#because THEY believe that the only thing that makes you a good person

[silkentine]

Wha--?! Silk finally finished her fem Zoro design after (checks notes) literally 6 months since she made the canvas in procreate?

I'll break down design thoughts and share some fun bonus pics under the cut:

I LOVE long hair on Zoro, I think that was the first change I wanted to implement. Zoro in canon actually has a really interesting relationship with gender dynamics which (if for some reason you're reading this and you haven't watched One Piece) can seem out of left field for the "dumb brute" character. His rivalry with and reverence for Kuina suggests he doesn't adhere to the idea that women are weaker than men. Later on, however, during his confrontation with Monet and Tashigi during Punk Hazard, his hesitation to slash her down reveals that he's subconsciously over-protective of women because he thinks they're inherently weaker. I actually don't have any problem with this character trait, I think it makes him feel more real as a person and he obviously gets shit-talked enough about it in the story itself. But how did I want to reflect these beliefs if Zoro had been born a woman? Easy: internalized misogyny and applying value to herself via her appearance.

My version of Zoro grew up wanting to fight with swords but her only chance of entering the dojo was to work under the proprietress, Lady Shimotsuki to maintain the property, cook meals for the male students, and eventually be a good wife to the current heir, Kuina. She learns that, to get what she wants, she must be the ideal woman, even if she stays up all night training swordsmanship with Kuina when she isn't supposed to. He treats her love for swordplay seriously and treats her like an equal, which sparks a bond between them and eventually leads to Zoro's goal of becoming the world's greatest swordsman after his sudden, accidental death.

After years of intense training (now that Lady Shimotsuki admits that she'll need a new heir and Zoro is the closest thing she has) Zoro's finally old enough to leave and begin her journey. She starts letting go of the idea that she has to look pulled together to be taken seriously because she can just kill anyone who looks down on her. Her clothing falls into disrepair, she wears outfits that help her move in combat, and she starts tossing her hair up into messy, knotted buns under her bandana. Even so, she keeps her hair long like rolling hills of grass. (At least during pre-timeskip. She lops off her hair to prove to Mihawk that she's serious about being trained.)

I've put her in a thin sweater that she stitches (poorly) back together after her first interaction with Mihawk. (I kept one sleeve because I was inspired by the santoryuu Nami that Oda drew that one time.) I also wanted to girl-ify the ubiquitous haramaki so I picked leg warmers for her because I think they're sufficiently "dated" enough to be kinda analogous with his old man belly warmer. I also love gyaru fashion, sue me.

Here is a screenshot of her as a blonde:

And here is a sketch of her post-timeskip where she's fully embraced her butch nature:

Hubba hubba, am I right?

Check out my tag "girl piece original design" to see more of my genderbending art! Next post, I'll put all my East Blue Crew designs together! I can't believe it's taken this long but I AM SO HAPPPPPYYYYY

[teaboot]

Growing up, how was your relationship with the fundamentals of conscious existence?

My earliest memory of what I would call self-awareness occurred spontaneously in the middle of my fourth birthday party, where I suddenly became alert to my existence as a separate entity surrounded by other conscious beings.

This presented to me as not dissimilar to simply being brushed along the flow of a river- experiencing life as a serious of flashbang moments and instants and sensations, like meditating to music until the individual notes break into sounds that follow no rhythm and are only noise- no past or future, only now- and then suddenly finding yourself holding a paddle in the belly of a boat with no idea what to do next.

I remember running to the body that felt safest, who I did not recognize as anything else, and asking it who all the strangers around us were. The person that I learned was my mother told me they were my aunties and uncles, and I was being silly because I KNEW them, and why was I so shy all of a sudden?

Learning to articulate myself after that instant, I remember, was immensely frustrating. Learning your first language, as I remember it, is wuite a bit like how Ive been told recovering from brain damage feels like.

YOU know what you mean. YOU know what you're saying. But there are holes where you reach for something you know MUST be there and find nothing, and must find a way to communicate using only what you have at hand. Except there are always faces looking at you, talking down to you, asking you to do tricks for them to prove you really are a real human person.

I loved art, and I'm very good at it, but GETTING good at it was the worst. I'm told I started with scribbles at six months or so, before I could walk, and at three and four I remember being immensely frustrated that I could see in my head exactly what I wanted to produce, and I didn't know how to PRODUCE it.

And simple shit, like drawing shapes and circles, developing fine motor skills. You FULLY UNDERSTAND THE ASSIGNMENT, but your hands are soft and wobbly and don't cooperate. Getting your mouth and body to obey your directions is hellish, especially when all the appliances and furniture and installations around you are built for someone easily triple your size.

Chairs are hard to sit in when you're small and cant touch the ground. Your legs dangle and you cant scoot closer to the table, and the backrest is so far back you cant use it for support, and the table comes up past your chest so your chin is amost in your plate and your dumb clumsy hands cant hold a big spoon or fork in a way that feels natural or elegant so you end up smearing shit EVERYWHERE and getting yapped at for having your elbows on the counter.

Reading people was interesting. Most people are condescending and plastic when you're small, and you can tell when they're being saccharine and fake, but you're told the polite thing is to believe what they say and be polite back. I used to try using big sentences on purpose just to het them to leave me alone. "What a pretty girl! Can you say Hello?" was the most common ask I can recall. Id answer with the floweriest thing I could think of, usually, "I'm very well, thank you for asking, how are you?", because people only ask you interesting questions after you do well enough on their tests to prove you're people.

Being small was very tiring, and very frustrating, and becoming aware of myself in my own head probably made everything a lot worse overall.

No regrets, though. From what I can recall, life is far more enjoyable when you're aware of it occurring. Time can't slow down until you know it's there, I think

Being a baby full of instincts felt like living as a live grenade. Being a child was far harder, but more Full. More Human. A LOT more like adulthood than infancy, and I was very determined to remember that.

If any of that makes sense

[amynchan]

Interests are fun and varied.

Hobbies are interesting and conversation starters.

"You don't understand me" is a conversation stopper that actively prevents others from getting to know and understand you as a person. It promotes self-isolation and keeps the cycle of misery going specifically for yourself.

Active, performative, and broadcasted disinterest due to a fear of how others will perceive you not only fails to achieve the effect you want (being cool and aloof) but has an additional bonus of alienating and shaming those who have that particular interest.

Diminishing others to gain points with an "in" crowd only secures friendships that are conditional at best and abusive at worst, and it alienates those you diminish with whom you could have found or made a good rapport with.

Believing and telling anyone who will listen that the entire world hates you and is against you often ignores what you, as a person, have contributed to a particular problem and avoids looking for a true solution. It is true that there are external factors that can affect you in a truly negative way. Not everything that happens is fair. However, when absolutely everything isn't your fault, or if you only accept blame in order to make yourself seem more tragic or to gather sympathy or support, you are not actively looking for a solution, and you will likely stay in your position for a long while yet.

Having stuffed animals is adorable and idc how old you are or what gender you are.

Trying new clothing styles, hair styles, hobbies, interests, and shows in a genuine effort to figure out what you, personally, enjoy is a timeless act that should never stop with your teenage years.

Hyping up your friends in sometimes cringe ways is always in-style. Looking at you, boys and men. Your goofiness is an inspiration to us all.

Basically, teenagers are in the social trenches trying to figure out who they are, what they like, who they fall in with, and what they believe. They do all of this while doing their damnedest to avoid getting hurt because getting hurt sucks. On that road, they pull some stupid shit, say awful things, make terrible decisions, and hurt themselves and others without recognizing the full impact that their words and actions can have. They are carving a place for themselves in this big, freaky world, and the tools they use to do it are both sharp and dangerous to themselves and those around them, especially the defensive tools they will use. Inevitably, they will hurt others. They will hurt themselves. And they will grow beyond it as stronger, more stable, more confident, more independent human beings. Like most of them want to be. Being a teen sucks, but it isn't forever.

As an adult, you have had time to get used to being in this big, freaky world. You have had the time to figure out emotional maturity and recognize the possible damage you can inflict on others. And if you haven't yet, then other adults will absolutely knock you right back on your ass until you figure it out.

you ever have situations that make you want to take people by the shoulders and go "you are not 15 any longer. this behavior is no longer quirky and cute. it is exhausting for you and everyone else to act like a teenager you haven't been in a decade or longer. knock it the fuck off"

[mononijikayu]

is it new years yet? — nanami kento.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now." "Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different." “My darling, behave.” “No <3” ".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

GENRE: alternate universe - no curses au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, secret coworker romance, co-workers to lovers, romance, fluff, nsfw, rated 18 and above, explicit content, kissing, making out, rough sex, fingering, creampie, p to v sex, stairwell sex, orgasm, humor, profanity, pet names (my darling, babe, etc), possessiveness, jealousy, characters speaking in sexual innuendo, mention of sexual euphemisms, depiction of explicit sexual content, actor! nanami kento, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 6k words.

NOTE: hello everyone, this is the first fic of 2025!!! this was specifically written because of a conversation between me and @midnight-138 on the afternoon of december 31st 2024. i started progress while on a bus on the way to my grandma's house and for a bit on the 1st. i still wanted to write more for it, but i had to stop because i caught a cold. i still have a cold. and i need a massage cause i feel my body hurt real bad, cause its working hard to save my life from this cold TT TT

but that being said, i shouldn't complain too much. good things have been happening to me despite my problems. i hope that good things continue to come!!! anyway, enough yapping, i hope you enjoy this little fic. happy 2025!!! may good things, good health and happiness come your way always this year!!!

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

IT WAS ALWAYS LIKE THIS WHEN YOU AND KENTO GET TOGETHER. But it was to be expected, since you graced the screens since you were a child. Nanami Kento was like that too. Of course, it wasn’t something of a brag at all. It was just your normal.

You were lucky, you were favored like that. Kento was favored just like that. Both of you were so beloved. And especially so, in a way that they end up hoping that you both were together. 

Ever since you worked with him on Jujutsu Kaisen all those years ago, it was just too strong — the chemistry between the two of you. It pulls people in for more. They wanted a story, they wanted something that could ease their days from the mundane boredom that it was to the fun, exhilarating excitement that comes with the tea in both of your private lives.

You didn’t mind, your company didn’t mind either. Neither did Kento or his side of the aisle. It helped that you were both good friends. You had met even before landing your roles on Jujutsu Kaisen, after all. So, the ‘will they, won’t they’ between the two of you really did help your careers.

But of course, just like in Gege–sensei’s scripts, some parts are sentences with too many blank pages. And the wholeness of your relationship with Nanami Kento truly only belonged to you and him. And you were not willing to expose it to the world. Not just yet.

Yet — this does not stop them from trying to do something about that.

The studio buzzed with activity as you adjusted the earpiece in your ear, stealing a quick glance at the veteran actor, singer, producer, writer and entertainment personality that is Nanami Kento.

He stood near the stage, his posture relaxed yet impossibly refined. Dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his tie a subtle but elegant shade of deep blue,everything about him just exuded a quiet confidence that made it hard for anyone to look away. 

You, however, knew better than to let your gaze linger too long. You knew too well that those are reserved for just him and you to interpret and to see. No one else should. You were as possessive about your private moments as he was. But you would never say that outloud and neither will he.

“Can you believe these two again?” a stagehand whispered slowly, behind you. It was still, of course, loud enough for you to hear. “It’s like they were made for this. If they don’t end up together after tonight, I’ll lose faith in love. Really!”

You bit back a laugh, focusing on your notes. No one knew the truth, after all. That you and Kento were already together had been for a while now. Not even your publicists or managers — hell, not even your entertainment companies, knew that this was for genuine actuality, a real thing now. But you and him liked it that way.

You had let your fans go wild with their theories over the years of course. Every post, every comment, every little interaction, every collaboration, every press tour — almost everything seemed to spark a new wave of speculation and fan shipping. 

For years now, the internet was rife with hashtags like #OurSecretLovers and #MrAndMrsNanami with fans pouring over every detail like it's an investigatory report they were doing, a documentary study. You had to admit, it was amusing at times, watching people try to connect dots they couldn’t see. 

Nanami Kento had a reputation for being rather serious, because he gets roles in that league often. But he was a silly little man, well your silly little man. And he often had the knack for finding the most random, yet oddly endearing, posts about the two of you on Twitter. During your five-minute breaks between shoots, when you were in separate rooms or on different sets, his messages would pop up on your phone, accompanied by a link and a deadpan caption.

"Apparently, we're #RelationshipGoals now."

"Some of them really think I write poetry about you during my lunch breaks, too. Not inaccurate, of course. But the thoughts I have of you are different."

“My darling, behave.”

“No <3”

".......In any case, my darling…..this one says I’m lucky to have you. Can’t argue with that."

You’d giggle to yourself, your shoulders shaking as you tried not to draw attention. It didn’t matter how serious the production you were working on either. He had a way of making you laugh even from miles away. And that relaxes you a lot.

When it was your turn, you’d send him TikToks. Fancam edits of the two of you together had exploded in popularity as of late, especially since you both played a married couple who were spies deceiving each other recently. People thought he looked so good, especially when he had his shirt off. You loved teasing him about it. After all, he was really pretty hot in those scenes. And if you were being honest, they did in fact rile you up.

"Look at us, babe." you texted once, attaching a video with dramatic lighting, a love song playing over clips of you two stolen from interviews and behind-the-scenes footage. "We’re icons."

His reply came almost immediately: "Icons, sure. But I’m just a guy who got lucky enough to be yours, you know?"

Those words made your heart swell every time. He’d always been effortlessly humble, never letting fame or admiration inflate his ego, even as his star rose. After all, you were the senpai here—the darling of the Japanese screen since childhood. 

You’d grown up in the industry, your name synonymous with household stardom. He, on the other hand, had been a late bloomer, starting as a teenager and building his career with quiet determination.

He never let the difference in your status get in the way, though. If anything, it only made him more in awe of you. He’d often remind you how much he admired your grace, how you’d navigated the pressures of fame with a poise that still left him speechless.

“You’ve been dazzling audiences since you were a kid.” he’d say, his voice warm with pride. “I’m just lucky to share the screen with you now and your life.”

And you’d roll your eyes playfully, nudging him with a smile. “Don’t sell yourself short, Kento. You’re a fan favorite for a reason.”

“Maybe.” he replied with a soft smirk. “But you’re my favorite. And that’s what matters.”

No matter how busy your schedules got, those small exchanges, be it a funny link or a sentimental text, every bit of this kept you connected. It reminded you both that beneath the glitz and glamour, what truly mattered was the quiet, enduring love you shared.

You were out of your bubble soon enough when Kento suddenly caught your eye from across the room, offering a small, reassuring smile and then a small gentle nod. You felt your cheeks turn red but lowered your head immediately before anyone was to notice. He was too good at making you feel like this. And certainly so, he was hiding his smirk under his cue cards.

“Alright, places, everyone!” the director called.

You finally stood up from your chair, taking a deep breath and calmed down. You gave yourself one more look in the mirror, trying to make sure that your cheeks were natural now. When you felt like it was, you smiled at your manager who handed you the mic and swiftly thanked them. You went to your position. Kento soon approached, his footsteps purposeful but unhurried. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and calm.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” you replied, flashing him a smile.

You were grateful for the reassurance. Even if you were already such a big name, you still did get nervous. And even more so, with such a big show like this — the New Year Countdown, of course you could feel yourself slipping.

The two of you took your positions on stage as the lights dimmed and the opening music swelled. His fingers brushed against yours briefly as he fixed himself up, your pinkies touching. Even briefly, you could feel the warmth. He did that on purpose. You could see it in his caramel eyes. 

