and as Miyano fought against the giggling fit that threatened to overtake him, a single thought burned in his mind.

He’s tickling me! Does that… make me the uke?!

Sasaki really didn’t know where that urge to see Miyano in hysterics had come from, but he was going to indulge it. The brunette was too serious for his own good! If anything, the upperclassman was a little disappointed that the reaction he was getting wasn’t more intense. So…

“Brace yourself, Miya~” he cooed as his hands began to roam everywhere under Miyano’s forest green top, hitting his ribs, even his armpits; but the only other spot that produced those adorable squeaking giggles was his belly, prompting Sasaki to spider the fingers of one hand over the soft skin while the other went on squeezing the brunette’s side. Don’t fix it if it’s not broken.

The happy giggles that spilled out of Miyano, a response he couldn’t avoid, only cemented his fate, as Sasaki had not got his fix of adorableness yet – the more he got, the more he wanted. So he got even bolder and lifted himself and Miyano to a sitting position before letting his weight drop on his partner, who’d managed to turn around, trapping him between the mattress and his own body.

Sasaki found himself staring at the brunette’s flushed face, and felt a rush of his own. He’s so cute.

Miyano could only look up, partially straddled by his boyfriend, watching enraptured as gravity pulled the dyed locks down toward him, as if they were channeling his gaze. Did he just… kabedon me? On a bed? Does that mean…

Sasaki’s arms at either side of him were impassable, but not forceful. He couldn’t look away from the upperclassman’s eyes, his lips, his neck, the undone button of his shirt…

Was it about to happen? It felt so sudden! But right… but scary? Exciting…

“S-Sasaki…” he stammered. “I…” He felt the long fingers peel up his shirt, exposing his waistband…

And then Sasaki gripped Miyano’s wrists right before blowing a massive raspberry on his stomach.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!” screeched the brunette, from shock as much as from ticklishness.

“That’s a cute sound, Miya,” teased Sasaki before blowing a second raspberry right in his bellybutton.

“EEEEeeeeEEEE!!! StaahaHAP!! IHIHIt’s soho embaharASSIHIHIhihng!!!”

“You’re even cuter when you laugh,” said Sasaki before going in for thirds, and fourths, and Miyano realized that he wasn’t going anywhere, not until his boyfriend took pity on him.

“EEEEhehehehehehahahAHAHAHAHahahahaha!!”

But he could feel it again. That sting. That inner provocation.

“HAHAHehehe!! IIIHIHI’mm!!! NohohoHOHOHOTTT!!”

The sweet-tasting lips vibrated into the soft skin of his belly again, unleashing another ticklish shock on his system, but Sasaki had gotten too complacent, having released one of Miyano’s arms to move his top out of the way…

“…thehehe UHUHUHUKEEEEEEEEEEE!!!” screamed the brunette right before jabbing his fingers into Sasaki’s wide-open armpit and wiggling them around for dear life.

Sasaki’s raspberry fizzled into a snort as he reflexively rolled away from the sensation, instantly freeing Miyano.

The two exchanged a surprised glance, the intensity of the upperclassman’s reaction taking both aback; and for once, the brunette’s smaller size gave him the edge as, propelled by sheer survival instinct and embarrassment, he threw himself at his boyfriend, savagely attacking the weak spot he’d found.

“M-Miya whahahahIHIHIHITTT!!”

Surprised by the turning tables, and not hating the weird way in which Miyano’s passionate nature had surfaced, Sasaki made the tactical mistake of lowering his arms, only succeeding at trapping them in his sensitive underarms, instead of pushing the shortcake off.

And Miyano capitalized, seizing Sasaki’s wrists and pushing as hard as he could to lift them over the upperclassman’s head. As luck would have it, the latter bucked just in time to send him tumbling forward, so Miyano found himself sitting on Sasaki’s forearms, and it was finally his turn to look down at his trapped boyfriend.

“Miya…” stuttered Sasaki, an uncertain request that he couldn’t articulate.

“ATTACK!” yelled the brunette before spidering his fingers in both wide-open armpits. He was never going to wrestle Sasaki into submission like that again, he had to make it count!

“MiyahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Sasaki wasn’t one to hold back his reactions, but as soon as the boisterous laughter spilled out of him, louder and jollier than Miyano’s, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stop it.

“OHOHO WOHOHOHW!!! THAHAHAHAT REAHAHAHALLY TIHIHICKLEEHEEHHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

It was the brunette’s turn to gloat. “You’re more ticklish than I am, senpai,” he said as he picked up the pace, eliciting higher-pitched squawks from his boyfriend.

Sasaki wiggled like a worm on a hook, kicked at empty hair, his red-clad heels slamming on the mattress, but he just couldn’t escape! He wanted to tease the brunette, or just tell him how cute he looked all earnest like that, but that was if he’d been able to float out of his body, because the sensation was a lot harder to handle than he thought!

“OHOHOKAAHAHAHAHY!!! THAHAHAHT’S EHEHEHENOOOHOOOHUHHUGHH!!”

“I don’t think so,” retorted Miyano as he dipped into a pool of deviousness he didn’t think he had, before going for the kill: his fingers crawled up Sasaki’s short sleeves to get at the bare flesh underneath, the final piece of his payoff.

Sasaki snorted as the tickling got even worse, wiggling side to side pointlessly and bucking as the short fingernails wreaked havoc on his vulnerable underarms.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! MIIIYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHA!!! HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAHA!!!”

“You’re so cute when you laugh, senpai,” teased the brunette without slowing down the assault, even experimenting with digging in with his thumbs and massaging the hollows.

That also worked.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAH!!! OHOHOKAHAHAHT OHOHOKAAHAHHAYYY!!!”

Sasaki wasn’t used to being physically overpowered by Miyano, and in any other circumstances, he would have been into it; but he really just needed the tickling to stop.

“I think I’m almost done,” claimed the brunette as he went on alternating the two methods for a few more seconds, before finally, finally slowing to a stop. But his fingertips didn’t leave their position as Sasaki tried to steady his breathing.

“If I let you go, you’re not going to tickle me again, are you?”

The threat was obvious, and even though Sasaki’s mouth was already warped into a smile, the brunette recognized his impish grin in his tone. “Nohot today.”

Miyano pouted and curled his fingers, relishing in the alarm that registered on Sasaki’s features, but after a moment, he shifted to the side and allowed Sasaki to sit up.

“I don’t want you to hurt your arms or shoulders,” he mumbled.

“Much appreciated,” chuckled Sasaki, waving his elbows a bit as he tried to rub away the phantom tickles. “Did I take it too far?”

Miyano blushed. “No. You just… startled me, is all.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” said Sasaki. “I didn’t hate it, but it tickled a lot.”

He didn’t hate it? “I… see.”

“Wanna get back to the manga?”

“No funny business?”

“No funny business,” promised Sasaki. “Unless you ask.”

“Sa-!”

“Kidding, kidding. Come on.”

He resumed his original position, and Miyano glared at him for a moment, trying to divine his intent, before allowing himself to relax into his arms again.

“I’m not readying to you, though.”

“Oh, why?”

“You know what you did.”

Sasaki chuckled, and the brunette’s nervousness melted away as he felt the sound rumble into his boyfriend’s chest behind him.

“I do,” hummed Sasaki before draping his arms around Miyano once more and closing his eyes.

#sasaki to miyano tickle #tickle content #tickle fic #ticklish!sasaki #ticklish!miyano #lee!sasaki #lee!miyano #ler!sasaki #ler!miyano #sasaki to miyano #sasamiya

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burningcheese-merchant · 1 month ago

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Merchant, what are some headcanons you have about silentlily/mystic cacao? (Aside from the ones we alr have, which I’m rlly grateful for btw🧚‍♀️) maybe even a small fic with one of these ships(I’m definitely not STARVED of content of these guys)

Do you think they have a change at redemption, and if so, would they be together with their respective ancients?

Also just so you know I got converted into the burning cheese cult the day I read your first ao3 fic about the ship, I was amazed by the writing and was craving for more, actually I’m the person named “cracker” that commented on your fics.

Thanks for feeding us with your amazing ideas 🙏🙏

CRACKER??? IS THAT REALLY YOU???

I'm so happy to hear from you again 😭😭😭 where have you been, I've missed you and your comments on my fics 😭😭😭 I love chatting with you man, it's so nice that you found me here

While I can't provide any fics right this second (my fic backlog is HUGE; for multiple stories/AUs/ships, not just BurningCheese. First one in line is a BurningCheese fic I've been sitting on for 2 months+ now. First chapter coming to AO3 soon (as in... tomorrow 👀)), I can provide headcanons at the very least. 3 each, for my old buddy 🫵❤️

Silent Salt never, ever takes off his helm. He is deeply uncomfortable showing his face to anyone, even his friends (it took them forever to learn what he looks like, even after literal years of friendship). The fact that he is not only willing to show his face to White Lily, but let her touch and remove his helm herself (that is HUGE), is a true testament to how much he trusts and cares for her

Silent Salt loves White Lily's hair. He thinks it's absolutely beautiful. She taught him how she braids it so he can do it for her, which he does every so often

I hc Silent Salt as being completely mute (like, he can't make any noise at all. As if he has no vocal cords, period. You can hear him breathing and that's it) and primarily using movement/body language to communicate his thoughts and feelings (and sign language as well, although he uses that to carry on longer and more articulate conversations). White Lily took the time to teach herself sign language so she could understand and communicate with him better, which he finds deeply touching as very, very few people have ever done that for him or anything nice at all really. Letting my personal characterization of + backstory for him slip a little here haha

While Dark Cacao and Mystic Flour are not particularly romantic (it's just not really who they are, nothing to do with not liking each other), they will both still make little gestures for each other. They take care to make each other's favorite tea, just how they like it. Flour will tuck stray strands of Cacao's hair back behind his ears when she notices them (and she always does. She pays closer attention to his face than anyone realizes). Cacao always asks Flour how her day has been, or if something is bothering her (he, too, is attentive to her face and facial expressions, and does notice subtle changes (which is also huge bc Flour wears the same damn face almost all the time lol)). Small things that actually mean quite a lot, because they stem from genuine love that does not need words or grand gestures to make itself known and understood

They are very polite and patient with one another, even when they're disagreeing (or even arguing). They will never talk over each other; they wait until the other has finished saying what they have to say before they respond. They feel a deep mutual respect for one another as individuals and try to maintain this, regardless of how tense their interactions may become

They sometimes exchange keepsakes unique to their cultures, as tokens of affection to hold onto and admire while they're apart. Scrolls, paintings, idols. Small things not really meant to take up space; just things that turn their heads or draw their eyes over for a moment and make them smile when they walk past them in the palace/Ivory Pagoda

Really makes me smile to see you again, dude. You really were there since day 1 and I'm grateful. And I'm glad I convinced you to ship BurningCheese in the first place! You and everyone else honestly 😂 it's both awesome and hilarious how many people have come to me saying I converted them to the ship. I feel I like I'm amassing a private militia lol. Gonna murder all other ships involving either character in their sleep. Gonna storm Devsis HQ and seize control of the writers' room. Gonna hoard nuclear weapons and take over the world

