#bringing out the existential crisis for you

[fangdokja]

A love letter: from a guy who’s watched every movie, probably knows your underwear size.

♡ Book. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

♡ Word Count. 1,037

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who's a highly successful and respected CEO. He's young, attractive, disgustingly competent, and everyone kisses the ground he walks on. But deep down? He’s a terminally online fanboy who has spent an unhealthy amount of time overanalyzing every single role you've ever played.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who's in board meetings discussing billion-dollar acquisitions, yet his mind is occupied with that one interview where you casually mentioned your favorite brand of tea. He's definitely the type of person who has an entire Reddit archive dedicated to dissecting every subtle micro-expression you make.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who has been in the trenches of fandom wars over you. He's argued on forums, destroyed lesser mortals in Twitter debates, and singlehandedly written an unhinged 100k-word dissertation about your artistic choices. His assistant knows better than to bring up your name in his presence unless they want to hear a three-hour lecture about "symbolism" in your performances.

♡ Yandere! Fanboy who definitely has a burner account where he trashes your haters. The fact that he owns entire media conglomerates and could just buy out any publication that slanders you? Irrelevant. The thrill of obliterating someone in an online debate is far more satisfying. His employees whisper that he turns into an eldritch beast when someone misinterprets one of your characters.

♡ Yandere! Producer who has been in charge of your career since you were too young to know what a contract was. Who molded you into the perfect performer, ensuring that no matter what role you played, you would be the best in the industry. He's the reason you're the heir to an empire instead of some washed-up has-been.

♡ Yandere! Producer who's a ruthless perfectionist. If you even THINK about slacking off, he appears out of thin air to personally drag you back to work. You’ve never once seen him take a break. You’re not even sure if he sleeps. His entire existence revolves around making sure you're always at your peak.

♡ Yandere! Producer who definitely doesn't have romantic feelings for you. Absolutely not. That would be inappropriate. He’s just extremely invested in you. Extremely protective. Extremely willing to ruin anyone who dares to speak ill of you. But it’s not love. Nope. Not at all.

♡ Yandere! Producer who would rather perish than let you retire. You want to take a break? Go off the grid? Live like a normal person? Cute. Real cute. But no. Not happening. He’ll personally drag you back to set himself if he has to.

♡ Yandere! Rival who's your childhood best friend turned arch-nemesis. The two of you were supposed to rule the industry together. Instead, you betrayed him. You left him behind. You chose your career over him, and now he despises you. Except he doesn’t. He just wants to strangle you and kiss you at the same time.

♡ Yandere! Rival who is the only person who truly knows you. The deadpan, asocial, walking existential crisis that exists beneath all the roles you play? He’s seen it. He’s lived it. He’s watched you go from some awkward kid who just wanted to escape reality to the living legend you are today. And he hates it. He hates that you succeeded without him.

♡ Yandere! Rival who makes it his personal mission to ruin you. Not out of malice, of course. Just… intense, aggressive, deeply personal spite. He'll buy out companies just to sabotage your projects. He'll challenge you at every turn, making sure you never have a moment of peace. And if you ever show weakness? If you ever show even a hint of wanting to run away from all of this?

Yeah. No. He’s dragging you back himself.

♡ Yandere! Hater who is, objectively speaking, your most logical critic. He doesn’t simp. He doesn’t fanboy. He doesn’t give a shit about your popularity. He just thinks you’re a fraud.

♡ Yandere! Hater who has made an entire career out of analyzing and criticizing you. He's one of the few people who sees past all the personas, the roles, the carefully constructed images you create. And he calls you out for it constantly.

♡ Yandere! Hater who roasts you mercilessly. He sees through every act, every calculated move, every attempt you make to distance yourself from reality. He calls you a coward for never playing roles that hit too close to home. And you hate how much he’s right.

♡ Yandere! Hater who definitely doesn’t have feelings for you. Absolutely not. Just because he keeps tabs on all your projects? Just because he watches every single one of your performances with an almost obsessive level of scrutiny? Just because he memorized your entire career history down to the most obscure details?

Yeah, no. He just thinks you're a hack. That’s all.

And you?

You’re just here. Existing. Barely surviving the sheer insanity of these people. You grew up in an industry where everyone wears a mask, so you became the best at it. You play roles because it’s easier than being yourself. You disappear into characters, because facing reality is overrated.

You’re the dead-eyed, sleep-deprived, existential crisis-ridden heir to an entertainment empire, and somehow, you’ve collected an entire legion of obsessive psychos who can’t decide whether they want to ruin you, worship you, or lock you in a gilded cage.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired , @lilyalone , @starryperson , @yandreams-storageblog , @tiffyisme3760 , @songbirdgardensworld

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. ♡ Book 5. Ink & Insight (I&I): From Dead Dove to Daydreams.

[wisteria-lodge]

Drarry Prompts:

1. Draco buys the Chudley Cannons

(I mean, obviously he gets it at a *very* good price.)

I see this as a universe where Hermione and Ron have just broken up, and Ron is sleeping on Harry's couch because he can't bring himself to break the news to his mother.... driving Harry kinda crazy... and the final straw is now even his favorite sports team is tainted by Malfoy. He can't even go out to his favorite quidditch pub and enjoy the season. And so Harry just has to go like - Malfoy. Draco. You don't understand, this is all he has left. You have to sell it, I'm calling in a favor.

2. Dueling Champion Draco

Except it turns out "Competitive Dueling" is basically a cross between epee fencing and WWE Westlemania. It's like 60% spectacle, 35% game, and only like 5% actual martial art. Harry doesn't know this. I think this would pair well with a hates-his-job Auror Harry, like maybe something is going down at the International Dueling Championship, or they just get in a sticky situation and Harry realizes that Draco fighting repertoire consists of A) *extremely* dark spells from the war that he can't/won't use and B) Pretty, flashy, ribbon-dancing type spells that are either completely useless, or only useful in incredibly specific situations. Also one or two abilities that are just weird like "able to cast spells with ventriloquism."

Anyhow of course they learn to work together and it's great.

3. Narcissa dates a movie star

This is one where Narcissa divorces Lucius post-war, and just heads off to France on a permanent vacation. She's next spotted on the Cannes red carpet next to a muggle movie star. I'm thinking Tom Hiddleston. I think she's just dating the literal actor Tom Hiddleston. Anyhow, they're getting pretty serious, she's told him she's a witch, and she wants Draco to meet him. Draco is having an existential crisis because he has no idea how to navigate this situation. He's never even been to a movie before, and none of his pureblood friends are any help. So he calls in Harry, who has experience with muggles, and also with being really famous? Harry just thinks the whole situation is hilarious. I feel like this is a premise that would heavily feature Hermione as well.

[esamastation]

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 4 [<<Prologue | <Chapter 3 || Chapter 4>>] Ao3 link

-

So, gambling turned out to be a bit of a bust. It's not a complete loss, though, Van did multiply his starting bid of five silver to seventy four silver pieces in total. Compared to using exploits it's nothing - Katie could've made that in her sleep, if the NPCs still worked like they do in the game. But seeing that it's still in the very early tutorial section… it could be worse.

And then there's the level up. Van's very first this time around. Cue the confetti…

[Farmboy] [Van] [Lvl. 2 Commoner]

It feels pretty good. And what's waiting below in the stats screen is even better.

[You have 2 unused Stat Points.] [You have 1 unused Skill Point]

The first ones always feel a bit special.

In Age of Tales you get two status points and one skill point each time you level up and can then allocate those points as you wish on your character screen. It's not the only way to get points - there are quests, special items and a couple of accessories that affect how you accrue points - but until you're making real money in the game, you're stuck with what level ups dish out. Which is fine - early levels until about lvl. 20 are pretty cheap.

Of course, Van doesn't have a class yet, and so no skill tree to assign his shiny new skill point to - but he can assign his stat points, if he wants to. Which brings up the question. 

What is he going to specialise in this time? 

Van's got the base stats for an easy start as a Paladin, obviously - but Katie just did a Paladin run, and while it was fun, she wouldn't say it was so great that she's eager to repeat the experience. Especially if this really is a transmigration isekai situation - which she's still not thinking about, thank you very much, that's an existential crisis that can wait until nightfall.

At any rate, getting stuck forever as a Paladin would be… well, it would probably be fine. It was alright, playing the goody two shoes lawful good himbo with a heart of gold. It went great with the whole cliché secret chosen one and the lost heir to a great house thing at least… not that there were more than, like, three characters in the whole game who even acknowledged the player character's class. Van got pretty much the same reaction from everyone regardless of whether he was a Rogue or a Wizard or Paladin - it was just the big black and white moral choices that affected those sorts of things.

Age of Tales is Age of Tales-ing, what can you do?

Anyway, going at it as a Paladin again would be easy… but boring. Katie would have to think about it carefully before committing to anything. Though she hasn't quite ruled out the use of cheats yet and is still hoping that Van might be able to use exploits to his benefit later, the gambler showed her that things are different here. Never mind the fact that some features of Age of Tales are just missing, like the passive Wisdom buff. What if she chose a class with features that just don't work anymore?

Yeah, Van's next class would take some careful consideration, and she wouldn't be assigning his status points until she knew, either. Class selection wouldn't be until Urgol's Camp in Chapter 2, anyway, so there's no point fretting about it now.

For now Van has some silver to spend and shopping to do.

He considers visiting the fortune teller first, just in case the duplication glitch is still possible… but he doesn't have a gold bar, and the glitch never worked with anything else, and beyond that the fortune teller doesn't really do much. Also, he has The Incident to prepare for, too, and a limited amount of money.

So, with a full coin purse in hand, Van turns his attention to the market instead. First things first - weapon and armour.

The smithy stands on the other end of the market square, with smoke chugging out of its chimney at steady puffs. There are some shields on display in the front and a big wooden sword on top of the building, advertising "Blakeley's Blades - in business for more than three generations!"

"Hello," Van calls, entering the place.

Inside the air is hot and thick, with the smell of smoke and metal hanging heavy in the room. In the background there's the steady clink-clink-clink of a hammer on an anvil - an apprentice, hammering out some nails in the back. 

"Welcome," an older teenager, eighteen at most, comes forward. "How can we help you?"

[Blacksmith's Apprentice] [Jaro Amagris] [Lvl. 15 Commoner]

"I'd like to see what you have for sale, please," Van says.

"Well, what we have ready is over there," the older apprentice says, pointing towards a table loaded with a number of wooden boxes and buckets full of different metal crafts - nails, candle holders, hinges… "But if you want something specific, you will have to wait until the master gets back - he's out on business."

"Thanks, I'll just take a look," Van says and moves to the table. 

Much to his delight, an Age of Tales shop menu pops up.

[Blakeley's Blades Blacksmith]

[Small Iron Nail - 10 copper pieces] [Small Iron Hook - 13 copper pieces] [Small Iron Clasp - 15 copper pieces] …

And so on, in a surprisingly long list from cheapest to the most expensive. It's a lot of small iron stuff, different types of nails, cloak pins, buckles and buttons, eating utensils, heads of farming tools, and so on and so on, ending with the most expensive items.

… [Cast Iron Skillet - 35 silver pieces] [Cast Iron Cooking Pot - 40 silver pieces] [Short Sword - 50 silver pieces] 

It's a lot more items than Van had been expecting - and yet, fewer weapons. There are plenty of knives - Cooking Knife, Lvl. 1, goes for a nice round 20 silver pieces while Whittling knife, Lvl. 1 goes for 25 - but there's no daggers or throwing knives or anything like that. There isn't even metal ammunition for a sling. There's just one short sword on sale.

And no armour whatsoever. 

"Do you not sell any armour?" Van asks, confused. 

"Er, no?" Jaro Amagris says, giving him a strange look. "We don't make armour, really, though I suppose we can give it a try, if you want to order some. Or you could try at the Madam Arbury's, they might have something."

Van blinks, confused. "Madam Arbury's?"

"The tailor," Jaro clarifies.

There's a tailor? "Oh, okay. Uh. Where is it?"

"It's just across from the church - big windows with dresses, you can't miss it," the apprentice says with a shrug. "I think they have some padded coats and stuff."

Huh. That's interesting. You could get some gambesons and the like in the game too, but all armour and weaponry was bought from blacksmiths. This is… different.

"What d'you need armour for?" the younger apprentice, a boy of maybe ten or eleven, asks from between his hammering. His eyes shine eagerly on his sweaty, soot-stained face. Van glances at the air above him.

[Blacksmith's Apprentice] [Denny Rivercross] [Lvl. 3 Commoner]

The kid squints at Van.  "Are you going to join the army or something?" he asks.

Yeah, eventually, unfortunately, if things follow game plot. "No, no, I just got a bit of money, and I always wanted to try it," Van says quickly and motions at himself. "I mean… I think I'd make a good warrior. What do you think?" He flexes an arm, just because he can. And because Van's biceps are massive.

The younger blacksmith's apprentice bounces a little, clearly full of barely contained kid energy. "Oh yeah! You could be a knight!"

The older apprentice snorts. "Yeah, I don't think size alone is enough to become a knight, Denny," he says, looking Van up and down. "Though it probably helps…"

Denny bounces again. "Jaro, can we make armour for him?" the kid asks eagerly. "I'm so tired of making nails!"

"Well, like I said, we could give it a try," Jaro answers dubiously, still eyeing Van. "If he can pay for it."

Van shrugs. "I might, I might not. How long would it take to make it?"

"Depends on what you want," Jaro answers, taking a hammer lying on a table nearby and swinging it thoughtfully. "Some things take longer to make. And whether you're fine with us trying our hand at it, or if you want a master to make it matters too. He'll be faster - but it will cost you more."

"Hmm… say I wanted a chest plate, a cuirass, and you made it - how long would it take you?" Van asks, rubbing his chin on thought.

Jaro shrugs. "I've never made one and we're pretty busy, so… maybe a week or two?"

… by which time, Van would be at Ulgor's Camp and Valthor's minions would've already torched Westbrook to the ground.

Assuming, of course, that events followed game plot.

"Hmm," Van hums, wondering. In the game there's nothing you can do to prevent the destruction of Westbrook and the Gylcross farm - no matter what choices the player made, a scripted event was a scripted event. But maybe here and now… maybe there is something he can do.

He'd know once the Rift was opened.

In either case, a week is too long - he needs the armour for the battle in town, and that's in three days - and after that, even if the town survived, he might not see Westbrook again in months, if not years. There's no point in ordering anything made here.

"Well, it was a nice dream," Van sighs, a bit disappointed. "I guess I'll try my luck at the tailor's."

"Uh-huh," Jaro the senior apprentice agrees, clearly unimpressed, and drops the hammer on the table. "Alright. Anything else we can do for you?"

With no weapon-worthy knives and the only sword on sale being prohibitively expensive with Van's meagre budget… "Any chance you might have any spears or something lying around in here?"

Jaro snorts at him, arching his brows. "Spears?"

"I just want something to practice being a warrior with!" Van says defensively. "Spears are cheap, right?"

The elder blacksmith's apprentice shakes his head, looking amused, and then thinks about it. "Actually," Jaro says slowly. "I might have something. If you're alright with the shoddy quality, I think we have some practice pieces left?"

He goes to rummage in the back of the smithy and comes back with three very rough looking spearheads made of pretty low quality iron, going by the little holes and pockmarks in them.

[Dull Spearhead, Lvl. 1] [Attack: 3] [Defence: 0] [Crafting material. Attach to a Wooden Pole for a Dull Spear Lvl. 1.]

Van studies the spearheads with interest. Huh. There was crafting in Age of Tales, of course - but the only weapons you could craft were different types of arrows, and those only if you played a Ranger. He'd never seen spearheads. Maybe with some crafting material, his crafting menu will unlock?

In the meanwhile, the younger apprentice has abandoned his nail and is coming to join them. "Jaro, did you make these?" Denny asks, poking at the spearheads interestedly.

"Yes - master was hoping to get commission from the Baron, so he had me learn how to make them," Jaro shrugs. "We didn't get the job, though, it went to a blacksmith in Elysia. Someone's relative." He rolls his eyes.

Denny bounces eagerly, looking up at him. "I want to learn how to make spearheads!"

"Figure out how to make straight nails first," Jaro snorts, pushing the kid back towards the anvil he'd abandoned. Then the elder apprentice turns to look at Van. "Anyway, you can have these for five silver apiece."

Van hums. They are pretty rough, but… they'll probably still be better than the tools back at the farm. "Throw in a sharpening stone and you got yourself a deal."

-

Things go a little better at the tailor. Emphasis on the little.

"Oh, dear me," huffs the very fashionable lady tailor holding the gambeson against Van's chest and tutting fretfully. "No, it won't do, this won't fit at all! I'm afraid it will never fit you."

[Tailor] [Alma Arbury] [lvl. 7 Commoner]

She's somewhere between her thirties and forties and quite pretty, as most female NPCs in this game are. She's dressed up like the NPCs in the crown city, in a multilayered, vaguely Victorian looking dress with many shiny buttons running in a neat line from her neck down to the very hem. She looks very much like someone who's well fit to catering for the rich and affluent.

It's pretty fascinating, since she wasn't in the game at all.

"Well?" Alma asks, squinting a little through her golden framed glasses.

Van looks down. Though the gambeson looks pretty legit, with thick quilting and metal clasps and everything… it also kind of looks like she's holding something made for a child, when compared to his torso. "Could you maybe… expand it?" he asks hopefully. 

"Oh, well," Alma frowns, leaning back a little to consider the issue. "I suppose I could add panels to the side… and the arms… and the shoulder…" she trails away and then tsks, folding the gambeson over her arm. "No, no, it won't do, it won't do at all, it would be a complete mess. No, the proper thing to do is to make a new coat from scratch. Yes, it will fit you perfectly and will be far less work for me!"

Van hums, watching her take the gambeson away. "Well, you're the tailor, I guess. How long would that take, though?" he asks worriedly.

Alma hums and waves a dismissive hand. "Oh, a day or two - it's not a terribly complicated piece of clothing to make, and I have some nice quilt ready."