You let a brief smile echo on your lips. You gathered yourself as the lift came up slowly. When you both were in the sight of the gathered audiences and the cameras started to broadcast it all live, you both slipped effortlessly into your roles. After all, you both were professionals.

“Good evening, everyone, and welcome to this year’s New Year’s Eve Countdown!” you began, your voice bright and enthusiastic.

“Thank you for joining us as we bid farewell to the old year and welcome the new.” Kento added, his tone smooth and polished.

Your banter flowed naturally, as always. That well beloved chemistry between you is still ever so undeniable. It was easy to fall into a rhythm with him; he was your partner in every sense of the word. And that made your job tonight a little bit easier.

But of course, the real challenge was hiding the little moments that threatened to give you away that bit you kept so dear to you. You just can't help it when it comes to him. He has such a powerful pull on you and he knows it.

There were those little lingering glances, watching and feeling the way his fingers brushed yours when you handed him a card, the subtle softness in his smile when he looked at you. After all, this is the longest you could be together in your very busy schedules this year.

Still, you kept yourself in that cage. And so did he, despite his lack of patience when it comes to you and everything about you. As the night progressed, the energy in the studio grew electric.

Various music performances lit up the stage, and interviews with special guests kept the crowd engaged. Throughout it all, you and Kento remained the perfect duo—professional, poised, and completely in sync.

After nearly a few hours of composure, it came almost all too suddenly. In just a few moments, the final countdown approached, and the excitement was palpable. The two of you stood at the center of the stage, along with the other participants for this year’s event. In front of you, the crowd behind you cheering wildly, waiting excitedly for the new year.

“Here we go!” you said, your voice barely audible over the noise.

Kento leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You’re doing great, darling..”

Your heart fluttered, but you kept your composure. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself, babe.”

The countdown soon began.

You took a breath, looking at the screen.

You held your cue cards tightly to you.

“Ten! Nine! Eight!”

The lights soon dimmed, and the giant screen behind you displayed the numbers as they ticked down. The crowd’s voices grew louder with each second. The emotions coming through you were indescribable. Another year had gone by. But he was still by your side, like this. And all you could pray for as the time passed into a new age — that you would always be together.

“Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!”

Confetti soon rained down, and the studio erupted in cheers. You turned toward Kento, and for a fleeting moment, the world around you disappeared. The look in his caramel eyes was unmistakable—warm, tender, and filled with a quiet pride that made your chest tighten.

But just as quickly, the moment passed, and you both turned back to the crowd, waving and smiling as the cameras captured every angle. People of course started to pay less attention to you both and the stage and more onto the fireworks now blurring the sky with its bright hues. You and Kento made a steady exit off the stage. 

“Another successful project, isn’t it?” you said, breaking the silence as you leaned against the wall.

Kento smirked faintly, unbuttoning the top of his shirt to loosen his tie. “They’ll be talking about this for weeks, you know?”

“And shipping us even harder, hm.” you added with a laugh.

“They’ll never know, though.” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You stepped closer, your hand finding his. His fingers intertwined with yours, the simple gesture grounding you in a way nothing else could. “They don’t need to, babe.” you whispered, meeting his gaze. “This is ours.”

Kento’s lips curved into the faintest smile as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Happy New Year, my darling.”

“Happy New Year.” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

You had thought it would end there, sweet and innocent. You had thought you both were safe for one more year. But when you two are together after a long time…..it was a whole new animal. And nothing can stop such a wave in high tide from occupying something whole. 

The next tithing you know is that the internet exploded the moment the photos dropped. Headlines blared across every platform, hashtags like #FINALLYOMG and #NewYearNewScandal trending within minutes after they were taken.

The pictures were pretty damning. They were blurry but unmistakably you, disheveled and wrapped in Nanami’s coat, your hair a mess. And him? A rare sight indeed.

It was none other than Nanami Kento, usually the epitome of composure, looking uncharacteristically undone. His tie was loose, his shirt wrinkled, and the telltale bruises blooming on his neck left little to the imagination.

You groaned, tossing your phone onto the coffee table as you buried your face in your hands. Beside you, Kento sat unbothered, calmly sipping his tea like the world wasn’t on fire—or at least your career’s PR team.

“I told you we should’ve been more careful, babe.” you muttered, your voice muffled by your palms.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quivering into a teasing smile. “You were the one who couldn’t wait with it, y'know?” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with an elegant clink.

His tone was infuriatingly calm, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. “Who was it again, begging me to fill you up? By round two, you were going—‘Kento, I need you. Right here. Right now.’ and I was happy to heed the request like always.”

Your scarlet blush was immediate, your head snapping up to glare at him. “Kento!” you hissed, glancing around the living room as if someone could overhear, even though it was just the two of you. “Not helping!”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs with the air of a man thoroughly enjoying himself. “I’m just stating the facts about, I'm the same.” he said with a shrug, his smirk widening as you shot him another flustered look. "That's not a bad thing."

Your phone buzzed again on the table, your manager’s name flashing on the screen. You sighed, picking it up only to immediately huff and toss it back down. “This is really…” you trailed off, searching for the right word but settling on a frustrated groan instead.

“Chaotic? Consequential? Hilarious?” Kento offered, his voice laced with mock innocence.

You shot him a glare that was far more affectionate than threatening. “Horrible. That’s the word. This is horrible.”

He chuckled, reaching over to rest a comforting hand on your knee. “Darling, it’s not the end of the world. Scandal or not, we’ll deal with it.”

“Easy for you to say.” you grumbled, crossing your arms. “Your team probably thinks this is great publicity for your brooding, mysterious heartthrob image. Meanwhile, I’m the one getting texts about how unprofessional it looks for ‘Japan’s sweetheart’ to be caught sneaking around with hickeys and wearing her boyfriend’s coat.”

“Unprofessional?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “It’s not like we committed a crime. We’re adults in a committed relationship. And in any case my darling....….” he added, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “You look adorable in my coat.”

Despite yourself, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me. Very much." he quipped, leaning over to steal a quick kiss from your lips.

You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, instead letting your head fall onto his shoulder with a sigh. “Next time, though….really.....” you muttered. “We’re finding a stairwell without photographer cameras.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Noted.”

As you leaned against your lover, the memory hit you both like a freight train, vivid and unrelenting. It had started innocently enough—or as innocently as it could between the two of you. The countdown show had gone off without a hitch, and the studio was still buzzing with post-show chaos. 

You both talked for a bit, had a cute moment and then went back to your professional mode when everyone started to surround you both again. It was like a switch, and it was easy. No one suspected a thing.

You went ahead into the dressing room, you talked with everyone. You’d been polite and professional, thanking the crew and chatting with some of the guests. But the moment Nanami Kento had caught your eye as you left the green room, something in his caramel gaze had made your pulse quicken.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks. Between his packed schedule and yours, the countdown project had been the only excuse to be in the same room together. The public facade you maintained only added to the frustration. Every fleeting touch, every shared look—it all built up, an unbearable tension neither of you could ignore.

So, when he’d quietly grabbed your hand and guided you down a quiet, rarely-used stairwell in the building when no one was looking, you hadn’t protested. You were excited, happy even. This was the chance to feel him again this close to you. 

And you were glad for that opportunity. You could feel his touch be so genuine and warm despite the heavy chill in the air, and the firm grip of his fingers around yours sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine.

“Darling, I missed you, really.” he murmured as soon as you were alone.

His voice low and rough, filled with a longing that made your knees weak. His hands cupped your face with a reverence that always left you breathless, his thumb brushing softly against your cheek as he leaned in. The kiss was searing, his lips melding with yours as though it had been an eternity since your last stolen moment together.

The cold winter air bit at your exposed skin, but his touch set you alight. His coat had slipped from his shoulders in a quiet, unspoken gesture, draped over yours as his lips moved to your neck. The kisses were hot, open-mouthed, and deliberate, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin before his teeth grazed your pulse.

“Kento, babe….” you gasped, your voice trembling from a mix of the frigid air and the heat of his attention. Your fingers clutched the lapels of his suit, trying to ground yourself against the onslaught of sensations.

“Shh, just enjoy it......” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. 

His hands slid down your sides, firm but gentle as they gripped your thighs. Without hesitation, he lifted you effortlessly, pressing your back against the wall. The rough texture scraped against your coat, but you barely noticed, too focused on the way his body pressed into yours.

His strength always caught you off guard, even after all this time together. Your eager legs wrapped instinctively around his waist, your heels digging into his lower back. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you open as he stepped between them, his body fitting against yours like a missing piece.

“Babe!” you breathed again, the sound barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

He kissed you like a man starved, his lips leaving your neck to reclaim your mouth. The intensity of it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you dizzy and clinging to him. He was hungry, perhaps even more than you were. But you had expected that. He has a habit of yearning to touch you a lot.

“I hate not being able to touch you, with all the schedules we fucking had.” he muttered against your skin, the words tinged with frustration and longing. “Hated every fucking minute of it……”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, the silky strands slipping through your fingers as you tugged him closer. “Then don’t stop, babe.” you whispered, the plea soft but desperate. “Cause….I need you badly too. I need you so bad in me—”

He growled softly, the sound rumbling against your throat as his touch shifted. One hand remained steady on your thigh, holding you firmly in place, while the other slid beneath the hem of your dress. His fingers were deliberate, pushing aside the delicate lace of your panties with practiced ease.

When his fingers slipped through your slick folds, a gasp escaped your lips, your head falling back against the wall. He groaned softly, the sound low and satisfied as he gathered your arousal, his touch teasing and unhurried.

“You’re already so ready for me, aren’t you, my darling?” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as his fingers moved with precision, finding the spot that made you arch into him.

The cold air around you was a stark contrast to the heat building between you, the quiet of the stairwell broken only by your uneven breaths and his whispered praises. It was reckless, indulgent, and utterly intoxicating—just like him.

“Kento, babe….oh!” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his fingers continued their unrelenting rhythm. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as waves of pleasure began to build within you.

“Shh, darling.” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear before trailing back to your neck. His voice was low and soothing, laced with a quiet intensity that only made your pulse race faster. “You’ll have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nodded frantically, biting your lip to stifle the moan threatening to escape as he added a second finger. The stretch was delicious, his movements slow and deliberate, coaxing you higher with every stroke. His thumb brushed over your sensitive bud, and your thighs instinctively clenched around his waist.

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your skin. “That’s my good little lover, hm? My only beloved darling.” he murmured, his praise sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through you. “So perfect for me.”

Your fingers slid up into his messy blond hair, tugging gently as your body arched against him. The rough texture of the wall behind you was a sharp contrast to the soft warmth of his touch, grounding you as he pushed you closer to the edge.

“Kento, please, b–babe….oh!” you breathed, the words barely audible as your head tilted back, exposing more of your neck to his eager lips. “M–more…..more!”

He hummed in response, the sound vibrating against your skin. “So impatient, aren’t you? Greedy too.” he teased, though his fingers quickened their pace, curling just right to hit the spot that made your breath hitch. “I missed seeing you like this, so needy for me.”

The heat pooling in your core intensified, your body trembling as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. “I’m—” you began, but the words dissolved into a strangled gasp as he pressed his thumb harder against your sensitive nub.

“That’s it, pretty for me, so fucking pretty." He says, coaxing you like a pied piper. His voice was low and intoxicating. Everything about it just burns you as much as his touch did. "I’ve got you. Always.”

With one final stroke, the beautiful echo, that blossoming coil inside you just snapped, pleasure crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your body tensed, your thighs tightening around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder to muffle the cry that escaped your lips.

He held you through it, his fingers slowing their movements as your body shook with aftershocks. His other hand slid up to cradle the back of your head, his lips pressing soothing kisses against your temple.

When you finally relaxed, your breaths coming in shallow gasps, he pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were soft, his gaze filled with a mixture of adoration and satisfaction that made your chest tighten.

“Better?” he asked, his tone light but tinged with affection.

You nodded, still too dazed to form words. He chuckled, adjusting his hold on you as he gently set you back on your feet. Your legs wobbled like jello against him, and he immediately steadied you, his hands firm but gentle on your waist.

“Careful, darling.” he murmured, his brow furrowing in concern. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, babe.” you managed, your voice breathless but steady. “More than fine.”

His lips quivered into a soft smile, and he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. “Good.”

As the reality of your surroundings sank back in, you couldn’t help but glance around, the abandoned stairwell suddenly feeling far less private. “We should… probably get back, babe.” you said, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “It’s getting pretty late.”

He followed your gaze, his expression calm and unbothered. “Let them wonder where we went.” he said simply, shrugging off the concern as he adjusted his coat around your shoulders. "It's none of their business."

You opened your mouth to protest, but the mischievous glint in his eyes stopped you cold. He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, “After all… I’m not done with you yet.”

Your breath hitched, and before you could respond, he was guiding you gently back against the wall. His lips found yours again, this time slower, deeper, igniting the fire he’d only begun to stoke. His hands trailed down your sides, their warmth chasing away the chill of the stairwell as he pressed his body firmly against yours.

“Kento, babe.” you murmured, a weak attempt to regain your composure, but he silenced you with a kiss that left no room for argument. 

“I missed you, a damn whole lot.” he said, his voice low and filled with longing as his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you effortlessly once more. "Like I always do."

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heart pounding as the desire you’d both tried to suppress flared back to life. He pressed against you, the hardness of his arousal undeniable even through the fabric of his pants. The teasing grind of his hips against yours drew a gasp from your lips, and he smirked, his composure slipping just enough to show his need.

"Really....." Kento effortlessly whispered to you, his voice vibrating onto you like a wave crashing onto you at sea. "We shouldn't schedule much this New Year, hm? So we can be together."

"Hm.....Kento." You echo back to him, intoxicated by his touch. "'ake time....for me, okay? I'll.....I'll do the same."

“That's the plan already, you know?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he shifted, his hands tugging at the barriers between you. “Let me take care of you, like I always do.”

Soon after that, you could feel the wet, thick head of his member pressed against your entrance, the heat and pressure stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasped as he began to push in slowly, his movements deliberate, almost reverent.

It was too good, too damn easy to fall into a high to. You could feel the stretch inside of you, it made you so full. Everything about it was intoxicating, your body yielding to him as he filled you inch by inch, your walls clinging to every part of him like he was made to fit. 

It was like he was trying to make a home inside of it. Inside of you. And it just made you feel so good. A deep, guttural groan rumbled in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he buried himself deeper.

“Darling.” he muttered, his voice strained and low. “You feel so perfect.”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support as your body adjusted to the delicious fullness. The sensation was overwhelming, the slight ache quickly giving way to a heat that spread through your entire body.

“Kento.” you breathed, the sound a mix of plea and surrender.

His large hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he pulled back slightly before thrusting forward again, the motion slow but unyielding. Each movement sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, and the friction only made you crave more.

“God, this is so…..you feel so good.” he groaned, his voice rough and filled with need. “You’re so tight. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go slow like this with you.”

“Don’t, babe.” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders. “Don’t hold back.”

His carmel eyes darkened almost instantly at your words, a flicker of something primal overtaking his usual control. With a growl, he began to move in earnest, each thrust deeper and harder than the last. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the stairwell, a symphony of shared desire that neither of you could hold back.

The rough texture of the wall behind you only heightened the sensation, grounding you as he took you apart piece by piece. You could feel your back burn against the concrete wall as you throw your head back against it. His lips found yours in a searing kiss, his tongue claiming your mouth as thoroughly as his body claimed yours.

“Darling, my pretty baby darling.” he murmured against your lips, his voice ragged and desperate. “You’re mine. Always mine.”

“Yes, babe. Yours….O–oh…only! Only yours!” you managed to gasp, your head tilting back as he kissed along your throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. 