I hope you enjoy the stories I've written on here as well! They're mostly wholesome because as fun as Yandere Spice is, I genuinely do ship Burning Spice with Golden Cheese and want them to be happy and healthy, which is why I mainly prescribe them a slow burn romance + slow burn redemption arc for Spice lmao (they're all tagged #merchant shorts for ease of access. There are 9 in total I think. With more in the oven, because I keep forgetting to put my imagination on a leash most of the time. Trying to slowly work my way up to their wedding) I also hope you like the fan babies 👉👈 I put a lot of time and effort into creating them (please ignore my lack of artistic talent, I will improve eventually. Hopefully. I make up for it with my writing in the meantime), they're my little blorbo grandchildren

(As for that other question of yours... In my main canon + my Reformed Beasts AU (which... are kind of the same ngl lmao), yes, Flour and Salt can change. Any bad person can change their ways if only they cared enough to do so. It takes time and great effort, but eventually, they both turn over a new leaf, as all the Beasts do. As for whether or not they get together with their Ancients... wait and see. I like SilentLily and MysticCacao, but that doesn't necessarily mean they'll happen. You'll find out as I dump more stupid lore on here lol)

#shout out to Cracker for always being in my corner!!! Love you homie #cookie run kingdom #burningcheese #goldenspice #mysticcacao #silentlily #merchant asks #also I'm not explaining what that fic is/will be. Go check it out yourself when it drops if you're curious #(and if you're of age. This one is kind of heavy and... otherwise not very sfw.)#(can't control what anyone does but I'd really prefer if under-18s stayed away. Fic is explicit. Fic is not for you. Sorry kids)

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artsymeeshee · 5 months ago

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Hello! I just found your laundry list of art last week, and I have to say…I LOVE IT! Love the instinct comics, Ford being cool never ceases to make me giggle, and I loved the autumn drawing. I’ll admit, that one had me in tears…made be believe in the what-if’s of my own family. What they…could be like someday. Or what I wish they were. Thanks for the tears, they were much needed.

Anyway! This is what I came to message you about! Although,…I am extremely sorry for the late message. I tend to check back into tumblr at…weird hours of the night. Heck, it’s almost the next day as I type this. I seriously need to sleep more. So! I had a few thoughts on Stan and Ford relationship, and I wanted to hear your thoughts on it. Just a disclaimer, I’m kinda basing this off my actual life as I find these characters mirror personal events very closely! I am also a writer and soon to be author! Might post some archive of our own content about these two soon. Also, and this is the most important, I have NOT read book of Bill yet. So plz…no spoilers. Anyway, long introduction aside, let’s begin!

In my personal head cannon of these two, which I don’t imagine is “too” different than how anyone else could see them, Stan and Ford have an extremely awkward and emotional conversation after Weirdmagedon. Why? B/c they’re both, to some degree, emotionally numb. In my opinion, why wouldn’t they? They haven’t spoken to each other in 40 years, properly, and they have repressed a ton of their emotions since then. It’s hard to bring that back up. (Speaking off of experience) I’d say even harder for Ford. Stan, thanks to the twins, has learned to loosen the locks on his heart while Ford kept running away from those emotions to defeat Bill. Just like his ambitions, that was the main priority, and everything else later. To me, this would explain why Ford never bothered to talk to Stan properly since coming back during the show. He wouldn’t know how to. If they were to talk, and this is where the writer in me comes out, I’d write Ford as the one that needs it most. He’s been traveling dimension for decades, running from the past that held him back…but he has no anchor now. Stan becomes that anchor, paralleling what he wasn’t when Ford was lost. And Ford…he just breaks. Like, completely breaks. And Stan is there with him, breaking like he is, but still there for him brother. Finally back after all those years apart. And as someone who has been on the side of neglect from one’s own brother…nothing would be me happier if we went to connect. Just like Stanley and Ford. And eventually, soon to be sailing on the seas to connect even more.

Phew…that was a lot. Sorry for the rambling. Told you I had some ideas! So, what do you think? Do you see Ford acting like this? If not…why? Genuinely, I’d like to know. Anyway, thanks for taking your time to read this. Again, sorry for the ramblings. Oh! One more thing, I know you aren’t taking art request right now, but would you be open to take them in the future? Say in 2 months time? Anyway, bye!

Well first off, thank you! I appreciate it! :D

And to answer your headcanon, I agree on it. Stan is definitely more open to talking, especially thanks to the kids. I mean there's still moments where it's hard and awkward for sure. And Ford would for sure have a harder time opening up, especially with the constant guilt and mistakes that replay over and over. And there's always that lingering feeling of "well, Stan has to hate me for what I've done" and it's always so surprising when Stan tells him differently and he never once hated Ford. Sure, was angry but never hated him. He had too much self-hatred to feel that way with Ford. And as many times as it needs to be said or repeated, it really makes all the difference when they tell each other how much they love and care for each other. As Alex said, "they're both so damaged, they desperately need each other."

As for the requests thing, most likely not. Only because I'm entering the busiest time of year for my work so it's gonna be a miracle if I even have enough energy or motivation for drawing if I'm not completely burnt out.

#ask #water-god19 #long post

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justmeinadaze · 1 year ago

Text

Children of the Night (Steddie X You)

"Listen to them, the children of the night. What music they make!"- Dracula

A/N: "I present to you...this fucking thing." Lol always the TikTok that comes into my head when I try something new. I had started doing like a camboy Steddie thing but I struggled a lot with it and the feelings I wanted to convey. While listening to a song, this idea popped into my head so... I hope you enjoy it!

For the first half, everyone is referred to by their screen names.

Eddie is Dracula.

Steve is Renfield

Reader is Mina

I also set it in 2005 when things like streaming were relatively new and cameras weren't 100% clear.

Warnings: Camboys Steddie (Vampire Eddie and Human Steve) X Human Fem Reader, SMUT of the Steddie variety, Daddy kink (because im me lol), choking, biting. ANGST, blood is mentioned mostly from Eddie feeding, the reader has an abusive boyfriend so Domestic Violence Trigger, Eddie defends her and both boys take care of her. I think that's it.

Word Count: 4046

InnocentLittleMina: Hey sexy boys.

You grinned at your computer screen when you saw the long-haired boy smirk under his mane of hair.

“Hey, honey. How are you tonight?”, the other man smiled lovingly into the camera.

InnocentLittleMina: I’m alright. Can’t complain. What about you?

“I’m ok. As you can see Dracula is a little grumpy.”, he teases.

“I’m hungry.”, he growls making you giggle.

When you first saw these boys known only as Dracula and Renfield, you were drawn to them immediately. There was something about them that was not only attractive but confident as hell and it drove you wild. People around town talked about them constantly which was interesting since Los Angeles was a huge city. In 2005, there weren’t many people streaming, let alone broadcasting the content they were.

Everyone including police tried to track them down but never could. Their website itself was fairly generic but that’s not what their fans cared about. What they cared about was the content these two provided.

The man known as Dracula would feed of off the other man known as Renfield and nine times out of ten it led to something sexual. The first time you heard Renfield moan, your pussy clenched around nothing. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Not many of their fans stayed after they finished but you always did, loving the way Dracula took care of Renfield after. They seemed to genuinely care about each other and that was something you appreciated.

When you created your account you hoped it would get their attention and as luck would have it, it did especially since a lot of the female fans that watched them named their accounts after the character Lucy always believing that was the girl Dracula fell for.

After a few months of back and forth, you actually came to know them as friends. Dracula didn’t talk as much as his friend but he did chime in where necessary and played his guitar for you once or twice making you swoon. Renfield always asked about your day and told you things about their time away from the computer but you couldn’t help but feel like they were holding information back.

You asked them constantly why they decided on this particular vampire style content and theme and every time they changed the subject. You asked once how they faked the blood that stained Renfield’s chest when they were done and they pretended like they didn’t hear you. You asked them for their real names and each time they said their screen ones making you sigh.

To make up for being obtuse and hoping to distract you, Renfield offered you a job as their moderator and paid you fabulously for your time. Since they trusted you enough with their business, you met their kindness with one of your own by turning on your webcam and showing them your face.

Dracula’s eyes had turned towards you, grinning at your beauty.

“Pretty girl.”

“Very.”, Renfield agreed.

It had been a few months since then and you were extremely fond of them both.

InnocentLittleMina: Ok, well, you have your stream in a few minutes so… don’t get too hungry! You need and love him.

“I do.”, Dracula smiles.

“We’ll talk to you after, honey.”, Renfield winks and you watch as they get into their places on the bed behind them.

***

A little sigh left your lips as both men removed their shirts. Dracula’s tattoos on his chest always had you entranced. You noticed the first time you watched them that they both had scars along their stomachs up to their necks but that was a question you knew better than to ask. Trauma like that was none of your business unless they chose to tell you.

The stream began and you kept your eyes peeled as fans began pouring in. They never said a greeting nor even said hello. You figured part of it was because by this point Dracula’s eyes were black like a shark on the hunt and those contacts had to be killing him.

Straddling Renfield’s waist, Dracula tenderly kissed the man’s neck before gripping his fluffy hair in his hand and tugging him back as he bit into his skin. Renfield’s palms promptly came around to cling to Dracula’s head as his eye’s rolled and he fell backwards onto the mattress.

A heavy exhale escaped you at the sight, licking your tongue across your lips as his hips began grinding up against his own.

“Fuck. That’s it, baby. Take what you need.”, Renfield moaned.

Something happened. Dracula’s head abruptly shot up looking vacantly in the distance.

“What? What’s wrong? Wh-What do you feel, honey?” He cooed underneath him as he ran his fingers across his cheek and moved some of his messy hair back.

“Mina.”, he growled.

That got your attention as you sat up straighter. They both swiveled their heads towards the computer before you heard heavy footsteps and immediately yanked the cord from the wall just as the door opened.

“John! Hey. I-I didn’t think you’d be coming over tonight.”

“You say that like you’re not excited to see your boyfriend.”

“Pfft. No, baby, I am. You just scared me is all. H-How was your day?”

His stern blue eyes flicked towards your little pink razor phone by your end table as it continued to vibrate. The boys knew your number. You gave it to them when they hired you.

Please don’t let him walk over there to see.

“Are you going to get that?”

“No, baby. I want to talk to you. Tell me about your day. I missed you—”

“Answer. The phone. Y/N.”

You sighed, pretending to be annoyed he was making you answer a random call as you flipped it open.

“Hello?”

“Mina?! Are you alright?!”

“I’m sorry. I think you have the wrong number.”

You can hear them arguing in the background, vaguely picking up tidbits as your boyfriend steps closer to you.

“I can feel her. I know where she is! Something bad is about to happen to her!”

“NO! You can’t reveal yourself and bring her into our mess! She deserves to have a better life!”

“She won’t have a fucking life, Steve, if this fucker kills her!”