Van sighs with disappointment. Yet another unexpected turn for realism, but at least it's better than a week or two. "I see," he says and mentally pokes at the System, in hopes that it might offer him a handy-dandy instant goods store.

It shows him the tailor's shop instead. 

[Madam Arbury's Boutique.]

[Handkerchief - 80 copper pieces] [Foot Wrap - 90 copper pieces] [Underwear - 1 silver pieces] …

And so on and so forth, all the way down to…

… [Men's Fancy Winter Coat - 67 copper pieces] [Fancy Evening Dress - 80 silver pieces] [Elaborate Wedding Dress - 1 gold and 10 silver pieces] 

Van mentally flicks through the store page with a sigh and then stops. What's this? Near the middle of the list there is, oh, is that A Leather Vest, lvl. 4? For meagre 20 silver pieces? Well-well-well…

He looks slyly towards the tailor. "You wouldn't happen to have anything else - like, say, a vest?" he asks and adds, leadingly. "Something that might offer a little bit of protection?"

"Oh, well," Alma huffs, adjusting her glasses, her lips pursing up in thought. "I suppose we can have a look at what I have in store, but I really don't think… no, maybe…"

She heads off, muttering to herself and leaving Van examining the boutique and the System's store window. 

It's interesting, and yet another proof of how much more… real things are here. While the building for this shop was in the game - and it had something like five identical clones in other towns and cities - it hadn't been something the player could interact with. Just window dressing, making towns feel more lived in.

Maybe it was in the cut content, and there'd been plans for a clothing shop NPC that hadn't been implemented. It wouldn't be the first time it happened, and there certainly were enough clothing items that there should've been a tailor NPC.

"Ah, here we go!" Alma calls. She's holding a brown leather vest up triumphantly. "Now, this, this is a tough piece of clothing, if I do say so myself! Nice and supple cowhide. Come here, let's see how it fits."

It doesn't, no matter how Alma tries to stretch it, the vest doesn't get anywhere near to closing properly. Van's chest is simply too big.

"Well, that's what you get for growing so big!" the tailor says, a little defensive, her face flushed with effort. 

"I didn't say anything?" Van mutters and then shakes his head, giving in to the inevitable and taking the vest off. Everything was so much easier in the game - because everything always fit the character perfectly. "I guess it was a bit much expect clothing to be ready made. Let's talk about the gambeson - how much would it cost to make it?"

Pretty much all the silver he has left, it turns it, and he wouldn't get the gambeson until the next time he was in town, but that's fine. He wouldn't need it until after the Rift, anyway. With haggling done - and belated introductions made - Alma moves to take his measurements

It's a bit of a new experience for Katie, who's never had anything tailored in her life. It's also somewhat eye-opening, because Madam Arbury's Boutique has something he's not encountered yet. 

A mirror.

"I'll get to work right away," Alma promises, pushing her glasses up again while Van stares at his reflection. "It will be ready by tomorrow evening, mark my words. Please extend your arm straight to the side."

"I'm sure it will be," Van says, tilting his head this way and that while holding his arm to the side. Katie spent something like two hours designing this face, but seeing it like this, in the mirror, moving when he moves, emoting when he does…

"May I ask what you need a gambeson for, anyway?" Alma asks. "I assume you work on a farm?"

"Yeah, the Gylcross farm - but I'm not planning to stay there forever," Van admits, making faces at his reflection. His teeth are so straight. And so white. Kind of weird.

"Ah, I see," Alma hums, thoughtful, writing something down in a little notebook. "Are you looking to join any military group in particular? Should I add heraldries?"

"No," Van says, shaking his head. "I just want some armour, no insignia or heraldry or anything."

"Very well. You can put your hand down now."

Van lowers his arm and tilts his head the other way. Damn, his jaw is… impressive. He's got comic book superhero levels of jaw going for himself. Which kind of makes sense - a certain farmboy superhero might've been an inspiration there, maybe. His hair is so much messier than he realised, though. Guess that's an effect of it not being just a thing made of polygons anymore.

Also, is that… a bit of stubble? A hint of a five o'clock shadow? 

Does he have to shave?

Alma finishes taking his measurements with professional finesse. Van pays for his order, signs the receipt,  weighs his now empty coin purse and then sighs. "Thank you very much, Ma'am."

"And thank you for your business, Mr. Van," Alma says, sniffing, and with a last slightly flustered glance at him, awkwardly waves him off. "Have a very good day now."

Shaking his head, Van heads out of the store.

So, instead of the usual armament of Long Sword, Reinforced Wooden Buckler, Studded Leather Armour, dozens of Draughts of Memory and bunch of healing potions on top of it, his shopping haul is… three shoddy spear points, sharpening stone and a receipt for an order from Madam Arbury's Boutique.

Yeah, Katie's usual approach to Age of Tales is not working here, at all, and reality is throwing some spanners in the works. Katie isn't sure how she likes it. Which is probably kinda ironic, after all the times she went on and on about how dumb and unrealistic Age of Tales was. 

She'd get used to it. 

-

"Ah, there you are, my boy," Mr. Gylcross says, spotting Van loitering about the marketplace, waiting for him. "Have you been enjoying your time in town?"

"It's been… interesting," Van admits, which it has. "All done with business, sir?"

"Yes, quite. I found a couple of buyers for our spring crops," Mr. Gylcross says, seeming satisfied. He's got a flushed look of a man who's had at least a couple of drinks and his moustache has somehow gotten bushier. Looks like he's had a good day. "And the doctor will come take a look at Geruth tomorrow," the landowner continues. "Now, go and fetch the cart, if you please - I've made some purchases, and it will be far easier to load them directly into the cart."

[Homeward bound, Lvl. 2.]

[Mr. Gylcross' shopping trip is drawing to a close and it's time to head back to the farm. Fetch Bell and the cart, and load Mr. Gylcross' purchases for the trip home.] [Quest reward:  20 exp, 3 Meat buns, 1 Bottle of Mead.]

"Right away," Van agrees and gets to it.

Together with Mr. Gylcross Van loads up the various sacks and barrels and other things the man had bought onto the cart, tying them down for a secure trip home. Then Mr. Gylcross takes a seat in the back again, now leaning against some flour sacks.

"Have you eaten anything, Van?" the man asks, rifling through his purchases.

"Ah, no, sir, I got… distracted," Van admits - and the moment it's mentioned, he realises that he's actually pretty hungry and thirsty. He hadn't even been thinking of food as something he needs, because, well… Age of Tales didn't have a hunger bar.

"Here," Mr. Gylcross says and hands him a clay bottle and a paper bag that doesn't quite fit the setting. "Eat up, my boy, it's a long way home."

"Thanks, Mr. Gylcross," Van says and peers into the bag - sure enough, meat buns. The bottle must be mead then. "I appreciate it."

"Got to keep my men fed, don't I, else you might run off to work for the likes of Drakner, and I can't have that " Mr. Gylcross chortles and settles down for the journey back.

Van hums, taking a bite of the meat bun and answering the System's prompt for [Start journey?] with [yes].

-

[<<Prologue | <Chapter 3 || Chapter 4>>]

Proofread by @nimadge

-

Reality is against Van but at least there's meat buns and mead

[poetry-of-the-fa11en]

are you uncomfortable looking into someone's eyes or uncomfortable with their eyes looking into you?

[goosessideblog]

Thinking about A Square being returned wrong. Mirrored. Irreversible

A Sphere fucks up, and puts him down in the wrong direction, wrong side up. It's not like he remembers, but A Square certainly does. When he wakes up- it's too late.

The third dimension never phased him, but what about something so intrinsic as your own body, flipped the wrong way? The world becoming upside-down, having to relearn to navigate the places you called home. And it's such obvious proof of the third dimension, but what if it's all in your head? No one can tell with your features being confined to a corner, you can only try to explain the distress you're going through, but if you try you'll certainly be deemed a madman.

We know his knowledge changed him, but what if it changed him physically? In a way he can never return from? He could've passed it off as the strangest dream, denied it's truth, lived the rest of his life at peace, but how do you disprove something so concrete? Would he think himself insane too, after a while?

Someone let me access a two-dimensional being i have a hypothesis that needs to be tested

[mellowswriting]

new perspective

pairing || Din Djarin x f!Reader

word count || 2.8k

summary || teaching the infamous Mandalorian to slow down and enjoy life isn't easy. it takes planning, patience - and silken sheets apparently.

content || SMUT, domesticity, simple pleasures, shower sex, sensual massages (i'm incorrigible), p in v sex, cowgirl position 🤠, slow sweet sex, post-orgasm planning for the future (this is din, after all)

a/n || i know, i know. i can hear it all now. "mel, where the fuck have you been???" celebrating my graduation and then immediately devolving into an existential crisis. but that's okay! not only have i figured out my direction in life, but i've returned with everyone's favorite topic: simping for Din Djarin.

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Din Djarin is not a man who knows how to take his time. He’s a workhorse, constantly on the go from one job to the next. He simply never learned the skill of savoring the little things in life. A good meal, a hot shower, a full night’s rest, leisure time. All of those things are simply a stranger to him. Any pleasure he takes, usually at his own hand, is perfunctory at best, a release of tension for its own sake.

Until you.

It starts simple - a set of silken sheets that you bring onto the Crest. Din returns to find you sprawled out on the small bed you share with a sleepy smile that makes his chest feel funny. Your fingers fan out against the soft material.

“Come feel.” You murmur. He doesn’t hesitate to tug off the thick leather gloves and brush the fabric with the back of his fingers. You watch as his shoulders soften, his head tilting as he takes in the foreign feeling. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” He says contemplatively. “It’s soft.”

Your smile widens and you shift over, making room for your lover. “Join me?”

“In a bit,” Din promises. The chill of his beskar soaks into your skin as he presses his forehead to yours. His warm palm cups your cheek and he holds you there for a breath before pulling away. “I have some more work to do.”

It isn’t hard to convince him to strip down when he joins you later that night. He’s exhausted, body aching from a long day’s work. He lets you strip away his armor and flight suit until he’s left in his briefs. You’re used to him falling asleep the moment he collapses into bed - but tonight is different. His eyebrows raise in surprise when he relaxes back into the pillows, his fingers rubbing circles against new sheets. Din is a man of few words but it’s obvious how much he likes the new addition to the bedroom.

“Come here,” He whispers, beckoning you to join him. The tension melts from his body as you curl up against his side. He tilts your chin up and kisses you softly, a wordless offer of his thanks that you eagerly accept. Surrounded by the cool sheets and the woman he loves, he falls asleep within minutes. That morning, Din lingers in bed for those first drowsy moments after waking. He wakes you with a few gentle caresses of his hands over your shoulder and arm and a murmur of your name. He looks more rested than usual.

You make sure to buy matching pillowcases the next time you’re out.

With every passing day, Din learns how to slow down and savor the morning. It doesn’t take much to keep him in bed with you a little longer each morning - a few soft touches and sweet kisses, and Din sinks right back into your arms. He rubs his face into the crook of your neck and drifts in and out of sleep, practically purring with every brush of your fingers through his hair. His voice, so deep and rough first thing in the morning, rumbles low in his chest as he murmurs his love into your skin. It’s simple, this early morning peace the two of you share. So simple, but so important.

You slip into the shower with him one random evening. You can’t help it. He’s been gone for two days straight on a bounty hunt and you’ve missed him. His eyes light up with interest as they trail over your naked body, his hands finding your waist and tugging you against him. A shiver of desire arcs up your spine - but you didn’t come here to get fucked silly in the shower. Well, not yet at least. You loop your arms around his shoulders and press up on your toes to kiss him properly. Din groans against your lips, already moving to press you against the shower wall. A gentle tug on his hair is enough to stop him in his tracks.

“Can I wash your hair?” You ask, looking up at him like the picture of innocence.

Din blinks at you, confused. “You want to… wash my hair?”

“Yeah,” You say softly.

There’s no need to over-explain. The two of you have mastered this silent communication over the months you have spent together. He searches your face for a moment before his expression softens, implicit permission given in the way his eyes shine for you. You gently lather shampoo into his thick curls and let your nails drag along his scalp in the way he loves. His eyelashes flutter under your touch but his eyes don’t close. He’s too intent on watching you. The grip he has on your hips tightens as you work, little groans falling from his lips at the simple pleasure of your hands on his body.

He lets you maneuver him and tilt his head back into the water without a hint of resistance. For a man so used to keeping everyone at arm's length, the trust he holds for you is plain as day. His cock twitches against your belly as your fingers meticulously work the suds from his hair. The barest hint of your skin against his is enough to get him riled up, but this…? The press of your slick, bare body pressed against his? His body language begs for more. He leans into the press of your fingers and cants his hips forward, slowly grinding against you with stuttered breaths.

The moment the water runs clear, Din lifts you by your thighs and presses you against the cold shower wall. You can’t help but admire the bulge of his biceps as he leverages you up and nudges your entrance with the head of his cock, searching your face for permission. The hungry kiss you drag him into is all the permission he needs. A new rush of adrenaline seizes his body as he sinks into you. He fucks you hard and fast, pace faltering at the pure heaven of your body. He wedges his hand between your bodies and rubs insistent circles against your clit. He just knows your body too well - within minutes, those frantic bursts of pleasure built into a powerful orgasm that leaves you trembling and weak in his arms.

Din buries his face in the crook of your neck as he spills inside of you just seconds later. Every moan and panted breath echoes through the small shower. You shiver at the feeling of his lips pressed against your neck. He always knows just where to kiss and touch to leave you like putty in his hands. He goes willingly when you guide him in for a real kiss, lazy and slow as the water streams against you. Careful not to let you slip, he lowers you onto your feet and maneuvers you until the water pounds against your back.

You should have expected him to return the favor. Din doesn’t take no for an answer.

“It’s your turn.” He murmurs, too adamant and stubborn to be swayed. You’ve always loved that about him, even when it gives you grief.

You melt into his chest as he works product into your hair, his fingers massaging at your scalp in a way you didn’t even know you needed. Little sounds of satisfaction fall from your lips with every touch. Sometimes you forget just how big his hands are. He palms the back of your head and draws you close enough that your noses brush, but he doesn’t kiss you. Not yet. He just watches you for a moment as he thoroughly washes your hair. He takes in the way you look up at him with an expression so full of love that he aches.

“I love you,” His voice is so low that it almost gets lost in the thrum of water, but you hear it. He can tell by the way your eyes light up, by the soft smile that curls your lips.

“I love you, too.” You whisper back. Din kisses you softly before tilting your head back and rinsing the suds from your hair.

Slowly but surely, you introduce Din to a life he never realized was possible. He learns how to revel in the attention and care you give him. He learns how to give it in return. His thoughts always return to you when he’s on a bounty, knowing he has to return to his little love waiting for him at his ship. Every now and then, he finds something to bring back to you - a little trinket, some sweets, a new book. You always look at him as if he’s placed the entire universe in the palm of your hands. Fuck, he would do it, too. Anything to see you so happy.

Din returns from a week-long bounty exhausted, sore, and with a little gift in hand. It’s just a new robe, something soft and airy for you to wear on those long nights in hyperspace. You gasp softly when he hands it to you, your fingers exploring the silky fabric as if it’s precious - and to you, it is. Not because it’s some rare or expensive treasure. Just because it comes from him.

Allowing you to remove his armor is as easy as breathing. He eagerly accepts every touch and kiss you give him, more than happy to let you do as you please. You set every piece of armor aside with care and neatly fold his flight suit. It doesn’t take any convincing to get him into the shower with you. The burning heat of the water soothes some of the aches that linger in his muscles. A dull throb still follows his every move but he powers through, not wanting to spoil such a pleasant evening with his lover.

He never really learned that he can’t hide anything from you.

“What’s wrong?” You ask as he eases himself onto the edge of the bed.

“Just sore,” He concedes, slowly rolling his shoulders in a vain effort to ease the tension. Your eyebrows furrow as you look him over with a keen eye. All you wear is that scrutinizing expression and the pretty robe he got you, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever looked more beautiful. He sighs and reaches for your hand. “Come on, let’s just get some sleep.”

“You can’t sleep if you’re this uncomfortable.” You squeeze his shoulder, frowning when you feel how tight his muscles are. “Let me help.”

Din meets your gaze, your eyes so earnest that he doesn’t even think to deny you. He lets you maneuver him as you please until he’s laid out on his belly with you straddling his hips. A low groan rumbles through his chest when your hands bear down on his shoulders. Every pass of your fingers brings a strange combination of pleasure and pain that leaves him melting into the bed.

Even after all these months, he just isn’t used to the feeling of your skin against his. A simple passing touch is enough to have him shivering, but this? It’s overwhelming, all-consuming in the best possible way. It doesn’t take long for that pain to melt away into pure pleasure. Breathless, needy sounds follow every pass of your fingers. He can't help but rock his hips, grinding his cock into the silken sheets.

By the time you've finished working your thumbs into his lower back, you've reduced the Mandalorian beneath you into a desperate, hungry mess. He goes without hesitation when you urge him onto his back. His hands immediately find your hips and he grinds up into the heat of your cunt. The only thing that stops him from flipping you over and fucking you into the sheets is the gentle hand you place on his chest.

“Let me.” You whisper. Your voice carries a soft thrum of need that leaves him aching. “Let me take care of you.”

His fingers tighten at your hips at the mere brush of your fingers against his cock. That grip becomes bruising as you slowly sink onto him. Pleasure curls through his belly at the feeling of your cunt fluttering around him, so hot and slick and perfect - it would be so easy to lose his mind in the rapture of your body. It isn’t easy to keep his eyes open under the onslaught of pleasure, but it’s well worth it. He’s rewarded with the sight of your jaw falling slack and a shiver wracking your body. The stretch, the angle - it’s all new to you. You aren’t used to taking him this way. He isn’t used to letting you.

You sigh a breathy, pleased little sound that makes his heart skip a beat or two. Fuck, you might just be the death of him one of these days. It’s a demise he welcomes if it means meeting his end at your hands. That first roll of your hips has his head tipping back into the pile of fluffy pillows, yet another addition of comfort you’ve brought to this bed. You can’t take your eyes off him - the flex of his biceps, the clench of his jaw, the sheen of sweat that glistens on his tan skin. A delicious vision of the man you’ve come to love so dearly. You lean down and press a kiss to his chest, his collarbone, to that sweet spot where his pulse thrums in his neck.