The coil in your core once more tightens with every spark you feel as he pushes deeper over and over in a fast pace. Everything about the pleasure you feel keeps building to an almost unbearable peak. It just felt too good. He felt too good.

His pace quickened, his breaths coming in harsh pants as his control began to slip. One hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your sensitive nub and rubbing it in quick, precise circles.

You cried out, your body arching into him as the tension finally snapped. Pleasure crashed over you in waves, your walls clenching tightly around him as your release tore through you.

“Fuck, fuck. I’m close!” he groaned, his movements becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With one final, deep thrust, he shuddered against you, his body going taut as he spilled himself inside you.

For a moment, the only sound was your shared, labored breathing, the intimacy of the moment wrapping around you like a cocoon. His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle as they smoothed over your thighs and waist, grounding you both.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his voice filled with concern despite the lingering haze of pleasure in his eyes.

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “More than okay.”

He chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gently setting you back on your feet. His hands remained steady on your waist, holding you as your legs wobbled beneath you. You leaned into him, your breath uneven, your body still humming from the intensity of what had just transpired.

But that wasn’t the end of it, of course. 

The hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded, and neither had yours. The raw desire that simmered between you was far from sated, and you both knew it. Kento’s hands lingered, his thumbs brushing soft, teasing circles against your hips as he studied your flushed face. 

“I just think that I…..” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I still want more.”

You barely had time to process his words before your lover’s lips were on yours again, roughly consuming you in a kiss that was as demanding as it was all encompassing. Your hands quickly found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer to you. Your body instinctively responds to the magnetic pull of his, over and over.

“We shouldn’t…” you whispered between kisses, though your voice lacked conviction. “It’s going to make people suspicious.”

“Probably not.” he agreed, his smirk returning as his hands slipped under the hem of your dress, trailing up your thighs. “But repercussions are damned when we’re hungry. I can’t stop. I know you won’t too..”

The wall pressed against your back once more as he claimed you all over again, the cool stairwell air doing nothing to cool the fire that raged between you. It was reckless, but neither of you cared. Not here, not now. Hunger demanded to be fed, and with Nanami Kento, you were always insatiable.

After a while, you were both removed from the plane of normalcy and you were both panting with joyous weariness. He presses a kiss against your jaw as you keep a steady bite on his neck. He grumbles against you as he gathers himself from seeing stars. You follow him soon after. You released his neck and started kissing his lips once more. 

When you both found yourself satisfied, you both started to make yourselves as presentable as possible. Well, at least what remains presentable and salvageable for both of you. Kento ripped too much of your outfit as much as you did. Still, you both did not care. 

“We should get you cleaned up.” he murmured, his tone tender as he placed his coat on your shoulders and adjusted it tenderly on you, to keep you warm. “I’ll call my car and then we’ll just hop in there. We’ll go to my hotel, okay?”

You nodded again, your cheeks flushing as the reality of your surroundings began to sink in. But as he laced his fingers with yours and led you back toward the main building, you couldn’t help but feel a warm glow of contentment.

Of course, things too did not go the way you both wanted once again. You didn’t know that there were many SNS photographers  and gossip journalists waiting to catch some other celebrity in that area where Kento’s car was going to be. And that’s just how you were caught, not thinking about the logistics of it all. 

But how could you? It was New Years. 

You just got mindlessly blown with really, really, really good sex.

And you were together once again with your lover.

How could you think about anything else after all that? 

Now, back in the present, the two of you sat in the quiet of your shared apartment. Nanami Kento’s calm demeanor was a stark contrast to your frazzled nerves. You sighed, looking up to your lover who presses a kiss on your forehead.

“You know this is going to be everywhere, babe.” you said, gesturing toward your phone.

He set his tea down and leaned back, regarding you with a look of quiet amusement. “Let them talk, darling. It was bound to happen eventually.”

You groaned. “Eventually I didn't need to include hickeys and a ruined coat. And oh god….. was I leaking your cum?” 

You took your phone once again to inspect, but your lover took your phone with his free hand and put it away. You looked at him, almost sulky as one would look as a child. He laughs. He presses another kiss on your hair. Kento couldn’t help but smirk. Both acts had made your heart skip a beat. 

“You look good in my coat though. I could hardly care if my cum was dripping out, darling.” he said simply. “I’m pretty sure I look just as ridiculous. You mauled my neck so happily after that first round.”

“You  do look like you’ve been ravaged.” you shot back, though your cheeks burned at the memory. “I mean, it made sense at the time….I was hungry.”

“Hm, I don’t blame you.”

You sighed. “We’ll contact our PR and everyone later, okay?”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Hm.”  he said softly, his voice filled with the steady reassurance you’d always loved about him. “We’ll be fine, okay? I don’t care as long as I am with you.”

You sighed, leaning into his warm touch. “I guess the secret’s out, huh?”

He nodded, his gaze warm. “I don’t mind. As long as we're happy together, I say let them say whatever they want.”

You blinked at him. “You think so?”

“Hm.” He smiles at you. “Because no one will truly know who you are to me. That’s only mine. They’ll have a headline, but I’ll have the whole spreadsheet.”

You feel like your heart is melting with his tenderness. “I love you. So so much.”

“I love you too.” He kisses your lips, smiling wider at you.

And just like that, the storm outside felt a little less overwhelming.

[zyafics]

ANGRY GOD | 02

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — S2!Rafe Cameron x (F)Reader

Summary — Rafe always struggled with being the only person in his head. When he meets you on the balcony of Tannyhill, everything changes. As sweet and kind as you appear to be, you turn out to be a reflection of Rafe and his dark thoughts. A burnt soul. A perfect companion. But as much as he wants you, as much as you deserve each other, something stands in the way: your relationship with JJ.

Content — angst, suggestive themes, cheating (not on each other), minor blood kink, rafe does coke, reader smokes cigarettes, toxic dynamic, obsessive and psychopathic behavior, and subtle dubcon.

Word Count — 3.9K

lıllılı Deja Vu and She's Mine Pt. 1 by J Cole

Dedication — to @cybersunnie who read it first and gave me lovely feedback, ily my southeast asian bestie <3

Rafe looks for you everywhere.

Ever since that fateful night, he had searched every room and crowd for a glimpse of your face. Most times, he doesn't find what he's looking for, and a lump of frustration curls up his throat. A wasted effort, he tells himself, to look for someone who isn't his, but he does it anyway.

He's never been good at letting go of things that belonged to him.

Tonight's bonfire is on the beach. The firepit is surrounded by keggers lined neatly along the edges, and the salty tang of driftwood smoke hangs in the air. Flickering embers roared to the sky, while the drunken crowd moved in scattered clusters, their laughter coalescing with the music as they stumble over their steps. Rafe can't help but scoff at the very sight.

He had snorted a couple of lines before his arrival. Nothing calms him down quicker than strips of white powder that substitute for dopamine, but it still isn't quite the replacement he's looking for. It may make him feel lighter, unable to feel the depth of his soul sinking like an anchor to the bottom of the ocean floor, but it's ineffective. Riffled with the knowledge that there's something better for him out in the world, something that mirrors the use of a drug, something that can save him.

You.

Rafe sips on the beer he's been nursing for the past half-hour—coke and liquor are a hangover's bitch—and his eyes survey the mass of people in futile efforts. Everyone has arrived, including those Pogue friends of yours, but there are still no traces of you. Once again, Rafe believes that you've decided to forgo the invite to forget him.

Until he finds you off in the distance.

In the corner of the world, sitting on the shore and counting waves, with your legs drawn to your chest and your arms draped across your knees. Parties have always been a troublesome endeavor for you, rekindling old memories you want nothing more than to forget, but you always find yourself succumbing to one. It's a nasty habit you're unable to break.

You had slipped away—from the masses, from your friends, from JJ—for some peace on the edge of the earth. No one seems to have noticed your missing presence. At least, that's what you believe.

Something settles at your side, darkening your solace with its thick presence, and you turn to discover Rafe. He sinks into the empty space beside you, cold brew in hand, and refuses to meet your gaze. Your heartbeat skips, alarm bells activating and cautioning you to leave, but you choose to stay.

Silence engulfs the air and despite the heavy bass reverberating through the air and the flurries of chatters from Kooks and Pogues alike, none of that seems to matter. As always, with Rafe, it feels like you two are the only people remaining on Earth, spinning on its axis, waiting.

It isn't like this with anyone else.

"You've been ignoring me," Rafe announces flatly. His stare set to the horizon of the coastline, watching waves flatten into the salt-soaked sand inches away from his feet.

"I haven't," you defend, a little too quickly, wincing at the projection of your voice. "We just haven't been going to the same places."

He scoffs dryly, "Because you've been ignoring me."

You shake your head softly, but Rafe doesn't acknowledge the gesture. You doubt he cares. It mirrors you in that aspect, knowing exactly how his mind behaves—believing his version of events to be the only correct reality. Nothing you do, or say, will change it.

It's hard to talk to someone who's stubborn.

It's worse when the person knows you too well.

Because in some ways, he's right. Several invitations to various functions have been sent, but you've opted out of attending any of them. Partly because you don't want to be in that environment. Mostly because you're afraid of facing Rafe. You had assumed it'd be an easy facade to maintain—just as the rest of your friends suspected you simply weren't into parties—but Rafe sees directly through you, like glass.

He resists the urge to look at you. Fearing if he does, he'll never stop. It isn't enough for him to be within your proximity, he wants to have you, and it's a debilitating feeling to know he can't. Blood coats his senses, and he realizes he bite his tongue too hard.

Yet, he feels the heat of your stare on his profile. Your eyes sweep over every feature, every twitch of muscle as if you're committing to memory the days you haven't seen him. Pride finds him in that regard—to know he consumes your thoughts as much as you consumed him.

He begs to be wanted.

He wants you to beg for him.

"Your bruises are healing nicely," you say softly, admiring the faded damning colors of his assault to the healing yellows that smother his skin. "That's good."

His resolve breaks and Rafe turns. The corner of his lips lifts. "You would care, wouldn't you?"

You blink in surprise, but Rafe takes it as some protest of resilience. You won't admit it, as much as you want him, as much as you need him, and the anguish seeps into his bones. unable to detangle itself from skin. "Of course I do," you stutter a reply, "I patched you up."

"But it isn't the only reason," he presses, "Is it?"

His eyes meet yours, and it rivals the first look he's ever given you. Full of scorn and disdain, Rafe had once wanted nothing more than you to be out of his sight. Now, he can't have enough of it.

It evokes honesty in you. "It isn't."

Rafe grins, taking any small victory as a celebration.

You can't take it, deciding to break contact to reach into the pockets of your shorts. You fish out the lighter and a small box of cigarettes before torching the end of the stick and inhaling a sharp breath. Nicotine slithers into your system, calming your raging nerves.

Rafe watches with amusement. He had always hated a woman who smokes. It was unorthodox, dirty, and not someone he sees himself with. But when he watches the way the puff of smoke exits your lips, the calamity smoothening your features, he's never wanted to kiss you more.

“You smoke?” Rafe asks as you lower the cigarette to your side. The butt of the blunt brushes against the grains of sand.

“Yeah.” You say timidly. “It’s a bad habit I can’t break.”

"Interesting."

"What?"

"Didn't take you as a smoker," Rafe confesses, but something in his statement reeks of judgment. As much as you hate the need to be validated by others, something about Rafe leaves you desiring acceptance.

You scramble to form an excuse. “I only do it when I’m nervous.”

“I make you nervous?”

You don't respond, but you're sure the split-second expression on your face revealed it all. Pressing your lips together, you rip your gaze from Rafe to look back to the ocean currents, raging and coursing through the tides as if a storm is brewing. You hoped this respite would dissolve the tension in the air, but it doesn't.

Thick and hot, you can't decide if it's the heat of the firepit against your backside or the idea of Rafe's close—too close—proximity to you. Your truth. The persona you've carefully crafted on the verge of collapsing.

Rafe finally understands why you don't go to parties. Even if you don't explicitly state it; it's him. The way he can read you, understand you, and make you feel. A parallel of himself in you that feels like a reflection against a pond. It scares you. It terrifies him. Yet he can't get enough of it.

You clear your throat, taking another puff of your cigarette, before returning your gaze back to him. "You left your own party again."

Is this what you want to talk about? Rafe would rather push past the small talk, but he entertains it nonetheless. At least it's something to keep you close. "It's not my party."

"Right." You hum, inhaling a nicotine-saturated breath that hisses and chars the end of the blunt. "But you left it all the same. Shouldn't you be with your friends?"

"I could ask the same about you."

"I asked you first."

"Is that how you want to play it?"

Rafe cocks his head in challenge, armed with the mockery and condescension of his dripping tone. But it's not aimed at you, but rather for you. A provocation that asks: one of us is lying here, who will it be?

"You're baiting me," you announce, digging the burnt end of the cigarette into the sand to extinguish it. "It's not going to work."

Rather than take offense from your blatant callout, he scoffs out a smirk. His perfect teeth glistened underneath the moonlight, which can almost be read as fangs.

"Smart girl too," he muses, more to himself than you, before taking a swing of his beer. Directing his line of vision towards the darkened horizon, you watch him swallow with a bob of his Adam's apple. "I was looking for you."

"Me?" You repeat. "Why would you be looking for me?"

"Don't act dumb, princess. It's not cute."

Silence stretches among you, and the only soothing sound of this moment is the cascades of water meeting sand. Your heart doubles its tempo, reconciling with Rafe's words before he pierces the quietude with another confession. "They don't care."

This time, you don't play dumb. You know exactly what he's referring to. Rafe made a bold accusation that his friends don't care about him, and you have a sneaking suspicion that he is right.

From what you heard from your own group, no one is friends with Rafe. Not really. All they want is to get out of his way, to avoid being the receiving end of his wrath. Rapport is the closest method towards that settlement. A falsehood for security. He had come to the bitter realization on his own; that no one is real with him except you.

You don't take the time to be frivolous and reassure him with meaningless consolation. You cut straight to the chase.

"Then why come?" You ask, not knowing if he'll respond. But what you don't know is Rafe would answer almost anything if it came from you. "Why attend something when none of these people care about you?"

The instantaneous reply is a howling wind from the ocean, breezing over your skin and raising goosebumps on your arms. But you remain still. Unsure if Rafe will answer, you wait until he admits, "It's better than being alone."

All the air leaves your lungs.

Your heart pumps like it's about to burst.

Because Rafe confirms what you’re thinking.

And you feel the same way.

You're certain you're in an exact predicament but you don't have the courage to voice it. The Pogues only tolerate you because you're in this relationship with JJ, but you have a sinking feeling that it's just the novelty. Something short and fleeting. Something false.

You entered it under the assumption that JJ understood you—a burnt soul recognizing a companion. But that's proven to be completely untrue. JJ may have faced hardships, but his entire network is built on camaraderie. You never had that. Neither did Rafe.

Maybe that's why you gravitate towards him.

Maybe that's why you're afraid.

"Why are you here?" Rafe prompts, turning the spotlight back onto you.

You lick your lips, suddenly dry. "The Pogues invited—"

"No, don't give me that bullshit," he snaps, but his tone lacks the bite. All it demands is truth. "I mean, why did you come this time? You've been avoiding me for a reason."

You scoff. "You know."

A cruel smirk carves the corner of his mouth, framed with an innocent dimple. "I want to hear you say it."

"And if I don't?"

"Then you're a liar, princess. Just like all of them."

Fire ignites in your chest by his accusation, reminding you closely of that night at Tannyhill, and your hands squeeze into tight fists. Sucking on the inside of your cheek, and licking the residual nicotine sticking to your gums, give you a minor boost of confidence. "I thought if I didn't, they'd stop inviting me."