“I always knew I’d catch you cheating on me sooner or later. Give me the phone.”

“John, I’m not… I would never…”

“Give it to me NOW.”, he snarls. You do as he says and as soon as your device touches his palm, his free one flies across your face smacking you so hard you fall on to the mattress. “Whoever this is, what you have with my girl is over.”

The growl that came through your phone’s speaker scared even you as you heard it loud and clear from where you were.

“You’re going to regret touching her. If I were you, little man, I would leave now.”

With that there was silence and John threw the phone across the wall hoping to smash it into pieces. You two began fighting each other but he was much stronger than you, getting a good hit to your eye making you dizzy.

The banging of the door caving in is loud and your eyes are half open when you see a blur fly into your room, tackling your boyfriend to the ground. You hear his screams but they sound so far away. After a few minutes, everything is silent again and your arms fly out defensively when a hand touches your side.

“No! No please!”

“I’m not going to hurt you, Mina. I never would. Just hold on to me, ok?” You feel your body being lifted and you press your cheek against cold, bare skin. “Clasp your hands around my neck, sweetheart.”

After barely registering his command, you feel a sudden rush of wind and after a minute you find yourself being placed on a bed that isn’t yours.

“Have you lost your fucking mind!? Killing someone and then bringing her here!?”

“How do you know I killed him?”

“Because I fucking know you!”

“Can you stop berating me and help her, please!?”

A much warmer hand tenderly moves your hair back as something wet is dragged across your face making you jump.

“Hey, hey now. Everything’s ok. I just need to clean your cuts here. Can you go get me some ice, please?” Wind lightly blows your hair back twice before you hear the pack slam into his hand. “Thank you. What, um, what was happening when you got there?”

“He was hitting her. I’ve felt his anger before but this was different.”

“So you did go hunting for her even though I told you a thousand times not to.”

“No.”, he snarled, voice deep with annoyance. “I can just…feel her. I don’t get it either ok?!”

“Oh wow.” The wet rag was replaced with the cool of the ice pack as the man’s voice beside you got louder. “You like her.”

“And you don’t? She’s beautiful, kind, funny—”

“Innocent.”

“Fuck. Off. Little boy. Or I swear to God—”

“You swear to God what? Finish that sentence, Dracula. I dare you.” The man scoffed as he focused his attention back on you. “Go clean up your fucking mess while I take care of her.”

There’s a whoosh of air and everything in the room stills.

################

You woke up the next morning in utter confusion. You vaguely remembered your boyfriend being angry and attacking you but then…someone saved you. Turning to your side, you noticed you were at home in your room tucked safely under the covers.

Carefully standing, you glance around the room to find nothing out of place except for your phone by your bed that was broken in half.

Loud knocking on the door, startled you before you power walked to see who it was before answering. Sighing, your best friend doesn’t even wait for you to fully open the door before she barges in.

“Ma’am! I have been calling you all morning and your phone goes straight to voicemail! What’s going—“ She freezes when she sees your face. “Y/N! Oh my god! What happened?!”

“Nothing, Lilly. I’m fine. I just—”

“Fell? You always say that. Where is that fucker? Is he here? I’m going to kill him.”

Lilly stomps towards your bedroom and you quickly run after her but you’re not one percent sure why. Him being attacked was a dream you had, right?

“Hm. Well, next time I see him he’s dead. Jesus, looks like he destroyed your phone. Come on. Let’s go the store so we can get you a new one. Maybe one of those sleek shiny new ones with the screen you touch.”

“But I like my razor phone. It’s shiny enough.”, you smile as you change to go out into the world.

***

As you amble around the phone store, you friend continues to babble about mundane things that you barely hear. What does catch your attention is a group of girls talking in the corner. Pretending to look at the devices in front of you, you slide closer to them as you listen in.

“Did you see their stream last night?”

“It started getting good but then Dracula disappeared to ‘save Mina’. Like are they kidding?”

“I hope they aren’t mixing plot with their sex-ca-pades.”

“Now if they want to add a Mina I think that’d be hot but don’t just cut a stream short like that!”

“Y/N! Did you find what you want?”, your friend practically shouts making you and everyone around jump.

“Yes! Good God, Lilly. Lower your voice.”

“Aw. I love you to.”

***

Staring at your blank computer screen, you debated on even signing on. All the clues were telling you what happened last night was real but that can’t be, right? You had called John multiple times to no avail and even went to his house with no answer. Checking the message boards of their fan group, others were saying what the other group had said about them cutting mid-stream and Dracula abruptly vanishing.

What happened?

“Hey, honey—Oh my god, Mina what happened?!”, Renfield asked as soon as you signed in. Dracula was sitting beside him, his arms folded as he starred off to the side. Turning on your mic, you decided you needed to know the truth.

“I was going to ask you that.”

“Us? Why? The last time we saw you was before our stream.”

“Really? I could swear I heard Dracula’s voice in my house and then you two fighting while I was passed out.”

“Huh. A dream maybe? I mean, we’re pretty far from you.”

“Oh yeah? Where?”

Your stern tone had Dracula turning to face the screen as Renfield sighed.

“Far, Mina.”

“How would you know? I don’t even know your names let alone where you live.” You glare at your computer, feeling a confidence you had never felt before. “Did you kill John? Or hurt him?”

“Who cares what happened to that asshole? You deserve better.”, Dracula answers in a deep tone of his own that made you a little bit nervous but you ignored it as you pushed forward.

“Again, how would you know? You never met him.”

“Don’t need to see him to see the damage he inflicts on you every time he comes over. Why do you put up with it, sweetheart? Because you think you deserve to be treated like trash?”

“How did you get here so fast? People are saying you disappeared after saying my name.”

“This was a mistake.”, Renfield whispers to the boy beside him.

“I’m not afraid of you…either of you. I just…I just want answers.”

Dracula’s eyes darken as he turns to Renfield.

“No. No! Don’t you fucking—”

Before he had finished his sentence, the long-haired boy was gone and you heard your front door open as a breeze hit your face.

“You may not be afraid of us now, little one, but you will be.”

With that, he lifted you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and in the blink of an eye you were back in a room you vaguely remembered.

##############

“Why am I even here? You never fucking listen to me!”, Renfield whined.

“Sit.”, Dracula commanded you as he pointed towards a chair. “Not a sound. Do you hear me?”

You nod completely frozen in fear at the speed of which he even brought you back to their house.

“You to. Sit.”

“Fuck you. Are you kidding me right now? After everything we’ve done to avoid getting caught—”

The man choked on his words as a strong hand wrapped around his throat and walked him backwards towards the end of the bed.

“I’m not in the fucking mood to have this argument right now, Steven.”, Dracula growled angrily. “I didn’t get to finish eating last night and I’m starving.”

“You…you didn’t…eat her boyfriend. I’m…shocked.”

Your eyes widened at his audacity to talk back even in the position he was currently in. Plus, he always seemed so gentle so hearing him talk this way startled and excited you.

Dracula’s eyes fluttered closed as he dropped Renfield who promptly gasped for air.

“Jesus Steve, if you could fucking smell what I smell you’d do anything for her to. You think she’s scared but she’s not. She’s turned on.”, he whispers as you watch him adjust himself in his jeans.

“Steve?” They both turn to look at you as you suddenly speak. “Renfield is Steve. W-Who are you, Dracula?”

The man can feel your heart beat slow as you find a sense of grounding in your current chaos. He wasn’t lying when he said he could feel you weren’t afraid but you were extremely confused, trying to make sense of a reality that they both had long accepted.

“Eddie. My real name is Eddie.”

Your hand shakes as you point to your chest. “My name is Y/N.”

Something in their room beeps as they give each other their attention once again.

“You’re insane if you think we’re streaming right now.”

Eddie points his finger at you once more as his voice deeply rumbles.

“No noise. Not even a squeak.”

They get into a position you’ve seen numerous times but this time the energy is different. The man you now know as Steve clenches his jaw as he tilts his head to expose his neck.

A ring laced hand reaches out to cup his cheek and turns his face towards his own as he leans his forehead on his.

“Please don’t be this way. I need you.”, Eddie whispers.

“Yeah. For this right? Because you sure as hell don’t listen or care about my opinion.”

As they murmur to each other, you imagine it’s too low for the mic to pick up but you can hear it and the pain in both their voice breaks your heart. The metalhead’s dark eyes flick towards the web cam before settling back on the man beside him.

“I do, sweetheart. I care about you and what you have to say. It’s because of you I’m still here…I’m safe.”

Steve’s eyes flutter slightly as his admission as he blinks back tears.

“I love you.”, he whispers as he kisses his forehead.

“I love you to, baby. Come here. Let me take care of you to.”

Eddie tenderly pushed Steve back against the mattress, pulling down his sweats and boxers, and tossing them to the floor. When his cock sprang free, Eddie wasted no time, licking and kissing his tip before enveloping him fully into his mouth.

“Fuck.”, Steve whimpered as he reached down to tangle his fingers in the boy’s messy hair.

Lifting his head, he spit on the man’s dick and twisted his wrist as his palm smeared his saliva along his length.

“Such a good boy for me always, aren’t you, baby?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes I can be a bad boy and not think.” While pumping his hand faster, Eddie leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “But Steve, you were right. I like her so fucking much. You can’t tell me you don’t want to make her moan. Taste that sweet pussy I smell practically dripping from here.”

Steve’s eyes turned to meet yours as he continued to speak.

“Feel a beautiful woman’s tight cunt choke your dick again.”, Eddie tightened his fist as if to prove his point as he quickened his pace. “To have a girl in our lives again who isn’t afraid of us and makes us feel complete.”

Steve craned his neck back towards Eddie as he passionately kissed his lips.

“Take what you need, honey, please.”

Unbuckling his belt, he pushed his jeans down enough to free his cock, and both men mewl as Eddie guides himself into his entrance. You couldn’t help when your hand slid between your shorts and you rubbed your clit. Their moans, Eddie’s passion as he thrust into him, and Steve’s tenderness when he clung to his back drove you wild.

“Can—shit—can you hear it, baby? The sound her fingers between her legs.” Steve nodded as he waited for Eddie to truly take him. “Fuck, you feel so good. Are you ready?”

“Y-Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

From your angle you couldn’t see much of what happened next. Eddie’s head tilted slightly and Steve’s entire body arched as he held the man closer to him. The metalhead’s pace quickened as he slammed his hips into his partners.

“J-Just like that, Daddy, fuck.”

Eddie grunted as one of his hands came up to cup the boy’s cheek as if to hold him still as he sucked on his neck. Steve shuddered as his eye’s rolled and he came. Eddie’s own rhythm faltered just enough as his grip tightened on his boyfriend’s hair and released his seed inside of him.

Steve became limp as the man above him continued to roll his hips till he had given him everything he had and came off his neck with a loud syrupy smack. Your own body trembled as you came, covering your mouth as to not give yourself away.

Eddie crawled down the man’s frame as he headed for the opposite corner of their room to the mini fridge where he grabbed two water bottles and a power bar. Normally, they left the cameras on to show the aftercare but this time, he sauntered towards his computer and promptly ended the stream.