Your fingers comb through his curls, bringing his pleasure-clouded gaze back to your own. His lips part as you set a slow, steady pace. Every rise and fall of your hips makes his eyelashes flutter but he doesn’t look away. He’s too entranced by this, by the pure newness of it all. Heat pulses and courses through your belly with every grind of your clit against him, grows stronger with every needy sound you pull from him. His chin tips up, an obvious plea, and you kiss him. Soft and slow, full of tongue and teeth.

Din doesn’t think he’s ever experienced anything quite as overwhelming as this. He isn’t a stranger to the feeling of your body or the love you somehow hold for him, but this is all new. Every slow rock of your hips sends honeyed pleasure slinking down his spine. There’s no need to rush. He can take his time and truly feel you, revel in the plushness of your thighs and the wet heat of your cunt. For the first time, he lets himself explore your body unhurried. His hands drift up and palm your breasts, his fingers rolling your nipple with a gentle touch. Your head tips back as you hum a pleased little sound.

Din can’t help but press his hips up, rising every time yours fall. He doesn’t take control, doesn’t try to set a faster pace. He just moves with you as fluid as rushing water. His hands shift to cup your ass, his fingers digging in and spreading you out for him. Desire clouds your gaze as he grinds his hips at that perfect angle that makes you see stars. You’re so close - he can feel it in the telltale rhythmic pulse of your cunt, in the way your thighs tremble. Slick drips in little rivulets down his thighs.

“Perfect, so perfect,” He rambles between rushed breaths. “My sweet girl, all mine.”

“Yours,” You promise. “I’m yours.”

All it takes is one perfect rock of his hips to have you falling apart for him. That tension finally bursts through your belly, your cunt tightening around him with every aching wave of pleasure. You lose all sense, all ability to keep your pace, but Din is quick to take over. His grip on your waist tightens as he pulls you down, spilling himself as deep as your body can take him. You let yourself melt into his chest, a wave of pleasure shuddering through you with every twitch of his spent cock.

Din locks his arms around your back, all too content to keep your body against his. No complaint comes from you. You just tuck your face into his neck with a spent sigh. The two of you float together in that sweet, exhausted haze. He doesn’t know for how long, but he never wants it to end. He never wants any of this to end. He wants this forever, for every possible moment of his life to be soaked in this contentment. Surrounded by soft sheets and the smell of your perfume. Unhurried and easy, with you.

Months ago, such a realization would have thrown him into an existential crisis. But he didn’t have you all those months ago - this sweet, bright-eyed, spitfire of a woman currently taking a cat nap on his chest. He didn’t have the sweet scent of your shampoo infused in his sheets. He didn’t have your soft exhales ghosting along his throat. He just didn’t know that life could be like this. The moment you shift as if you’re making to get off of him, his arms tighten around you.

“Just a little longer,” He murmurs, his voice sleepy and pleasure drunk.

You're more than happy to indulge him.

[cuntyji]

THE FOOL’S GUIDE TO ROMANCE ౨ৎ GETO SUGURU X READER

synopsis: when a man loves a woman, he might bring her flowers or send a sweet text like 'i want you lol.' but if you’re suguru geto, you let a deck of tarot cards decide your destiny—and promptly shuffle your way into misery. hopelessly in love with you (and equally hopeless at expressing it), geto takes his shot which backfires spectacularly, leaving you heartbroken and him scrambling to fix it. now, armed with charm, determination, and way too many tarot cards, geto is ready to heal your heart. just watch your step—the floor’s basically a tarot card crime scene.

content warnings: female reader, suggestive content (alcohol consumption and mentions of weed), crack and romance, somewhat axed [happy] ending, college setting, geto is into tarot, strangers to lovers, he fell first she fell harder, frat parties and other college nonsense. other characters: choso, yuki, gojo, nanami, shiu, toji. 

author's note: all my love to my darling @nkopurin who helped proofread this fic for me 💘💐 and to my lovely @norikuna and @baepsays, this is for you 🙂‍↕️ lovely themed dividers are courtesy of @thecutestgrotto <3

READ ON AO3

when a man loves a woman, he brings her flowers and confesses his love to her. or, if he’s born in the modern world, he might just text her something eloquent like, “hey, i want you lol.” but if you’re suguru geto, you let tarot cards take the wheel—literally. 

allow one to explain.

see, geto isn’t exactly an atheist. he believes in higher powers, just unconventional ones. namely, the cheapest tarot deck he impulse-bought during a 2 a.m. existential crisis. initially, he thought it was all nonsense until he pulled a random card one day, and boom—it was the tower. later that week, his microwave exploded. 

from then on, he never questioned the cards again.

fast-forward to now: geto has become a full-blown tarot enthusiast. not only does he offer readings for spare cash (because be so for real right now, enlightenment isn’t free), but he also uses the cards to make most of his decisions. thinking of switching shampoo brands? better pull a card. deciding between ramen or sushi for dinner? the hanged man says to wait and order nothing—oops, now he’s just hungry. naturally, he consults the cards for the big things too—like love. and this is where you come in.

he met you at the library. a rom-com-level meet-cute where you helped him pick up the stack of books he’d dropped because he was too busy arguing with a ten of swords card about whether his day was ruined or just mildly inconvenient. from that moment on, you became his muse, his star (literally, he pulled that card the next day and nearly fainted). but here’s the catch: geto doesn’t just pine over you in the normal way. no, no. every interaction with you has to be sanctioned by the cards first.

want to say hi? better shuffle the deck and see if the lovers comes up. want to ask you out? he needs at least the sun for good vibes and the two of cups for confirmation. unfortunately, his last reading told him to “embrace patience” because the hermit popped up—twice. 

to his credit, geto is fully committed to this tarot lifestyle. he even gets creative with the interpretations. one time, the cards said he’d encounter a "pig," which he thought meant an actual pet pig was coming his way. turns out, it was just pork belly ramen.  but let’s get back to you. every time he sees you, he tries to decipher what the cards are trying to tell him. are you his queen of cups, emotionally available and empathetic? or are you secretly the high priestess, hiding mysteries he’s yet to uncover? (spoiler: you’re just a normal person trying to borrow a book, but he doesn’t know that.)

but let’s take a moment to shift focus from our friendly neighborhood king of wands (that’s geto, by the way, for the tarot illiterate) and zero in on you. because, bless your heart, you’ve got no time for the mystical nonsense of divination.

it’s not that you hate tarot or people who swear by it. it’s just… it’s never worked for you. every time a flower-crown-wearing oracle pops up on your fyp, telling you to “like, comment, and share this reading so the universe will bless you with abundance and good fortune,” you do it. and guess what? the universe does not bless you. no windfall of cash, no twin flame reunion, and absolutely no lucky day on the horizon. instead, you’re stuck in a perpetual cycle of disappointment and thinking, am i cursed? or is this just capitalism?

so, when you bump into a guy muttering about the ten of swords in the college library, the sheer absurdity of the moment almost makes you laugh out loud. you help him pick up his books from the floor (because you’re not a monster), all while internally rolling your eyes. who even takes tarot this seriously? your brain whispers. but hey, it’s not like you’re ever going to see this weirdo again, right?

wrong.

enter the house party. directed by none other than the notorious gojo satoru, who probably pulled the fool for party planning and ran with it. naturally, the entire student body is there, including you, begrudgingly clutching a cup of what is probably alcohol but tastes like regret. you’re halfway through debating whether it’s worth sticking around when you spot him. yes, him. the library lad. and if you thought he was strange before, tonight he’s decked out in what can only be described as a “witchy” fit, complete with crystal necklaces and the kind of rings that scream don’t ask me about my birth chart unless you’re ready for a dissertation.

you’re just about to turn and flee when, of course, he spots you. he lights up like the sun card upright, and you can see the moment he decides to approach. fantastic. this is your life now. “hey,” he says, and you can tell he’s trying to act cool. “do you believe in fate?”

oh, for the love of—

“no,” you deadpan, taking a sip of your regret juice. “but i do believe in bad luck, which is what brought me here tonight.” he laughs, and to your horror, it’s kinda cute. “well, maybe that’s just the wheel of fortune turning. what goes down must come up.”

you raise an eyebrow. “is that tarot-speak for ‘this party sucks’?”

“more like, ‘the spirits sent me here for a reason,’” he replies, holding up a deck of tarot cards like they’re his personal VIP pass. you groan, wondering if this is punishment for every time you ignored those scammy fyp readings. the universe works in mysterious (and frankly annoying) ways.

-

first off, geto would like to dedicate this evening’s award for “biggest asshole” to his childhood friend and eternal tormentor, gojo satoru, who claimed this was a fancy dress party. yes, fancy dress. not a house party. and like an idiot, geto believed him. hence the ensemble: the crystal necklaces, the dramatic rings, the black turtleneck that screamed “mystical bachelor #1.” he looked like halloween and a witch convention had a messy breakup and he was the collateral damage. and the kicker? the tarot cards stuffed into his bag. because apparently, those were his ticket into this party. gojo had threatened—no, promised—that he’d bar geto from entering his own damn best friend’s party unless he showed up prepared to do discounted tarot readings. because nothing screams “good fortune” like drunken frat boys demanding to know their future while spilling beer on your king of pentacles.

but before geto can fully spiral into regret, he spots you. you, across the room, holding a red solo cup like it’s your last lifeline in a sea of chaos. suddenly, the LED strip lights above seem to beam down like the sun on its brightest spring day, and he’s pretty sure he hears birds chirping (which is actually just gojo’s bose speaker blasting some god-awful remix). in this moment, geto feels something he hasn’t felt in a while: hope.

then he opens his mouth.

“the spirits sent me here for a reason,” he blurts out, voice brimming with… what’s the opposite of confidence? panic? regret? whatever it is, it’s not working.

he sees your eyebrow twitch. not raise—twitch. your eyes dart everywhere but at him, and he feels the metaphorical ten of swords stab his pride, one blade at a time. internally, his brain is screaming: really? “the spirits”? you couldn’t think of anything cooler? oh my god, you’re a loser. loser, loser, loser.

before he can even try to recover from the self-inflicted verbal disaster, the karaoke mic crackles to life, and a familiar voice echoes through the room. “geto suguru, report to the center hall!” gojo’s voice booms, loud and obnoxious. “your clients are waiting, my guy!”

clients? oh no.

geto freezes. you glance at him, your expression hovering somewhere between pity and mild secondhand embarrassment. internally, he’s spiraling: clients!? oh great. perfect. now i get to embarrass myself in front of you and half the drunk population of campus.

“don’t keep us waiting, mr. magician!” gojo cackles, clearly delighted with himself. geto trudges toward the center of the room, tarot cards in hand, sending a silent prayer to the universe: dear spirits, if you’re real, strike gojo down with lightning. or at least make him choke on his stupid mic cord. please. but no lightning comes. only more LED lights and the weight of his own humiliation.

the music screeched to an abrupt halt, cutting off mid-beat to usher in what gojo dramatically called “the immersive experience.” 

immersive, my ass, geto thought bitterly, sneaking a glare at his white-haired tormentor. to make matters worse, gojo was now skulking over by the speaker, queuing up redbone by childish gambino, apparently convinced it was the anthem for “spooky tarot vibes.” geto’s fingers itched to throw the nearest ashtray at gojo’s ridiculously smug face but, alas, violence would have to wait. he had a job to do, courtesy of said smug face.

as he settled at the glorified low-rise table-turned-“dias,” he noticed a mix of amused faces, skeptical stares, and outright curiosity from the crowd. and among them, there was you. hovering near the edge, arms crossed, your expression was a mix of intrigue and i’m too cool for this but let’s see what happens anyway. and because geto was both cursed and stupid, he immediately started overthinking: wait, why are you here? are you here to judge me? no, that’s dumb. maybe you’re into tarot. oh god, what if you’re into tarot? does that make us soulmates? focus, suguru.

“first victim—i mean guest, is… nanamiiinnn kenntoooo!” gojo’s voice boomed through the mic, dragging geto out of his internal spiral. and lo and behold, it was nanami himself. 

nanami kento, aka mr. ‘i-wear-a-suit-to-class,’ the guy who looked like he’d walked straight out of a finance magazine and into a frat party by accident. the fact that nanami was even here was baffling, but rumor had it he helped budget this whole thing. (which explained the alcohol tasting suspiciously cheap, considering half the budget went into walnuts being served as snacks.) he approached the table like he was heading into a board meeting, eyes sharp, posture straighter than an arrow. the man looked ready to audit geto’s soul. 

as nanami sat down for his reading, his usual stoic expression firmly in place, geto shuffled the deck with practiced ease. “to make this as accurate as possible,” geto began, trying to match nanami’s serious tone, “it’s best if you touch the deck briefly. it helps with energy transfer.”

nanami raised a skeptical eyebrow but reached out, his hand hovering over the cards for a moment before he placed two fingers lightly on the top of the deck. the touch was so precise and deliberate that it looked more like he was testing the temperature of a cup of tea than connecting with his fate. geto suppressed a grin. “wow, nanami, really channeling all that emotional investment.”

“i don’t make a habit of emotionally investing in cards,” nanami replied dryly, retracting his hand. “if this reading goes poorly, i’ll hold you accountable, not the deck.”

“well, if the spirits hear that,” geto quipped, starting to lay the cards out, “they’re going to make sure your future includes nothing but overripe bananas and missed train schedules.”

“you’re lucky i don’t believe in spirits,” nanami deadpanned, though his gaze flicked to the first card with the faintest hint of curiosity.

“alright,” geto said, forcing a grin as he shuffled his deck. “what can i do for you? career? love life? deep existential crisis?”

“career,” nanami replied crisply, sitting down on one of the pillows like it was a very uncomfortable chair.

“classic.” geto nodded, laying the deck out for nanami to cut. “alright, the cards are ready to speak. let’s see what the spirits have in store for you.” as he flipped the first card, geto’s brain scrambled to process the sight: three of pentacles. okay, teamwork, collaboration. he could work with this.

“looks like you’re about to enter a new partnership,” geto said, his voice smooth and confident. “something involving… hard work, shared goals… a passion project, maybe?” nanami raised an eyebrow, and for a moment, geto panicked. was this guy about to call him out as a fraud? but then, the second card came up: the empress. geto let out a quiet sigh of relief. 

“ah, abundance,” he continued, leaning into his role. “this project? it’s going to bring a lot of growth. creativity, maybe even something related to… food?” he hesitated for a split second before committing. “yeah, i’m seeing something culinary. like a bakery or—”

“a bakery?” nanami interrupted, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly.

geto froze. oh no. did he just completely miss the mark?

“uh… yes, a bakery,” he repeated, trying to sound confident. “does that resonate?”

nanami stared at him for a moment, then nodded. slowly. 

“i’ve just started working part-time at a french bakery near campus.”

the room exploded. people started laughing, cheering, and hollering like geto had just predicted the apocalypse. even you, standing at the edge of the crowd, cracked a smile. geto barely kept his jaw from dropping. internally, he was screaming: no fucking way. i pulled that out of my ass. oh my god. the spirits are real. nanami, ever composed, simply stood, nodded once in approval, and walked off like this was just another day in the life of kento “bakery boy” nanami.

as the crowd settled down, geto slumped in his seat, trying to recover. his mind raced: okay, that went better than expected. maybe i can survive this. maybe even impress you. wait, are you impressed? i need to see if you’re impressed. he glanced at you, and there it was—that little amused smile, like you couldn’t believe what you’d just witnessed. and for the first time all night, geto felt like maybe he wasn’t a total loser.

the next poor soul—or menace, really—was shiu kong. and shiu, being no better than any average man, sauntered up to the makeshift “dias” with a cigarette dangling from his lips and promptly dumped all the ash from it onto geto’s carefully shuffled deck. geto froze mid-shuffle, staring down at his now-defiled cards like they’d been personally insulted. internally, he was screaming: did you seriously just ashen my pentacles? oh my god, shiu, i hope the spirits tell you your house will get haunted.

“relax, geto,” shiu drawled, clearly enjoying himself. “it’s just a little ash. adds character.”

“yeah? well, let’s see what the spirits think about your ‘character,’” geto muttered, giving the cards a mournful dust-off before proceeding. the first card flipped: the devil. oh, the irony.

“so,” geto began, deadpan, “looks like you’ve got some… business ventures coming up. something a little… unconventional?” the crowd leaned in, murmuring in anticipation. shiu raised an eyebrow, amused but also intrigued.

geto flipped the second card: the seven of cups.

“choices,” he said, tapping the card for effect. “you’ve got a lot of options ahead of you. but, uh… not all of them are exactly moral. or legal.” the crowd erupted, half in laughter, half in knowing cheers. shiu smirked, leaning back like he was the main character in a crime drama. “huh,” he said, feigning innocence. “well, that’s interesting.” 

but when geto flipped the third card—the ace of pentacles—the room lost it. “looks like this… uh, deal is going to be quite lucrative,” geto said, trying to keep a straight face.

the crowd howled, people slapping their knees and hollering like this was the best stand-up routine they’d ever seen. gojo, however, had to be physically restrained by nanami and two others as he lunged at shiu, shouting, “WHERE IS IT, SHIU? TELL ME WHERE THE GREEN GODDESS LIVES!”

shiu simply winked, flicked his cigarette butt into an ashtray (finally), and strolled off the dias like a kingpin leaving his empire.

next up was toji zenin, a man so laid-back and unbothered he might as well have been horizontal. he approached the table with all the grace of a lion stalking prey, cracking his neck as he dropped onto the pillow like he’d been asked to fight someone instead of getting his fortune read. “alright, zenin,” geto said, shuffling the cards. “what do you want to know? career? love life? existential dread?”

“future,” toji replied simply, his deep voice making it sound way cooler than it had any right to.

the first card: the lovers.

“interesting,” geto said, glancing up at toji. “looks like there’s a big relationship in your future. something life-changing.”

toji smirked. “yeah? tell me more.”

geto flipped the second card: the sun.