You exhale a blow of air, similar to your cigarette, but a heavy weight lifts off your chest. You don't turn to meet Rafe's eyes, but you feel the heat of his stare.

Rafe grins, self-satisfaction ripples through his features in unparalleled triumph. "Just like me."

"Don't be a dick," you declare.

"I'm not trying to." He says. "It's just ironic."

"Ironic how?"

He takes a second to answer, lingering on the moment by sipping on the rim of his beer, letting a slow, singular drop fall from the corner of his mouth. "Because every party I've seen you at, you're always escaping it."

You shrink under this observation, nails buried into the sand to find grounding. "I needed a break."

"All the time?" He taunts.

You say absolutely nothing. And Rafe chuckles dryly. "The girl who always leaves the party. The boy who needs it. We'll make a good couple."

You lift your head. "Is that your criteria for a relationship?"

"No. But I'll take any excuse to have you."

Your breath stutters in your throat. From your previous interaction with Rafe, you concluded that he cuts through the drivel. But it's different this time around. Now, it riffled with the knowledge of knowing you, of wanting you.

Rafe always had a single-minded ambition, the type to chase after his goal until he captured it within the palm of his hand. That's you to him.

Morals be damned. As long as he has you.

To be wanted like that terrifies you. With your heart palpitating in your chest, you feel the urge to rebuild your walls. To add that familiar and safe space between you and him. "Rafe..." You trail off in warning.

Instantaneously, as if he can read you, he knows why.

Frowning, Rafe says, "Hm. Forget you're with Maybank."

You don't think that's entirely true.

"I should get back," to him, but that part remains unspoken.

Rising from your seat, you dust off the sheen coat of sand under your thighs before motioning to leave. But Rafe snatches your wrist. His grip is firm but loose enough for you to slip out, only begging you not to.

You look down, however Rafe refuses to meet your gaze. In fact, he avoids it, opting for the dark coastline that rivals the turbulent feeling in his chest. "Why are you with him?" He whispers against the wind, his tone seeping with vulnerability. "Why are you with him when you can be with me?"

You don't know how to answer that. "He was nice to me."

"I can be nice to you."

You shake your head. "It's not the same."

"Why not?" Rafe asks wretchedly, lifting his head to finally meet your gaze and you read how broken he truly is. Your chest tightens. His icy blue eyes warmed with desperation, and his grip around your wrist tightens, like a beggar seeking approval.

For a moment, you considered lying. It's the easiest way out. But there's no one here but the two of you. No one to perform to. No one but an audience who knows you soul-deep. How do you lie out of this one?

"I think you need me," you whisper. "I don't know how to be needed like that."

If you were anyone else, he'd feel insulted. To insulate he needs someone—anyone—to function implies he's weak. That he's dependent on another. But Rafe hasn't felt this sense of gratification in years. A kinship that emerges from a soul recognizing a burnt soul. He can't lose that.

"Neither do I," he answers, almost pleading. "Let's try it out."

"Try what?"

"Us." He urges. "You and me."

You shouldn't, but you can't help but consider the proposal. It's awful, especially knowing you're in a committed relationship—as committed as you can be—and you try to build excuses and logic on why this couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. But all of them fell flat.

"You hate me."

"I didn't know you."

"You called me a bitch."

"I'm sorry," he says sincerely.

"You called me a liar," you accuse, unmasking the sting from the label.

"You are," Rafe insists without missing a beat. "But I'll take it."

You chew on your bottom lip, gnawing on the raw, broken skin until you taste iron. "I don't know," you admit, voice low, chest heavy. "I don't know if I can save you, Rafe."

This time, he doesn't have a response. This time, he's rendered speechless. It's a confessional—what he truly desires from you is redemption. To possess a mirror that resolves him of his own sins.

His fingers loosen around your wrist.

"I have to go," you say softly, taking a step towards the exit.

But it isn't quick enough.

Rafe grabs you again and gives you one last tug, forcing you to land on his lap. Before you can move, he grabs the nape of your neck and pulls you close, forehead pressed against his, chest meeting the other.

You feel the rapid thumping of his own heartbeats.

"One taste," Rafe murmurs, his eyes on yours and they're pitch-black, all dissolved of his color. "Just one taste and I'll let you go."

"One?" You ask meekly, your heart threatening to spill.

"One." He confirms, reeking of the same desperation he's always been ashamed of revealing. But he doesn't care anymore. "And you can go back to Maybank and do whatever the fuck you want."

You search his face, trying to read him, but nothing but pure primal instinct coats his rugged features. He wants you—in a way that's so animalistic, he's actively holding himself back from taking more. A sick satisfaction curves up your throat at being desired by such capacity.

"Okay."

Rafe doesn't give you a moment to retract your consent before he drags your mouth down to his, silencing every pounding thought with a kiss.

Instinctively, you steel your spine from the assault before slowly unwinding. From all the venom and vile words spilled from Rafe's tongue, his mouth is surprisingly soft and tender. His kiss is rich with desire, gripped with desperation, and it pours all his silent confessions into one. Your heart has never raced so frantically but has never been this calm.

You want this.

Logic and reason chip away when you feel how warm Rafe is. How he laps over the broken piece of your bottom lip like worship, how he craves you with the depravity of a man receiving his last meal, licking you clean until you're nothing but bones.

It's intoxicating. Where has Rafe been all your life? Why haven't you done this sooner? Your mind can't find a proper answer until a slow, nauseating reminder strikes your drunken and lustful state. It's because you're taken. It answers. You're committed to someone who isn't him.

Pulling away, you breathe, "Rafe—"

"Not enough," he declares roughly, dragging your back and stealing another kiss. It's as if it's the only air he's willing to take. He demands it—it's his.

And yet, for all your stream of moral consciousness, there's little resistance.

You allow him to take you. Devour you. To suck on your bottom lip until a metallic tang is shared between you, and to feel the warm liquid ooze onto your tongue like sacred waters. He tastes so good, and Rafe's hands fall from your arm to your waist, tugging you along until you're centered on his lap. With an automatic roll of your hips, he groans, and you feel the growing erection form in his jeans demonstrating his obsession with you.

It's just one. But one kiss turns into two and three, and suddenly you can't stop. Nothing has ever felt as right as this moment with Rafe.

Pulling back a second time, your murmur against his swollen lips. "This is a bad idea."

"This is the best goddamn idea I've ever had," he breathes into your mouth, his hand straying to cup a handful of your ass under your shorts. "You taste better than I imagined."

"What do I taste like?"

"Mine," Rafe answers breathily, before cupping the back of your neck once again and aligning your mouth to his.

Addiction. Rafe is certain that's what this is. The way you rock against him, the way your body molds into his—like a perfect puzzle finding its match—he can't help but believe in fate. It infuriates him that it took him this long.

But even in a perfect moment, the illusion quickly shatters by a grating voice from the distance. Rafe wants nothing more than to ignore its bugging nuisance, but you can't seem to.

Because it's your boyfriend.

You rip away from Rafe to discover JJ's silhouette approaching the shore, searching for you. Panic zigzags through your chest and you swiftly leave Rafe's lap, brushing away any criminalizing evidence of your infidelity.

"That's one. We're done."

When JJ arrives, Rafe doesn't move. He doesn't even make a gesture to conceal the situation as JJ's eyes dart between the two of you, trying to piece together what you were doing with the Kook in the first place.

But no one reveals a thing. Not even you. You quickly apologize for leaving the party and fumble a flimsy excuse for Rafe's presence. And JJ's birdbrain accepts it, causing Rafe to scoff at the fool you're with.

When he takes your hand, leading you back to the party, you quickly accept—dragging yourself into the same space you beg to break from. And doing nothing but leaving Rafe behind.

He could leave now. After all, he came out to the shores searching for you. But there's a calamity that comes from being out here. Seeing the waters, watching the crashing of the waves. It allows him to truly think—away from the noises, away from the people, away from all the meaningless distractions.

Rafe swipes his thumb across his bottom lip, feeling the buzzing sensation left behind from your kiss, and collects a single droplet of blood. It must've spilled from you, or his bitten tongue, he doesn't know for sure. All he does is slip it right back into his mouth.

And for the first time throughout this entire night, Rafe grins. A real one. A devious one. Because he's coming to a familiar conclusion.

You parade among the people who don't give a damn about you, who don't know a single truth, and pretend you fit in their world. But you don't. You're a liar.

But as Rafe remembers the taste of your hot lips on his, the way your body fits in with his, the taste of your blood on his tongue—he realizes, so is he.

Because there's no way that is the last time he'll kiss you. That he has you. No. He had one taste and it wasn't enough.

Rafe is coming back for more.

Whether you like it or not.

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Navigation — Part 01 | Part 02 | Part 03 / End

[luvyeni]

🍡… ( drabble ) anytime anywhere ̨ ! ୨୧ 一 大崎将太郎 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁  you both can’t seem to keep your hands off each other ヾ

boyfriend!shotaro・ reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ smut ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ oral ( f ) ‎ multiple sex scenes. mutual masturbation. public sex. wc ・ ‎0.6k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. i can just imagine both reader and shotaro constantly coming to jump eachothers bones at just random points of the day, at work? the dorms? mid convo with friends? doesn’t matter, shotaro comes up and says “hey i need you for something” and im dropping everything immedietly, and he would do the same the minute you walk up and tug on his arm like “excuse me ill be right back” so casually just to destroy you the minute you guys find somewhere mostly private.

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 enjoy it , hope you like it <3

your friends love you two they do; but they hate asking you out sometimes — because they know you two will most likely disappear for sometime and they knew exactly what you two were doing; and you two could give less of a fuck.

“sex addicts.” is what they would call you, and you couldn’t deny it either, you and shotaro were insatiable; the need to feel each other all the times. if you’re at home and in need of your man, but his work is holding him back? best believe he’s taking a five minute break, going into the bathroom and talking you through. “come on princess i don’t have much time.” he said , hand on his cock, head back groaning in your ear. “stuff those little fingers in your pretty pussy and cum for me.”

when you come over to the dorms; the boys know they have approximately 30 minutes to either; 1. get the hell out. or 2. find their headphones and head to their rooms because if they don’t then they’re at risk of hearing you and him going at it in his room. “baby why aren’t you moaning?” he was balls deep inside you, he knows your body and he knows how loud you are and how loud you could be , so this would be a surprise to him. “b-because your members are home.” you bite your lip to contain your moans; but taro? yeah he doesn’t give of a fuck. he wants to hear you — he needs to hear you.

“baby you feel so good.” he groans. “your pussy is making so much noise for me , but i want to hear you.” he fingers slotting between your bodies , toying with your clit. “yo-your memb- you shouldn’t be thinking about them while im inside you, i should be the only thing on your mind.” he said , pushing down on your stomach, fucking deeper inside you. “taro!” you shrieked making him smirk as he fucked into you with much more force. “that’s it, keep moaning for me.”

you could even be in the middle in the conversation with a friend and he’ll come up to you; he’ll even give the person a friendly smile; hold a little conversation with them, his hand on your shoulder, massaging it a little ( this is him letting you know non-verbally that he wants you right then and there). he’ll hold the conversation for a few minutes before bending down to your ear, giving you a little kiss on the cheek. to your friend it’s the cutest thing ever; but to you that’s the physical warning that he wants you then and there. “can i steal them away for a minute; baby i need your help with something.”

you don’t even need to say anything; just come up to him and tug on his arm, nuzzling your face against his shoulders and he’s turning to give you a smile; before giving his friends a quick goodbye, dragging you to the nearest private place. “fuck taro!” you moaned, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucked into you roughly, holding you up. “mhmm fuck princess you feel so fucking good.” the bathroom you found small and cramped , but you two didn’t care. “sh-shit i love this pussy so much , gonna cum so fucking much.” his head dropping to look down at your bodies. “ta-taro im gonna cum.”

holding on to the sink as he held your thigh tightly. “gonna cum -fuck- im gonna cum inside you.” he moans. “want you to keep inside until we get home and i can eat your pretty pussy.” your nails digging into his skin, legs wrapped tightly around. “t-taro im cumming!” your head thrown back as you came. “fu-fuck , cum for me baby.” he moaned, cock twitching inside of you as he shot his load inside you. “oh fuck.” his forehead resting against your , smiling while heavy breathing. “our friends hate us.” you giggled against his lips.

“sorry i just can’t get enough of your pretty pussy.”

©️

[siggiedraws]

What’s your thoughts on idw silver, I personally think he is ok but I feel like the idw comic didn’t really do very well with his character.

I can't say I like him... at all.

American Sonic media already has a history of needless and quite frankly terrible changes, whether made out of ignorance, xenophobia towards Sonic Team/SoJ, some vague, made-up sense of marketability, or all three. So, I'm already wary of media like that. They always change fundamental aspects of Sonic's appeal and are supremely unenjoyable to me as a result.

To stay on track here - why do I dislike IDW Silver? The main reason is that I think he's portrayed as way too polite and nice to people. He has no backbone. It's as if he was just based off of popular fanon or Archie comics, rather than the source material. I don't blame anyone for thinking Silver is some timid, polite sweetheart if fanon and IDW/Archie is all they have consumed, but I'm doing my best to dispel that notion for the sake of conquering misinformation. As a casual fan, it is understandable to have misconceptions, but I'm going to be much more harsh to official media.

I need to hammer home the fact that Silver is rude and often talks down to people. Sonic '06, Silver's debut game, showcases this very well. In an '06 cutscene, he talks down to Sonic after attacking him when his guard was down. The casual stride over to a wheezing, incapacitated Sonic kills me. The disrespect is fucking crazy.

In the level Flame Core, he acts haughty and superior about his abilities, even letting out a light chuckle at how pathetic the enemies are. And, a detail that is easy to miss, he doesn't even apologize for trying to kill Sonic.

That's not even mentioning the Rivals games being a wonderful source of Rude Silver™, where there are too many snide remarks to count.

IDW Silver is a telltale case of Silver's nuance being stripped so that he only represents one trait of his- that trait being "naivety." Silver's naivety is mentioned twice by Blaze in Sonic '06 because this is relevant to the story. Naivety is Silver's fatal flaw that leads to him being easily manipulated by Mephiles. However, his naivety isn't due to some innocent, childlike outlook on the world. Silver takes everyone at face value and always assumes people are telling the truth to him due to a lack of social skills. This is why, when Silver mentions something outlandish or unbelievable to people, he is confused why they don't believe him. This is shown in both Rivals 2 and the Sonic x Silver wallpaper cover story.

IDW seems to completely miss this nuance and conflates "naivety" with childlikeness and innocence. When you realize this, decisions put towards Silver's characterization in IDW makes a lot of sense - his hyperactive excitement and adulation over Whisper is a good example, but how he doesn't talk back to Sonic calling him "flatware" in Issue 8 particularly bothers me.

Realistically, Sonic would immediately get thrown into a wall if he said this to Silver.

Portrayals like IDW Silver are just so utterly confusing. How in the world does Silver get misconstrued this way, into something entirely opposite of what he is, in both fanon and official media? To be completely honest, it makes me frustrated. I want things to change and I feel like I have to speak up. I ended up writing an essay about Why Silver is Rude. I'm sorry anon.