After handing a bottle to you without looking your way, he immediately focused on Steve.

“Sit up, sweetheart. There we go. Here eat this for me ok?”, he coos as he hands him his snack before leaning under the bed and producing a first aid kit. You watched with studious eyes as Eddie grabbed a rag and cleaned the blood from his neck while Steve daintily nibbled on the bar in his hands. “Good boy. Drink some water.” His fingers tenderly pushed back some of the boy’s hair as he kissed his shoulder.

“S-S-So, this is real. You’re really a vampire?”

He heavily sighs as he looks your way. “I am.”

“And what is Steve?”

“My boyfriend. He…he takes care of me.”

“How? What? I…I have so many questions.”

“Tomorrow, little one. He won’t be back to 100% for another few hours and even then he’s had a long couple of days. Here. Let me take you home.”

“NO! I mean…please. May I stay?”

“Um, yeah sure. I don’t see why not. Let me see if we have any clean spare sheets for that guest bedroom we have.”

Once he leaves, you sit by Steve’s side and glance over the wound on his neck.

“He should really cover these up since they’re kind of deep.”

“Pfft. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. Eddie uses vampire voodoo whatever he can to make sure he doesn’t leave a scar. As you noticed, honey, we have enough.”, he giggles. “He’s right you know. You are very beautiful. I’ve always thought so.” You softly smile as his palm lazily comes up to trace your now black eye from yesterday.

“Fucking asshole. He’s lucky I can’t run in the blink of an eye.”

“Steve, sweetie, why don’t you lay back?”, you grin as he limply nods and scoots his head up towards the pillows.

“Y/N. I have to keep saying it so I don’t forget. Y/N.”

As his eyes close, you lay on your side beside him and run your fingers along his cheek till your palm rests on his chest.

“He’s fine.”, Eddie announces from the doorway where he had been observing you two talk. “I never take enough that would kill him or turn him. That first night though I did the same thing.”, sighs as he gestures towards your hand.

“Is it ok if I stay with him?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll just hang out in this room here—”

“You can lay here if you want. I don’t mind.” He scans you over making you slightly self-conscious. “I mean…unless…you have a coffin you sleep in or…”

Eddie laughs as he comes to the opposite side of the bed and lays on his back.

“No coffins, princess. I sleep here with him.”

“I’ve never heard you laugh before or even seen you really smile. It looks good on you.”

He smiles as he turns on his side and brushes some of your hair away from your face.

“Y/N.”

“Eddie. I like your names better than your screen ones. Plus both Dracula and Renfield’s stories end tragically.”

“Maybe Eddie and Steve’s stories did end tragically…”, he muses. “Or it was the only book he and I actually read in school.”

You giggle as he grins your way before he’s taken aback when you roll over and pull his arm over your waist. Most people feared him especially back in their hometown. It had been so long since anyone besides Steve touched him without hesitation and he didn’t realize how much he missed the contact.

Even though he soothed your worries, your hand still rested against Steve’s chest making sure it was still rising and falling at a normal pace. There was a lot you didn’t know about them but you were dying to find out.

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twig-tea · 6 months ago

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Why We Are Gives Me Anxiety

I have been fighting myself on this We Are post for weeks because I wanted to make sure I knew what I wanted to say and was able to say it. I feel the need to say off the top that I don’t begrudge anyone who enjoyed this show and I’m genuinely glad it brought comfort to people. The show in and of itself, as 16 hour-long episodes of fluff (shout-out to @stuffnonsenseandotherthings for using this word to pinpoint the genre for this show, because it’s perfect), is not offensive or bad or wrong or any judgmental or moralistic word. And it does some things well; the centrality of the friend group was a lovely aspect to this show, and the chemistry in the friendship group scenes was on point. All of the couples have good romantic chemistry as well, and the show is packed with butterflies-inducing moments.

That being said, I did not enjoy watching this show. I watch television mostly for the story; This show felt more like watching 16 special episodes for a show I hadn’t seen (I think this can be attributed to the point made by @italianpersonwithashippersheart in her post here that the show assumes the audience comes to the show with a pre-existing buy-in to the ships). The lack of overarching narrative structure of We Are gave my brain nothing to hold onto and I spent so much of every episode futilely trying to figure out how scenes worked with what had come before, what the show was trying to say, what these characters were thinking–all of which I knew was the wrong way to be watching, but it’s the way my brain works, so I spent a lot of the show frustrated. In short, this show wasn’t for me.

But that’s not why I feel the need to write about it. Shows are fully allowed to not be for me, I usually can differentiate between when a show is doing something I don’t like well, or when it’s failing at its own goals. And I don’t begrudge people with different taste getting catered to sometimes; my refrain is that most problems of representation are not solved by calling for less of something, and rather than wanting something not to be made, I’d rather champion for more and a greater variety of content. And lord knows there’s enough BL to go around these days (shouting out @respectthepetty’s post along these lines, which I loved) . But We Are still worries me, and I’ve been trying to find a way to articulate that my concerns are not actually about the show itself, in isolation, but rather about how it feels like part of a pattern. This is my best attempt at laying that out. It’s going to get a little ramble-y, so apologies in advance.

Shout-out to @bengiyo who first articulated this anxiety in his post from relatively early in the show’s run . Ben gets into some of where I’m coming from with concerns about what this show means for the genre in this post, which as he mentions we've chatted about in DMs. I’m really grateful to him for these conversations because in isolation, I worried that I was being alarmist. It was helpful to have confirmation that he was feeling the same way so that I could get out of my own head.

Ben mentions in his post that New Siwaj has been in this business a long time, and I, like Ben, have jived with him for years because he manages to imbue queer angst into his shows in a way that resonates with me, even when he’s had missteps. I'm going to lay out some of the major highlights of his work for those who haven't followed New for years.

He was an editor on Love Sick, arguably the start of the Thai BL genre as we know it today, and a show full to the brim of queer angst. He directed Make It Right, one of my favourite Thai BL comedy series. This show was also an ensemble centered around a friendship group (though admittedly it didn’t balance the friendship and romance content as strongly as We Are), and it covers so many topics that felt refreshing at the time and still are rare (morning-after sex visits to the clinic because things went poorly, hooking up on the apps, sex acts beyond just penetration, suicidality, I could go on). He also was involved in the GMMTV Waterboyy series–this was his first work for GMMTV that I am aware of. That show had a lot of issues but did explore internalized homophobia and bullying.

He worked as a cinematographer on En of Love, which is again similar to We Are in that it has several couples connected by a friendship group (and is several novels in one series), but each couple was given its own miniseries instead of bundling them into one show. En of Love also still dealt with some serious queer angst, especially in the Love Mechanics story [Sidenote, Niink, the director for En of Love, stuck with New and moved on to work for Wabi Sabi].

At this point, New created his own company, Studio Wabi Sabi, which he's said in interviews was to gain more creative control over what he was working on. And his stories became arguably even more explicitly queer and inclusive of queer trauma. He screenwrote and produced Love By Chance (which folks may not remember or know, but that core story starts off with Pete being blackmailed for being gay until Ae convinces him to come out to his mother and shut down the leverage for blackmail, and a good chunk of Pete’s character arc is unlearning internalized homophobia and not seeing himself as ‘corrupting’ Ae) and then Until We Meet Again. The queer angst in UWMA probably doesn’t need my help spelling out, but just in case anyone doesn’t know the summary, this show was about a queer couple who committed suicide in the face of homophobia in the 1980s, and were reborn and given another chance to be together in present day. I did want to note that in both of these series (LBC and UWMA) the core romance itself has no major conflicts; both AePete and DeanPharm felt like they were intentionally side-stepping so many of the usual BL drama tropes of jealousy and misunderstandings through trust and communication. Dean and Pharm’s story took that even further by having so many of the usual drama pitfalls for a gay couple just not be a problem; their only drama comes from their past lives, in a beautiful exploration of the breaking of intergenerational trauma. So many external threats to their relationship ended up being non-starters, and this was my version of a comfort series for that reason.

From there, New started working with GMMTV again, and directed My Gear and Your Gown. This series was, to my knowledge, the first GMMTV BL series to mention HIV and to show characters getting tested at the clinic, and while it wasn’t perfect representation (didn’t get into PrEP, treated HIV as a death sentence), it felt like an important milestone.

[I’m skipping the sequels and specials he did for series I already talked about, because they don’t feel that important to the story I’m telling here and this is already so long, but I wanted to acknowledge that I’m not covering everything in his oeuvre.]

He then directed 7 Project, which had some serious storylines dealing with bullying and struggling with life in the closet, out of Wabi Sabi, and then Star and Sky out of GMMTV. Star in My Mind included one of the main characters in a beard relationship for years, and some controversy over the adaptation choices to make Daonuea (Dunk’s character) less polite than in the books. There was drama around the pronouns and characterization in that show (both Daonuea and Khabkluen use guu/mueng in the series, but in the novel, Daonuea uses rao; he also curses in the series and novel fans complained that he was too ‘masculine’). I thought it was an interesting attempt at a departure from BL character tropes to try to make Daonuea more evenly matched with Khabkluen in terms of his gender presentation in the show. Sky in Your Heart also included some angst about whether people of a particular station could be gay. Both of these shows (SIMM and SIYH) were also very trope-y, but they had clear throughlines.

My Only 12%, the next show New directed out of Wabi Sabi, contains one of my favourite moments in all of BL, in which Seeiw sees Love of Siam and cries because it makes him realize he’s gay. There’s this heartfelt moment where he asks his sister, if there’s nothing wrong with being gay, why doesn’t the film let the gay characters have a happy ending? Despite the weird PSA ending, this show remains one of my favourites.

This is an aside but I’ve long been fascinated about this moment in New’s history: he played himself in War of Y, as a director of BL who is sick of being forced to make BL shows full of fanservice; he treats the actors with disdain and cuts marketable high heat scenes from the show which makes everyone nervous for the show’s future. Later we see him and the actor characters on set for My Only 12%, much happier. I ask myself about this moment at least once a week: Did he write this self-insert? Did someone else write the character and he just played it, and the similarities to his style were (were not?) a coincidence? I hope someone knows and tells me one day,

From there, New functioned as an Executive Producer of Dear Doctor, I’m Coming for Soul [I think this was the first outsourced project by Wabi Sabi]. This series’ entire plot is a metaphor for living in the closet and waiting for the time when the main couple can be together fully without having to hide.

He directed A Boss and a Babe for GMMTV (which had its problems for sure, but also had Cher as an out gay man at the workplace dealing with casual homophobia in a way that was extremely satisfying), and then Between Us, which is maybe the least queer feeling show Wabi Sabi produced on its own, but did go into the issues of dating and the closet while trying to become a star (if I’ve forgotten something from this show let me know, I only watched it the once). One of the things that was so strange about this show was it being a sequel to UWMA but not engaging with the same themes. The only mention of real world queerness I can remember was the acknowledgment that they can’t get married in Thailand and Dean and Pharm discussing again going abroad and getting married there.