“oh wow,” geto muttered, mostly to himself. “this relationship is going to bring you a lot of joy. looks like… a family, maybe? marriage?”

the crowd oohed, leaning in closer.

and then came the third card: the tower.

“oh,” geto said, pausing. “uh, okay. so, there might be some… challenges along the way. upheaval. a few bumps in the road.”

toji just shrugged. “i’ll handle it.”

the crowd cheered, someone shouting, “family man!” as toji stood, looking oddly pleased with himself. geto sat back, shaking his head. spirits, give me strength.

just as the crowd began to settle, gojo, ever the dramatic shit-stirrer, snatched the mic again. “ladies and gentlemen, we’ve saved the best for last!” he boomed, pointing a very theatrical finger in your direction. 

“YOU! come on down!”

the entire room turned to stare at you, and suddenly, you were the main character in your own personal nightmare. “uh, no thanks,” you called back, waving him off. but gojo was having none of it. “don’t be shy! the spirits are calling for you! geto, back me up here!” geto, caught off guard, looked at you and then back at gojo. “uh…” he started, scratching the back of his neck. you sighed, muttering a quiet curse under your breath as you made your way to the “dias,” your steps heavy with regret. this was going to be great.

as you made your way to the dias, geto felt his life flash before his eyes—not the whole thing, mind you, just the highlights: stumbling across the cheapest tarot deck at 2 a.m. during a sleep-deprived existential crisis, spiraling into a tarot obsession because he accidentally predicted his microwave exploding, and somehow ending up here, in this exact moment, facing you, the literal love of his life, thanks to gojo’s meddling. screw the power of friendship, he thought bitterly. his “friend” was the reason he was sitting cross-legged on a glorified coffee table, dressed like the head of a coven, with his dignity hanging by a single thread.

but then it hit him. wait… can i rig this reading?

the idea was tempting. he could just “interpret” the cards however he wanted. twist the results. make it seem like the spirits themselves were shipping the two of you.

except.

except.

he winced, imagining the sheer karmic hell that would rain down upon him if he tried to scam the spirits. knowing his luck, they’d make him the next hanged man—literally. so, when you finally sat down across from him and asked, casually, for a love reading (a LOVE reading????), geto swallowed hard and prayed to every higher power he could think of that the cards would be merciful.

the first card flipped: the knight of cups.

okay, not bad.

“so,” geto began, trying to sound confident and not like he was screaming internally. “the knight of cups suggests a romantic figure in your life. someone… sensitive, charming, maybe a little dreamy. they could be coming towards you—or they’re already here.” he glanced up at you, hoping for some kind of reaction, but you were too busy looking over at…

wait a second.

you weren’t looking at him. you were looking at… choso.

his heart sank. oh, you have got to be kidding me.

to be fair, he sort of understood the confusion. both he and choso had long dark hair (his sleek and tied back, choso’s styled into two distinct buns that somehow worked), and they were both tall with a quiet, brooding vibe. but choso? really?

before he could process the betrayal, he flipped the second card: the star.

“ah,” he said, forcing himself to focus. “the star indicates hope and inspiration. this person might bring healing into your life. they’re someone who stands out, who you’re drawn to in a special way.” again, your gaze flicked to choso, who was sitting across the room with his arms crossed, looking like a goth prince brooding over an edgar allan poe poem.

dear spirits, are you messing with me on purpose?

and then came the third card: the two of cups.

geto’s hands nearly slipped. oh, come on.

“the two of cups,” he said, clearing his throat. “this is… uh… a card of partnership. mutual feelings. a connection that could grow into something deeper.”

your eyes lit up. “wow, that’s so accurate!”

his heart soared for half a second before you turned to your friend and whispered, not so quietly, “do you think he means choso?”

geto’s soul left his body.

what part of ‘sensitive and charming’ screams choso?! he wanted to yell. okay, sure, the guy had his moments, but choso’s idea of romantic charm was probably something like offering someone his last cup of ramen without saying a word. to make matters worse, choso, sensing the attention, looked up from where he was sitting. his head tilted slightly, a single brow raised in confusion, and—oh, god—he gave you a small nod.

no, no, no, don’t encourage this! geto thought, panicking.

“well,” he said, attempting to recover, “the cards are open to interpretation. sometimes they’re symbolic, pointing to qualities rather than an exact person…”

but you weren’t listening anymore, too busy whispering excitedly to your friend about how much sense this all made. meanwhile, geto sat there, defeated, mentally drafting a resignation letter to the spirits. dear divine forces, i quit. i can’t do this anymore. please find someone else to deal with my romantic disasters. sincerely, suguru geto.

the next morning felt like the world had been retextured to ultra-HD. the sun was shining like it got a promotion, the birds outside your window sounded like they’d formed a symphony orchestra, and even the butter on your toast tasted like it had been hand-churned by angels. why was everything so ridiculously perfect? simple: for once in your life, a tarot reading seemed to have gone your way. your love life, once a barren wasteland of missed connections and unrequited crushes, was now looking up—looking up directly at choso kamo, the brooding star of your medieval and renaissance literature class.

sure, you’d had what the kids these days call a “hallway crush” on choso for a while. the kind of harmless admiration where you’d see him across the hall, brooding next to a window like he was in a gothic novel, and think, huh, i wouldn’t mind being the mysterious backstory to his tragic antihero arc. but a relationship? oh no, that felt too bold. too ambitious. 

and yet here you were, butter molecules dissolving on your tongue, entertaining the idea that maybe this could be something real. it’s fate, you thought, smiling to yourself. the cards said so. who am i to argue with the universe?

your mind briefly flickered to last night. specifically to geto, who had looked like someone had popped all four tires on his emotional vehicle. his expression after your reading had been a mix of “i just dropped my ice cream cone” and “my goldfish got flushed before i could say goodbye.”

but that wasn’t your problem, right? he probably just felt left out or jealous that your reading turned out so great. or maybe he was tired from all the readings he had to do. surely it had nothing to do with you personally, right? 

…right?

right.

well, no matter. you couldn’t spend your morning thinking about someone you weren’t even going to see again. which is precisely when karma, fate, or the universe—take your pick—decided to slap you across the face with irony.

enter medieval and renaissance literature class.

you strolled into class, head high, already composing your imaginary meet-cute scenario with choso. maybe you’d bond over the syllabus. or he’d compliment your handwriting. or he’d drop a deeply intellectual comment about milton that you’d piggyback off of. but then you stopped dead in your tracks because sitting in your lecture hall, wearing the exact same hair tie he wore at last night’s party, was none other than suguru geto.

oh no.

you blinked a few times, hoping he was just a hallucination brought on by too much optimism at breakfast. but no, there he was, slumped into his seat, looking like a ghost of his usual self. his hair, usually neat and tucked behind his ear, was now lazily hanging in front of his face, and his eyes were half-lidded with exhaustion. he didn’t even bother pulling out his notebook—what was the point when he could barely stay conscious?

since when does he take this class?

you quickly scanned your mental archives. how did i not notice him all semester? was he new? was he a ghost? or worse—was he always here, and you were too busy daydreaming about choso to notice?

you slid into your seat, trying to shrink yourself into invisibility. maybe he wouldn’t see you. maybe he wouldn’t even recognize you. except, of course, the universe wasn’t done laughing at you.

“hey,” came his familiar voice.

you turned your head slowly, like a rusty robot, and there he was, smiling faintly at you like the human embodiment of the “this is fine” meme. 

“fancy seeing you here,” he said, his tone a little too casual for someone who probably still wanted to jump out a window over last night.

“uh… yeah. small world,” you replied, giving a very forced, very awkward laugh. meanwhile, in your head: oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, why is he here, why is he smiling, why does he look like he knows something i don’t?

“enjoying the afterglow of your reading?” he asked, raising a tired eyebrow. “sure am,” you said quickly, pretending to scribble something in your notebook. anything to avoid prolonged eye contact.  “good,” he said, leaning back. 

“because i’ve been thinking about that reading a lot.” 

you froze mid-scribble. “oh? really?” you asked, trying to sound casual. emphasis on trying. he sighed, rubbing his temple. “yeah. not your reading, though. all twelve of them. from the party. last night.” you blinked, caught off guard. 

“...you did twelve readings?”

“yup.” he let his head fall onto his desk. “i think i aged five years in one night. and gojo was the worst. again.” you couldn’t help but snort at that, some of the awkwardness ebbing away. “what did he ask this time?”

geto turned his head just enough to side-eye you from the desk. “wanted the cards to tell him who’s going to steal his sunglasses next.” you pressed your lips together to suppress a laugh. “did they?”

“it’s nanami.”

that was enough to crack you, and you laughed, loud enough to earn a few curious glances from your classmates. geto’s lips twitched into a small, tired smile. you placed your pen down and tilted your head. “so, is this why you look like you got hit by a train today?”

he groaned, cracking open an energy drink from his bag. “it’s not just the readings. it’s this class, too. pop quiz vibes are strong in the air today.”

oh no. oh no no no.

the silence between you both started to feel heavier. your brain, helpful as ever, decided to go on overdrive again: what now? do i keep talking? does he think i’m weird? why haven’t i noticed him in class before? god i’m the worst—focus, focus, focus!

you glanced at him, and he glanced at you at the same time, which immediately triggered the universal law of awkward eye contact. you both darted your eyes away—him, to the blank notebook page in front of him; you, to the random doodle you’d been half-heartedly scribbling. “so,” he started, clearing his throat, his voice softer now, “what’s today’s lecture about?”

you stared at your notes like they might give you the answer, but all they offered was a series of lines that could maybe pass as a badly drawn cat. “uh… poetry analysis, i think?”

“right. poetry,” he said, nodding like he hadn’t just forgotten the subject of the class he was literally sitting in. he flipped open his notebook, which was suspiciously empty, save for a solitary doodle of a fat cat in the corner. the professor walked in then, saving you both from the growing, almost tangible awkwardness.

you turned forward, suddenly very interested in the lecture, clutching your pen like it was a lifeline. from the corner of your eye, you saw geto doing the same, pretending to focus, though his hand moved so slowly across the page that you were certain he wasn’t writing anything at all.

the silence stretched, and though you were no longer speaking, the air between you was thick with unspoken words and stolen glances. by the time the professor started droning on about rhyme schemes, you were convinced you could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears. and yet, there was something oddly comforting in the shared awkwardness. something almost warm. but you didn’t dare look at him again. not yet. not while your face still felt embarrassingly warm.

-

if the spirits were going to turn geto into the hanged man for tampering with the cards, maybe he should’ve gone ahead and done it. at least then he wouldn’t be sitting here feeling like the hanged man, every second of this medieval and renaissance literature class stretching on like a medieval torture session.

you were right next to him. close enough to tap on the shoulder, whisper a joke about the professor’s outdated slides, or just breathe the same air while he attempted to craft a coherent sentence to get your attention. but no—at this very moment, your eyes were glued to the door, scanning it like a hawk waiting for its prey.

or, in this case, waiting for choso.

oh, choso, with his eternal frown and hair that looked like he shampooed it in the tears of the damned. what was so special about him anyway? geto could brood too. hell, he could brood with tarot cards and deep existential questions about life.

as you continued to ignore him, geto ran through his increasingly desperate options:

act like a monkey and perform an interpretative dance of his love in front of you.

risk incurring the wrath of the spirits by doing some very questionable card tricks.

drop to his knees and just beg you to look at him.

...or—and this was a truly radical thought—he could just talk to you like a normal human being. with great effort, geto willed his hand to raise, aiming to gently tap your shoulder and finally say something. hey, what’s your favorite renaissance play? wanna talk about the tragic themes in marlowe’s works? wanna skip class and—

but before his hand could make contact, the door opened.

and in walked choso.

with yuki tsukumo.

geto’s hand froze mid-air, and his jaw dropped like a drawbridge at a medieval castle. he wasn’t the only one either—your reaction was just as dramatic, except yours was tinged with the sound of your heart shattering into tiny, pulverized shards. shards that were promptly scooped up, shoved into a blender, and liquefied by the sight before you.

because while you were looking at choso, choso was looking at yuki.

and geto? geto was looking at you.

this tragic little love triangle—or maybe square, if you factored in the spirits hovering over geto like disappointed parents—was the tragic renaissance play no one asked for but somehow everyone got.

as yuki giggled at something choso said (giggled??? choso kamo has a sense of humor?), you slumped back in your seat, the light in your eyes dimming faster than the candles in a poorly ventilated cathedral. meanwhile, geto stared at the side of your face, willing his brain to think of something, anything, to say that could somehow salvage this situation.

but all he could think was: what is love?

followed closely by: baby, don’t hurt me.

-

you wanted to die. not in the "clutching a vial of poison in a tragic shakespearean way" kind of die, but in the "husband went to battle and never came back" kind of die, except your so-called husband wasn’t even yours to begin with. you were in a one-sided relationship so intense it deserved its own jane austen adaptation, except instead of a romantic ending, it seemed like you’d just be crying into your embroidery hoop.

and honestly? you got it. you saw why choso was acting like that around yuki. the guy looked like he’d seen heaven for the first time, smiling at her like she’d just invented fire or something. for choso, whose default setting was somewhere between “terminally annoyed” and “what’s the point of existence,” this was monumental. so, like any reasonable, heartbroken woman, you didn’t turn to another potential suitor for comfort. no, no. you sought out something far more powerful. solace. clarity. divine intervention.

...in the form of tarot cards.

you turned to geto, sitting beside you in all his slightly disheveled glory, and the look in your eyes was nothing short of pleading. you didn’t need to say anything for him to understand. you wanted answers.

"do a reading for me. right now."

your voice was low, but it carried the weight of a thousand broken hearts and at least two adele songs. you probably sounded like a woman on the brink of asking to see the manager of the universe.

geto blinked at you, taken aback. he hadn’t even had a chance to process the spectacle unfolding before you two—choso cracking a smile at yuki, yuki leaning in closer—before you demanded spiritual insight like you were trying to summon the oracle of delphi.

"a reading?" he asked, cautiously, like you’d just asked him to perform surgery on a grape.

"yes, a reading. right now.” you punctuated your words with a look so intense it could’ve melted through the linoleum floors. "i need to know what the spirits have to say about my love life because clearly," you gestured dramatically towards choso and yuki, "i’ve been living in delusion."

you were not joking. in fact, you were about two seconds away from rummaging through geto’s bag yourself to pull out the cards.

geto, to his credit, did his best to keep a straight face, but internally he was screaming. this was not how he imagined getting your attention. where was the romantic small talk? the flirty banter? instead, he was being asked to summon metaphysical clarity in the middle of a lecture hall. “you realize we’re in class, right?” he asked, gesturing towards the professor, who was obliviously droning on about chaucer. 

“what’s more important—canterbury tales or my rapidly deteriorating sense of self-worth?” you deadpanned, arms crossed.

he sighed, already regretting his life choices, but reached into his bag anyway. this was going to be a very, very long class. as he shuffled the cards, you leaned in closer, practically vibrating with desperation. geto thought for a second that maybe the spirits would smite him for doing this, but at least he could die knowing he was, in some absurd way, your chosen source of comfort.

the reading became, as irony would have it, your single biggest source of suffering. every time geto pulled out a card, it felt less like a reading for your love life and more like an unwelcome live commentary on choso and yuki’s blossoming connection.

“all right,” geto muttered, flipping over the first card, “three of pentacles. this suggests an opportunity to collaborate or share.”

you nodded eagerly, until your eyes betrayed you and drifted over to the sunlit corner where choso and yuki were seated. and oh, what was that? choso handing her his highlighter? a stabilo one, no less? lending stationery wasn’t just helpful; it was practically a love confession in academic circles.

your stomach dropped. “okay, that’s a fluke. what’s the next one?”

geto hesitated but drew the next card. “uh, ace of cups. could mean new opportunities for emotional connection. an offer, maybe.”

you turned back to look at choso just as yuki reached out and flicked a piece of lint off his sweater. his vintage, thrifted sweater.

your jaw tightened as your sharp eye for fashion immediately clocked every detail of the piece—the carefully worn texture, the faintly faded yet intentional color palette, the hand-stitched hem that was too perfect to be mass-produced. vintage. thrifted. possibly one-of-a-kind.

and there was yuki, just casually touching it like it was some department store clearance item. your fists clenched around your pen as you sat there, practically vibrating with indignation. next to you, geto raised a curious eyebrow. “you okay?” he whispered, leaning in slightly.

“i’m fine,” you replied through gritted teeth, though your gaze was still locked on yuki and the sweater. “it’s just…some people don’t understand the sanctity of vintage clothing.”

geto blinked at you, then at yuki and choso, his expression half-amused, half-confused. “right… the sanctity.” you ignored him, seething quietly as yuki smiled, entirely unaware of the silent judgment radiating in her direction. flicking lint off a thrifted piece? unforgivable.

“all right, one more card,” he said, trying to keep you from spiraling. “the sun. it’s a positive sign. it means there’s hope, clarity—happiness at the end of the road.” you weren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t to glance back at choso and yuki basking in literal daylight streaming through the classroom windows. 

meanwhile, you and geto were shivering in the poorly heated corner of the room, shrouded in cold shadows, and probably misery.

"well," you muttered, shoving the cards away from you like they were personally responsible for ruining your day. "thanks for nothing, spirits."

“don’t blame the cards!” geto whispered, as if the spirits themselves were about to jump you in the hallway after class. 

“oh, i will blame them. i’m blaming all of it—tarot, the universe, my horoscope. even you.” you jabbed a finger at geto. he raised his hands defensively. “me? i’m just the messenger!”

“yeah? well, tell your spirits to pick someone else next time,” you snapped. “preferably someone not already taken.”

you turned back to your notebook, seething quietly, while geto, to his credit, really did try to make it right. he wasn’t about to charge you for what was basically a tarot drive-by, especially not one that seemed to have single handedly ruined your faith in divination, fate, and possibly humanity. as class ended and you bolted for the door, he scrambled to follow, shoving his cards into his bag haphazardly as if they might somehow soften the mess he’d unknowingly made.