[lavellane]

i genuinely love love love the iconoclast path in rogue trader SO MUCH. its one of the things that ultimately enamors me to the warhammer franchise as a whole despite empathy being so antithetical to its world and genre. its not just because iconoclast is the Nice Person route or because it subverts the foundational principle that In The Grim Dark Universe There Is Only War............ but mostly i love it because its the best way to actually engage w the morality system presented in 40k and explore it the way it deserves to be explored. its so unique parsing through the choices of the game and navigating how one might actually ACHIEVE goodness through - or more accurately without - the lens of liberal modern morality. because adhering to what we presently would call morality is arguably crueler than some of the dogmatic choices - or at least the game wants you to reflect on that and decide if that kind of morality still has value or not. and i like that they give you the opportunity to do that. youre rarely rewarded for kindness in this game and in fact your oftentimes actively punished for it (void shadows was a TRIAL for my iconoclast rt) which presents another question: are you being good because of a reward you believe you'lll be entitled to, or are you being good for the sake of goodness itself??? in saying that i do LOVE how there IS payoff in the iconoclast route eventually - when youve bleed and suffered for it enough. but theres a quality to it thats so..... so BITTERSWEET, because yippee you Empathed your way to the top - but also what IS the top?? congratulations, you are the kindest autocrat in the most bloodthirsty fascist regime in human history, sitting on your throne on a voidship run by all your slaves and serfs who die by the hundreds every time you make a warpjump for some dumbass sidequest. what the fuck. can you actually call that goodness ????? is whatever goodness-adjacent thing youve achieved worth it even if you cant change the system in the ways that matter ??? lastly - the iconoclast ending is both so wildly universe-altering to the point of feeling like a heretical ending - but also kind of. not mattering really lol. because even though its hopeful, the "good" ending still feels soooo tentative with the likelihood that its very likely not going to last. but that in itself is my favorite take away from playing this game as The Last Good Guy in the Galaxy: because the love DIDNT change anything. and it DOESNT save anyone. but ohhhhhhhhh my fucking god does it absolutely matter that it was there.

[hisui555]

Dunno if it's welcomed (inform me and I'll delete if it's not) but tacking onto that :

A "cult" definition can also apply to anything outside religion - political groups (think National Socialism aka Nazis, or what's going on in dictatorial countries currently like North Korea, China, Russia - just to name the most known), family or business groups (the mafia, which overlaps both) or in relationships (toxic partners - more often than not they're found out to have Narcissistic Personality Disorder or any other inflated ego sociopathic disorder), who set themselves as the "Only True and Right Thing" in one's life, cut off the rest, and instill such conspiracy theories, because having a common enemy allows to rally people : "These [insert designated enemy here] are why things are going bad for you, chose me, I can fight against them and provide you what you seek."

Instability and uncertainty are what the people chosing those cults are the most afraid of : the good old unknown of change, of maybe losing something that's important to them (routine, lifestyle, status, having to insert a new parameter in their lives), even if it doesn't affect them directly. Sometimes it's also just a general laziness to take the steps or make efforts (climatosceptics), but in short, they prefer to hand someone else their brains to think for them.

Like OP said above, people like this believe strongly in a "everything that happens to me MUST have a reason to happen to me", because it's easier to put the blame on someone or something else, or thinking it's "retribution" (earned or not : good old "Heaven or Hell" thinking) that makes up the meat and bread of Whackyland's conspiracy theories. Something must be out to get them, or else they have only smokescreens to justify their own infortune (be it general bad luck or changes they don't like).

A common trait is also this kind of "center of the universe" thinking (in their eyes, everything is out to get them, in a malicious way, like laser-guided unjustified bad karma), though it also goes hand in hand with leaving the common sense, brains, and sense of critic into the hands of a structure, person, group, etc, because said structure, person, group is doing the thinking for them, and, guess what, designating the enemy : "These [insert whatever] are the reason you feel unstable, sad, mad, bad, etc."

The whole paradox, naturally, is coming from a behavior-controlling manipulative cult forcing identities on their listeners and projecting what they're doing onto the designated "enemy" to comfort and consolide those people into the idea that the "enemy" is manipulating them, forcing them into identities, and controlling their behaviors. Two birds, one stone.

It's a very tail-biting-snake, egocentric way to want control in one's life but without the burden to make efforts managing said control : someone else does it for them, and they're comfortable with it. Consistency and their own routine is reassuring for them, and as long as said cult provides it, it's all fine, but when something arises that changes said routine and view of the world (newly established human rights and acknowledgement of them, for example), they lose footing and are convinced it's against them (and also never the cult's fault, of course, since the cult, and their way of life, is "in danger").

Anything they see as poking a bit at their sense of comfort, and comfort zone, is classified as a menace targetting them. An "absolute truth" is comfortable, 'cuz you don't have to think about other, way more varied truths. As if math could be solved with a single formula and you just have to apply it (or, should I say, "X is the answer to everything" ?), and if you follow that, you're made for life, without having to put in the effort to think or do much. It doesn't allow for change, it doesn't allow for unpredictability, for what's unsure, uncertain, unknown - yet again.

It's a mental fragility, actually, and a very strong yet paradoxically quite submissive sense of ego and self-preservation guiding those thoughts. Basically, it's a sense of feeling unsafe outside of the boundaries of one's little world, a world they passed control of and decisions on to someone or something else : wanting to watch TV, but letting the program decide instead of making your own. I could even go on with AI on that : you don't need to think, it's already done for you - minimum effort for maximum result, and if it's not to your liking, not your responsibility, it's the AI's fault ! Wonderful win-win situation, ain't it ?

Yeah, that's actually called mental dependency - and that's something conspiracy theories often correlate with : people paradoxically think they're doing independent thinking ("I won't be fooled like the other sheeple") but it's actually just a form of burrowing oneself into one's comfort zone and victim role, cutting ties with the world without truly seeking the right informations - just the first thing in their sense found on the Internet is enough.

Wanting comfort, certainty and safety in one's life is a very natural thing, but convoluting events and reality, thinking oneself as the center of the universe, and above all putting one's brains in someone or something else's hands is very harmful on oneself. Unpredictability and uncertainty don't equal "danger", they just cross at times. Knowledge (something cults ban, curiously) can help make uncertainty enjoyable and turn it into positive discovery, help discern what's potentially harmful from what isn't. Or else it's good old "Fear of the Other/Dark/Unknown" again.

Long story short : being a "comfortable 'victim of the system' " - in a place where you can complain all you want, control your life but without the burden of thinking and, correlating to thinking, responsibility for one's own actions. That "not my fault" thinking : conspiracy theorists are all about self-satisfaction and self-congratulation, and cults often encourage and drastically enhance that "snitch on the ones not like us to preserve yourself, leave the decisions to us, do as we say, be a 'good member' and it won't be your fault" mentality.

The Conspiratorial Mindset

So, I've always had a bit of an interest in scams and hokum, and what people call "Cults".

One of the common refrains when you talk about religious Cults is, "If you think about it all religions have beliefs that seem odd to outsiders" and this is true, but as I read more about cults I started to think,

"Wait, a lot of these groups aren't united just by having unusual religious or supernatural views; a lot of them also seem to have matching patterns of behaviors that have nothing to do with belief in psychic space aliens"

I'm talking about things like,

Having a leadership structure which is absolute, where the top leaders cannot be disciplined or even openly criticized by lower members;

Exerting tremendous control over the dress and behavior of adherents;

Telling adherents that outsiders are untrustworthy and that contact with outsiders should be strictly limited and heavily monitored by organizational leadership;

The extensive and common use of shunning and reprogramming in response to violation of any of the above rules.

In some groups, failing to adhere to the dress code and spending a lot of time with outsiders is, at worst, the subject of a few little jabs at family gatherings. In other groups, those same behaviors are treated as Defcon one crises and become the central issue of the adherent's relationship with everybody else in the organization until they can be bullied back into doing the organization's bidding.

It was gratifying to learn that other people have noticed these patterns (Some people prefer the term "High Control Group" to "Cult" because it highlights what the actual problem is)

I am starting to notice similar dynamics in what are commonly called "Conspiracy theories".

The thing about conspiracy theories is... Well, conspiracies exist, and sometimes groups of powerful people get together to do something in secret which would get them in big trouble if they were to do it openly.

But I am starting to notice a particular, I don't know, a particular way of conceptualizing the organization and purpose of conspiracies which is unique to some people and which characterizes the kind of conspiracy theorist who takes Alex Jones seriously.

I kind of think of it as a "Witch-Hunting mentality".

For certain people in more primitive times and places, if they, say, slipped off a ladder and hurt themselves, their first thought would be, "That must have happened because a witch cursed me. We need to find and punish the witch who cursed me."

And this isn't just the attribution of malice that characterizes this idea:

One malicious conspiracy that might make you fall off a ladder is a manufacturer who doesn't care about safety ratings. Imagine that the manufacturer is really deliberately malicious here. A subordinate comes to him and says, "Our ladders can't reliably hold the weight of a person and a lot of them will probably break and cause people to fall and hurt themselves." and he says, "I know that but who cares, by the time people figure it out it'll be too late to get their money back."

That's a malicious conspiracy, but, importantly, if Bob buys a faulty ladder and falls off, the conspiracy wasn't trying to hurt Bob; it merely didn't care whether Bob got hurt.

Now, this distinction doesn't take away the malice and hostility towards Bob, but if you go to the ladder manufacturer and say, "Hey boss, Bob bought one of our faulty ladders, but he's really skinny so the ladder didn't break" the manufacturer will go, "Who the fuck is Bob? And good, that's one less angry person."

Whereas imagine Bob's ladder has been cursed to break by a witch. The witch did it because she hates Bob, and wants him to fall, and if she finds out he didn't fall, she'll go, "Curses, I'll have to find some other way to hurt Bob."

Conspiracy theorists, it seems to me, are far more inclined to conceptualize conspiracies as acts of deliberate malice aimed at them rather than acts of negligent malice.

@loving-n0t-heyting posted this article from the New York Post which contains a good example of what I mean:

“I thought I was on the cutting edge of promoting rights for gay people,” Yang said. “But then I started looking deeper into where this was coming from and who was paying for it, and I started to get very disillusioned...

I assume the people paying for it are LGBT advocacy groups? Did you, uh, not know that the people you were working for were paying you to work for them?

“When you really dig down you can see how much of this comes from documents and plans at the United Nations,” Yang said, referring in part to the UN’s “Gender Equality” initiative. “It’s part of a global agenda to restructure society, re-structure our social norms and the economy,” Yang claimed. “They are undermining the sexually dimorphic nature of reality and breaking down the differences between the sexes to break down our identity. They are constructing identities for us and they want us to adopt them.”

Oh, I see.

This is exactly what I mean. LGBT rights efforts make Yang and others feel disoriented, like society is being restructured and that they are being left behind, like they aren't quite in control of social norms and that stable identity categories can't be relied on anymore.

Now, one kind of conservative might look at that and say, "These are bad second order effects of LGBT people trying to assert their lifestyle in public and that's why we should oppose them."

But another kind says, "These changes make me feel unstable. Therefore, the main purpose of the changes is to make me feel unstable. In order to understand these changes, I need to figure out who wants me to feel unstable and what they would gain from making me feel unstable."

The idea that Yang's feeling of instability is simply a side effect of a series of efforts mainly focused on LGBT rights is incomprehensible. Instead, she believes that there is a series of efforts focused mainly on making her feel unstable, with LGBT rights as a kind of side effect to the main goal of making her feel unstable.

This kind of thing is, to me, a big red flag that indicates that we are starting to float away from reasonable conspiracy thinking into crazy town.

I am particularly curious if folks can recommend any writers or researchers who have noticed this dynamic.

[accio-victuuri]

now it’s time for me to scream and cry about the lrlg post. it’s been so long! and the fact that it came to us in the new year, welcoming 2025 with good vibes! this is the perfect start. even if the conversations are random ( as they usually are ), it’s so comforting to read about. even if just for the sake of fiction. this is fitting cause earlier today, there was a screenshot going around of another celebrity’s assistant and she was using a bjyx related merch (nye show). so it’s either this person is a bxg or they know someone who is and they borrowed the bag. so yeah. we may have people who see and hear things. that was the point of the fake rumors from the start, those who know stuff can share.

which leads us to lrlg. my fave tho is the visibility of yibo’s staff. some are even assigning who’s who based on the nye photo that was shared. this is his inner circle and per the convos, they are also close to xz. to those who are confused, in the original text his staff are assigned different emojis. ⬇️⬇️⬇️

we have talked before about how important it is that their staff is coordinated. i really like how wyb is able to just leave xz with them and he can hold his own. it’s crucial that they can be open to a certain group of people and just be themselves.

• the part about accessories and reimbursement & the latest model didn’t make sense to me when i first read it. but then fans explained it as WYB gave each staff member a latest top-end iPhone (should be 16) and asked them to choose the accessories themselves and all the parts would be reimbursed. wow. such a generous boss! i mean, that’s usual for WYB. can i please apply? lol.

• this part. it’s so sweet i wanna slap them! how xz wouldn’t eat without wyb. it’s such a normal thing to do, but so important for them.

🟢 "Why aren't you eating yet?"

🔴 "It's only five minutes, you should be back in fifteen minutes."

and how yibo was like, why don’t you eat and he joked that it’s different when you are with your family member.

• how he was calling yibo dog because when he fed him his “gloves” were bitten through. how he also called him a pig ( which has it’s own lore ) . lol. they really love to clown each other. but yibo is his puppy tho, gouzaizai! and the fact that xz is feeding him. it’s not enough that xz will wait for him to eat together. he will also hand feed wang yibo. i mean. i hate it here. 🥹🥹🥹🥹

• there was mention of puppy printed pants and some are saying it could be this. well, let’s see who will wear something similar first.

• wyb asking if they ordered fruits, most likely for xz. he knows that xz loves it! he is so attentive!

• i was very interested in what they were eating. a fan said it’s most likely beijing roast duck. and it makes sense why xz had to wash his hands, why he was wrapping the food and feeding it to yibo. making sure they eat well is still a top priority on both sides.

• at the start of the convo, wyb was talking about buying gold jewelry for xz and it’s funny cause fans are saying it’s a fitting gift. we all know xz is the god of money and he is someone that seems to be very aware of finances. so the gift is not only in a romantic sense, but also practical. wyb knows this and it’s why he chose that.

i saw someone say it may be this. the gold is real.

• the part when wyb’s staff said xz is his (wyb’s) boss 😂😂😂😂 it reminded us of that cpn, when wyb’s bodyguards are looking and guarding xz instead of him.

• this ⬇️⬇️⬇️

🟢 "I'll pick you up in the afternoon"

🔴 "No need to worry about what time I'll be back"

🟢 "Call me when you're done"

yibo is so boyfriend i wanna cry. this is such a normal thing to do considering they have all the resources. but yibo still wants to do it himself. yibo the driver is here!!!!!

that’s all. maybe i missed some stuff and we may understand some of these better as the days go by. depending on the other clues that will be available to us in the future. again, you don’t need to believe any of this. don’t take it too seriously. bjyxszd. 💕

[erinwantstowrite]

Hi I know you mentioned you being aroace just a couple days ago and I was wondering if maybe you could explain more in depth about how you found out your sexuality and what not? If it’s not too personal…

I’ve always sorta struggled since I haven’t had any crushes as a kid except for maybe one and that’s just cause ppl kept asking me who mine was… so I don’t even think it was a legit crush?? So not only do I not know who (looks,gender, that sorta thing) I would like … am I ever gonna like someone to even find that out???

I know you said Superman on the new trailer was hot ahaha so do you still experience that sort of physical attraction? I’ve been told when people question which gender they like, to pick which one looks more attractive to them but I’ve never really experienced that sort of physical attraction so I can’t tell that way either…

I think any thought of a crush forming was more towards their personality as well. Looks I guess are more of a second thought I think..? Even then I can’t tell if this is “you’re such an awesome person I wanna be besties with you” really strong feeling or an actual “I wanna date this person” feeling.