Absolute Zero was a complete mess of a show; New directed this one for Wabi Sabi, and it has some similarities to UWMA in the sense of there being an attempt at saving the gays from the bury your gays trope, this time via time loop rather than reincarnation, but it did not take the issues it raised seriously enough (including the age gap created between the two characters by virtue of time travel).

And that leads us to We Are for GMMTV, which as Pluem (@happypotato48) wrote in his excellent post about this, includes Toey using nu and other 'feminine' or 'youthful' sounding language, but also apparently dropped the main conflict of the novel between Phum and his father (because his father disapproved of Peem).

Why did I go through all of that? Because I wanted to lay out how I've watched New Siwaj’s career go from finding a way to tell incredibly poignant and healing queer narratives (by creating his own company, and fitting these moments into the GMMTV series he did work on) to stripping out queerness from the shows he’s creating in the last year or so.

And this is a pattern we’re seeing more widely at GMMTV in particular, but also in Thai QL more widely. This is something that was touched on but not really discussed in the most recent episode of The Conversation podcast (the 23.5 and only boo! episode here). In both 23.5 and Only Boo!, the show faked out a homophobic parent and then treated their kids like they were silly to assume the worst, and I hated that.

Both Ongsa and Kang had internalized homophobia in their respective series. Both were terrified of telling their mothers about their homosexual love interest. And in both cases, their mothers told them something along the lines of 'of course I will support you no matter what'. In Ongsa's case, even though she was outed by Sun without her consent, she's the one who ends up apologizing for her hesitancy and feeling foolish for her concern. In Kang's case, the show never challenges his mother's assertion that she'll always support him even though we know she hasn’t (she was the one who wanted to prevent him from studying art before his father died), and it’s the audience that was left feeling foolish for our concern.

In the GMMTV round table for Pride Month, it was mentioned that the decision for Ongsa's mother to be accepting of her relationship with Sun was made in order to model good parental behaviour for the older generation in the audience. In the novel, Ongsa's mother presents a significant conflict, but this conflict was erased from the show. I don't know if the same decision was made in Only Boo! for the same reason or not, but either way, the show definitely signalled to Kang's mother having an issue with Kang's relationship with Moo, and then said "sike", which I did not enjoy. The Conversation panelists were correct in the conversation linked and transcribed above that this wasn't the most egregious misstep either show made, but it feels like a telling symptom of the larger overall narrative problems that New is also now succumbing to.

It seems as though telling stories stripped of queer conflict is being seen as progressive, and possibly also easier to sell, and this is where my anxiety lies around what this will mean for Thai QL content in future.

For the record, I am all for creating queer content in which we envision a better world for ourselves. But when that is the goal, understanding where internalized homophobia comes from and thinking through how removing parental objection will affect the character and the story is vital to the story and characterization remaining coherent. Otherwise it just ends up feeling like the show is telling queer kids that they're paranoid, rather than rightly worried (like I wrote about in this thread on My Love Mix-Up Thailand, where the same decision was made again to fake out a homophobic subplot that was removed from the adaptation but was present in the source material).

These choices speak to adaptation choices with an eye for specific moments and story points, rather than to a narrative or character arc, which is where it feels like they fall into the wider pattern of what @bengiyo, @shortpplfedup and @ginnymoonbeam were describing in their discussion: shows caring more about hitting specific meme-able story points listed out on a whiteboard than about making cohesive sense or having something coherent to say.

[So as not to leave it out: I don’t think there were concerns of homophobia in the Wandee Goodday novel (novel readers feel free to correct me if I’m wrong about this) but the show faked us out about homophobia concerns anyway, which again really bothered me during that watch and which adds to the pattern.]

Now, of course, as I stated up at the top there is value in the creation of different kinds of media. These shows sell different fantasies than the ones I want to see, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have value.All of BL has some amount of fantasy that it’s buying into, that’s what comes with the territory of ‘fiction’. The BL bubble (in which homophobia doesn’t exist and all men are gay for each other) is a version that is at its most extreme; nothing bad ever happens that isn’t quickly resolved within an episode, so there is never narrative tension, and nobody really needs to be that concerned about how anything will go ever. I do not find these relaxing because I can’t buy into the fantasy they’re selling; for me, the lack of narrative tension is so unbelievable as to ruin my immersion. But I can see why that would be appealing for someone whose brain is not always on alert and running at 11/10! The problem I am anticipating is when the majority of content is made that way, and when it is done in a way that takes up all of the mainstream space. I think it’s notable that the only show that’s really felt not in the queer bubble from GMMTV in 2024 is Cooking Crush, which was done by a subsidiary team within GMMTV (and the same team went on to make Only Boo!). And this is why We Are caught my attention and made me nervous; When a director who is known for his representation of poignant queer angst makes an entire 16-hour series in which there are no significant conflicts at all and the only hint of homophobia is in Toey’s reference to being bullied prior to the timeframe of the series, I get worried about who is going to be making the queer angst shows in future!

For the record, my personal preference for comfort shows are the shows that do not pretend the world is perfect, but do depict an idealized subset of that world→where there’s a group of people that support one another through the bullshit of others and the less than perfect world that surrounds them. Shows that teach us to be kind to one another, and ourselves. Shows that say the world is going to suck sometimes, but we can be good to one another, and not lose sight of who we are, and make space for others to be themselves. A few of my favourite Thai series that do this would be:

Bad Buddy

Cooking Crush

City of Stars

Knock Knock Boys

Miracle of Teddy Bear

My Only 12%

Secret Crush on You

To Sir With Love

Until We Meet Again

(and of course these occur in non-Thai shows as well. A few examples of my favourites: What Did You Eat Yesterday, DNA Says Love You, Light on Me, Oppan, Marahuyo Project, TsukuTabe, Tadaima Okaeri, Koisenu Futari, Joshi-teki Seikatsu, Gameboys, Hehe and He, Twilight out of Focus, She Makes My Heart Flutter)

These are shows in which there are explicitly external judgments on the relationships in the show and/or the characters for things intrinsic to who they are, and the characters build a support structure in which folks are encouraged to be themselves within that ‘bubble’ (Bad Buddy walks a fine line because it’s within the BL bubble but the problems that the main couple face are so a direct allegory that everything feels familiar; this is also the case with Tadaima Okaeri, which is both omegaverse and one of the most beautifully kind shows of all time).

So for now, I still have the other smaller Thai studios including Kongthup Productions (who made Knock Knock Boys; we’ll see whether their latest series Monster Next Door deals with any queer angst or not), idolFactory (just finished My Marvellous Dream is You, which had a ton of queer angst, and is currently doing The Loyal Pin, which I have hope for on this front), DeeHup (currently making I Saw You In My Dream, which I’m holding out hope for) and StarHunter Entertainment (who made City of Stars, but whose record is a little spotty on this front; Their latest, Sunset Vibes, has not done a great job of handling the theme of office relationships and blackmail so far, and feels very much in the bubble) to look forward to.

But as you can see even just by virtue of the caveats I included above, it feels like this shift is happening in the smaller companies too (harder to see a real pattern with fewer data points, which is one of the reasons why I picked on GMMTV–in addition to it being the largest media conglomerate in Thailand and therefore able to take it). Maybe it’s nothing, maybe I’m just an anxious person. Or maybe I’m just wrong about what would be best for the genre and for queer people in Thailand as well as viewers all over the world. But I, for one, would find it a loss if Thai QL decides en masse to pivot away from queer angst, and right now it kind of feels like that’s what it’s doing. In this context, to reiterate my original point, the existence of We Are is not a problem, but is one in a set of exemplars that raised specific alarm bells due to the people involved and their history in QL and queer representation, its deviation from the source material, and the surrounding shows that seem to indicate a pattern rather than a one-off.

#bl meta #multi bl #typed so that i can stop thinking it #long post #we are the series #i'm not going to tag every series I mentioned in this post or I'll be here all night #thanks for bearing with me everyone

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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IF I FELL THROUGH THE FLOOR I WOULD KEEP FALLING ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; when geto knocks at your front door ten years after leaving you behind, he’s fully expecting a middle finger — or a hand to the throat. you invite him in, instead.

word count; 7.5k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst with lots of yearning, hopeful ending (but also not really), geto’s pov, reader is a softie, intense mutual pining, tea as a metaphor for love <3, geto is terminally bitter and terminally lonely and also kind of a bitch but we love him

a/n; i’m extremely normal abt suguru geto and the debilitating loneliness he must’ve felt during the ten years after he left <33

”it’s been a while.”

the smile on his face must be sweet, he thinks, illuminated by the blurry light of the morning sun. as charming as it’s always been. coated in a thin layer of lighthearted deceit, a cruelly projected sense of normalcy. with a hand raised up in cheerful greeting, geto gazes down at you.

admittedly, he’s a little underwhelmed by your reaction.

astonishment or bafflement was maybe a little too much to ask for — you don’t look very surprised to see him at all. almost as if you were expecting him to show up in front of your apartment, at the break of dawn. and, really, maybe you were.

satoru must have told you already. why wouldn’t he let you in on their touching reunion, the promise of war that spilled so easily from his lips?

of course you would have heard of it by now.

… still, geto can’t deny that it’s just a little bit disappointing. he would’ve liked to see your wide eyes, would’ve liked to hear you stammer a bit.

the expression you’re currently sporting is something else entirely.

(you look sad.)

there’s a fondness in your eyes, though, unmistakable. a spark of it, entirely impossible to ignore, that catches him off guard. and there’s a softness in the way you raise your head to look up at him, a familiarity that flickers in the depths of your iris. something that welcomes him back.

geto can’t help but be a little bit put off by it.

it looks the same as always. you look the same as always. and geto’s heart constricts, where it rests, tucked away deep within the confines of his ribcage. it twists and turns like a vine around a carcass.

a moment passes. the sun peeks out from beneath the curtain of the horizon, the violet and indigo of the morning sky melting into that familiar burst of ochre. and geto is content, to silently admire the way that you glow in its light. he waits, patiently, for your expression to shift — to melt into one of anger, or repulsion, or any other kind of bitter hue.

it never does.

a sigh flows from your parted lips, instead. a soft little breath. in the bitter cold of a morning such as this, it turns into vapour as it drifts through the air.

you blink, tiredly, eyelashes fluttering with something akin to exasperation.

”you’re a cruel guy, you know that?”

geto blinks. a fickle moment passes.

then, he smiles.

you’re admonishing him, but you’re doing so almost gently — with an easygoing kind of disapproval. as if you’re still in high school, huffing over the teasing bout of laughter he lets slip when you trip over air.