“hey, wait! i’m sorry!” he called out, weaving through the crowd of students like a man on a mission—or, more accurately, like a very apologetic cat chasing a laser pointer. you knew you should’ve stopped. you knew he wasn’t at fault—how could he be? he didn’t control the cards, and even if he did, it wasn’t like he made choso and yuki sit under a literal beam of sunshine together like a rom-com poster come to life. but pride is a tricky thing, and yours had dug its claws deep.

“it’s fine,” you muttered through gritted teeth, speeding up to create distance. but geto, persistent and well-meaning as ever, wasn’t giving up. “no, it’s not fine,” he said, keeping pace with you. “i didn’t mean for it to—look, it wasn’t about you. well, it kinda was, but not like—ugh, just let me explain!”

you stopped abruptly, and geto nearly tripped over his own feet to avoid crashing into you. your chest was tight, not from running, but from the mess of feelings swirling around: anger, hurt, and worst of all, embarrassment. you turned to him with a glare sharper than it had any right to be.

“i don’t need an explanation, okay? i get it. it was stupid of me to think it was about me in the first place,” you snapped, and the second the words left your mouth, you regretted them.

geto blinked, taken aback, and for a split second, you caught the way his expression shifted—like he’d been hit with a blow he hadn’t expected. his shoulders sagged slightly, his usual calm demeanor faltering. “that’s not what i meant at all,” he said softly, voice barely audible over the buzz of students passing by.

the pang in your chest deepened, but before you could give it more thought, you turned and hurried away, leaving him standing there in the hallway. you didn’t look back, even though something in you wanted to. pride won again, as it always seemed to. but as you walked off, the image of his expression stayed with you, burned into the back of your mind like a guilty little ghost you couldn’t shake.

-

later that evening, geto sat at his desk staring at his tarot cards like they were a cheat sheet for life that had suddenly decided to go blank. the spread in front of him was chaotic at best: the tower, the three of swords, the five of cups. if the cards were trying to scream “you fucked up,” they were doing a great job. he sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he considered reshuffling for the fifth time that hour.

but then it hit him—like a very literal sign from above. a chunk of plaster from his dorm ceiling detached and bounced right off his head, leaving him rubbing his scalp and glaring up at the offending crack. “perfect,” he muttered. “thanks, universe. really appreciate the symbolism.”

it was then, mid-reckoning with gravity, that geto realized something important: this was not how tarot worked. it wasn’t a tool for undoing mistakes or bending the will of fate. if higher forces played by human rules, they wouldn’t be higher forces; they’d be coworkers who ignore emails. so, he did what any reasonable person would do when their usual method of problem-solving failed—he decided to reach out to you. to check if you were okay. rejection, even one involving misplaced feelings and stabilo highlighters, was a bitter pill to swallow, and he wanted to make sure you weren’t stewing in it alone.

but then another realization hit him, thankfully not a physical one this time: he didn’t have your number. or your social media. or literally any way to contact you that didn’t involve smoke signals or breaking into your dorm like a lunatic. waiting until tomorrow felt wrong, so he did what any unhinged-but-earnest guy would do.

he opened his email.

geto scrolled through his inbox with the dedication of a scholar deciphering ancient texts. his literature professor had this habit of sending class-wide emails—updates, reminders, existential musings, you name it. surely, somewhere in that chaotic thread, your email address was lurking. “ah, here,” he whispered triumphantly when he found one, squinting at the long list of recipients. his finger hovered over your name as if clicking it would summon you like a genie.

now came the hard part: drafting an email that didn’t sound like a confession of a crime. he typed furiously, deleting sentences almost as fast as he wrote them.

Subject: just checking in hey, i hope this doesn’t come off as weird but i wanted to check if you’re okay after class today. i know things got kind of intense and i just wanted to make sure you’re doing all right. if you need someone to talk to or even rant at i’m here. seriously. sorry if this email is out of the blue but i couldn’t wait till tomorrow to say something. take care, s. geto

he stared at the draft like it might sprout fangs and bite him. “is this too much? not enough? why do i sound like an HR rep?” after a moment of panic and one deep breath, he hit send before he could overthink it further.

leaning back in his chair, he stared at the ceiling (or what was left of it) and muttered, “smooth, geto. real smooth.”

meanwhile, back in the academy award-worthy drama that was your life, you paced the length of your dorm room like the unhinged protagonist of a spy film—except instead of planning a heist, your master plan was not having an emotional breakdown. and frankly, it wasn’t going great.

why was this such a big deal anyway? choso wasn’t the love of your life. you didn’t have pictures of him taped to your wall like a deranged scrapbooker. sure, he had great bone structure and an aesthetic that could front a band no one’s ever heard of, but did he own your heart? no. 

so why the hell was rejection stinging like you just got voted off a reality show? oh, right. because it wasn’t just choso. it was the whole concept. 

the idea that maybe, just maybe, for once in your life, the stars or the cards or something might give you a break. but nope. no knight in shining armor, no grand declarations of love, just... lint-flicking and stabilo-sharing with someone who wasn’t you.

and, of course, because the universe has a sense of humor, guilt was there to crash the party, too. poor geto. you practically bit his head off in class, and for what? doing his job as the accidental harbinger of bad news? great job, you. what’s next—yelling at the weather? just as you were about to descend into yet another spiral, this time brought to you by regret and self-loathing, your phone pinged obnoxiously loud. you froze mid-pace. that sound? that horrible custom sound you set for college emails? you grabbed your phone like it was a live grenade and squinted at the screen.

from: sugurugeto@gmail.com subject: just checking in

your mouth hung open as you stared at the preview. the email equivalent of puppy eyes. of course. because why let the guilt marinate quietly when it can now come with words? opening the email, you read through his message, and something in your chest twisted. he wasn’t even being dramatic. no passive-aggressive digs, no over-apologizing, just... concern. genuine, sweet concern. “ugh,” you muttered, flopping onto your bed as you thought about how to respond without sounding like you were unraveling emotionally. you began typing, deleting, retyping, then deleting again.

Subject: re: just checking in hi, thanks for reaching out. i’ve been better. today was a bit of a mess, but that’s not your fault. i shouldn’t have snapped at you earlier. it was unfair and i’m sorry for taking my frustration out on you. ig i just got caught up in the whole idea of things working out for once yk. and when it didn’t, it stung more than i expected. but seriously i appreciate you checking in. it means a lot. take care, [your name]

you hovered over the send button for a second before hitting it, then tossed your phone onto the bed like it had personally wronged you. 

“great,” you muttered to yourself, staring at the ceiling. “now i just look emotionally unstable and like a bitch.” but deep down, there was a strange kind of relief. maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t completely burned the bridge with geto.

maybe life didn’t feel like dolphins and rainbows with symphony by zara larsson playing in the background, but at least you woke up without the overwhelming urge to set your entire life on fire. progress. 

you had come to terms with the fact that you weren’t mad about choso being taken. honestly, good for him and yuki—they had the chemistry of two hot protagonists in a slow-burn drama anyway. and hey, you weren’t mad at yourself anymore either. growth, right? but of course, the universe always had one more plot twist up its sleeve.

you walked into the supervised study session later that day, fully expecting to slink into your seat, avoid eye contact with choso and yuki, and pretend you were a background character in your own life. instead, you were greeted with... a display. there, right in front of your usual spot, stood geto with what could only be described as a care package for someone emotionally devastated—or recovering from surgery. maybe both.

a soft, ridiculously fluffy blanket was folded neatly on your desk, next to a neck pillow that looked like it could cure insomnia. there were snacks—chips, cookies, even a little bag of trail mix because apparently, he cared about your protein intake. and drinks, plural, including tea, juice, and water, because hydration was key, obviously. oh, and let’s not forget the vitamin gummies.

vitamin. gummies.

“uh...” you managed, staring at the scene like it might morph into something less... earnest.

“good morning!” geto beamed at you, his expression the human equivalent of a golden retriever wagging its tail. “i, uh, thought you might need a little pick-me-up.” 

you blinked. “a little? what, are you preparing me for the apocalypse?” 

he laughed, a soft, sheepish sound as he scratched the back of his neck. “just thought it might help. you know, in case yesterday was still... lingering.”

you glanced at the pile of comfort on your desk, then back at geto, who looked so genuine it made your chest ache a little. sure, he could’ve just emailed back with a “glad you’re okay,” but no, he’d gone all in like he was running a wellness retreat. “this is... wow, geto,” you said, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “you really didn’t have to.”

“i know,” he said, his tone almost shy. “but i wanted to.”

and that’s when it hit you. as your eyes flickered to choso, who was scooting his chair closer to yuki with the subtlety of a rom-com lead, your gaze naturally found its way back to geto. the ridiculously awkward, long-haired boy in front of you, who apparently thought vitamin gummies were the solution to all of life’s problems, was now the one pulling at your focus.

ah, drat.

“well,” you said, sitting down and letting yourself sink into the cocoon of comfort he’d assembled, “you better not have used up your entire snack budget on me.”

“nah,” he said with a grin, pulling a pack of tarot cards out of his bag. “besides, i’m saving my budget for these bad boys.” you groaned, but it was accompanied by a smile. yeah, maybe life wasn’t all dolphins and rainbows, but it wasn’t so bad either.

respectfully speaking, geto was shit scared when he got in all that stuff for you. sure, in his mind it had seemed like a good idea—people liked snacks, right? and blankets were universally comforting. vitamin gummies? maybe a little overboard, but hey, health was wealth. but now, watching you actually use the stuff, munching on a strawberry-centered wafer like it was your job, he felt a wave of something dangerously close to relief. you didn’t think he was weird. or at least, not weird enough to ignore free snacks. small victories.

still, the nervous churn in his stomach hadn’t entirely gone away. because what was this, exactly? a gesture of kindness? a peace offering? a declaration of love wrapped in a fleece blanket and stuffed with gummy vitamins? he had no idea. but if this was what it took to see you look this relaxed around him, he’d happily bankrupt himself. and then, just as he was settling into the warm, fuzzy feeling of semi-success, you hit him with the question.

“so,” you said, pausing mid-bite of a wafer, “what got you into tarot in the first place?”

oh no. oh no no no.

he froze, a deer in the headlights of your curiosity. because what was he supposed to say? the truth—that he bought a deck at 2 a.m. because it was on sale and looked cool? that he’d learned most of it from random youtube videos and a couple of moderator banned reddit threads? or should he go full storyteller and spin a wild tale about a mysterious mentor who handed him a deck and told him his destiny was written in the cards? you tilted your head, waiting for an answer, and he realized he couldn’t bullshit this. you didn’t seem like the type to fall for theatrics, and even if you did, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to you.

“uh, okay, so, it’s not, like... that deep,” he began, scratching the back of his neck in the universal gesture of please don’t judge me. “basically, i was scrolling online one night, super late—like, 2 a.m. kinda late—and i saw this tarot deck on sale. it looked cool, so i bought it.”

you raised an eyebrow, and he scrambled to elaborate.

“and then i figured, y’know, i should probably learn how to use it, or else it’d just be, like, fancy cards lying around. so i watched some videos, read some guides... and, uh, here we are.” you stared at him for a moment, wafer halfway to your mouth. 

“so, let me get this straight. you became the campus tarot guy because of a 2 a.m. impulse buy?”

“...pretty much, yeah.”

and then you laughed. not a polite chuckle or a restrained giggle, but a full-on laugh that made his chest feel like it was doing somersaults. “oh my god,” you said, shaking your head. “that’s so lame. like, impressively lame.” he grinned, the tension easing out of his shoulders. “yeah, well, lame seems to be working for me so far.” you smirked, popping the rest of the wafer into your mouth. “fair point.” and just like that, the awkwardness melted away. geto might not have had a mind-blowing origin story, but seeing you smile like that? yeah, he didn’t need one.

-

as time went on, you didn’t even notice how seamlessly geto had woven himself into your life. it wasn’t a dramatic shift—no grand confessions or pivotal moments—but more like the slow, steady filling of spaces you hadn’t realized were empty.

it started with sitting together in every class. at first, it was coincidence—his seat just happened to be free. but then it became routine. he’d drape his bag over the back of the chair next to him, a silent reservation just for you, and you’d slide into it without a second thought.

then came the library sessions. you told yourself it was practical; after all, two heads were better than one when it came to deciphering medieval metaphors. but somewhere along the way, practicality blurred into something else. the quiet companionship of those shared hours, the way you’d nudge his shoulder when he started to doze off, the small, secret smiles exchanged over the tops of textbooks—it all felt intimate. you thought about bringing it up, that the library was where you’d first met, but the idea felt too sentimental, too vulnerable. surely he didn’t remember that tiny detail. 

little did you know, geto did remember. it was one of those memories he kept tucked away, revisiting it like a favorite line in a book.

of course, studying with geto came with its quirks. like the way he couldn’t resist pulling out his tarot deck every chance he got. 

“do you really think the cards are gonna tell you if you’ll pass this exam?” you’d huff, grabbing the deck from his hands before he could shuffle it. “well, they’ve been right before,” he’d tease, leaning just a little too close as he reached for them.

“maybe if you spent half as much time studying as you do asking the cards, you wouldn’t need to worry about passing.”

he’d laugh, the kind of laugh that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” you’d swat his arm, and he’d pretend to be mortally wounded, clutching at the spot like you’d struck him with a sword. but secretly? that little bit of contact was enough to make his heart race. every single time.

and then there was the way you challenged him—gently, but firmly—to rely less on his cards.

“tarot’s supposed to guide you,” you’d say, flipping through his notes while he doodled idly in the margins. “not run your life.”

he didn’t argue, mostly because you were right. and slowly, he started to take your advice. he still used the cards, of course, but not for every little thing. he began to let the unpredictability of life happen, unfiltered by fate or forewarning. and you know what? it wasn’t all that bad. in fact, it was starting to grow on him—this strange, chaotic, beautiful mess of living. because somewhere in the middle of all the unpredictability was you, and that made it more than worth it.

-

you know that sinking feeling when you realize your phone is low-key betraying you? yeah, that’s the exact sensation creeping up your spine as you sit cross-legged on your dorm bed, thumb mindlessly scrolling through reels. your current mission: find the perfect meme or video to send to geto. because yes, somewhere between tarot readings and shared library snacks, you two finally exchanged instagram handles. a milestone, honestly. but of course, the universe has other plans. 

as you scroll past a cat dancing to eurobeat, your screen flashes with a promoted ad: “astrotalk – find the answers to life here!” 

right. because you were definitely talking about astrology out loud earlier. thank you, zuck.  just as you’re about to swipe away, your phone does what it does best—it lags. your double tap, meant to like a reel, somehow registers as download app. the ding of success seals your fate. 

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” you mutter, staring at the app’s cheerful icon now grinning at you from your home screen. you consider deleting it immediately but curiosity gets the better of you. besides, it’s not like anyone’s here to judge. so you open the app.

bright colors, cheesy taglines, and a cartoon moon with a winking face greet you. honestly, it’s a little cringe, but who cares? the app boasts a free love consultation for first-time users. after that? a steep $45 per reading. capitalism at its finest.

“might as well milk the freebie,” you mumble, tapping through the options.

it asks for your star sign first. easy. you enter it. then it asks for your potential match’s star sign. you blink.

why… why is geto’s sign the first one to pop into your head? you tell yourself it’s because his birthday came up recently, and you remember him casually mentioning he was an aquarius. totally not because you’ve been secretly keeping tabs.

you type it in and hit submit.

the screen takes a moment to load, suspense building as though the app is calculating the mysteries of the universe instead of running a basic algorithm. then, the results flash on the screen:

“YOU AND YOUR PARTNER ARE 90% COMPATIBLE! STRONG BOND POTENTIAL!”

“partner?” you scoff, a little too loudly for the empty room. “calm down, bro. we’re not even… ugh.” but you can’t help the heat creeping up your neck. because why does this feel so validating? like the app just confirmed something you weren’t ready to admit out loud. you toss your phone onto the bed, trying to ignore the way your heart flutters a little. “it’s just an app,” you mutter, flopping back onto your pillow. but as you stare at the ceiling, you can’t stop wondering. 90% compatible, huh? maybe the universe isn’t entirely out to get you.

the party was already in full swing by the time you and geto arrived, the unmistakable thrum of bass-heavy music vibrating through the walls and into your chest. the house, courtesy of everyone’s favorite socialite, gojo satoru, was packed wall to wall with students desperate to blow off steam after a particularly brutal exam season. the air was a heady mix of sweat, cheap booze, and cigarette smoke, oddly comforting in its chaos. fairy lights were strung haphazardly across the ceiling, casting a soft, golden glow over the sea of bodies swaying in time to the music. 

as you stepped inside, your senses were immediately overwhelmed. the sticky heat of too many people crammed into one space hit you first, followed by the sharp tang of tequila and the smoky haze from a makeshift smoking area in the corner. the living room-turned-dancefloor was packed with a crowd that was equal parts gyrating and stumbling. “guess we’re really doing this,” you said, glancing at geto, who had already started scanning the room like he was bracing himself for impact.

his expression faltered for a moment before he shrugged. “it’s either this or another night of staring at my tarot cards, and they’re tired of me asking if i’ll pass my exams.” you laughed, shaking your head. “let’s get some drinks before this place gets even worse.”

before you could make it to the kitchen, a whirlwind of energy that could only be gojo grabbed geto by the arm. "hey, suguboo! come join the crew—nanami’s actually drinking tonight. it’s a miracle!" geto shot you a quick, apologetic look before being dragged off toward a cluster of familiar faces gathered near the makeshift DJ setup. you waved him off, muttering a quick "have fun" as you made your way toward the kitchen.

it was just as packed as the rest of the house, though marginally quieter. bottles of every cheap liquor imaginable lined the counters, accompanied by mismatched plastic cups and a suspiciously sticky floor. and that’s when you saw them—choso and yuki. 

yuki’s bright smile was the first thing to catch your eye. she had that annoyingly magnetic energy, the kind that made it impossible to dislike her, even if she was spiking your drink to make it strong enough to knock out a small horse. “hey” she greeted, her voice cutting through the noise with ease. “you made it! here, have a drink—trust me, you need it after those exams.” you watched as she poured a generous amount of something clear and suspiciously strong into a cup, topping it off with a splash of what you hoped was juice.

choso stood next to her, his usual brooding aura softened just slightly by the festive atmosphere. he gave you a polite nod, but his attention was mostly on yuki as she handed you the drink. “uh, thanks,” you said, accepting the cup with a wary glance. it smelled potent, but the night was young, and if there was ever a time to throw caution to the wind, it was now.

as you took a sip—too strong, just as you’d expected—you couldn’t help but glance toward the living room, wondering how long it would take for geto to escape gojo’s clutches. something about the night felt charged, like the universe was waiting for something to happen. and for once, you weren’t entirely sure if you were ready for it.

you had barely processed yuki excusing herself to the ladies' room when half a cup of whatever unholy concoction she poured you started working its magic. stars were dancing in your vision, and your internal monologue was a mix of “am i drunk, or is this enlightenment?” and “what if i just lay down on this sticky floor and let the universe take me?” choso, ever the picture of stoic composure, stood by sipping his own drink, completely unaffected. in your infinite drunken wisdom, you decided now was the perfect time to recount the tarot reading debacle to him. because why not relive your most embarrassing moment at a house party with the person who unknowingly kickstarted it all?