The only person I’ve gotten really close to discerning it as officially crush was someone from work who was older by a good amount… which can be/is pretty weird.. Lots of people my age are just a little too crazy for me.. I guess??? Idk and even now I can’t tell if that was just “glad to have someone as a friend sorta thing. I’m really sorry if this is too personal and u don’t have to respond to the ask directly either I was just hoping on maybe some advice for some clarity if possible… as I get older and realize I’ve never dated/had that sorta infatuation it feels so excluding at times.

Also I am hoping for a feast AND desert with this “‘soon’ but still haven’t posted it two days later” chapter plz and thank you

I hope this made sense and wasn’t too invasive!! :(

when i was younger, i was reading about this kind of thing online and i didn't find anyone like me. i think it's about time that i come full circle and make my own post. i've got like half of my frontal lobe developed and i've been figuring out a lot of things about myself these past couple of years, and there might be someone out there who needs to hear this (´-`ʃ♡ƪ) so if anyone is interested, below the cut is a very long talk about how i figured some stuff out

when it came to my sexuality, i only started considering it when i was in middle school, going into high school. (which would be when i was 12-13). that's when a lot of my friends started having crushes on our classmates and i realized they were being serious when they said they had crushes on people. they had figured out their identities as being a lesbian or bisexual, and they had relationships. (or as close as you can get to that in middle school).

i started to panic and think that i was lagging behind. and i really started to repress my feelings about dating people and romance and what that would entail. i found out through the internet about being pansexual. at the time i thought "oh, they have the same attraction for everyone!" and i slapped it on myself because i thought it would fix everything. i even came out to my parents as pansexual and for a while i left it at that.

i had an idea of romance. i shipped characters in media and i knew that my parents really loved each other. there were a lot of examples for love in my life that weren't the best, but having two parents that actually did care about each other made me want that for myself in the future...

but that's in the future. i personally didn't think about it much because we were still kids. for a while i didn't think anyone else was being serious, that they were just trying it out quicker than i was ready for. it was a strange feeling. i guess i still believed we were playing make believe, or copying what we saw on TV or with our parents. often when my friends asked me who i had a crush on and i felt pressured, i would pick someone that i thought i wouldn't mind dating if i had to. someone would be "interested" in me and i would say "okay" because i felt like that was part of this game we all seemed to be playing. i've had a few "boyfriends" over the years that got people off my back when i had them. in elementary school it was this boy that didn't pick on me, another boy that was my parents' friend's kid. in middle school i had an online boyfriend and a couple of "crushes" on friends of friends, someone just a little far out of my circle that didn't shake anything up. my friends would help me get together with a person and they'd seem so excited for me, so i just went along with it.

then it hit me that they weren't doing it just to do it, or playing pretend. they actually felt something when they were interacting with their crushes. i started to reread books and rewatch media and really grasp what they were saying. the feeling of having butterflies inside them when they talked to each other, blushing when something was said? i thought that was about a general anxiety people get when talking to other people. but there was always something more to it that i just... didn't get. no matter how hard i tried, i didn't understand what that something was.

then started coming the pressure to do the same, to fit in. that's why i accepted a label of pansexual. it was "strange" but at least it didn't feel "broken." i could deal with people telling me that i was wrong for liking more than just boys. but to say that there was no one on the table gave me an anxiety i'd never felt before. like i would be letting down my family, that the entire course of my life would shift. i wouldn't walk down the aisle because there would be no wedding. my parents wouldn't have grandkids. my friends would go on to have lives completely separate from mine, we'd have nothing in common anymore. so i stuffed it all down and made myself believe that this wasn't who i was.

it really mixed me up because i did have a couple of "crushes" that felt real. there were a few girls i was friends with, there were boys in my classes (usually class clowns...) that i'd get excited to see every day. when i thought about dating them, it felt nice. any other time when i thought about dating someone, i'd get this awful feeling in my gut that i later realized was dread. i was fully convinced it was different from all the other times. that "different" that i didn't understand before.

it was different! but not for the reason i thought it was. those people made me laugh, they listened and remembered things about me (that i didn't get much of during that time of my life), and most of all: they didn't like me back.

there were literally no expectations in their eyes for things to go away from friendship. and i think that's what made me like them, but not as a crush. it was relief. there was always an expectation for other people (specifically boys) that if we were friends, things would stray from friendship at some point. not with these people. that relief, combined with all the other good feelings they gave me (class clowns...) made it so much easier to fall into a friendship that i didn't have with other people. and i was in denial for so long that i thought of those friendships as crushes because they were different from other friendships.

there were a couple of times that i got close to having to face my sexuality and it felt like a gut punch. there were a couple of people i was friends with (that i didn't have crushes on) that i had previously thought "if i had to pick someone" about. but when they actually told me their feelings, i would run away. in one case, i literally ran away. i changed my entire routine so that i wouldn't have to face them. and i'm a creature of habit, so of course i took that step back and asked myself why i was having such a strong reaction. my friends didn't understand why i was so panicked about these confessions. especially because before, i "liked" people and had no problem with it.

part of my feelings were that no one would actually like me (which only furthered me not wanting/not considering romance). some of the confessions that i got were fake/pranks, and it would really mess with my head. i wasn't skinny, i knew i was strange and awkward, and i could be very brash and stubborn. i had a weird sense of humor and i missed social ques. i got a lot of "you should be a lawyer" and complaints of being bossy when i was growing up and i always knew they really meant "you're a bitch." i wouldn't understand why i felt so othered from my peers like that until i learned i was possibly autistic, and i only found that out a couple years ago. combined with being plus sized and not conventionally attractive, i didn't get much breathing room. if i wasn't perfectly calm all the time, if i didn't force myself to be overly nice to people, and if i wasn't funny, i'd get told i was "draining" to be around.

i did a lot to try and fit in. i kept my hair long because people would compliment it, i tried to wear skirts instead of pants/shorts, i'd wear comfy clothes and the like so i didn't look like i was trying too hard. a lot of my personality was forced and i was the one who was being drained instead. i ended up having to get a radar for when people were just messing with me. and so when a real confession happened, there was a combination of anxiety about if they were faking or not, doubt that they could actually like me, and then a deep rooted fear about if they were being serious.

instead of the relief i should have felt when i learned it was a real confession, i still felt scared. it would be the same anxiety as if someone asked me to get on the world's tallest roller coaster in the world and i had just seen a chunk of the roller coaster fall in front of me.

that part made it even harder to come to grips with my sexuality. i thought if i gave up on being a hopeless romantic, i'd be giving in to all the times someone told me "I just don't see you dating anyone." being unlovable was a death sentence in my eyes. and it didn't help that i've lived in the south all my life. i was already strange and going to hell for a multitude of things. turning around and telling them that i was going against every expectation set of me to get married and have kids by 24????

(i should clarify that my parents had never been the ones to put this in my mind. when i came out as pansexual, they had only been confused about what the hell that was. the rest of their reaction was "i mean... we could already sort of tell." and while my parents had hopes for my future, i knew deep down that while they'd be a little sad not to have those expected memories with me, they wouldn't turn me away. and they would very likely be happy to create a whole different set of memories with me.)

i have my current friends to thank for me coming to terms with who i am. by the time i was in college i had started to question everything. my middle school friend group had been majority queer but we had gone to different schools or just faded apart. in high school, a majority of my time was spent in band. and while i was one of those people who had friends in a variety of friend groups, the closest friends i had were the people in my section that i sat next to every day. and in the present time, only a couple of them remained straight churchgoers. even though they've changed now just like i have, during high school i was a different story.

going to college opened me up to a far different experience. by this point i'd shifted from pansexual to bisexual. my college experience wasn't... ideal. or really healthy in any aspect. but meeting these people did dislodge the mindset i'd had for most of my life. and my current friends have changed my life. the fear that i had about being aromantic has now become the relief i needed my entire life. it doesn't feel broken, or wrong, or strange. sometimes i do feel sad about it, or question if this is really the case. maybe one day i'll meet someone who shows me that "different" feeling i'd been waiting to understand. but i grew past the societal expectation of needing a partner to be fulfilled in life and i'm so much happier.

life doesn't need to be about that partner. i have many, many friends and family to grow old with. i have a godchild!! one day i'll have my own house to celebrate holidays and achievements at, to host my friends and family. i'll have pets that i love and i'll have my own career, and i'll be happy because i never needed to fit expectations to be happy.

when it comes to anything sexual, it's sort of the same feeling as when i had "crushes" on people in real life. though also different? i don't look at real people and feel an attraction beyond knowing that they are attractive, objectively. i can feel attraction sometimes in a physical sense, but i have no interest in having anything personal happening between us. a fictional character has no interest in me, and so it feels safe to think that they're hot and to express it. like sure, yeah, i have a crush on them! i get giggly when Captain Smoker from One Piece shows up on the screen, and the new Superman makes me think "oh! okay!" but if they were real and in front of me? i'd probably... lose that attraction, like it was never there.

here's the kicker, though, and might sound weird at first: you don't have to put a label on yourself

yeah, i do consider myself aroace. but the world is ever changing and so is the human experience. it helps to have a basis, to understand your feelings and work through them. it's nice to be like "there is a name for this" and to find a community through that. i'm not saying there's anything wrong about figuring out your identity and saying "I'm this, this, and this!" nothing at all wrong with that. but we're all figuring ourselves out, all the time. it doesn't end when you put the label on. you have the entire rest of your life to continue learning things about yourself and the world around you. i wish i'd known in middle school that i didn't have to rush it, that i have every opportunity to take it one phase at a time. a human life seems fleeting, especially when you're looking back on your past and feeling like the time flew by. but that's just our perception of it as we look back.

what i mean to say it that it's okay to backtrack. it's okay to change your mind. it's okay to not put a label on it. it's okay to put a label on it. it's okay not to tell anyone, if you don't want to. it's okay to say "i'll figure it out." and it's okay if you don't. it's okay if you sit up in bed one day when you're 60 years old and go "that's what it is." as long as you live your life listening to yourself and not trying to meet an expectation you think you have to, then you're doing it right.

and it's okay if you lived your life like i did, and you didn't do any of that. being a human is messy and that's part of life. you're not gonna get it right the first time- but even then, sometimes you will! there's a nuance and a spectrum to everything you experience. take pride in who you are even if you don't have a clue yet. be kind to yourself. you're gonna be okay.

[asexualbookbird]

Ah, I read some books in 2024, huh? And eight rereads? Who am I. Tried a lot of new things this year which yay! Go me! Branching out! Not all of those were successes, but I did it and therefore no one can criticise me. But we all know what's important here. So here you go, THE BEST AND WORST OF 2024 (in no particular order)!

THE BEST BOOKS OF 2024

The Adventure of Amina al-Sirafi by Shannon Chakraborty - yes, I am still thinking about this, thank you for asking! A full entire adult of a person, a mother even, going on adventures? Fighting and killing and fucking and living? Hell yeah! More of this, please! I would also love to see a prequel of Amina's adventures before the book timeline. Everything about this was so great, I look forward to rereading it.

The City We Became by NK Jemisin - I was wary about this because it was so polarizing to readers. On one hand, even my least favorite Jemisin was still fun, on the other hand, I know nothing about New York. HOWEVER. The audiobook was FABULOUS. I wholeheartedly believe the audio is why I enjoyed this so much. This was FUN this is what reading should feel like all the time.

When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb -FRIEND TO MY SOUL. Again, beautiful audio performance. Beautiful story. I need my own copy so I can reread this to my hearts content. It's cute, it deals with heavy topics, it's gay, it's the friend to my soul.

WORST BOOKS OF 2024

The Novice by Taran Matharu - Ugh. Bought when released, knowing nothing, which seems to be a Theme with books sitting on my shelf I end up not enjoying. Learning about the history of this book made me more angry than the book itself. What do you mean his entire series was bought and published without an editor? It shows, but. Come on. Wattpad born and it shows.

Last Heir to Blackwood Library by Hester Fox- this was only for a summer reading bingo challenge, but come on. There are ways to pull the memory loss, or altered memory plot line and have it work. This did not do that. Wish a library would eat my memories of this book so I never had to think of it again.

Red Sister by Mark Lawrence - Mark Lawrence is one of those authors who writes long books because he thinks it makes him a Good Writer. Mark Lawrence is one of those writers who is afraid to write adult characters because he thinks they won't sell, but continuously puts them in adult situations to show how Hard their lives are and Isn't This Dark And Gritty And Sad without doing the work to actually get there. It toes the line between fantasy in scifi, but not well. It feels more indecisive than anything else.

HONORABLE MENTIONS

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace -more like fireBROKE MY HEART!!!! It was on my tbr list for years, and I finally found a copy and I'm glad I own it so I can reread it at my leisure. It's what Ready Player One could have been if it was actually good.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner - Okay honestly, this and City were fighting for a spot in the main top three. Either could be there. I do honorable mentions for this very reason. I was surprised to learn this was a tiktok book, because yknow. It's actually Good. Witcher vibes, but with more respect towards women. Why isn't book three in my possession right this second.

Someone You Can Build A Nest In by John Wiswell - I Am Normal About This Book. It was fun to read and annotate it for a friend. It was fun to be around as two friends read it and I loved seeing their reactions to it. Loved cheering on Shesheshen, still think she deserves to eat more people. Friends and I will still share biting goop memes with the caption "Shex3 posting". It's safe to say this has rewritten my brain.

DISHONORABLE MENTIONS

Legacy of Ash by Matthew Ward - I was hyped about this book before release. I bought book two before even reading this because I was that sure I'd enjoy it. What a fool. This did NOT have to be 800 pages. It was another example of someone writing many words because they think that's what Good Writers Do, and not stopping to think about what those words even SAY. Which, in this case, was ~Absolutely Nothing~

Ghost Station by SA Barnes - crying sobbing this book was so fucking stupid. Best thing to come out of it was seeing a friend read it and confirming that yes, it was That Fucking Stupid. Learning the author mainly writes YA Paranormal explained why everyone had Too Stupid To Live disease.

I'm Afraid You've Got Dragons by Peter S Beagle - Admittedly only here to make things even and because it's still pretty fresh in my mind. I was soooo excited when this was announced, and now I'm soooo happy I didn't preorder it. More boring than anything else, but I don't wish it was longer because it already felt Too Long.

Once again, ignored rereads because I feel like that's cheating somehow. Let these be for highlighting new and fun books I discovered! I feel like the last few Bricks I've read have been Very Bad so I hope a couple of the bricks I have planned for 2025 are actually good. Considering one of those is Labyrinth's Heart, I think we're okay.

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 24

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

summary: coming to a conclusion, satoru makes an important decision that has indirect consequences for everyone else — trigger warning: dubcon, reader is not in her right mind

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 24. Sweet Cinnamon

At a glance, if he really thought about it, Satoru’s life hadn’t changed all that much. He upheld his role within Jujutsu society just fine; he still went to work and trained relentlessly—just as it was all expected of him. His students continued to not suspect a single thing and as for his remaining colleagues—they didn’t either. After all, nobody outside of his once tightly-knit group of friends could ever suspect just what sort of secret he was hiding just below where he slept.

All of the horror—the suffering—remained unchanged because he had the cover of being the strongest. An important name. A respected figure because what could Satoru Gojo, the man who had the entirety of Jujutsu society wrapped right around his finger, possibly have to hide?