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, an action he’s grown awfully used to over the years. smiles are a form of currency, he has come to realize — smiles of deceit, of fondness, of barely contained disgust. all kinds of smiles, whether plastered on or genuine. a means to meet an end. a single tug of his lips, encompassing an immeasurable number of unspoken words.

the smile that geto graces you with is an amused one. it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s friendly enough. ”so i’ve been told.”

for a minute, you do nothing but observe him. there’s a turmoil behind your eyes that seeps out in the way you look at him, the way you shift from foot to foot and gnaw at your bottom lip anxiously. geto doesn’t interrupt, observing you in turn. waiting for one of you to move the first piece of this little morning game of chess.

in the light, he can almost delude himself into thinking that your eyes change colour, different shades and hues dancing around your dilated pupils. as you gaze over the contours of his face, a certain kind of affection blooms within them, one that geto expected to have faded over the years.

but it’s still there. and it’s the same. a little more blurry, maybe, a little faded at the edges — more matured. but still the same, despite that.

(a memory comes to him. one of you, and him; sharing a bag of chips on the school’s rooftop when neither of you could sleep.

bathed in the light of the moon, your eyes glimmered with that very same affection, like a shooting star breaking out across the night sky.)

one long, careful, tender moment passes by.

the intense contemplation on your features is almost enough to coax a chuckle from the depths of his throat. an urge to tease you creeps up on him, slowly, but before he can open his mouth you seem to come to a kind of conclusion.

and so, you step to the side — allowing him to see inside your apartment, catch a brief glimpse of the interior. you look oddly comfortable, at peace, having made your move; the next piece is his to place.

what a surprising move, though. geto can’t help it if his eyes widen just a smidge, if he blinks in a way that could almost be interpreted as briefly confused. out of all the possible scenarios he’s played out in his mind over the years, this wasn’t the one he expected to merge with reality.

”wanna come in?” you ask, tentative. your voice is inviting. a little clumsy, although he supposes that could just be because of fatigue. it is early, after all.

geto takes a moment to think.

as far as he can tell — and he always can, in one way or another — there is no deceit hidden in your expression. no signs of bloodlust, no spark of violence, no quiet resentment bubbling beneath the surface. earnest. that’s all it is. a little awkward, but candid. pure, in a way.

you aren’t trying to trick him. you’re genuinely, seriously, honest-to-god inviting him inside your apartment.

the next move is his to make.

and geto knows exactly what he should do. he should decline, politely, excuse himself with feigned remorse and a jovial invitation to his own personal hell.

(surely, you already know. the others have almost certainly told you by now. geto just wanted to personally invite you, himself. face to face.)

right. that’s what he should do. that’s the winning move.

and yet, he finds himself moving.

lips curling up on their own, without his approval, geto moves forward. one step is all it takes for him to cross the threshold of your home; a boundary he didn’t expect you to offer up so callously, truth be told, but who is he to deny the wishes of a dear old friend?

”why, thank you,” he smiles, voice pleasant, smooth like silk.

(for just a little while, he supposes he can indulge himself in the opportunity you’ve so graciously given him. just for a bit.)

geto doesn’t bother taking off his footwear, and he knows you couldn’t care less either way. allowing him to pass you by as he waltzes into your very own space, you close the door behind him. he half-expects to hear the click of the lock, but it never comes.

a particular scent envelops him, as he stands by the coat rack, unmoving — he has no intention of taking off his robes, heavy with his carefully nurtured devotion. a symbol of his choice.

the scent is familiar, but also unlike anything he can recall within the borders of his memory; a soothing blend between fresh laundry, and sunlight, and cat fur, and something rather sweet.

there’s more to it than that, though. a certain scent geto could only ever describe as you.

(his heart aches with longing.)

as he ponders the intricacies of the fragrance, geto is acutely aware of the stare burning into his back. how careless of him, to leave it facing you, unguarded and vulnerable.

what a perfect opportunity he’s presented you with; the great curse user suguru geto, forever exiled and wanted dead, now merely a fly at the mercy of the web you’ve created. trapped in your apartment with his back turned to you, a mere lamb to the slaughter.

how easy it would be, for you to plunge a knife into his flesh. to curve your way along his spine.

you do nothing of the sort, though. and for some reason, the realization that you aren’t going to irks him, even though deep down he knew that would be the case. still, it crawls its way under his skin, along the arteries of his forearm, an itch he yearns to claw away.

how foolish. how very like you.

(what a cruel thing change can be, when no one else seems to succumb to it.)

unable to do anything but accept it, however, geto turns towards you once more. you stiffen, as if burned by his gaze, and a part of him delights in it.

”how have you been?” he asks, bright and courteous. there’s a genuinity to the question that geto can’t deny. something about this situation sends a spark of fondness running through his veins.

at the sound of his voice, your eyes soften again. it’s a subtle shift, but he doesn’t miss it. doesn’t think he ever really could, because even though the light inside your eyes makes him uncomfortable, down to the very marrow of his bones, he can do nothing but bask in it. in your attention, in that heavy gaze.

a single word could never hope to faithfully describe the emotion smouldering inside it — but if forced to, geto would humbly settle on resignation.

it’s almost as if you still haven’t fully accepted it, ten years down the line, that you’re only just beginning to. like even now, you’re convinced that it’s nothing more than one big joke; that he’s about to reveal a hidden camera, and gleefully tell you that it was all a prank to get back at satoru.

naive, naive, naive. but geto can’t deny that it tastes sweet, on his tongue — to imagine that you might still have some faith in him, after all this time.

a sigh leaves your lips. you sound a little bit exhausted. it sends a pang of ache to the very center of his heart, and a part of him yearns to soothe you. another part relishes in the pain he must have brought you over the years.

the rest of him smoothly tucks those stray thoughts away, as he brushes non-existent dust off from his robes.

then, your eyes take on a more tender hue. you ignore his question entirely, and speak in a low voice. raspy and sincere, and maybe just a tad bitter, given everything.

”those robes don’t suit you, suguru.”

— a shiver travels down his spine.

suguru.

(the way your lips form around the syllables is still so lovely.)

you’re full of surprises, as always. at least to a certain extent, he was expecting you to settle on geto, to draw a firm line in the sand between him and you. the ocean and the land, always meant to be separated by that thin line, kept apart in each other’s best interest.

but geto is beginning to accept that you’re going to do this your way — sincerely.

the statement is a veil, obscuring a million unspoken thoughts, double meanings that aren’t particularly hard to discern. a silent rejection, a quiet disapproval. there’s a grief to it that sits heavy on your tongue.

taking a moment to collect himself, geto meets your gaze, and all its weight. his lips curl up into a sad smile, a little fatigued. he wonders if you can hear it, in his voice.

(maybe it was stupid of him, to think he could keep this meeting professional.)

”… is that so?”

you continue to look at him, as if waiting for something else. but geto doesn’t give you what you want, that touch of tender honesty he’s sure you’re hoping for.

”i think they suit me just fine,” he playfully disagrees, instead, tone bordering on something childishly stubborn.

you wait just a single moment more, still clinging to that hope for something sincere, anything.

then you huff. it sounds vaguely amused.

”you look like a con artist,” you deadpan, eyes flitting down to examine the outfit again. geto would be offended by your rudeness if you didn’t also happen to be right.

”how sweet of you,” he purrs, shooting you a smug smile. the words are lighthearted, mildly teasing. “that’s exactly what i’m going for.”

you give him an unimpressed look, that he mirrors with a perfect smile — and then you give in to another amused exhale, paired with a soft shake of your head.

there it is again, geto thinks. that sense of déjà vu. it’s equal parts eerie as it is comforting.

silence lingers in the air around you, as hazy sunlight flits in through the gap between your curtains and cascades across the floorboards. until you clear your throat endearingly, and walk past him.

”well, make yourself at home,” you murmur in passing.

considering the circumstances, the words are spoken fairly naturally, and geto has to resist the urge to laugh at how ridiculous this is. inviting a wanted criminal into your home, a literal mass murderer, and treating him with the same politeness you’d show to any other guest.

what would the elders think, he wonders, if they knew? would they brand you an accomplice, question your motives? put your head on the chopping block right next to his? he wouldn’t put it past them, the pieces of shit.

but despite his amusement, geto doesn’t laugh. he only watches as you make your way to the kitchen counter, a firefly catching his eye in the summer night.

(except you aren’t a firefly, and it’s not summer. it’s winter, and you’re someone geto wishes he didn’t still care for.)

”i was thinking of making tea,” you hum, voice soft but still easy for him to discern from his spot in the living room. ”do you want some?”

geto’s lips quirk up into a tiny smile. his voice is teasing, as it flows out from his lips.

”how generous,” he chirps, still idly watching the way you move around the open space, your hair changing colour in the flickering light of the sun. ”satoru could learn a thing or two from you.”

he expects you to flinch. a suitable reaction, to how casually he brings up his reunion with his best friend, like it’s nothing. like it means nothing. like nothing’s wrong.

geto knows it’s cruel, which is exactly why he does it.

but you don’t flinch. you don’t even stiffen. and he senses no anger in your body language, in the silence that settles in the space between his words and yours. all you do is exhale sharply, a little exasperated.

”you shouldn’t be so cruel to him.” a beat. your voice sounds just a little smaller when you continue. ”he’s missed you, you know.”

the reply is nearly instantaneous, and it’s bare. honest. you sound like you’re scolding him, but it’s more protective than angry. and it’s gentle, like you’re patching him up after a mission, reprimanding him for not being more careful.

at this point, geto can tell you have no intention of playing along. how annoying. he wishes you would — that earnest sadness and regret of yours is almost unbearable, and the gentle bluntness you present him with cuts much deeper than his casual cruelty ever could.

you aren’t going to play along, aren’t going to pretend you don’t care. geto wonders why you won’t, why you’re the only one who still refuses to.

satoru certainly has no issue with it. playing along, putting up a front. attempting to treat him coldly, as an enemy. but geto knows him, knows his soul like the back of his hand, and he could tell it was trembling when their eyes met. from underneath those bandages of his, the thin layer of cowardice that shields those precious eyes from the rest of the world. from geto.

and shoko is just as unbothered as ever. always playing it cool, never caught off guard or shaken to her core. geto can’t even tell if it’s an act or not, anymore. but he knows that she was angry, when they spoke that day, ten years in the past. knows she wanted to tell him off, but chose not to.

both her and satoru are like that. always have been. closed off, accustomed to bearing an unbearable weight, resigned to the ache that it brings them. acting distant in a desperate attempt to mend it.

you, though?

you were always a little too sincere for your own good, a little too true to yourself. it must hurt you, he thinks. it must hurt you even just to look at him. yet you continue to do so, unflinchingly.

that’s simply how you are.

you’ve always enjoyed dipping your toes into the grief of it all, leaning into the pain. always the first to take that step into the abyss. content to tear yourself open for everyone to see, even if no one follows suit.

never averting your eyes. never taking the easy way out.