“so, ya know,” you started, gesturing dramatically with your cup, “there was this thing that happened with geto's reading. you were there! nodding at me like i’d just won the love lottery or whatever. and i—oh my god, i thought you were into me.” choso blinked, unbothered as ever, though you noticed a faint crease of amusement in his brow. “uh-huh,” he said, taking another sip of his drink.

“yeah! and then i find out,” you continued, pointing at him accusatorily, “that you were actually into yuki, and i was out here thinking i was the main character in this tragic medieval romance novel! turns out, i wasn’t even in the prologue.” choso raised an eyebrow. 

“to be fair, it was obvious you and geto would make a good match.”

the words hit you like a brick. you and geto?

“wait,” you said, staring at him like he’d just spoken in tongues. “me and geto? suguru? you’re telling me all that nodding and cryptic behavior was because you thought we’d be a good match?”

he nodded. “you both have this... thing. sensitive, charming, dreamy—”

“don’t,” you cut him off, holding up a finger, the fog in your brain clearing so fast it was dizzying. “don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“healing,” choso finished anyway, unbothered by your rapidly spiraling state.

you stood there, frozen, the memory of that reading slamming into you like a wrecking ball.

was he sensitive? yes. charming? puppy-eyed charm for days. dreamy? don’t get me started. healing? in the most absurd ways possible. mutual feelings? please, universe, say yes.

��oh my god,” you muttered, dropping your drink on the counter with a thunk. “oh my god.” choso sighed, shaking his head. “you’re really dense, aren’t you? no offense.”

“offense taken!” you snapped, already spinning on your heels. “but also, thanks, i gotta go.”

“what are you—?”

“find him!” you yelled over your shoulder, already weaving through the sweaty bodies on the dance floor like a woman on a mission. behind you, choso sighed dramatically, swirling his drink like he was in a shakespearean tragedy. “'tis true, love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind.’”

"stop quoting a midsummer night’s dream!" you shouted back, not even turning around.

you were a woman possessed as you weaved through the chaos of the party, dodging sweaty couples, discarded cups, and one guy inexplicably attempting to juggle shot glasses. where is he? you muttered under your breath, your eyes scanning every corner. 

finally, you spotted geto sprawled on a couch in the corner of the room, looking like he was having an existential crisis at a house party—one leg thrown over the armrest, his hair half tied and half rebelliously escaping, his long legs stretched out like he owned the couch, and his expression screamed, "why am i here and how can i leave without offending anyone?" apparently, gojo and the gang had taken off to drunkenly compete in a swim-to-the-other-side-of-the-pool-without-drowning race, and geto, the only one with common sense, had respectfully declined.

your heart did a weird little flip-flop at the sight of him, though whether it was from nerves or the bacardi yuki had spiked your drink with, you couldn’t tell. however, had bigger problems. like the fact that your heart was about to stage a mutiny and jump right out of your chest. how were you even going to start this?

hey, i realized i love you the minute you showed up to class with vitamin gummies for me.or maybe it was when you emailed me, “just checking in” like a gentleman from the 1800s. or maybe it was every time you did something ridiculously thoughtful like it was nothing.

you took a deep breath, but all that came out was, "hey."

geto looked up, blinking at you like he wasn’t sure if you were real or just a figment of his daydreams. "oh. hey."

good start, you thought. very articulate.

you shuffled closer, ignoring the pounding in your chest. "uh, so... how’s the couch treating you?" he blinked again, a small smile tugging at his lips. "better than gojo’s swimming plans, i can tell you that much."

"right, yeah," you laughed awkwardly, standing there like a statue while your brain scrambled to form coherent thoughts. geto tilted his head, a soft chuckle escaping him. "you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost—or yuki with another drink for you."

"ha, funny," you said, before blurting out, "actually, i’ve been running around looking for you." his eyes widened slightly, and he sat up straighter, suddenly looking both amused and terrified. "oh? should i be worried?"

"no! no," you said quickly, waving your hands like you were fending off an accusation. "i just... there’s something i need to say, and, uh—look, i swear it’s not the bacardi talking." geto raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "you sure? because venus is in retrograde right now, and it’s messing with everyone’s feelings."

you froze. "wait, what?"

"venus. retrograde," he repeated, gesturing vaguely like that explained everything. "you know, the planet of love and all that? it’s doing its thing, so if this is about some cosmic realization—"

"no!" you interrupted, louder than intended, earning a few glances from nearby partygoers. "this isn’t about venus or renegades or whatever. this is about me. and you."

that got his attention. his smile faltered, and for a moment, he just stared at you, eyes wide, lips parted like he was afraid to speak.

"look," you continued, words tumbling out faster than your brain could process them. "i don’t care if mercury’s in gatorade or saturn’s doing cartwheels—i like you. no, wait, i love you. i love you because you care about things that no one else notices, because you do the kindest things without making a big deal out of it. because you..." you hesitated, your voice softening, "you make life feel... lighter. and if this ruins everything, then fine. but i needed you to know."

poor geto looked like he was experiencing every emotion known to man simultaneously. he let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his hair. "are you sure you’re not drunk?"

"i love you," you repeated, because apparently, one humiliating confession wasn’t enough. "i mean, who wouldn’t? you’re... you’re geto! you bring vitamin gummies to class, you email me just to check in, and you—you just do these little things like they’re nothing, but they mean everything to me. and i—god, this is so embarrassing. i probably sound insane, don’t i?"

"no," he said quickly, his voice soft but firm. "no, you don’t. i—"

"oh my god," you cut him off, suddenly burying your face in your hands. "this is the bacardi talking. forget i said anything. or—or don’t forget. i don’t know. i’m spiraling, suguru. help."

"hey, hey," he said, leaning forward, his hands hovering awkwardly near yours as if he wanted to comfort you but didn’t want to scare you off. "breathe, okay? it’s fine."

you peeked at him through your fingers. "it is?"

he didn’t say anything at first. instead, he reached out, gently taking your hand in his. "yeah," he said quietly. 

"for the record," his lips twitching into the faintest of smiles, "venus retrograde has nothing to do with this. i’ve been in love with you since the first time you helped me with my books in the library."

you blinked. "wait, what?"

"yeah," he repeated, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. "honestly, i’ve been in love with you for ages. i just—i didn’t think you’d feel the same way. you’re kind of out of my league, you know?"

"me? out of your league?" you laughed, the sound a little wobbly but genuine. "geto, you’re literally the human equivalent of a prince. you’re smart, you’re sweet, you’re ridiculously pretty—"

"okay, stop," he said, his face turning pink.

"no, seriously!" you insisted, a grin spreading across your face. "i’m half-convinced you’re not even real sometimes."

"well," he said, finally letting himself laugh, "if i’m not real, then who’s been buying you vitamin gummies and writing you sappy emails?"

"touché," you said, smiling back at him.

"love is a silly thing," he added, smiling softly. "but with you? it’s my favorite thing."

and just like that, your heart found its home.

thank you for reading till the end 🙂‍↕️ this is probably one of the shortest fics i've ever written LOL, the more i look at it the more unsatisfactory it gets.....but erm anyways blame that on the burnout 🕺!! i hope you liked reading this regardless, the concept has been on my mind for a while now ☆⌒(*＾-゜)v as usual, my "which reader are you" quiz has been updated with this fic as well, so be sure to take it and let me know if you got this fic or not! <3

[keeryhours]

nothing else matters - eddie munson

Older! Eddie Munson x female reader

Summary:

Eddie is bummed about turning 40 - you help him feel better.

Warnings:

Smut (18+), oral sex (m receiving), unprotected p in v, restraints?, age gap

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N:

This is my entry for the @corrodedcoffinfest Birthday pop up! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for your help as usual, ily bestie

Prompts: Birthday, 40, 25, “Seriously? Age is just a number” and gift | Word Count: 2818 | Rating: E | POV: Reader | Relationships: Eddie x Reader

The delicious smell from the cake you were baking filled your apartment. It made your mouth water - you always had a sweet tooth, and you wished you could take a bite now. You put the oven mitts on your hands and opened the oven, carefully pulling the pan out and sitting it on top of the stove.

Things had to be perfect for Eddie’s birthday. It was a big one - 40. And he was kind of freaking out about it. He had never minded your age gap - 25 and 39 - but turning 40 was making him really self conscious about it. You wanted to show him age was just a number and turning 40 had no effect on how much you loved him.

The cake looked perfect, and you had the icing and sprinkles set out on the counter ready for when it cooled. You were determined to make this his best birthday ever, despite his existential crisis.

While the cake cooled, you decorated the rest of the apartment with streamers, confetti, and a Happy Birthday banner. By the time the decorations were perfect, the cake was cool enough to decorate. You covered it in white icing, adding sprinkles to the side. You used the bag filled with black icing to write Happy Birthday Eddie! on top.

Perfect. Everything was perfect.

You heard the front door opening right on time, his keys jingling in his hand as he walked into the apartment. “Babe,” he said, a laugh in his voice, “what’s all this?”

You popped out of the kitchen, a big smile on your face. “Surprise! Happy birthday!”

Eddie smiled as he approached you, blue coveralls dirtied with smudges of oil from work. He reached you and placed a lingering kiss on your lips. “Thank you, baby. How about I go take a quick shower and we’ll have some cake together?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said, kissing him one more time. He reluctantly left you, heading into the bedroom down the hall.

While he was showering, you arranged the candles just right on top of the cake. You poured yourself a glass of wine, possibly downing it and pouring another before Eddie sauntered out of the bedroom, dressed in a pair of jeans and an Iron Maiden tee. You were already wearing his favorite Metallica one, oversized on you and nearly covering the shorts you were wearing. You handed him a beer as he walked over to the cake.

He was smiling, but you could see something else swimming behind those brown eyes. You grabbed the lighter and lit the candles, then smiled up at your boyfriend. “Ready to make a wish?”

“I already have everything I could wish for,” he said, wrapping his arms around your waist, making you giggle.

“Stop being so cheesy and make a wish!” You said, giving his butt a slap. He laughed and moved towards the cake.

“Okay, okay.” He thought for a minute. “Okay, I’ve got one.”

“Haaaappy birthday to you,” you began to sing, Eddie letting out a playful groan. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, my dear Eddie…happy birthday to you!”

Eddie laughed, then leaned in and blew out his candles. Once they were all out you lifted them from the cake and cut each of you a slice to bring into the living room.

Eddie collapsed onto the couch with a huff. He looked tired, and you could tell he’d had a long day at work. You had suggested he try to get the day off to celebrate his birthday, but he insisted it was just another day and he didn’t want to make a fuss out of it. You didn’t know the definition of “not making a fuss” out of things.

You cuddled up next to him on the couch and he immediately put an arm around you, his plate sitting on his lap. He grabbed the remote and turned the TV on, finding a rerun of Day of the Dead, a favorite of you both.

As you ate your cake together, you noticed your normally high-spirited Eddie seemed…dejected. You knew he had been stressing about his birthday, but you hoped the little celebration might make him feel better.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked him, sitting your empty plate down on the coffee table in front of you. You reached up to hold his hand on your shoulder as he took his final bites before pushing his own plate onto the table.

“Ah, it’s nothing, baby girl,” he said, giving you a smile with no heart behind it. You weren’t buying it for a second.

“Ed, you can tell me anything. What’s bothering you? Your birthday?”

He sighed, a hand running through his wild curls, still damp from his shower. “It’s just…40 is a big deal. And sometimes I feel like a real creep for having a young little thing like you as my girlfriend.”

Your heart ached for him. “Eddie, baby, you know age is just a number. I don’t care how much older you are. We’re both adults, we can make our own decisions. I love you for you. I love you because you’re fun, and you make me laugh, we have similar interests, you’re handsome…I could go on.” You poke him in the side with a small smile that he returns.

Eddie held out his arm, showing the faded bat tattoo that’s been touched up a few times over the years. “You know I got this tattoo when I was 18, right? I was out getting drunk and high while you were still crawling.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Eddie, that doesn’t mean anything. It’s okay that you’re older than me, believe me. I certainly don’t mind.” You trailed a hand up his thigh, and he raised his eyebrows at you. “I think it’s kinda sexy.”

Eddie placed a large hand on your thigh and pulled you onto his lap, facing him. His hands rubbed up and down your bare thighs. “You’re too good for me. I don’t know how I landed such a hot little thing like you. You know they used to call me Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson?” He laughed, shaking his head. “I was not popular.”

“Well, they were idiots,” you said, placing a kiss on his lips. “Because you’re the coolest guy I’ve ever met.”

Eddie pulled you back into a kiss, deeper this time as your lips work together. Butterflies went wild in your stomach like it was the first time, even though you’d been with Eddie for 2 years now. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you moaned into the kiss, pressing back against his tongue with your own.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he mumbled against your lips, hands sliding around to grab your ass and squeeze. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”

You grinded down against his lap, feeling his hardness beneath his jeans. He gripped your hips and guided your movements, a low groan coming from his lips. “Want you so bad, Ed,” you whispered, leaning forward to place kisses on his neck.

“Fuck, I want you too, baby,” he groaned, his eyes half lidded as he looked at you. “Is this my birthday present?” He teased. “Because I’m okay with that.”

“One of them,” you said with a playful smirk. You kissed him again, hungrier this time, gently biting his bottom lip and making him moan. His fingertips dug tighter into your hips, his head tilting back as you moved back down to suck at the sensitive spot on his neck.

Eddie’s breathing grew heavier, soft moans spilling from his lips as you left a mark closer to his shoulder, where his coveralls would hide it. He didn’t need the guys at work teasing him about it.

He reached around to squeeze at your ass again, hands slipping underneath your shorts. “Need you right now, baby,” he mumbled. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life.”

You moved off his lap with a smirk, Eddie watching you intently as you moved to your knees between his legs. He groaned, watching you undo the button and zipper of his jeans, lifting his hips for you to pull them down.

His cock sprung up against his stomach, already rock hard and leaking for you. You licked your lips at the sight, desperate to get him in your mouth. Eddie caressed the side of your face with his hand, looking down at you affectionately.

“Gonna take it in your mouth, baby?” He asked sweetly. “You’re so good at it. You suck dick like a fucking pro.”

You smiled up at him. “I do?” You grabbed his cock, wrapping your hand around it and stroking slowly as you stuck your tongue out to lick a bead of precum from his tip.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathed, watching every movement you made. “The best. So why don’t you go ahead and suck it, baby?”

Anything he wanted for his birthday. You wrapped your lips around his cock, swirling your tongue around his head. He groaned, cock twitching in your hand. “Fuck babe, take it deeper, please.”

You lowered your head, taking him deeper down your throat as you held eye contact with him. He pushed your hair out of your face and held it behind your head to see you better, to see the way your lips stretched around his thick girth, the way your eyes watered as you took him deeper and deeper. He fought the urge to thrust up into your mouth, forcing the remaining inches down your throat. He was trying his best to have some self control here, but it was hard when you looked that good.

When you took all of him, his head dropped back against the couch cushions for only a moment before he remembered he didn’t want to miss a second of this. As you lifted up he slowly began thrusting into your mouth, and you let him, let him use you for his own pleasure.

“Fuuuuck, that’s it. Lettin’ me use you like that? Such a good little slut for me.” His voice was strained, the pleasure almost too much for him. He didn’t want this to be over fast, he had to fuck you first, feel you wrapped around him and fill you with his cum. That’s what he wanted for his birthday.

But he could enjoy this for a little longer.

He fucked your face slowly, his grip on your hair tightening as he held you still and did all the work. You looked up at him with wide watery eyes and it nearly undid him right then.

“Fuck, you’re doin’ so good baby. Letting me fuck your face. You’re just a good little cockwhore aren’t you? You like letting a real man use you. Guys your age wouldn’t do it for you, huh?”

You moaned around his cock, sending vibrations through him and making him moan louder. He thrusted his hips up into your mouth a few more times before he was pulling you off of him, gasping moans spilling from his lips as he tried to calm himself and not cum right that second.

“Shit. Take those clothes off and get back on my lap baby,” he begged, fisting his own cock. You obeyed, sliding your shorts and panties down your legs and throwing your shirt off. You climbed onto his lap, lining yourself up with his help before sinking down onto him. You both moaned together at the feeling, and Eddie’s hands quickly moved to grasp your hips. He pulled you down as he thrusted up, cock buried in you to the hilt as you cried out from the sudden feeling.

“Oh my god, Eds,” you moaned, starting to bounce on him, your head tilted back as he helped you keep your rhythm, his thrusts meeting you with every downward motion of your hips.

“Fuck, fuck,” he cursed, each time sinking into your tight, wet walls undoing him more and more. You leaned back, placing your hands on his knees as you bounced on his cock, giving him the perfect view of your bouncing tits. His eyes locked on them, drinking in how hot you looked. “God, you are perfect. Such a sexy little thing bouncing on my dick for me. You like that? Do you like taking my cock like that?”

“Fuck, yes,” you moaned, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. “Feels so good, Eddie. Jesus, you’re just so fucking big, so deep.”