Nobody could ever guess that just below his otherwise unassuming home, there was you who slowly gave into the reality he had so ‘generously’ sculpted. It was insulting in a sense as you finally broke into the concept. The prospect of living life under his assigned conditions and what were otherwise, oppressive terms, no longer seemed that bad, especially since it had been long enough to become untrusting of the outside world to begin with. Everything was losing its appeal and the prison you once sought escape from, was starting to feel like home.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so much like your jailer anymore—perhaps your cellmate—equally trapped in a reality that you both didn’t fully understand.

Maybe your resolve was just weak.

Satoru never thought so, oddly enough, which was why he chose to break you down slowly as opposed to the alternative, if you would believe him or not. Not that he would admit it, and especially not you, but this whole situation was grating on him, too. Maintaining the sudden severance of his once tightly-knit support network while simultaneously upholding the person that the rest of the world needed him to be was a tough task, after all. You wouldn’t get it, of course, so that much remained a burden for him and him alone. Any sane person would rightfully call him delusional at such a mention, because how difficult could it possibly be, to keep up the life that he was born into?

(He wasn’t just the strongest anymore—he was a mentor, a protector, a parent—but he was also the person that he was when around you.)

Satoru never expected to get away with it though, so much so that he didn’t account for it, but luckily for him, he was good at everything—even keeping secrets buried beneath the surface—even when the dirt kept coughing right back up at him.

You’d change.

You’d adapt.

(And then things would be right again—things would smooth out once more—everything would go back to just how it was, right? …Right?)

Satoru took a deep breath as he tried to justify his delusions, already feeling the negative aftermath of his deeply-rooted obsession. He didn’t understand why he felt this strongly about you if he was being honest, someone he once thought to be insignificant from who knows where—but here he was—losing his goddamn mind.

The only conflicting factor being, was Megumi, because where did you otherwise fit into his life when the boy was too perceptive to accept sudden involvement within his life?

You’d show up clean out of nowhere, supposedly accepting your role as the husk of someone you once were and the kid would see right through it all, somehow. The idea frustrated him a great deal, but if he could pull it off—then maybe life could become worth living again to the two of you—maybe you could learn how to enjoy things again (and not hit him with that wavering, blank stare). He supposed that for now at least, the bedroom could remain off-limits—at least until the prospect of Jujutsu High met him around the corner, come next autumn when Megumi would tear away for the campus instead.

Until then, he would be careful.

He should never make the mistake of perceiving Megumi’s indifferent state as ignorance.

That’s how he would slip up.

That’s how he would lose someone he considered to be his son.

Satoru in the meantime tried cooking today again, shoving the leftovers of what he had accomplished (or lack of thereof) into a stray container. Megumi was on his last day of school for the week and therefore, he had risked it considerably by bringing you up earlier—luckily though—the kid was out cold the entire night. Besides that, there were the festivities that he stuck around for, being begrudgingly sentimental towards such things. Such reluctance and even stubbornness reminded him both dearly of his old trio.

He thought about it often—just what sort of adult he’d grow into—for him to end up like his real father, Toji Fushiguro, Satoru thought would be a devastating prospect. Given the direction Megumi seemed to be heading though, it was highly unlikely. He carried a good head on his shoulders, likely due to him being a suitable model if he could believe it. Satoru gulped at the thought, not quite liking that payoff either, especially given what he was up to right now. The role he so masterfully played, only to be a facade in the end.

“Are the pancakes any good?” Satoru asked, watching the boy poke around the plate with his face scrunched up in disapproval.

Megumi was silently blunt—most found it to be harsh, but at least it was easy to tell what was appreciated and what wasn’t.

With a strained gulp down, Megumi replied in a slightly bothered tone, “Too dry.”

Satoru half-laughed, attempting not to feel dejected, but at least he supposed that it was honest feedback. “Yeah, I… I guess they’re not salvageable either, huh?”

“Maybe not,” the kid muttered in a curt, albeit polite tone, pushing the plate away from him and crossing his arms. “Why are you cooking so much lately, anyway?”

Satoru shrugged as he tried to force down the bites of food he made. He wasn’t usually bad at cooking, especially not with sweet things. Luckily, Megumi didn’t pick up on that or didn’t care about the intricacies of his personal life. For the most part, the annoyance seemed to come from being a taste-test guinea pig instead.

“I’m not sure—I guess, I guess… I guess I want to be useful?”

Megumi blinked, studying his guardian’s expression closely. “Useful?”

Satoru nervously laughed, patting the kid on his head. “You’re a growing boy aren’t you?” he asked, trying to spin it around, realising that despite him being quite young too, it felt like he was ancient when he tried to be relatable towards Megumi.

“You’re acting weird,” Megumi complained, rolling his eyes as he tried to get out of the kitchen by this point, hoping to leave whatever sort of forced banter was unfolding.

For now, Satoru decided to brush away the rejection and scooped up the remainder of the failed concoction into another container, intending to bring it down to you later—or perhaps he shouldn’t—not if he was trying to get you to like him… Then again. That look you had in your eyes when you saw the first snow, though? He knew that he had finally gotten somewhere. He just had to dull your spirit enough to make you appreciate the little things enough.

(The little things that paled in the grand scheme of what he wanted to accomplish with you.)

Satoru listened as the front door slammed shut, intending to leave soon himself. A decision formed in his mind as he considered the process of everything else. He would go through the day as normally as possible, arousing no suspicion at all. He’d teach, he’d piss everyone else off at the faculty all the same and then finally, he’d head home.

Movie nights were always a hit or a miss for you, but this time he would try again, letting you take the lead. He’d get your favourite snacks and your favourite drinks, and let you choose a film out of a variety this time. He wouldn’t try and force you into anything this time either, not anymore—or at least—not like that. Maybe, just maybe, if you were able to feel like you had even a semblance of control (however false it was), then you would finally understand the big picture of what he was trying to paint.

~~~

With the rest of the world fast asleep and with Megumi staying over at a trusted babysitter; Satoru lowered himself into the basement at long, long last. The sight was something he had barely gotten used to by this point, though. Would you even believe him if he told you that he doesn’t actually like seeing you cooped up like that? That he hated that sort of, vacant and surely dead-inside look you gave him daily—nightly—whenever it was. He wanted something different—perhaps those eyes that glinted with hope when you were back in your small town with him at your side, not whatever this was—whittled down to something blank, the sparkle put out and faded.

(Unless he could rekindle it.)

(That was the sort of hope he held onto for both of your sakes.)

The stairs creaked and your body twitched, but you didn’t make an effort to acknowledge him. Satoru softly sighed at such a thing, waiting for the dreaded question to finally surface, the answer on his lips already threatening to escape.

False freedom was what he could give you—but you could never go home.

And yet, just as the words left your lips, the question was something different.

“Can we go up and look at the sk—” you began, only for him to cut you off before you finished with the mention of his, “—never.”

A tense silence brewed between the two of you and the implications hung heavy in the thick, almost stagnant air. Satoru for once, hesitated, unwinding his bandages clean from his eyes and finally dimmed the blinding fluorescents into something more bearable, at long, long last. The shadows were at last allowed to settle and a new look in your eyes formed at the gifted low light—not just relief, but acceptance too—the look of someone defeated, ready to surrender.

He took a deep breath and settled the plastic bag full of snacks and the like down before where you sat, before sitting down right next to you. Satoru considered extending an arm out to reach and pull you in close—to touch you—but he refrained. Nothing forced, he told himself, even if it was too late to go down that approach. He knew himself, that what he was doing was fucked up, but also, he never wanted for it to be this way. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Something about Suguru getting to you first and in secrecy, too, had triggered a darker side of him that he didn’t know he had—that he potentially didn’t want to understand. Maybe it was never about sharing what his friend had to begin with, maybe he would have been fine with it from the start. Maybe it was simply just because…

(Did he even know the real reason?)

It was simply just because Suguru saw something in you that he couldn’t.

Or?

No, that couldn’t have just been it. Or at least, it couldn’t have been the full truth. Think, Satoru, think. There was something deeper—more volatile.

At first, Satoru thought that Suguru was reaching. You were a pretty face, right? Maybe he wanted something passive or casual, that much was fine, but he could read him perfectly well. From the moment you disclosed what you did at the table from the very first time you met, something potentially very dangerous triggered for Suguru. He had seen that look in his eyes before, way back then, right when he was at the cusp of falling off into the deep end—right before he stopped himself.

Perhaps he should have seen the signs earlier on; what with the lacking interest of who it was that they, as sorcerers, should be protecting and how to do it.

(No, no. He got it.)

It was simply because, instead, Suguru saw a familiar darkness within you that he used to bring closer to justify the means.

Whereas you just wanted to move on—to reduce the negativity—to prevent the darkness from consuming you.

(Maybe it was that… Satoru wanted it too?)

Satoru took a deep breath, drinking in the silence. He thought back to hearing about that murder in your old town, recognising the name immediately—the follow-up to a recently connected killing of a civilian but also, his own family too. He remembered that dysfunctional home; the tough crowd that he had to face and yet, it still made him feel weird, but at the same time… not that he wanted to justify the crimes of his friend, he kind of got it. Or at least, he was starting to.

It was however wrong of him to share that information with you in that way, so for that reason, he had to do better. The abduction should never be forgiven, that much was perfectly fine and even something he accepted, but, he would at least try to help you move on.

Away from the negativity.

Away from jujutsu society.

Away from Suguru.

And into a fabricated life, yes, but… he would give you everything he could beyond that and never force anything ever again.

(Was that much such a delusional hope?)

Before that could happen though, he had to understand something. He reached out into the bag at his feet and took out two drinks of something citrusy, pulling at the tab before handing you the other one.

“Hey, [name]?” Satoru asked, locking his eyes on the same wall you focused on.

You turned your head ever so slightly but didn’t answer.

Satoru continued anyway, “Tell me what really happened back then—the part of the story that you didn’t tell. I know that Suguru knows because otherwise he wouldn’t have done what he… I guess… I’m just trying to understand something.”

Your lips parted a little, trying to bring yourself to tell the truth again. A part of you wondered why he was bringing this up now. Maybe he was just curious, or maybe he was trying to conduct his own investigation as to why his good friend went off the deep end. Whatever the reason, you gave in a second time.

You started off the same way, just like before, reciting it just as clearly as you did for Suguru back then. You watched his reactions as you spoke, watching his once curious expression slowly morph into something shaper—something with a different sort of edge to it. Perhaps it was vulnerability, realisation, or both. It faded quickly whatever it was, quickly twisting into anger, perhaps even self-blame because just like Suguru, Satoru at long, long last, finally understood why you were as dangerous as you were.

A product of the very humanity they were assigned to protect, yet so horribly scarred from it.

Satoru tensed as you finally finished up and for a good, long while, he didn’t say a single thing, but then when he broke the silence, he surprised you instead.

“Did you mean to say that you want to go look at the sky, earlier?” he asked, his voice so tender, so raw.

You didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”

He sat up, stretching out his stiff limbs from their once compacted position, and looked around. Maybe the basement was a bad idea from the start. Maybe giving into the whole estate was. Satoru sucked at his teeth as he made another internal decision, leaving the bag behind and leading you up, flicking the lights off and all of the suspicion be damned, the change was going to start now. He led you up to the roof, letting you lean against the railing to look at the starts, and for just a minute, he left you all alone to step just out of earshot to make a call.

He was going to change things. Isolation was never it. The fucking penthouse was never it. He finally got it. He’d make arrangements for somewhere else, perhaps exactly as Suguru planned and Megumi would go to high school as normal come the end of the next summer. It hurt, but the person he left him behind with was trusted and eventually, he would return—but first—whether it was the wrong way to do it, he was going to make things right. You’d live somewhere far away from the literal prison he had wrongfully confined you to and he would mend things from there on.

(Not quite realising that it was another format of the very same thing he had otherwise inflicted, convincing himself that it was different this time.)

Satoru scoffed again as he finalised those decisions, internally berating himself.

He should have given you that chance from the start.

He shouldn’t have let Suguru poison your mind.

He shouldn’t have succumbed to a moment of weakness back in the classroom—fuck—what exactly did he do, when he…

The cataclysm, indeed.

He was simply just the rain that followed after the clouds, and you, the storm.

~~~

After a moment, you headed back down with Satoru from the moment that it got too cold. Your fingers found themselves curling against the clothes that he wore. It was already deep into the dead of winter, but you tried to tolerate more than you could, thinking that this was your last time seeing the sky—even if it was dark—you pushed yourself more than you could.

However, as Satoru guided you into the bedroom and sat you down, suddenly seeming so awkward, so tender; the sass and the confidence gone from his usually proud demeanour, he revealed the person that he kept hidden beneath the surface so well—from the world, from his friends, from everyone—although now, at least not to you.

For what was below strength, also lay weakness.

Satoru tugged you towards him, pulling you deep into his chest, enveloping you with his body as though to shield you from the rest of the world. With his grip and the hurt that coursed through his veins, he radiated a deep anger, feeling something beyond just regular sadness consume him. He held onto you so tight, so longingly, so desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly on a loop, his chin resting atop your head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

For whatever reason, you gave in. You needed to be held softly for a change—to for once, be listened to. You gave in. You knew you shouldn’t have, but…

His fingers traced their way down to meet your jawline, gently pushing you up to meet with his eyes, so purely blue and crystalline. Satoru’s lips then crashed against yours, his breath hitching—yours too—when you for once, reciprocated it for a change. You were breaking. He was breaking. His lips tasted of sweet cinnamon today, of burnt sugar, of something sweet. He wouldn’t let you go, pulling you up, for once, trying to read into what you wanted for a change.

Delicately, his touch found its way in between your legs, snaking the path down to meet at a certain point. His movements were clumsy—inexperienced—his motions out of rhythm; but, god, he tried. You deserved to feel good for a change, after all. For a moment he stilled, realising that he was only prolonging the cycle, but then—a shudder, no—a moan slipped through your lips and just like that, the addiction returned in full blast, straight like morphine into his system.

Grinding into his touch felt foreign but you did so anyway, circling your hips ever-so-slightly to guide the pace. Satoru picked up just fine, moving to hover over you after a heated moment, as gently as possible trying to read into your body language, pushing apart your legs from the second that he felt no resistance. In an anticipated rush of nerves, he fumbled with his own clothes, plunging his aroused length into the apex of your cunt, burying himself deep inside, pistoning himself with almost manic fervour.

Satoru hilted himself again and again, his breath catching in his throat as ragged gasps barely trickled out of his lungs. You felt so good with your legs wrapped around him like that, sinking him fully into you like an anchored weight—so capsizing and devastating and yet—

Embracing the storm, you allowed him to rut into your core like a man crazed, peppering you with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all the while. His momentum felt slick, somehow not painful like all of those times before, and yet—charged with something dangerous—so raw and apologetic, finally feeling something from you that wasn’t despair. You kissed him again, letting the taste of cinnamon linger.

Satoru, to your surprise, however, wept into the pillow beside you, dampening your hair in the process. Oceanic blue eyes that flooded—pounding into you with fresh regret, yet at the same time wishing to forget about all that he had inflicted—that he was, actively inflicting; telling himself that it was all okay this time because you were finally giving in.

(Even though, surrendering to a broken state of mind wasn’t the answer.)

“Does this feel good?” he asked as his voice cracked, sounding muffled as he strained into the pillow, partially obscured by your hair.

Your breath locked in your throat as you tried to respond, rolling whimpers that bordered on whines filling the silence instead. You did feel good, but you also didn’t, but you also did. Satoru pushed the advantage, misinterpreting the breathless silence as something positive—you were enjoying yourself, right? At least for now, everything was okay, he was okay, and nothing mattered—

Satoru stilled all of a sudden, feeling himself grow close. His fingers moved quicker that time, tracing feverish laps around your clit, reducing your lower half to a violent tremble, feeling your legs give in from underneath him; the chorus of your voice looping in a short-winded symphony and finally, you came undone at long, long last.

A wave of pleasure imploded within you, collapsing from the very moment it coiled, but beyond that, something felt wrong. So terribly wrong. Like a sudden wave of clarity had washed over you, regret settled into the depths of your heart and soul. The weight of what you gave into playing heavily, leaving you feeling like a woman drowned. You didn’t fight back this time though, realising that you were closer to freedom than ever before—all you had to do now was to hold on a little longer—to give in, to surrender—so that the starry nights could become sunrises forever more.

Satoru finished with a final loaded thrust, driving himself with a wailing conclusion. His head dropped forward, resting his forehead against your own and after a while, he pulled out at long last, not caring about the cleanup for a change, rather just… enjoying the afterglow of the moment.

A hint of worry started to consume him though.

What if your admission of surrender wasn’t real?

As you both drifted off to sleep, he held onto you even tighter than before, hoping, even praying, that this wasn’t the case at all, and yet…

Nevermind.

He would make it right again, because, at this point, he had to.

~~~

In the meanwhile, days later after the call with Yuki went through and the hope had planted itself, Shoko received a phone call to her personal cell from an unfamiliar number. Practically tearing out of the med bay within a flash, she quickly locked herself in a nearby supply closet with her back pressed against the door, shutting out the world just in case.

With a tentative hand, she pressed the phone against her ear, expecting to hear words of comfort, her heart dropping from the moment she heard Yuki talk.

“It’s me,” Yuki greeted, her words sounding tense. “We might have a problem.”

Shoko’s breath hitched, already sensing something terribly wrong.

“A problem?” she asked, trying to keep a composed tone.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Yuki continued, “I had a mole check over the estate posing as a housemaid and, “he’s not there Shoko.”

Shoko’s voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

“His home was picked clean, it’s empty,” she added, trying to break the news in as delicately as possible, yet in words that begged understanding, “she asked around, but it turns out that she didn’t need to—they’re keeping it a secret for now, but—Satoru Gojo is gone.”

How could she be so close and yet somehow so far away from it all? For her to have devised a plan that might just work and yet, Satoru flipped the tables all over again. Was this intentional? Her mind raced, yet nothing stuck.

For a moment, it felt like time went still.

What kind of cruel fucking joke was this?

And more importantly, what did that mean for you…?

[lovrx-s]

Misplaced Priorities

Jenna Ortega x F!Reader

Contains: Angst, Rape

You stared at your phone, Jenna’s text lighting up the screen for the fourth time in two weeks.

“Hey, Percy needs me for something. Can we rain check? Love you.”

The dinner reservation you’d been so excited about was now pointless. You looked down at the little black dress you’d carefully chosen, mocking you from where it hung on the closet door.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. What could you even say?

Instead of replying, you dropped your phone onto the bed and sat down, burying your face in your hands. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as the now-familiar feelings of rejection and disappointment welled up inside you.

It wasn’t just tonight; this was becoming a pattern. Jenna always had time for Percy. It didn’t matter how much you planned or how much you tried—he was the constant in her life.

You thought back to the first time she canceled on you. It was supposed to be a movie date—a rare day off for her during filming. You’d been excited, even giddy, but then she called.

“I told you, Percy’s my friend!” she snapped when you asked why she couldn’t reschedule with him.

“I know that, but it feels like you’re choosing him over me,” you said, your voice trembling.

“God, Y/N, not everything’s about you! Why do you always make it about you?”

That night, you cried yourself to sleep.

Things only got worse from there. On the rare occasion Jenna did show up, she was late or distracted. One time, you planned a picnic at your favorite park. She arrived two hours late, unapologetic and laughing about something Percy had said earlier that day.

You hated him.

But it wasn’t just because of the time he monopolized. There was something deeper, something Jenna didn’t know.

The Wednesday Season 1 wrap party was supposed to be a celebration. You weren’t much of a party person, but Jenna had convinced you to come.

“Just for a bit,” she’d said, her smile lighting up the dim room. “I want you there with me.”

The music was loud, the lights dim. You clung to Jenna at first, but as the night went on, she drifted off to mingle, leaving you alone. That was when Percy approached you.

“You look tense,” he said, handing you a drink.

You hesitated but accepted, not wanting to seem rude. “Just not much of a party person.”

He laughed. “Come on, loosen up. It’s a celebration!”

The drink was bitter, the alcohol burning your throat. But as the minutes passed, something felt off. Your limbs grew heavy, your vision blurred, and the room spun.

“Hey, you okay?” Percy’s voice was close—too close.

“I… I don’t feel good,” you murmured, your head lolling.

The next thing you remembered was waking up in an unfamiliar room, your clothes disheveled, and Percy sitting on the edge of the bed, smirking.

“You’ll thank me later,” he said casually, as if what he’d done was nothing.

You didn’t tell anyone. Who would’ve believed you? Percy was charming, well-liked. And you were just… you.

*

Jenna’s parents’ anniversary party was supposed to be a celebration, but you felt out of place the moment you walked into the house. Laughter and chatter filled the air as family and friends mingled, but all you could feel was the growing distance between you and Jenna.

She’d barely said two words to you since you arrived, her attention flitting between her parents, siblings, and a dozen other people. You sat quietly in the living room, nursing a glass of water and trying to blend into the background.

After what felt like hours, you slipped outside to the backyard, needing air. The night was cool, the stars above twinkling in the clear sky. You wrapped your arms around yourself, letting the silence soothe your frayed nerves.

“Hey,” Aliyah’s voice startled you.

You turned to see her standing at the patio door, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

“Mind if I join you?”

You hesitated but nodded.

She walked over, standing beside you. “You’ve been quiet tonight. Actually, for a while now.”

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your gaze fixed on the stars.

Aliyah gave you a skeptical look. “Come on, Y/N. I know ‘fine,’ and this isn’t it. What’s going on?”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “It’s nothing, Aliyah.”

“Bullshit,” she said, her tone gentle but firm. “Talk to me.”

The lump in your throat grew as tears welled up in your eyes. “I don’t think Jenna and I are okay.”

Aliyah frowned. “Why not? You two are always so solid.”

“Not lately,” you admitted, your voice cracking. “She’s always with Percy. She cancels on me all the time, and when I try to talk to her about it, she shuts me down. She makes me feel like I’m the problem.”

Aliyah’s frown deepened. “That’s not fair to you.”

You shook your head, your voice trembling. “It’s more than that.”

Aliyah waited, her expression softening.

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. “At the Wednesday wrap party… he drugged me.” Your voice broke, and you felt tears streaming down your face. “And he… he didn’t stop, even when I begged him to.”

Aliyah’s face hardened, her hands clenching into fists. “Y/N…”

“I didn’t tell anyone,” you continued, your voice shaking. “Who would believe me? And Jenna… she’s happy when she’s with him. I couldn’t ruin that for her.”

“She’d want to know,” Aliyah said fiercely. “She’d never choose him over you.”

“She already does,” you whispered. “Every time.”

*

The car ride home was silent. Jenna’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel, and you stared out the window, the weight of her overhearing your confession pressing down on you like an anchor.

Finally, Jenna pulled over to the side of the road, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths.

“Y/N,” she said, her voice trembling.

You didn’t look at her. “What?”

“I heard you,” she whispered. “At the party. I heard what you told Aliyah.”

Your heart sank, the dread settling in your stomach like lead. “Jenna, I—”

“I didn’t know,” she interrupted, her voice breaking. “I didn’t know what he did to you.”

You closed your eyes, willing yourself to stay calm. “You didn’t want to know, Jenna. Every time I tried to talk to you about how I felt, you shut me down. You made me feel like I was the problem, like I was asking for too much.”

“I was selfish,” Jenna admitted, tears streaking her cheeks. “I was so caught up in my work and my friendships, I didn’t see what it was doing to you. But I swear, I’ll cut him off. I’ll never speak to him again.”

A bitter laugh escaped your lips. “It’s not just about cutting him off, Jenna. It’s about trust. It’s about priorities. And you… you didn’t choose me.”

Her face crumpled. “I’m choosing you now. I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. Just… please, don’t give up on us.”

You turned to her, your voice hollow. “Do you even realize how hard it was for me? Watching you laugh with him, defend him, when I couldn’t even tell you what he did? Do you know what that felt like?”

Jenna reached for your hand, but you pulled away, your throat tight. “I believed in us, Jenna. I loved you enough to stay quiet because I thought your happiness mattered more than my pain. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep being second.”

Her lips trembled. “You’re not second. You’ve never been second.”

“Then why does it feel like I am?” you whispered, your voice cracking.

She didn’t have an answer.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You turned back to the window, blinking away the tears that blurred the streetlights outside.

“I need time,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “To figure out if I can forgive you. If I can move past this.”

Jenna’s breath hitched. “Please don’t walk away.”

“I’m not walking away,” you said softly. “But I’m not staying, either. Not until I know it’s safe to.”

Her sobs filled the car as she slumped forward, her hands gripping the wheel like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When the car pulled into your driveway, you stepped out without another word. The sound of the door closing behind you felt like the end of something fragile, something that had once been beautiful but was now irrevocably broken.

You didn’t know if you could piece it back together.

And as Jenna drove away, the red taillights disappearing into the night, you stood there, wondering if you ever really could.

[rwuffles]

How & Why to add Plain Text to your Coining Posts!

[PT: How and why to add plain text to your coining posts. END PT.]

What is plain text?

Plain text is just text without any outside formatting (i.e. bold, italics, big, etc.) that's added to posts that have them.

Why do posts need plain text?

A lot of the time, it's for people who are visually impaired and/or who have any vision issues! Bolded or italics may be harder to read, big text might be worse for some people instead of better, and colored text could mess with a person's eyes (like me!) for some examples. At the end of the day, it's for accessibility!

Okay, how do I do plain text?

There's a few different ways you can write the plain text itself, and really, how you do it is up to you.

[PT: Text. END PT.]

[pt: text. end pt.]

PT: Text. END PT.

pt: text. end pt.

Those are just a few of the most common ways we see people write them; essentially, the core components are "PT" (to indicate a start of a plain text) and "END PT" (to indicate the end). As for the plain text itself, it should be the exact same thing but with proper grammar/vocabulary (other than capitalization, if you prefer all lowercase). Some examples are:

hallo!!! how r u doing today :333 -> PT: Hallo! How are you doing today? :3 [cat emoticon]. END PT.

vi'm doing good, how about kyu? -> [PT: Vi'm [I'm] doing good, how about you? END PT.]

th4t's g00d! h4v3 y0u n0t1c3d th4t 0ur tqs 4r3 ch4ng1ng 3v3ry m3ss4g3? -> pt: that's good! have you noticed that our tqs [typing quirks] are changing every message? end pt.

why ywes, the fictional character has! h♡ believes that the op of this post is a dork -> [pt: why yes, [i have]! h[heart] believes that the [original poster] of this post is a dork. end pt.]

Personally, if something needs to be changed in a plain text—that being an acronym, pronoun, or something else—I flip-flop between adding it next to it in brackets or parenthesis or just straight up replacing it in brackets. Either or works!

Where should I put plain text?

It depends on the text you're making plain, if that makes sense. For example: if it's something unreadable (i.e. replacing letters with numbers), then you're gonna want the plain text before the actual text. On the other hand, if it is readable—at least to screenreaders—you should put the plain text right below the text itself. Some people like to put all of the plain text at the end of their posts, too; the only thing you're going to want to stay away from is putting it under the cut! This is because if you change your URL (I believe) or deactivate your blog, anything under the cut is no longer accessible and therefore your post no longer has a plain text.

But, plain texts don't fit my post's aesthetic/make my posts look more cluttered!

Have you considered that, in that case, it isn't the plain text's fault? If your post has so many things that need separate plain texts that it ends up just making your post look bad, then I don't think that the plain text is to blame; having a million different things of text colored and bolded and using fancy fonts is just unnecessary. I like to think that my posts are fairly aesthetic, albeit a bit simple.

Could we get a boost for this post? (not forced!) @radiomogai @the-astropaws @local-maneater @hysangel @rabidbatboy @vampitsm @icwdtea @smilepilled @pupcoins

[chaos-in-deepspace]

Zayne's Chocolate Incident (Discussion)

Aight so this is spoilers for the newest 5-Star Banner for Zayne, but felt I should discuss it since I've seen some discourse about it that I've been seeing. If you don't mind spoilers or have already seen it, then you can continue under the cut.

So I've been seeing two different things being brought up about this, and it's:

MC not telling Zayne it was alcoholic chocolate and how horrible that makes her.

Zayne pretending to be drunk (or how the fuck did this man get drunk) discussions.

Let's start with the 1st one!

MC not telling Zayne about the chocolate

People are making it out to be super problematic, as if MC was trying to get Zayne drunk for amusement, or maybe it's just the fact that there was alcohol in the chocolate and she didn't tell him.

I dunno if y'all have ever had alcoholic chocolate, but for the most part...you eat it for the flavor. In fact, the alcohol content in it is so low it's laughable. It would be impossible for someone to get drunk off a single chocolate unless they were an actual toddler (hell a toddler would probably be fine). Not to mention chocolate contains both sugars and fats...two things that are known for helping you sober up when drunk.

In essence, you're eating the chocolate for the flavor alone. The taste of the alcohol in the chocolate can help accentuate the flavor and it's good. Unless I had a friend allergic to chocolate or didn't drunk due to religious reasons, I probably wouldn't bat an eye at it.

To put it into context, one piece of chocolate contains about 1.8% alcohol in general. An average shot of alcohol is 40%. I could probably eat 20 of those chocolates and maybe feel a slight buzz...if that. Pair that with the sugar and fat content of it, it makes it even harder to get drunk off of it.

This is probably why MC didn't say anything about the chocolate. You're eating it for the flavor, not the effects, and Zayne likes sweets. It's common knowledge in this fandom. I'd probably offer it to him too because hey, it's a different type of chocolate that won't be giving you negative effects like getting drunk.

Not to mention Zayne originally only took a bite of the chocolate, and managed to realize it had alcohol in it. He then proceeded to continue eating it, which probably meant he was also aware that this kind of chocolate is made for enjoyment not getting drunk.

Hell MC was fucking shook when Zayne ended up getting drunk from said chocolate because she clearly didn't think it was possible, and the proceeded to take care of him with a bit of teasing on the side (something he's also done a bit of when MC was drunk).

At the end of the day it's up to your opinion if MC not telling Zayne it had alcohol makes her a horrible person, in my opinion it doesn't. She knew he didn't have religious reasons and he wasn't allergic, and she didn't think it was possible to even get tipsy over a single chocolate.

Now for the second part:

Zayne getting drunk

It's a trope. It's a trope people. In fact it happens in K-dramas pretty often from what I've heard from those who watch them. They wanted to find a believable way to get the composed Zayne to get drunk. None of us can really see Zayne actively drinking since he's made it clear he doesn't, but he ain't gonna turn down chocolate.

I also don't believe Zayne was lying or playing up the drunk part. Again it was to fit a trope. They wanted to get Zayne drunk for the card, so they made him drunk. Same reason we got the cat banners. They wanted the men to have cat ears and came up with a random thing. Same reason we got the Wander in Wonder event. They wanted an excuse to put them in unique clothing that's outside of the norm.

It's for tropes.

Also these are fictional characters in a fictional world.

I think with having said that, it's kinda cleared up the case of the alcoholic chocolate. Realistically Zayne wouldn't have been drunk, even if he's a lightweight beyond lightweight, it just isn't plausible. He got drunk because he's a fictional character and that's what the devs wanted. If he was sober it wouldn't have made for a very exciting card.