(unlike him.)

geto hums, smiling a little at the sickening irony of it all.

the gentle clinking of ceramic resounds throughout the kitchen, and geto’s ears perk up. his gaze follows your hands, as they move to grab two cups from the wall cabinet. floral designs, he dully notes. blue bells on one, red camellias on the other. a porcelain teapot rests on the kitchen table, but no flowers adorn it.

without your expressions to keep him entertained, geto decides to wallow in the fleeting peace and quiet. aside from your soft breathing and the occasional clinking of teacups, there are no sounds to be heard.

a moment that seems to exist outside of time and space, where time passes backwards and your shuffling in the kitchen is his only concern.

eager to satiate the mellow boredom in his chest, geto’s eyes begin to flit across the space of your apartment. greedily drinking in every detail he can see, as if he’s trying to memorize it all. maybe he is.

everything he can see is a piece of your existence, in one way or another. every inch of the apartment is littered with your fingerprints, your choices and fickle tastes.

like the rich yellow of the curtains you’ve picked out to frame the glass of the windows, bright and stark and blending smoothly in with the cream colour of the wallpaper surrounding it. or the forgotten cup on the table in front of the tv, a faded green. he vaguely remembers seeing you drink out of it back when things were still good, when you both thought of the school as your home.

a book rests on the duvet pillows of your couch, but he sees no bookmark peeking out from between the pages. geto wonders if you still dog-ear your books, and thinks to himself that a crime of that calibre would warrant your own exile if the world was only fair. alas, it isn’t. war of the foxes, he reads from the cover. ironic.

along the windowsills are potted plants, stacked up next to each other, green and flourishing despite the snowy wonderland of the outside world. their leaves differ in shape and size, some accompanied by blooming flowers. he imagines you watering them, dutifully, nurturing them with gentle hands and sleepy smiles.

there are many things to look at, more and more little fragments sprouting up the longer geto continues to do so. a knitted sweater thrown over the wooden armrest of a chair. colourful candy wrappers littering the table. an old radio tucked away in a corner of the room.

geto drinks it all in — a home you’ve painstakingly created, that you’ve allowed him into. he examines it thoroughly, the way an art dealer judges a painting on display. turning the image over inside his mind, twisting it, burning it into his retinas. soaking in every little detail he manages to find.

your home.

(it’s so like you that it hurts.)

finally, geto thinks he’s had his fill of the living room. so he ventures into the kitchen, only a couple long strides away.

the scent that greets him this time is comforting, homey. the aroma of coffee grounds, a touch of leftover curry, a strong fragrance of blooming hyacinths and dried lavender sitting contentedly by the windowsill. through the translucent glass, geto sees layers upon layers of snow on the rooftops, and the gradual rise of the glittering sun.

the quiet buzzing of the electric kettle is the only sound he hears, along with the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall, as his eyes wander along the kitchen.

the shelves are stacked with a variety of different spices, and glass jars of honey and jam. along the counters rest a wide array of kitchen appliances, from blenders to rice cookers to french presses. mugs with silly designs are stuffed into an opened wall cabinet, and geto recognizes some of them, to his silent delight.

there are colourful post-it notes stuck to the fridge, messy scribbles of recipes and reminders. meetings, birthdays, grocery lists. even just little doodles, smiley faces and napping cats that make his lips quirk up. and polaroids — he tries not to let his gaze linger on the picture of satoru sleeping in the most uncomfortable, inhumane position he’s ever witnessed, nor the blurry image of shoko smoking by a balcony railing, sleeves cuffed and expression forlorn. he can’t imagine either of them noticed you snapping the photos.

(no polaroids of him. of course not. why would there be?)

geto tries not to look over at the fridge again, examining the floor and furniture instead. over in the corner stands a bowl of cat food, seemingly untouched. the kitchen table is covered with a checkered cloth, kept down by a plate of chocolate chip cookies.

your kitchen is fairly small, but it’s cozy. rays of fresh sunlight envelop it in a giddy, ruminating glow. like something out of a dream.

when geto enters the space, your eyes flit over to him briefly, and he shoots you a friendly smile. your eyes do that thing, again, where they crumble a little at the corners and get a tad softer. like you’re looking at an old friend.

(he supposes you are.)

you clear your throat before speaking, as he takes in all the sights.

”what kind of tea do you want? i’ve got, uh…”

with gentle movements, you open a wall cabinet, eyes swiftly scanning over the different labels of the many boxes, jars and sachets of tea inside. dutifully, you list off the ones you can see.

”earl grey, chamomile… oolong, rooibos…” you continue, seemingly never running out of options, fingers tapping at the handle. ”ah, this one’s kinda weird. it’s supposed to be, like, cherry flavoured? don’t ask, satoru picked it out — but it tastes more like laundry detergent.”

a pause.

”it’s pretty good, though.”

geto can’t help it. the comment coaxes a chuckle from out his chest, and he’s surprised at how genuine it sounds when it spills from his lips.

you seem to notice it, too, seeing as you perk up where you stand by the counter. out of the corner of his eye, geto thinks he almost catches the fleeting glimmer of a tiny smile on your lips.

and for a moment, everything feels familiar. eerie and comforting, in equal measure. a sense of nostalgia drifts throughout the kitchen, mingling with the scent of tea leaves and sunshine and freshly baked cookies.

this is the opportunity you’ve given him — a slice of normalcy. as close to normalcy as one can come to in a situation such as this. a soft bout of laughter, shared between estranged childhood friends, one of which is a mass murderer. it’s really not normal at all.

normalcy is no more than a fever dream. that much has always been the case, but —

there’s a comfort in it, in this. the familiarity of it all. the way you settle into old roles, share knowing looks and cycle through old memories he knows you’re both haunted by.

it’s soothing.

he’s changed, and you’ve changed, but there’s still a sense of belonging between the two of you. in this moment, this sole flicker of nostalgia. in this kitchen.

and for a moment, geto almost forgets why he’s there. almost forgets the unforgettable, the inevitability of a choice he made long ago. it stings, and he wonders how you can bear it; this thin line between longing and awareness.

”so? what’ll it be?”

your voice rings out across the open space, face angled towards the table to meet his stare.

geto hums, absentmindedly, and takes a step closer.

the narrow distance between you two lies heavy, as he shuffles up right next to you, haphazardly sweeping his eyes over the wide assortment in front of him. he can almost, almost hear your breath hitch when the fabric of his clothing grazes your shoulder.

he wonders if the tea is just an excuse, to be able to come so close. to bask in your warmth.

you don’t move away.

”oolong,” he firmly decides. he doesn’t really need to think about it.

then he swiftly turns on his heel, and takes a seat by the kitchen table. confident and graceful — as if this isn’t your kitchen, but his. unconcerned over table manners, his elbows resting on the wooden board, as his jaw meets the heel of his palm. he bites into one of the chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness crumbling on his tongue.

this time, you finally do stiffen — though geto doesn’t see it. he does, however, feel your lingering stare, and when he tilts his head in your direction he catches a glint of sorrow passing through the depths of your irises.

geto blinks. he tilts his head questioningly, a cue for you to follow.

and finally, finally, you stammer. barely, but it’s there. that nervous shiver of your voice.

”ah — sorry,” you mumble, gaze falling down to the floorboards. you seem almost flustered. ”it’s just…”

there’s something raw in your voice, something that wavers.

”back then, you’d always choose earl grey.”

a long moment of silence passes.

there are a million unspoken words in that sentence, geto knows. words you’ll never say, words you’ve always yearned to say. though he has no intention of digging them out.

the sentiment is more than enough.

a bitter taste settles on his tongue, but he smiles, careful to keep his voice light.

”well,” he hums. ”some things change, i suppose.”

to that, you huff out a breath of amusement, turning around to face the counter once more. but not before eyeing his robes again, expression rich with humour.

”yeah,” you hum, lighthearted. something close to a chuckle. ”i suppose they do.”

geto grins softly, in tandem, from his spot by the table. like you’re still teenagers, sharing a look over an inside joke no one else is privy to.

after that, he simply watches you work, chewing at the treat while he waits for the tea to be done. the light of the electric kettle flickers off, and your hands curl around the handle, bringing it to rest next to the teapot on the tablecloth. he watches, expression mildly bored, as you grab the ceramic cups and the silken sachet bag of dried tea leaves.

a strong scent of oolong tea wafts through the air, when you flick your fingers to pour some of the leaves into the teapot. there’s a certain elegance in the way you pour the boiling water, slowly, in a smooth circular pattern. geto follows the movement, the rise and fall of the leaves as water fills the strainer.

you’re unhurried, methodical. there is care in the motion of your hands, the intense gaze you bear as you perform it. every slight twitch of your knuckles, the soft exhale you emit when the teapot has been filled.

geto can do nothing but watch, in silent admiration.

you put the porcelain lid back on, blocking the steam rising up in a flurry of warmth. while the tea simmers, soaking up the flavour of the leaves, you busy yourself with readying two teaspoons.

”how do you take it, these days?” you ask him, as you languidly pour hot tea into the cups. ”any sweetener? milk?”

”one cube of sugar. no milk.”

at that, your eyes flit up, recognition blooming in them as you hear the familiar sentence. but geto keeps his gaze glued to the hyacinths on the windowsill, never meeting yours.

truthfully, he says it mostly to appease you. he figures he can give you this one thing, at least — this one hope that maybe everything hasn’t changed, after all. that he hasn’t changed, in his entirety, that there’s still some remnant left of who he used to be. even if all that’s left of him is just one single cube of sugar.

it’s kind of funny. but geto doesn’t laugh.

you place a cup in front of him. the one adorned by red camellias. geto racks his brain, flitting through past conversations with florists and paragraphs memorized from non-fiction books on botany. what was it, again?

eternal love. long-lasting devotion.

the petals and the calyx of a camellia always fall together.

geto bites back a laugh. some part of him wonders if you’re making fun of him, if this is how you’re planning to release your pent-up anger — in such a petty, roundabout manner. but deep down he knows it was no more than an absentminded choice, on your part.

(you always hurt him most when it’s not your intention to do so.)

as you take a seat on the opposite side of the table, he gingerly touches the rim of the cup. soft steam rises from the liquid, its colour marigold-esque, and geto breathes it in deeply before bringing the ceramic to his lips.

you watch, in anticipation. intensely enough that he can feel it even when his eyes flutter shut, your gaze prickling his skin as he sips from the cup.

the warmth of the tea is comforting, a distinctly floral taste spreading along his tongue. there’s a slight nuttiness to the taste, a rich sweetness. as it runs down his throat, geto hears himself hum softly. a satisfied smile slips into the curve of his lips. inside the depths of his chest, a light nostalgia swirls, pleasant and tingly.

he remembers moonlit nights, whispered secrets you could only ever tell each other, the glimmer of aluminium and rush of caffeine as you gulped down the too-sweet coffee that the vending machines had to offer.

he remembers sunny mornings, muffled laughter shared in the solitude of the kitchen, basking in the floral scent of chamomile and lavender and everything in between as the world woke up around you.

with a clink, geto sets his cup down on the table, pinkie raised lightly. smile a tad bittersweet.

”this is good tea.”

a moment passes. you break out into a genuine smile, nearly beaming, delighted by his approval.

”isn’t it?” you chirp, fingers curling around your own cup, the little painted flowers adorning it. blue bells. geto recalls that old wives’ tale — how wearing a wreath of blue bells compels one to tell the truth. ”nanami got this one for me, actually.”

he smiles, perking up ever so slightly. a little more animated. ”oh?” he takes another sip. ”he always was a snob, wasn’t he.”

that makes your own smile grow, lips twitching upwards, and an amused exhale flows from your lips. a gentle breath. you always were very fond of your grumpy underclassman. ”yeah.”

there’s something familiar about this, geto can’t help but think. eerily so. an acute sense of déjà vu, the same one that’s been plaguing him all morning.

the way you’re treating him isn’t how one would treat an enemy, nor a stranger — it’s how one would treat an old friend. that, and nothing more.

(geto wishes he could say it didn’t soothe his heart so terribly.)

he allows himself to sink deeper into the rotten sweetness of it all. indulges in this one fleeting moment, before everything crashes and burns.

the world outside your kitchen is a cold one, he knows, blanketed by snow and frost that has yet to be stained red. the pure white is a warning, not a consolation — a reminder that there are still things to be lost.

the world of curses is an empty promise, the promise of suffering being rewarded. the idea that the sun will melt the frost around your legs if you wade through enough snow.

(but geto knows better.)

outside your kitchen, only one path exists for him. it isn’t a kind one, nor is it particularly comforting. but, unlike those empty promises, that path has a truth to it. an end point, that isn’t just wait and see what happens, maybe the sun will rise if you’re lucky.

he isn’t a fool. the world is as cruel as it is beautiful, which is a false simile because cruelty is only ever beautiful when you aren’t a part of it. another one of those empty promises. geto has no idea how they kept him going for so long.

but here, in this moment — the world feels rather kind. kind in the sense of being just enough, the kind of brief solace that used to give him enough hope to get through the day.

for now, this aching gap of yet-to-be-ruined is enough. it’s all that he cares about, all that exists.

— but all good things must eventually come to an end.

geto knows it better than anyone, so he isn’t particularly surprised when he looks up to see your face set into hard lines.

you meet his eyes with a certain flickering determination, a conviction — and geto knows you’re about to cross the comfortable line he was hoping you could both maintain for just a little longer.

”suguru.”

he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to. a smile is enough. so his lips curl up, silently.

”can i ask you something?”

every move geto makes is calculated, a performance, as your words sink into his subconscious. dragging the silence out, as if trying to waltz around the inevitable end of this sickeningly sweet game of morning chess.

the slow circling of his spoon, creating a vortex for the oolong tea to follow, as it catches the light falling from the window. the way he leans back, to make himself comfortable, letting his jaw rest on the heel of his palm as he dissects your expression from across the table.

there is something almost taunting in his eyes.

but he smiles. courteous, bright. ”go ahead.”

for just a second, he sees you falter. just a smidge, but the way your nails dig into the skin of your palm is telling, just like the way your eyes choose to linger on the tablecloth a second longer than they need to.

then you meet his eyes once more, and begin to speak. geto hangs on to your words, as if they even matter.

”i’m not expecting you to be honest with me,” you state, bluntly. he’s glad to know you’re on the same page for once. ”but i’d appreciate it if you could. just this one time. i won’t ask for anything else.”

another long and tactful sip of his tea. he wasn’t lying, before — it really is very nice. the flavour is strong and thick on his tongue, sweet and bitter all in one. expensive. the pads of his fingers tap along the ceramic of his cup, right over the red flowers that seem to taunt him so.

here it comes. your lips part, but no sound comes out, and geto knows you’re thinking of how best to phrase your inquiry. it doesn’t take you long to decide, a firmness blossoming in the scope of your iris. a sense of finality.

”are you happy?”

despite everything, his breath hitches in his throat. the movement of his fingers halts.

your question comes out clear, candid, sincere. the look in your eyes makes him feel a little like he’s being devoured. vaguely aware of how his smile wavers, for just a split second, geto can only hope you don’t notice it — but he doubts you do, because you only continue to speak, unperturbed.

”i’m sure you’ve changed a lot, these past ten years. and i’m sure you’ve had more than enough time to convince yourself that you’re happy, even if you aren’t.” you bite your lip. ”i should’ve asked you this a long time ago. but now — i’m asking.”

geto’s eyes never leave your face.

”are you happy? are you genuinely satisfied with your life? are you happy with your choice?”

there’s something desperate in your eyes, now. something geto can’t look away from, despite himself. all he can do is touch the ceramic beneath his fingers, hot enough to burn, and listen to you speak.

”if… if you are, then —”

you take a deep breath, a sharp inhale that geto would mimic if he wasn’t dead set on maintaining his composure.

”— then i won’t get in the way. i’ll let you live your life the way you want to. just as long as that’s true.”

geto looks at you, smile nowhere to be seen. time itself seems to halt, in the space of your kitchen. the current center of the world.

he doesn’t dare to even breathe.

”… but,” your voice trembles. you stare intently at your own cup, surely beginning to grow lukewarm at this point. what a waste of good tea. ”if you aren’t happy, then —”

a pause. no one says a thing.

”then what?” geto spits. his voice comes out sounding just a tad sharp, cold like the frost outside your apartment. more so than he meant it to.

your pupils waver, before you lift your head to look at him. the resolution in your eyes makes his breath hitch. an unflinching kindness, one he can’t remember you ever not having.

”— then i’ll do whatever it takes to change that. no matter what.” a beat. “even if it makes you hate me.”

such immense honesty.

geto wonders why he came here, in the first place.

to declare war. was that his genuine desire, though? or was it just another excuse?

with satoru, he can pretend. with shoko, he can pretend. with himself, he can certainly pretend.

but with you?

his fingers leave the ceramic, eyes burning with a decision mirroring yours.

geto’s burned many bridges, in his life. but this particular bridge is one he’ll miss. the cinders that follow won’t keep him warm, that much he knows.

but in the face of such honesty — such genuine kindness — he couldn’t bear not to give you a serious answer.

(it’s the least he could do for you.)

”i am.”

a moment passes. the center of the world shifts.

”i’m happy with my choice.”

it was the only one worth making.

as they fall from his lips, the words taste heavy, absolute. in the light of a morning still yet to be broken by the passage of time, your eyes shift. for a moment geto wonders if you’ll close them. if you’ll give yourself that one relief.

you don’t.

instead, you bite your lip, eyes stubbornly never leaving his own. now you look a little angry, a little frustrated. he’s glad to see that flicker of fury directed at him, at last.

”but are you happy?” you persist, frustrated in a way that buzzes with kindness and concern. a way that makes him feel rather lost.

geto hears himself speak before he has a chance to think about his answer. the voice that comes out of his throat sounds oddly soft.

”that doesn’t matter.”

”it should.”

your reply is equally instantaneous. and geto feels a tremor run through his heart.

”are you happy, suguru?” you try again, pleading. that hope of yours is back, the hope that he’ll be honest just this once. sincere, even just for a syllable or two.

the clock on the wall ticks, hands moving methodically and cruelly, second by second. another moment of time burned to cinders. geto knows what must be done.

this mindless self-indulgence was nice, for a while. but geto has more bridges to burn. more wars to brew.

one final touch. that’s what he’ll give you, in return for your generosity. one final touch of tender honesty, even if it burns his tongue.

”i will be,” he exhales, breathless. ”once all this is over.”

then he gets up from his chair, the squeaking of wood against the floorboards signaling a parting. your eyes never leave his face, as he dusts off his robes absentmindedly, glancing at the half-finished cup on the table.

then geto smiles at you. there’s a fondness to it, one he’d only ever show you. his eyes crinkle, just barely, and the dark brown of his iris shifts into a mellow amber as sunlight cascades down the contours of his face. a genuine smile.

”thank you for the tea.”

there it is. your eyes soften, again, helplessly.

you aren’t satisfied. geto doubts you ever will be.

but you’ve always been the only one to tear yourself open, the only one to step into the abyss. geto has always admired it, just as much as he’s always found it foolish. not once has he ever followed suit.

things like honesty and tenderness don’t suit him. he doesn’t think they suit any sorcerer, except maybe for you.

at last, that grieving resignation finds its way to your eyes again. it doesn’t hurt him as much this time, perhaps because he was waiting for it.

”… you’re welcome,” you breathe. a sad little breath.

geto allows himself to look at you for just a moment more.

then he turns on his heel.

”well, this was nice,” he hums. ”but i really must be going now.”

pleasant and jovial. a voice unsuited for a situation like this. geto wonders if it hurts you as much as it hurts him.

rubbing salt into wounds is all he seems to do these days, anyhow. so he smiles. ”i’ll see you on the battlefield, i hope —”

”suguru.”

…

deep down, geto knows that there’s no going back from this. that the moment he moves his feet, the moment he leaves your apartment — the moment he steps over the threshold in front of him — he can never return.

your kitchen was never his to walk into, in the first place. he was never meant to set foot into your home. that was your choice. geto can’t help but think that it’s every bit as cruel as the one he made ten years ago.

your voice is the same as always. sad and fond. familiar, in how it twists and tugs at his heart in a way nothing else can anymore.

geto waits. he’ll let you have the final word. the final piece moved into place. checkmate.

he’ll let you be the one to devour that aching gap.

curse me, he whispers to the confines of his mind. resent me. i’ve caused you so much pain.

curse me yourself, so i can hate you properly.

”if you ever want another cup, i’ll be here.”

silence falls upon the kitchen.

geto stands still, feet rooted in the spot by the threshold separating the kitchen from the living room. the ticking of the clock is the only sound he hears.

there isn’t a trace of resentment in your voice.

(he wishes you would play along, even just once.)

a low hum buzzes in his throat. the seconds stretch on; more hands moved, more time burned into nothing. the silence is deafening, thick and heavy. an intense moment of contemplation, as geto tries not to shiver under the warmth of your constant gaze, burning into his back.

the center of the world shifts, once more. the gaze of fate falls upon the two of you, bathed in the rays of the rising sun, in a kitchen where normalcy is a little more than just a fever dream.

it doesn’t mean anything, anything at all.

geto knows it. he knows it better than anyone. but maybe he can allow this mindless self-indulgence to carry on, for just a little longer. if only to give him the excuse he needs to see you again, to stand in your kitchen like this, like the view of the rising sun is something he’s allowed to behold.

how greedy. how callous. hasn’t he always been, though?

just for a little bit longer.

”… you know,”

geto takes a step forward, robes fluttering with the movement, heavy and pious. he crosses the threshold, words just above a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear.

(in the space between the words, laced together with the silence, lies the ghost of a smile.)

”it’s been a while since i had earl grey.”

#something something geto being represented by a setting sun vs reader being represented by a rising sun…. u get the vibes.#this was supposed to be completely angsty but i got attached to the final line LOL. so now its just a tiiiiny bit hopeful #i mean hes still probably dying lets be honest but theres some room for interpretation if ur delulu like me #tbh the idea of geto continuing his genocidal agenda while casually having tea parties w/ reader on sundays is just.. INSANELY funny to me #every girlboss needs her selfcare day <3 #suguru geto #suguru geto x reader #geto angst #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader

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