“Why don’t you bend over the side of the couch for me?” Eddie asked, breathless. “Wanna fuck you from behind.”

He didn’t have to ask you twice. You lifted off of his lap and moved to the arm of the couch, leaning over it as Eddie stood and moved behind you. You felt him dragging his cockhead through your folds, seeing just how soaking wet you were for him.

“Hands behind your back.”

You moved your arms behind you, and Eddie grabbed both wrists in his large hand just before he sunk inside you, filling you even deeper than before. He hissed as you moaned loudly, and began thrusting deep into you at a brutal pace.

“God, look at you,” he grunted out as he pounded you hard from behind. “So helpless. Desperate for cock and taking everything I give you. Little slut.” He slapped your ass hard with his free hand, making you jump and cry out, and leaving a bright red handprint he smoothed his hand over. “So fucking hot.”

“More, Eddie,” you whined. “Fuck me harder, want you to fill me up.”

“Aww, baby,” he cooed, “that’s all you had to say.” He sped up his hips, leaning over you as his pace became ruthless, much more intense than before. It was exactly what you wanted.

“Gonna cum for me?” He asked, reaching around to rub circles on your clit. “I think you are, baby. I can feel you tightening around me.”

You were close. Your eyes began rolling back in your head, the combined pleasure of his cock and his hand pushing you to the edge fast. “Eddie, Eddie-“

“Come on baby, cum for me. Cum around my dick, make a mess all over me, let me feel you,” he encouraged, cock pressing against that perfect spot with every thrust. “Go ahead and let go for me.”

Stars exploded behind your eyes at that moment, and you let out loud, whiney moans as he fucked you through your high. “Oh my god, Eddie, fuck yes, fuck yes, ohmygod-“

He thought you looked so fucking hot like this, falling apart on him, because of him. His own orgasm hit him unexpectedly and he bent over your body as he came inside, pumping his cum into your tight walls with every shallow thrust. “Fuck! Yes baby, take it all, take my fucking cum. God, I’m filling you up so fucking good, keep taking it just like that, fuck yes.”

When he was done he pulled out of you, calloused hands caressing the skin of your perfect ass, enjoying the view. “You’re so perfect,” he remarked, nearly to himself.

He pulled his jeans back up and collapsed down onto the couch, pulling your naked body down onto him as you giggled. He held you close, placing kisses all over your face and body.

“I love you so much,” he said. “This might have been the best birthday present ever.”

“Oh!” You said, jumping up and pulling your shirt and panties back on. “I almost forgot your actual present!”

Eddie laughed as you ran out of the room and into the bedroom. You poked your head around the corner, a mischievous smile on your face. “Ready?”

“I’m ready,” he said, a grin on his face at whatever you were up to.

You came around the corner holding a gorgeous black electric guitar, a bow around the neck. Eddie’s eyes widened as you brought it over and he took it from your hands.

“I know this will never replace your sweetheart, but…”

“Baby, this is incredible,” he said, taking it from you and removing the ribbon before strumming it. “I can’t believe you got me a fucking guitar. You’re my dream girl.”

You were beaming, pleased that he liked your gift. “You really like it? I wasn’t sure which one to pick out, but I thought you’d like this one…”

“It’s perfect, baby,” he assured you. “Now sit down so I can play you a song.”

He plugged the guitar into his amp, keeping it down not to annoy the neighbors. He tuned it, then began strumming the opening chords of Nothing Else Matters by Metallica. You smiled up at him as he sang for you, still in disbelief that this was your boyfriend, your dream man, your heart.

So close, no matter how far

Couldn't be much more from the heart

Forever trusting who we are

And nothing else matters

[townofcadence]

Artair shrugged. He watched Wendy and John. The two had moved across the cabin, setting up their own supplies for the night. His voice was low as he answered Salena. "I don't know if it'll help, but it's worth a shot. And it might keep them feeling a bit more level if they think it's an easy fix. We don't need panic." People without supernatural experience tended to act out while hysterical, which made things ... exponentially worse. Fear did terrible things to the mind; to the body too, when you were desperate enough to escape it.

He rolled his wrist, a sigh escaping him. "Either way, spirits are a case-by case basis. It's possible something happened they're not keen to tell us, and that's the cause. Something that explains why she felt.... the way she did." He shivered. "But a lot of spirits in my world don't even know they're dead. They could have died too fast, or were disoriented, or it happened in their sleep. Or they just--- enter a state of denial. Or they did know, but so long alone was enough to.... deteriorate, and forget." Artair swallowed, eyes distant and creased.

"But-- mh. But With how.... I don't know, heavy....? How much grief and this utter sense of loss I was feeling.... it's hard to imagine what they even could've done to set her off that badly. It's possible she's .... stuck. What she's feeling is real, but it could be tied to events long before any of us got here. That could explain why she's not coming into the cabin. If she's an old enough spirit to have this kind of strength, she might've died before it existed. Which might mean she's blind to the cabin itself, if she's only seeing things like they were before she died. But.... also maybe something did happen, because the storm is happening now. And maybe she can't get in because--- I don't know, someone salted the outside of the house to help with ice, and it's a perfect enough circle that she can't pass through? It's hard to say. And we don't have much of anything right now."

Artair leaned back and turned onto his side towards Sal, knees curling up to his chest. His meager frame was almost in a fetal position, with his head propped up for now. "I mean, I'm not gonna lie, those two...they were kinda-- asking for trouble, leaving the trail. For a lot of reasons not even related to ghosts. But they don't feel malicious. Just--- curious, and a little foolhardy for it?" Like he and his friends had been, a lifetime ago. "But I don't think there's a good reason to think they did something horrific enough to traumatize a ghost to grief, just yet. But who knows? Maybe they messed with the wrong thing. But also maybe they're just as unlucky as we are, and something else entirely riled her up." He sighed again, before shoving his bag under his head. He slotted his fingers together, resting against the floor beside his face.

"I don't necessarily think it's just they woke her up. But the best we can do at this point is narrow down the variables." Again, he shrugged, this time looking far more tired. "Right now, we know that they went somewhere that they weren't supposed to be. And the same day, within a short span, she started reacting. Hopefully if the cave was her resting grounds, they woke her up by stumbling in there and poking around. If that's the case, now that they've left she might settle, once she's burned through her energy manifesting this storm. But if after tonight the blizzard is still out there, at least we'll know there's something else at work, and we can work on narrowing it down."

Salena had been listening for the most part, trying to think. Artair was the expert here when it came to spirits and ghosts. Her own experience mostly delved into ones that were truly violent... She'd seen other ghosts before, and tried to compare from there.

Something didn't quite add up.

Territory could be something that would cause a spirit to turn violent... but then why did they sound like they were grieving? Even the spirits that attacked her where usually just... angry. Or they were in service to someone else. They just grew to attack whenever anyone came too close. This ghost had attacked them yes... but then why back off after she had gotten Artair? Why wasn't she then phasing through the door to get to them? It's not like they were really protected in here.

Even if that was the problem, if she had grown territorial, then wouldn't this problem persist until they had left?

Artair and Wendy had come to the conclusion that perhaps it would be best to just wait out the time to see if something changed. She'd just shrugged along with them, "Seems a better plan than anything else. Unless anyone feels stupid enough to go back out there without some other idea."

Despite agreeing, she wondered if Artair might have had some of the same thoughts as her. Salena had leaned over to him, whispering so that only he would hear her, "I hope you are right about this... I can't help but feel like something is still... off about this."

[ahqkas]

theo with a gf who is just naturally quiet and zones out 24/7.She doesnt even do it purposefully it just happens,and doesnt relaise when people try to get her attention or are speaking to her.She barely talks,mostly to theo,whos her voice but sometimes she zones out when hes talking and he has to bring her back

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THEO HAD ALWAYS FOUND A CERTAIN CHARM IN YOUR QUIET NATURE, a calm amidst the storm of chaos in the world around him. your natural tendency to zone out, to drift away into your own thoughts, was something he had grown accustomed to. he had learned to recognize the distant look in your eyes, the subtle way your focus would slip away from the present moment. and he was completely okay with it.

one rainy afternoon, you both sat by the black lake, the sun hidden behind a bunch of dark clouds as the two of you were nestled under a large umbrella, watching the droplets melt in the lake water. theo was talking about a book he had been currently reading, his voice full with enthusiasm.

“it’s one of shakespeare’s most famous tragedies. it’s about a prince who’s dealing with a lot of grief and anger after his father’s death,” theo paused, glancing over at you to make sure you were following. “his mother, gertrude, marries his uncle claudius really soon after the king’s death. and hamlet, well, he’s not too happy about it.”

you nodded, captivated by the way theo's voice seemed to bring the centuries-old text to life. "he's kind of stuck in this existential crisis," your boyfriend continued, "wondering about life and death, what it all means, you know? there's this famous line, 'to be or not to be, that is the question.' hamlet is contemplating suicide with that, weighing the pain of life against the fear of the unknown after death. i think it has some of truth in it.” the intensity in theo's eyes made it clear how deeply he connected with the story. "it's not just about revenge," he said, leaning in slightly. "it's about his struggle with his own mind. he feigns madness to uncover the truth about his father's death, and in doing so, he spirals into a real state of confusion and despair."

he paused, a small smile playing on his lips. "i've been reading it over and over, trying to understand all the layers. every time i think i've got a handle on it, something new jumps out at me. it's like a puzzle, and i love trying to piece it all together."

the slytherin glanced over at you, only to find that familiar, far-off look in your eyes. you were staring out at the lake, completely lost in your thoughts, the world around you fading into the background, thanks to the sound of rain and theo’s calming voice.

“hey, love,” theo smiled softly at you while to took your hand into his, giving it a little squeeze. “you still there with me?”

you blinked, your focus slowly returning back to the present. your eyes met his, and you offered a small, apologetic smile. "sorry, theo," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "i zoned out again."

he chuckled, his thumb gently caressing the back of your hand. "it's alright," he reassured you. "i know you can't help it."

you nodded, feeling a wave of gratitude for his understanding. it was something you deeply appreciated about him — his patience and the way he always knew how to bring you back without making you feel bad about it.

and as the two of you continued in your conversation, theo would occasionally pause to check if you were still with him. not out of annoyance, but out of caring. he had become adept at recognizing the signs, the subtle shifts in your expression that signaled you were drifting away. and each time, he would gently call your name, his voice a tether that guided you back to the present. back to him.

[linkcharacter]

What is your interpretation of the blood and ladder thing? Like, did Curly really see that at the time? Is it a way to convey his anxiety? Is it how he remembers the moment?

As I see it, I'm treating it the same as Jimmy's, as their subconscious and state of mind depicted and visualized for players in a cool asf way. It's a creative and visually impactful way to tell the story, the characters' thoughts and what's going on in their mind. Therefore I'm willing to accept that it is actually something Curly 'felt' in the moment. Up to you to interpret how vivid or conscious he was of it happening, it is simply where his mind was at.

Same question can be asked about all of Jimmy's mindfuckery too, with no clear indication on whether or not, (for example) he actually thought he was being hunted by a long ass horse while searching for mouthwash for Daisuke. If we accept, that Jimmy's walk in the Polle corridor after crashing the ship was what he 'felt' while sitting on the floor head in hands, If we don't doubt, that the judgement and other encounters are something that's representing Jimmy's mind state, then I don't think there's reasons to doubt Curly's too (and vice versa). It does blur a line between in-game reality and metaphorical symbolism shenanigans tomfoolery to the player and I think that's the point. It's for the story.

The vision itself comes out as extremely foreshadowy but it's something that's been on his mind. It is Curly having an existential crisis about the career ladders that reach above the Ocean Of Blood, with him "reaching the top" and safe from drowning in it. It is Curly's subconscious screaming at him about the danger in the cockpit, how he keeps on walking "ignoring all warning signs". This sequence implies so much, especially if we assume or consider that Curly has been aware of what Anya told him for a gooood while. Anticipating the doom Jimmy will bring with him by walking into the giant star (that, by the way, locks your camera on it, unable to turn away) that is leading into the cockpit where Jimmy is seated. Because that's literally what happens, Curly walks into the cockpit and gets incinerated later, because of Jimmy and Curly's own negligence and compliance. Feeling helpless in the wake of an inescapable gravitational pull is how Curly felt (whether he actually was helpless is up to debate, but it is how he saw it). He may have know OF the dead pixel but ignored it, as the warning signs were there but kept on acting like it wasn't a big deal. Until the deadly star that grew out of it consumed him.

[innerfare]

Teasing or Overstimulating - Part 5

Summary: Do they tease you or overstimulate you?

Characters: Ichiji, Niji, Yonji

Genre: pure smut

CW: NSFW // oral sex, shameless dirty talk, sex toys, control freak Ichiji, Yonji might have mommy issues

——— 

Ichiji: 

He’s the eldest son of Germa, a famous prince and warrior, genetically engineered to be as indifferent and aloof as possible. He’s also the most measured of his brothers, the least likely to allow his desperation to turn him into a wild animal. But you get under his skin like no girl ever has, and when you’re behind closed doors, he has to work at remaining in control. And that pisses him of. But he loves your pussy more than he hates you, and he especially loves the taste of your pussy more than he wants to be rid of you. He usually copes with this perceived power imbalance by acting aloof and telling you how much you need him to fuck you, far more than he needs it. 

“I’m doing you a favor, you know, by letting you have my cock. I could be fucking any other girl in the world right now. You’d better not make me regret my decision with your pathetic whining.” Of course, if you do stop with your pathetic whining, he’ll experience an existential crisis. He may appear calm and collected, but it’s a veneer- please don’t call his bluff. 

He often asserts control over the situation by putting you in the most vulnerable position he can manage, stripping you naked while remaining clothed himself. You almost always end up bent over something with your exposed cunt high in the air. But his favorite way to assert power over you is to tease you, bringing you to the brink two or three times and then sending you on your way without satisfaction, sometimes not even cumming himself to drag it out for as long as possible. It’s a game he plays to feel in control, knowing you’ll feel that slickness between your legs until he personally takes care of it. He never lets you put panties on afterward, will often dangle them in front of your face and even laugh a little when you try to take them.

“What do you want these for, huh? To hide the evidence of how slutty you’ve been for me? It’s your fault you’re all wet, not mine.” 

Of course, he can really only manage to achieve this with his fingers or cock. If he dips his tongue into your tight hole and gets a taste of your juices, or even just catches the scent when he takes your panties off, he’ll end up juicing you for as many orgasms as possible, spanking you and spitting on you to punish you for making him so pathetic. 

Niji:

Niji is cold and aloof yet greedy and lecherous, which culminates in whirlwind sexual encounters that leave your body sore and twitching in the aftermath. Sure, he feels the urge to withhold pleasure from you, but he rarely ever does because that would require him to withhold pleasure from himself, and he certainly won’t be doing that, not when he’s at home in his castle and painfully erect. He finds his deeply selfish desire to feel your tight little hole clench extra tight around his throbbing cock as he fucks you into the mattress far outweighs his other deeply selfish desire to see your bottom lip quiver because he alone has the power to make you orgasm and refuses to do so with a cruel laugh the way Ichiji would. 

He knows he’s spoiling you and has no genuine desire to indulge you as much as he does, but when the door closes and he pulls your panties down, the desire to see your eyes roll into the back over your head overtakes him, and he ends up thumbing your swollen clit while his hips snap against yours, lewd sounds spilling from your lips. It’s gotten to the point that he can’t cum unless he feels you clenching around him, but he’s certainly not going to hurry things along and cum before he’s good and ready, meaning you’re just going to have to cum again and again and again until he’s covered in a thin sheen of sweat and ready to pump you full of cum.

"Give me one more. Just one more, and I'll cum inside you. Fuck, just like that."

He feels entitled to your orgasms, so much so that he doesn’t allow you to make yourself orgasm and would probably start a literal war if someone else did. He and he alone deserves the privilege of feeling you clench and tasting you after, and he’ll do anything to keep that privilege, even going so far as to lock you up in your room when he’s away. 

Yonji: 

The first few times he fucked you, he didn’t even try to make you cum. Of course, you were so desperate for his cock you almost did anyway, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. But what did weigh on his mind was how good your little pussy felt, the best he’d ever fucked. And so he kept coming back for more, slowly starting to realize you felt the same about his cock and came quite easily, embarrassingly easily, around it.  

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re cumming. You’ve probably never been fucked like this in your entire life.” 

He’s stingy and has no qualms about taking without giving anything in return, but he’s also cruel and enjoys seeing you begging for relief. Thus, he won’t allow you to cum without properly humiliating you- or, more specifically, making you humiliate yourself. He wants to strip you down and have you crawl on your hands and knees toward him, wants to sit back and laugh at you while you get yourself off by grinding into his thigh, wants to see tears fall down your flushed cheeks because you need to cum so badly but he keeps pulling back as soon as you reach the edge. 

As an aside, what he wants more than anything else (though he’s loathe to admit it) is to be humiliated by you. If you catch him off guard, tie him up, make him call you mommy or mistress, and ride his face until you’re overstimulated, he’ll most definitely be the one crawling back. He might even be a little nicer the next time he falls into your bed late at night and pulls your panties down, though the chances of an improved attitude are quite slim, especially if he thinks being a jerk will cause you to dominate him once more. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[lordprettyflackotara]

super rich kids || sam golbach & colby brock

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. tw: drug usage to like the max extent, snc & reader are highkey all horny rich drug addicts. there are very much angsty undertones. i do not encourage nor condone inappropriate drug usage. threesome, anal, lots of praise honestly, double penetration.

“Well, that’s another party for the books!” Sam cheered.

The three of you had sobered up after a long night of partying, the mansion finally quiet as Colby finished climbing through the secret hatch to the root. The roof tile was rough against your bare legs, your sequin dress riding up your thighs. You had been friends with the boys since childhood, them becoming successful youtubers while you were their undercover manager. The money and fame had been around for quite a few years now, the only thing keeping any of you going being each other. “We throw parties like five times a month dude, this one was definitely tame compared to the others,” Colby countered. The sunrise was coming over the horizon, bright yellows and oranges painting the skies.

“At least this one wasn’t bombarded with fans. ‘Oh my God it’s Sam and Colby!! Oh my God!!’ Like fuck off let me do a line in peace,” You said, brutally mocking the fans who had snuck their way into the boys last party. “Speaking of lines, you got anymore on you?” Sam asked. Colby settled in beside you, bringing his knees closer to him. “I fuckin wish, maybe then I wouldn’t be such a bitch,” You hummed, mentally slapping yourself for not reserving some coke for after the thrasher. You all dug into your pockets, trying to find something to get high off of. You all came up empty handed, a groan escaping your lips. Sam playfully elbowed you, giving you a small grin.

“Relax pretty princess, when’s the last time we’ve all been sober anyways?”

The question stung like a fresh burn, the gears in your head slowly turning. Truthfully you couldn’t recall. When was the last time you all three had been sober together? Coke wasn’t any of your main choices but a party was a party, right? Wealth brought a lot of things. Drugs, fake friends, soul sucking lovers who only saw you for the dollar amount over your head. “Oh look there’s Emma and her crew,” Sam pointed at the white van pulling through the gates. The three of you felt like you saw the boys cleaning crew more than you saw any of your so called social media friends. “We should probably buy them a better car that van looks like shit,” Colby commented.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, watching Sam wave to the cleaning crew. “They should be used to seeing us up here. They know we love this view,” Sam said. You felt like shit, your high having plummeted and leaving you out to dry. “This fucking sucks,” You grumbled, nuzzling your face into your arm. Colby threw his arm around you, bringing you closer to him. “The come down doesn’t last forever, you’ll be alright,” He said encouragingly. Truthfully he felt just as shitty as you did. You leaned your head against him, taking a deep breath. When’s the last time you had been sober enough to feel yourself breathe? “Do you think life will always be like this?” You asked. The boys turned to look at you. “What do you mean by that?” Sam asked. You forced yourself to blink your eyes open, wrapping your arms around your legs. “I mean this can’t be it right? The ecstasy is great but it feels like shit when it’s over. Is money the real root to happiness or am I missing something here?” You asked.

“Are you sure the real key to happiness isn’t xanax?”

“Colby!”

Sam went to reach over you to playfully smack Colby, causing you to chuckle and roll your eyes. Once they settled down Sam spoke again, “Seriously though, I think that all that matters in this life is the three of us. As long as we have each other the rest will turn out fine.”

You could feel your smudged eyeliner burning your eyes, causing your waterlines to water. “Awe cmon, let’s get miss existential crisis cleaned up,” Colby chuckled, helping you rise to your feet. The three of you went into Sam’s bathroom, that shower being the biggest out of the three. Maybe it was some weird attachment issues all of you had, but you each felt the need to be around the others at all times. This included showers, after the time you passed out in scorching hot water from a bad reaction to Valium. How were you supposed to know how much mg it was? You never asked those kinds of questions. After that the three of you were closer then ever, showering and sleeping in each others beds like kids. Even with all the money in the world you only found comfort in one another. The water was warm, a soft groan escaping your lips as you tilted your head back towards the water.

“Feel that good huh?” Sam teased. You splashed water at him, the blonde laughing as he joined you. The shower was anything but small, multiple shower heads hung from the ceiling and marble seating on the sides. It had more than enough room for three people, that certainly didn’t keep you all from staying close together though. Colby shut the shower door, the three of you soaking in the warmth the shower provided. “We should’ve gotten something for the come down,” You sighed. trying to relax. You felt Sam’s arms wrap around your waist, while Colby cupped your face. You melted under their touch, your gaze meeting Colby’s. “Why don’t you let us take care of that?” He purred. One other thing to note about your dynamic with the boys, one that was far more notable than anything previous mentioned, was your love for them.

There were no labels tied to the three of you. But in a world of stds and crazy fans trying to get themselves pregnant to trap them, you only trusted one another. You melted into Colby’s kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer. The wealth and drugs meant nothing at all if you couldn’t have them at the end of the day. Sam moved your hair away from your neck, placing his lips against your skin. Sam loved to litter you with hickies. Watching you get all flustered when asked who gave them to you was a sight to see. You groaned into Colby’s mouth as Sam’s hands explored your body, caressing and squeezing every curve. The only high you could never get enough of, one that could never be replaced, was the one the boys provided you. You could feel both boys grow hard around you, your hands slithering down to both of their cocks. Sam chuckled from behind you, slithering his hand down to your cunt.

The hot water and both boys on you like wild animals was suffocating in the best way possible. You pumped both of them in unison, sinful noises from all three of you bouncing around the shower walls. Sam’s fingers slowly swirled around your clit, causing you to moan louder than you had anticipated. “Awe there’s our noisy girl,” Colby praised. Your eyes fluttered closed as he kissed the other side of your neck, just as eager as Sam to litter you with marks. It was hard enough explaining how you gained hickies on one side of your neck, nevertheless both. You tried to focus on jerking both of the boys off, your focus becoming skewed as Sam's fingers began to circle your clit faster. Your moans were becoming louder and more uncontrolled, the boys exchanging devious smirks. "Theres no doubt the maids can hear her," Colby stated calmly, as if he was discussing the weather. He took the opportunity to gently nibble at your neck, causing your ass to press against Sam. "I think that's what she wants, isn't it?" Sam asked teasingly.

The blonde slithered down to your entrance, shoving two fingers inside. "She's already so wet for us Colby, you should feel it," Sam said, rutting his hips into your hand. The brunette stared down at you lustfully, his pupils blown with lost. "I think I will," He agreed. You whined as Colby shoved a finger inside of your cunt alongside Sam's, mimicking Sam's curling upwards. "S-So full," You whimpered, grabbing onto Colby for support. Colby shoved in another finger, your walls spasming as they struggled to take both boys sets of fingers. The four fingers buried inside of you were stretching you to what felt like your limit, your eyes fluttering shut. "Sorry pretty princess, you know i'm not a patient man," Colby chuckled. You bit your bottom lip, your gummy walls clinging to their digits. They matched each others pace, curling their fingers at the same time. You could feel them brush against your g spot, your head tilting back against Sam's shoulder for support. Your hips were moving on their own, involuntarily grinding against their fingers, begging for more.

"What's wrong? Four fingers not enough for you?" Sam asked mockingly, nibbling at your earlobe. Colby grabbed your throat, squeezing the sides, He brought his thumb to your lip, pulling it downwards assertively. "Oh don't be so mean Sam, you know there's only one way she can cum," He reminded him. It was true, the amount of drugs you all consumed affecting the way you were able to orgasm. You couldn't even recall everything you had tried, but you did know a couple of things for sure. While high on whatever was presented in front of you, you could cum in all kinds of ways. There was no limit, the boys able to make you cum off of anything. A brief memory of them getting you off by having you hump the side of the bathroom sink while they watched came to mind. But sober? There was only one way for you to find sweet relief. "You know what to do, jump for us," Sam cooed encouragingly. You did as instructed, both sets of their strong hands helping you wrap your legs around Colby's waist. You relaxed under their grasp, trusting them to know they'd keep you in position.

Their fingers abandoned your cunt, a whine escaping your lips as you clenched around nothing. "Would you do the honors Colb?" Sam asked, rubbing his shaft up and down the molds of your ass. The brunette and you watched as he rubbed his cock up and down your folds, before slowly shoving it inside of you. You moaned his name, both of you mesmerized as your cunt eagerly pulled him in. "Think she's desperate for us," Colby said casually. The boys had an ongoing bit where they talked to each other as if you weren't there, your body a dead give a way you loved every second of it. "Is that so? Hurry up and get in there so I can give her what she wants," Sam chuckled, kissing up the side of your neck to help with the stretch. There was never an issue with whoever took your cunt, the real challenge was whoever took you from behind. You could feel Colby's large hands securely grabbing your ass, spreading it apart for Sam's viewing. His tip brushed against your g spot, your body tensing as Sam spat on your asshole. "Relax pretty girl, you've done this before," Colby cooed, trying to refocus your attention back on him. He brought his lips to yours, entrancing you in a mesmerizing kiss as Sam began to push himself inside of you from behind.

You gasped into Colby's mouth, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as Sam pushed into you. You felt so full, your legs shaking as both boys held you up. Sam was rolling his bottom lip in between his teeth, slowly but surely pushing into you. "Doing so well for us," The blonde panted, the three of you becoming one. Your nails dug into Colby's arm, promising to leave marks afterwards. Both boys had bottomed out in both of your holes, something they had done many times before. "Please m-move," You sputtered, allowing your eyes to flutter shut as the pain and pleasure mixed together as they started to move their hips in unison. The three of you were all moaning messes as they picked up their paces. "Such a good girl, taking us so well," Sam praised, slithering his hand down to your clit. He began rubbing fast circles, the three of you desperate for a taste of euphoria. "So desperate for us, fucking hell," Colby groaned, watching your cunt hungrily take his cock with each thrust. You felt full to the maximum extent, your thighs trembling. You were sure if it weren't for their strong hands you would have fallen. They abused your holes as they pleased, your moans only becoming louder.

"I think she wants the maids to hear her, dirty girl," Colby snickered. Sam pinched your clit, causing you to cry out in confusion, pain, and pleasure. The boys chuckled, your vision seeing stars as they fucked you senseless. "Ah that did it Sam, I think she's gonna cum soon," The brunette continued, fucking up into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered open, the warm water creating small droplets in your eyelashes. "Am nottt," You slurred, the knot in your stomach tightening. They were always able to do this, without even trying. They knew your body so well it was hypnotizing. "Cumming already? Someone really is our personal slut," Sam chimed in. You wanted to argue more, but your body was giving in to their thrust. Their grip on you was steel like, their thrust merciless as they abused your holes. You couldn't even warn them of your orgasm, your body convulsing as you came around their cocks. Your vision was blinded with stars, your body becoming limp in their arms. Spots clouded your vision, your breath growing shallow as you were on the brim of passing out. Your heart worked overtime when you were sober, unable to keep up with extreme forms of euphoria without a substance to assist it.

You could hear the boys talking, their voices mumbled and incoherent as your eyes rolled into the back of your head. As your vision faded into darkness, a thought of getting clean crossed your mind.

"Pretty princess?"

You blinked as you snapped out of your day dreaming state, recalling the events of a couple of months ago. You turned to Sam, who was holding up a silver platter with your favorite white dust decorating it.

"Want a bump?"

You nodded as he handed you a rolled up hundred dollar bill, holding his own to his nose. You watched him snort the line, your veins coursing with excitement. Maybe you'd become sober one day, but not anytime soon. Besides, what super rich kid doesn't live life this way. There's nothing else to make one feel so alive, right?

[hazelfoureyes]

Ok I need a Lucifer x Reader fic based on Griftwood by ghost pretty please ( just listen if you haven’t heard it you’ll understand)

Listen, I went the opposite direction I think you wanted? Lol gonna work on brevity and get more snack sized smut out on weekdays and entrees on he weekends

[Warnings/Promises: snack sized, Lucifer x GN!AngelReader, lil smut smut, Fuck Sera, Luci corrupts absolutely, all hail dat dick, sacrilegious as fuck]

🫸🏼minors DNI🫷🏼

Lucifer avoided the heavenly embassy for obvious reasons. The vast halls, the empty and useless pews, it was, in a word, 

“Creepy,” He hissed. 

He was surprised to find the reception desk manned. Very rarely did heaven actually send anyone down to hell. Oh, wait.

You were stunned already to see Lucifer, so when he poked your nose you let out a tiny squeal.

“Oh shit! You’re real!” Lucifer took a step back, “Sorry about that! Not used to an … actual person.” He gave a little bow, “Forgive me?”

The fact is no one wanted to go to hell for desk duty, so the job was actually a punishment reserved for the most misbehaved. You had to intentionally set fire to Sera’s robes to get that severe of a scolding. She was reluctant, but it had been threatened (promised) to you last time you (intentionally) caused trouble. Rumors were abuzz about Lucifer, and you just had to see for yourself what the Great Big Boss of Hell was like.

Rosey cheeks, bright sharp smile. He didn’t look as scary as you had imagined. You expected a seven foot eight inch tall behemoth with fire pouring from his mouth and blood stained horns.

The devil, the real one, looked quite sweet.

A tiny existential crisis washed over you. Maybe there was a reason they didn’t want people down here. Why they made it sound oh-so-terrible.

“You still in there?” He leaned over the counter, tapping at your forehead. Your hands flew up, capturing his finger and bringing it down.

Warm. 

He froze, a little shocked you would touch him. Your smile went crooked, cheeks blushed. 

“Uhhh you good?” He pointed with his free hand to where you still gripped his finger. You nodded, a hum of confirmation. The blush rose up until you were fully red in the face.

The realization struck Lucifer like heavenly lightning, “Oooh, I see what’s going on here.” A wicked smirk taking you by surprise. “Did you want to meet me, little one?”

You broke out into a sweat, “Yes.”

Lie! Why didn’t you lie?!

He leaned over the counter, “Did you do something bad to get sent here?” Was there fire behind his eyes?

Uneven breaths, “… yes.”

Lucifer’s knee came up and over as he crawled onto the desk, “Should the King of Hell reward you for such bad deeds?” His eyes had gone red now, your hand still on his finger.

Your knees began to shake, “Y-yes.”

His face was inches from yours when your legs gave out, both of you falling to the floor.

Horns tall, yellow pupils dilated as he straddled you. “I think you’ll find I’m a generous ruler.”

It made sense. As Lucifer bent you over the reception desk and fucked you from behind, you could completely understand why they made this job posting sound horrid. Heaven would be empty if every winner could freely interact with Lucifer. You’d damn humanity too, if that was the cost. His hips snapped against your ass with divine determination, sweet praises on his forked tongue. 

The sounds of your gasps and his skin on yours echoed through the pristine white and gold halls. Like a pastor giving his sermon, he made the most delicious promises as you bent at the altar. 

Could heaven hear you? Your chants of “God, Oh God,” shifting to, “Lucifer! Luci—fer”, when one of his hands came down, fingers stroking your heat?

“What do you pray for, my curious Angel?” He growled, a flame you couldn’t see licking past his lips. “I’ll grant you anything”

Your cheek was sliding across the marble, small line of drool smearing on your face. Claws raked down your back, the stimulation making you shake.

Your fingers reached for his thighs, failing to take purchase. Lucifer took both of your wrists in one hand and held them at the small of your back for leverage. Your legs bent up, toes curling as you came around his sweetly punishing cock.

Taking a few deep breaths, you rolled your hips back against him, “More.”

Lucifer laughed and lifted one foot onto the desk to add more force behind his thrusts, “Say please.”

am I too horny? No. No, the cardiologist is wrong.

╭──────༺♡̶༻──────╮ Masterlist ╰──────༺♡̶༻──────╯

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list): @cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , fizzled-phoenix , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @fjorjestertealeaf , @pansexual-opera-house , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @roxxie-wolf , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @phobophobular , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @surusurusuru , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum , @ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot

[shortnailsforfuntimes]

can we talk about that one line

if it weren’t for you, i would be dead

and how the song is both about us and about them. for me, seeing basically im gay literally saved my life, but also dan has made it abundantly clear that youtube/phil/touring has saved his life. he talks about how for the first time since he was a very small child he felt safe with phil, how we’re all doomed was his way of bringing himself back to reality instead of spiraling. his whole branding with the existential crisis was before the movement to destigmatize mental health issues

dan and phil saved my life (and im sure some of yours) and i hope that we’ve been able to give back some of that positivity. seeing it written out in this song where its obvious that they do care about us. and we always joke about them being our dads, but im just going to say that the lessons i learnt from them are a whole hell of a lot better than the ones from my parents.

the ‘we're the guys that made your daughters hair blue, we're the person that made them a boy, maybe theyre a them now but you gotta love them because if you don't we will and that is a threat’ that alone just captures how much of an accepting community they’ve created even before they came out. they were always here and non-judgemental and kind.

its a two-sided parasocial relationship and good lord i will never be able to get over this.

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

ANOTHER AU IDEA

Had this idea......like black myth wukong but YOU'RE the one that has to bring him back? Or something along that.....

still rotating this idea in my head but kinda goes like this:

Tw bit of spoilers of the game?, reader becomes a monkey, for my fellas who haven't read the novel.....me either lol

This shi long I'm sorry 😞

Like it starts like most of the fics where reader gets send from our world to the journey to the west

and with all your panic and existential crisis u fail to notice that u got a tail now..........and ur hairy, hairier than usual. Your feet freak The out the most when you start to really take note of ur body

The scream u letted out when u catch ur reflection in a nearby river think that most of the mountain heard it lol 💀💀💀

Takes u a few slaps to realize ur not dreaming and it is indeed the real shi

A long walk takes you to the Mount Huaguo where you get an overwhelming welcome from all the monkey dudes, specially the kiddos surrounding you and asking u lots of stuff while ur brain's a minute from explosion

After a long moment the others take you to the old monkey to figure what's or what could be happening

That's where he tells you about wukong's story and how he dispersed into the artifacts (what happens at the start of the game)

You knew about him cuz ur sorta of simp fan although you only knew certain parts from the story (cough cough overly sarcastic productions cough cough)

That's where you're being told ur probably the chosen one which would explain why you were sent here in the first place says the old monkey

you slap yourself a few more times JUST in case ur really alive rn (guess the earlier ones didn't kick in then lol)

and also you find out that only by bringing the relics back you can go back to ur og form and get a chance to go back home...

so ur like "fuck it we ball" energy cuz u really got no choice XDDDD

Feel like stuff would go a bit different, still unsure if I want the destined one to exist here or no

OH SHI WAIT mabey he could be like a bodyguard sended with you and the whole twist of him being wukongs mind still happens? Hehe it's coming together HEHEHEEEEEEEEEEE

Also mabey add like ur like wukong's spouse reincarnation which is why u slowly get like lil bits of memories of yall together?

But I don't wanna make it with the wife dies and gets reborn stuff

I wanna go different 😈

AND YALL GOTTA WAIT FOR PART TWO TO KNOW WHAT I MEAN HAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA