#can you tell i like it when people fuck with each other in the head /hj

[kooyabooya]

INSIGHT

m reader x gaeul // 17k words

It’s not much to unpack: the findings or purpose one pursues. You know this. Everybody’s different, and that’s not limited to the sex - it also accounts for the experiences and connections you make with someone, exploring the limitless possibilities of what or who you want in your life. You’ve been told that the ‘one’ might be out there and have yet to realize it. No one could ever really pin it down to one reason. 

But what’s there to overreact about? You’re a hopeless romantic. 

Okay. To backtrack on the hopeless romantic thing, that’s not entirely true; you’re on the eve of something big here, and the intuition is approaching that conclusion by the second. 

None of this should be that easy from the get-go. Delving into casual conversation to the nice meals and then the eventual ditziness finds you and her on the bed of fucking each other’s brains out until one of you is practically paralyzed from the waist down. That’s the essential beauty of it, right? The hints and signals are right in front of your face; all it takes is a simple notice of interest that can lead anyone to think if they feel the same way. 

You’re not entirely sure, but taking this date with a grain of salt was the best course of action to follow. Besides, it’s too early to delude yourself into thinking about a future with Gaeul. 

(Though, it’s worth noting: 

She never coined it to be a date; said that it was too direct on the nose. In all fairness, you just needed a plus one to tag along with you. It could’ve been anybody else, but Gaeul was the first person to come to mind. You and her have similar interests - a point of connection strong enough to expand on. She didn’t mind keeping you company, and the fact that she was willing to circles your mind far longer than it should’ve.) 

Which brings you to here: standing in front of a timely art piece that looks to be dated from the 1600s. Or- at least that’s what the plaque says on the bottom left corner of the frame. However, you also feel like the people in the room with you are also playing their role like they do in those typical romance movies or serial dramas. You also begin to wonder if people go to an art museum in their free time just to look at fine pieces curated by people who have an obsession for old pictures or to dress up to match the aesthetic and pretend that they know what the hell they’re talking about. 

Given how you’ve dressed up for the occasion, they’d probably be right.

Gaeul herself matches the look so well. Her stilettos are one thing, but the bright-colored skirt along with her high socks are doing wonders for highlighting her legs, with her old-fashioned pink top that looks to be from the Victorian era simply bolsters the elegance past your personal rating scale. She’s also got her slightly-thick-rimmed glasses and the low braided ponytail wrapped in a small bow at the end. You can’t deny it, she’s gorgeous. The kind of girl that’s hard to come by and you’ve struck yourself out of the ballpark by getting her here. She walks at a pace, her strut consistent and punctuated with the way her feet are carrying her. It doesn’t help with the fact that you keep thinking about how you’d hold her hanging ponytail when her head is between your legs, or how she’d let you take off her socks with solely your teeth and show that you do more than just run your mouth. You stand behind her by a few inches and just watch that amazing side profile of hers, molded and chiseled by God himself. 

Her eyes stay fixed on the piece in front of her. Blinking. Examining. You resist the urge to stand behind her and bury your nose in the back of her head. 

You look away for a second only to hear her sigh, and watch as her arms cross over her middle. The stance alone can tell you that she’s the kind of girl that will do damage to you whether you like it or not. 

“I don’t know,” says Gaeul, looking left to notice you approach her left side, pointing her lips back to the art piece as you give it a fraction of your attention - staring at Gaeul with the corner of your eyes, thinking of all the ideas your hands could have on her pretty face, her small hands, lifting her by the waist when she hugs you. “This isn’t the actual ‘Starry Night’ painting, is it?” 

You laugh, because the question itself was supposed to be rhetorical. “No, it is. Not a replica. The real thing.” 

“No, but look,” Gaeul slips her hand around your arm and pulls you closer while she points out to the painting again with her finger. You’ve had crushes on girls throughout high school and college, but there’s a sense of a pull here that’s different from the rest. “This is something that you would do, hm?” 

You lean more closely at the painting and feel her face rest along the line of your upper arm. The picture itself was a mix of these yellow circles over a blue canvas - you think - has to do something about admiring the view that nature presents, which explains the artist’s approach with the usage of the abnormal brushstrokes. “Right.” You get the underlying appeal of the painting’s message, that’s for sure. 

Gaeul giggles, humming a sound too elegant and pretty for its own sake. You’re playing it cool as best you can. It’s a lot to keep track of her sparkling eyes so full of you within them that you’re nervous to even speak a coherent sentence. She looks dangerously good in her outfit: hugging the curves, the collars and ends of her sleeves dancing in these wavy, coquettish lines. That hint of lace she’s wearing is also cute - only for it to be outshined by her exposed collarbones and neck. 

(So, you might be insane here. Try acting differently about it all you want. It’s no use.)

Gaeul then looks at the art piece adjacent to the right - twists her head behind, eyeing the walkway, her gaze now matching yours, cocking her head to the side with her lips pursed. 

“Hmm?” she hums, innocently. There’s a minute tug at the corners of her mouth, a small smile. Her teeth start to peek under her upper lip. 

You’re holding your breath here for a second or two longer. 

“Uh, I didn’t say anything,” you tell her, pulling your lips inward to hide your returning smirk. 

Before you and her move to the next room, you’ve deduced that a woman like Gaeul is no mere anomaly. She is intangible, quixotic, reserved, sensible, and the kind of person who doesn’t let anyone get too close for her comfort. There’s a motivation to be seen with her, the way that her grin and shrug of her singular shoulder gives you the implication that she’s into you. Your gaze goes inquisitive when she’s sashaying timidly further and further away from your sight. 

–

Let’s take a step back here - go to the drawing board, make a new page. There’s substantial progress here. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to have your input solicited. 

Gaeul looks through her handbag, pulls out various items, puts on hand cream and retouches the makeup on her face. You’re on the other end of the table, watching her, listening to the guy nearby do a fantastic take of Take Five on the saxophone with flying colors. Gaeul’s also waving her head from side to side, closing her eyes with a soft smile spread across her lips implying that she likes the music. 

As for the art museum trip itself, you don’t take anything away from what you were supposed to look at and write down - probably because the focus shifted from taking notes to getting a conversation going with Gaeul whenever she was curious about a certain piece or at least your interpretation of what work itself. One of the other pieces that you and her take notice of was from your courses that you don’t remember learning a mere inkling about. A piece from the romanticism era revolved around these two lovers, one of them being madly in love while the other is still trying to figure out their feelings and desires, or vice versa; it may be unappealing for your outlook in artistry, but once you saw the meaning behind the paintbrush and use of strokes, the feeling hits too close to home. 

��From this artwork, what do you want us to take away from it,” someone probably asked back then - the same kind of question that earns a few eye rolls and those heavy sighs used to hide the bubbling frustration within, gets a good number of people scratching the back of their head - though nobody answers it right away unless it’s the professor. 

“Well, that’s not for me to decide,” the professor answers, earning a subtle nod of the head by her, the way the shade of her hair shimmers in the room and how it flows at the turn of her head, glimpses of her skin for you to admire once she has nothing left to say, almost like she was speaking those words to you - waiting for your answer. “The personal interpretation of the painting has to be discovered on your own.” 

In a way, he has a valid point. He’s knowledgeable enough to know what he preaches. He’s passionate about this course alone and it really could take a simple business pitch with a pen to get on board with what he’s selling. 

You have an idea of what message he’s trying to get across, but maybe you’ve got it all mixed up in between still. 

–

The groove of discovery isn’t a straightforward, linear path. Some days your understanding is there, and other times it’s all up in the air; you’re stopping by a food truck near some plaza in the early hours of the evening off the gut feeling that it just feels right; you also find yourself staring at her wide eyes when she gets the first taste of those potato chips she convinced you to buy, wiping a corner of her lips with her tongue. 

It’s almost too good to be true, honestly, that she’s sitting next to you at a park bench as the sky above is painted in these hues of purple and orange to reflect off the sunset, her appearance mimicking royalty and you - her knight in shining armor. She looks up to the sky before offering you her bag of chips, the tilt of her head and how she blinks is so - unbelievably enchanting like she’s unintentionally guilt-tripping you even though you’ve done nothing wrong at all. You take up on her offer, keep a mental note of how she’s so attentive in the way that your hands move and the way that your lips punctuate each letter and phrase so eloquently. Her bottom lip is pulled back into her mouth, holding the foil in her fingers so delicately. 

You can easily tell. She’s enamored; she keeps hitting your arm lightly and plays along with your inside jokes; there’s also that smirk she does in embarrassment and tries to hide away from but you’re still staring at her anyway. 

She stays close to you. Comfortable. Exactly the way you want her to be. You could kiss here right and now and she might be okay with it. You’ll try it eventually, because why not? 

Later, Gaeul walks slightly ahead of you, turns around, and takes your hands in hers, standing on her tiptoes to somewhat match your height. “I’m curious about your eyes, how they look,” she says, not that she meant for it to be embarrassing, but something that she’s noticed the first time and now she can’t ignore it. “They’re enchanting.” 

“Your smile,” you say back. She flashes that exact smile, wearing it with pride. “I like when you smile that way.” 

“My smile is always like this.” 

You sweep her off her feet and twirl yourself around. A finger pulls some of her hair behind her ear, grazing a thumb across her temple, careful enough to not ruin the surface. 

Gaeul looks up. Her head leans into the touch of your hand, inviting. 

This is where it all starts; a genesis of sorts: you drink in the sight of how she is right now, half-lidded eyes, her hands slipping behind to the back of your neck, pulling you in; you, leaning into her body, hands sliding and dipping to the curves where she wants you to hold, keep her in your grasp and unravel her bit by bit; it’s fine to be skeptical, figuring out something new is all part of the learning process. 

You turn your imagination into a reality when you finally kiss her. 

The pull of her into you elicits this gentle hum rumbling within her lips. Given how her fingertips were clawing into your scalp for a second there, she didn’t even put up a fight to begin with. 

The realization of losing her also sets in for a quick moment, the silence alone holding out for longer than it initially should. She continues to blink, teeth capturing the upper profile of her lip just slightly. You might be a bit too forward, but you’re waiting to see what she thinks before you consider dialing it back. 

“That’s not fair-” she stutters, tongue to the inside of her cheek, laughing and then tapping your shoulder soon after. “Normally, I- I’d hold out until we got a little farther with how things are currently.” You also notice that she’s not opting to be let go from your touch, or give you this look of confusion with wide-open eyes or a hand covering her mouth. Her fingertip traces along her lips, internalizing what had just happened. “Don’t tell me you’ve been wanting to do that since the second you saw me earlier. ‘Cause if you were, then I’m in really deeper shit than I expected.” 

“Might be right,” you mumble. “Sorry, I’m not the kind of person to half-ass things. Not my style.” 

“Troublesome,” Gaeul whispers across your lips. You steal a kiss from her again, and this time she gives you a shocked expression. “Hey, again-” 

You’re laughing, rightfully so. She’s pulled into your arms as you spin her around - hearing her laugh also when she’s cradling your head, bringing her back down to earth only for her to kiss you the next second, with more force and tongue. She doesn’t stop there. She keeps on kissing, prompting you to give a fair fight. It’s free reign for her - first, the cheek, then the line of your jaw, and the spot where your chin and neck meet that sends your mind reeling. 

Gaeul then takes one more kiss before the bus makes its eventual stop, pulling you by the wrist to get inside and take one of the seats at the end of the car, away from whoever might take notice. From there she picks up where she left off; her legs are swung over yours, her fingers keep your head in place as she’s placing these sweaty kisses all over your face once more, causing you to rope her in and slide a hand underneath her shirt to her chest. 

“Putting the effort where it counts, huh?” she says when you shift her hips closer to yours. Her giggles are also so pretty that it matches the hot blush colored across her face. 

You look over to the rest of the bus, take into account that there was one other person on the opposite end towards the front with their back turned. “Did you have any other place in mind where you want me to do this?” 

“No,” Gaeul responds with an absorbed smirk. “Not at all, I like what you’re doing so far,” she’s telling you, upholding with a press of her forehead against yours. “It’s riling me up a bit, actually.” 

“Oh? That so?” 

Gaeul nods, leaning in for a much softer peck this time, wiping a wisp of your hair. “Don’t be shy, keep going.” 

You blink twice at the surprising request, figuring out how to handle this situation - let alone what to say or even do at this point. All of that doesn’t matter when all she wants is you. One second later you’re kissing her again - with much more force through every passing press of your lips until the only thing that she can manage is to tilt her chin up and keep on receiving. Two more pecks couldn’t hurt, and she’s giggling when her hand’s patting your chin, kissing her palm to return the favor. 

“How am I doing now?” You ask her again, pressing another kiss to her neck right where the pulse courses rapidly underneath. 

Gaeul’s breaths here are dragged out and unshackled; you’re already thinking ahead of what she’ll sound like when she’s reduced to a moaning mess asking for more. She’s on track there but it’ll take a little bit. She nods - and holds your head at bay, “Okay.” That first response is controlled, feeling out the situation. “Okay,” she repeats, her teeth are peeking out across that pretty little mouth of hers. The hum in her throat drops an octave: “you’re doing really good.” 

Like you needed any other form of implication; the way that she’s playfully scratching your scalp, eagerly leaning for another kiss, this is good stuff you’re doing. Stay in the pocket with her, and continue doing those same things. 

You have to hear that sound from her again. No. You need to hear that sound come out of that sweet mouth, as you slide your hand between her closed legs - pull her closer, closer - and get her within your reach once your palm slips beneath her skirt, feel the sudden hook of her arms around your neck keep her in place. She presses her legs together, trying to maintain the heat in her panties once your fingertips get their first touches. Gaeul hums into your lips, encouraging you, and gives the go-ahead as she opens the space wider in the middle of her thighs for you to capture - her body much rucked up against yours, trying so hard to not come loose. You’ll double down on the reassurance, that’s for sure. 

“Fingers, your fingers,” Gaeul grits, hissing; she’s unraveling. “Holy fuck-” 

Her fingers are well wrapped to the nape of your neck. You can see her brows furrowed together - the lines of her face crinkling; only for them to disappear entirely, relaxed. She forgets about reality for a moment when you slot your lips perfectly with hers, sinking two of your fingers right down the knuckle of her sopping cunt. You watch as she looks down, lips parted to an ‘o’ shape. 

“Fuck, that’s-” she’s babbling, putting her mouth back up with yours - forcing down a moan into your throat, trying to figure out the next thing to say. “Forget what I said, that’s amazing.” 

She pulls her in close as much as possible, hips bucking and jerking when your fingers glide gently between her folds, at the slit. It’s worth noting that the gentler your strokes are, the worse it is for her - so you keep the pace slow for now, waste as much time as you can, dip a finger inside, and focus on the graveled breathing by her through every passing second. 

“You like that, hm?” You’re telling her. “Gotta say, you’re fucking wet.” 

Gaeul tenses her shoulders. “I know,” she whispers, thighs closing around your hand. You’re kissing her again - open tongue and head tilted back when you bring another digit into play - her moans are hot, curling your fingers inside and pressing at the clit to keep her from thinking straight, pressing at the hottest point in her body until Gaeul eventually buries herself in your neck, stifling her whimpers when she’s cumming all over your fingers. 

“Wow,” you say, breathlessly, smiling as she leans up gingerly to put a kiss to your chin, a job well done.

“Yeah,” mumbles Gaeul. “Yeah.” 

You look over to see the person sitting on the opposite end of the car, their back still turned and hunched over; you take that as a hint that they’re probably knocked out cold. Gaeul’s fingers pull your gaze back into her, her face hot pink. She’s got this lazy smile spread on her lips, breathing with her hand palmed to your cheek, eyes dazed and out of focus. 

You then decide that you can’t help yourself anymore. Laying her down on the seat and eating her pussy out right here. You can’t stop thinking about it, looking up as her upper half crumbles while she cums on your face. She can try to make you stop if her brain isn’t partly mush, can try all she wants to stop you kissing from down her waist and into her thighs or wrapping your fingers around her legs once you’ve got your mouth clamped to her cunt like it’s nothing - you’ve got her laid back and relaxed, hands sliding south past her middle, thinking of all the pretty noises that you can squeeze from that heavenly voice of hers - Gaeul looks up once her hands meet yours at her hips, unwilling to let you go. 

You smile at her before you’re biting your lips without thinking twice. 

The way that she says your name too, does something to your brain, man. She needs you. 

You almost feel bad to be the one asking for permission first: 

“If I eat you out right here, Gaeul. Promise me that you’ll be quiet?” 

Gaeul’s mouth drops, before twisting into a devilish grin. 

She looks over to the same person you were looking at, lip captured by her teeth. “Worth a try,” she answers, still coming down from her high. Her eyes stay on you. The lust one can get is dangerously intoxicating - it may not look good on others, besides her - the shade of hot pink, her little swollen lips, the way that she has to use her fingernail to bite down. But her hand gently clutches your wrist. “Would you be nice if I said to go easy on me?” 

You snort at the question, only because her pleading eyes sell the whole deal to you anyway. 

“Asking a lot from me here, darling. No guarantees,” you tell her and descend between her spread legs. 

–

You keep spacing out since then: of her, the grip of her fingers deep in your hair; grinding her hips against your face as she’s trying to not yelp or shriek to not wake the poor guy sleeping - now completely giddy and well-relieved. She tried to crush your skull from the tongue fucking you were doing to her just ten or so minutes ago. Not to mention the cursing, it’s hard to believe she can say stuff like that. 

She also tells how thoughtful you are walking her back to her place; you know the area well enough to make your way back. You tell her that it’s nothing if anything, it was just more time to spend with you. 

Gaeul smiles at that, fixing up her hair like anyone would to keep her hands moving. Her eyes shoot towards the ground before they flashback up at you, which she’ll admit is a bit awkward for her standards. You can’t stop staring at her; she’s that pretty. It’d be worth preaching about for the rest of your life if it ever came to that. 

She hands you her phone and you’re doing the same -  a simple transaction. The subtle question of ‘it’s okay to call you on this, right?’ rolls off your teeth so easily to where Gaeul gives you a nod to answer. There’s a little bit of wiggle room to grow - filling in the gaps with details as we go - things that will be logged in eventually all with time. 

“I’ll be as blunt as possible: I want something fun,” she tells you as if she already had the general idea swirling around your head. Her fingers are fiddling with the zipper of your jacket. As if she wanted to say it differently but ended up with that. A lifeline or rope for you to hold on to - aware that the threads are tearing just a bit, but you’ll grab it anyway because you can. “I’ll bite at whatever you throw at me. Who knows, maybe I’ll do the same to even the odds.” 

Slapping a title or caption to this doesn’t always end well - if you’re gonna be honest, it’s impossible to tell whether or not it’ll go the way you hoped for. 

“You sure?” you’re asking, smiling. Since that’s the kind of trap that you were hoping to fall into anyway. In the face of love, you’ve always found yourself folding right at the first hurdle. 

Especially adding onto the fact that you and Gaeul have known each other to a slight degree; through mutuals, to be more specific. That’s one of the weird things that life can work with: instilling these thoughts about someone and telling them things knowing that it could all go wrong down the line; Gaeul rests her forearms on your shoulders, lets her fingers dance along the back of your head, and nod again with a yeah, you’re already infatuating to me as it already is. It’s so bad, she’s never dressed like this before when you’ve seen her with Liz or Wonyoung for that matter. Her chest and collarbones are out in the open air for you to mark up without remorse, tilting her head back with an arched eyebrow and sly smirk, don’t test me, because believe me, I’m gonna ruin your life from here on out. 

You may as well be far gone from the start. 

–

“It’s not that important,” you’re telling Gaeul over on FaceTime, tossing your phone onto the mattress and stretching out your limbs. Gaeul on the other end, groans in annoyance, though her voice is composed, playful. “I think we’re just stuck on a few things from what it looks like.” 

“But this project with Yujin is also one you mentioned a while back to me,” Gaeul responds, forehead filling the phone screen to check what you were doing, but all she sees is the ceiling. “What are you guys trying to achieve again?” 

“What would you do if you were assigned to discover a brand new constellation or galaxy all by yourself? You ask. “Spoiler alert: it’s a lot harder than it sounds.” 

��Maybe next time you should bring me to the observatory, that way I can see what it is you’re looking for,” Gaeul says with a lovely hum and laughs at the end of it.

She’s so cute when she’s playful; her voice alone is enough to make your brain chemistry go haywire. 

“Well, uh- you know Yujin,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “This is important to her. I honestly think that she’s trying to compartmentalize everyone that’s involved, which is a bit of an overreaction I think.” 

Gaeul then sighs, as if she too, is frustrated. “She’s a hard worker. From the outside looking in, maybe she just needs somebody to make her life interesting. Do you know what I mean? I think she’s sex deprived.” 

“You-” and you scrunch your nose, trying to hide a genuine laugh because you’ve been trying to say something along those lines to Yujin for god knows how long, and Gaeul flat-out said it in a matter of days. “You’re not wrong.” You then see her put the phone down facing up on the nightstand. “Her timetable is very slim, so I get why she can’t afford to have any distractions.” 

“Someone like her should always make time for sex.” 

“Are you always this forward?” 

“Not always, might be just for you.” 

“Consider me lucky,” you muse, tongue to the inside of your bottom lip. 

“You boys think of nothing else besides getting between a girl’s legs, huh?

Gaeuls face returns to the screen and all you give her is a pull of your lips inward. She nods when you don’t say anything, proving her suspicions right. You set her off to the side while you keep doing a separate thing to keep yourself occupied while she does the same. While you’re tending to your notes, you imagine Gaeul to be walking around her room; sitting on her bed, or moving to the bathroom or kitchen - keeping a close eye and ear on you and your voice because she’s got a fix on a few interests of yours that outweighs her own. She watches while you give her a few glances here and there. Staying on task was going to be difficult. You text her your address to pass the information without giving a reason as to why. You probably fucked up in that regard. You might’ve. 

(She puts a heart icon on the message to send your mind for a loop, telling you to think of it lightly; hey, show me what’s on the shelf behind you, see if you make your bed in the morning - and you’re carrying a conversation with her for more than an hour or so. She’s asking different kinds of questions; the ones that are along the lines of: How come you don’t have a roommate with you, where do you go for groceries, what’s the distance between your place and mine? The curiosity grows to uncover the mystery, you think. She’s laughing when you flash a look at her on the screen before you carry on with whatever task you are doing, acting all candidly when the both of you know well that you’re doing everything to not press the ‘end call’ button.)

“Wait,” Gaeul breathes, leaning closer through the phone screen. “Didn’t you offer to show me what you were working on over some food?” 

You’re side-eyeing away, hiding a smile. “I did mention that at the beginning but, yeah.” 

“Shoot, okay,” she huffs, dropping her face so that you only see the top of her head, pulling your lips inward to hide the smile. “How bout this: lace or no lace?” 

“Woah.” You freeze. “Hang on now.”

“Do you want me to explain it to you?” You could feel the slow-burning rush of heat spread across your cheeks. The phone screen flashes in your hand, and she chuckles. “Easy, cowboy. I know you want to jump the gun with me, but I just wanted to hear your thoughts before I do anything else.” 

You’re picturing it once she’s managed to break you, bending down to slip her panties back on, stretching the ends until she lets go and the fabric slaps along her skin. She can’t see it, but your mind goes under. When Gaeul presents it so innocently in the way that it is, it’s hard to believe that she’s able to bend your ego with a few simple words and actions. 

“The image of lace - on your body? I wouldn’t share that with anyone else.” 

She rolls her eyes, and hums a sing-song tone to tease you. “Alright, don’t tell me you’re getting hard just at the thought of that.” You drop your jaw and that earns you a deadpan. “Would you mind if I surprise you with a color of my choice?” 

“You know my color. Well- I don’t think too much of the color. I’m easy to impress,” you reply, nonchalant. 

“Oh, I can take my time with the color. It’s just a matter of how long you can hold out.” She’s not posing it as a threat, but the low tone in the delivery is enough to instill a small fear in the back of your mind. 

“Pfft, that doesn’t scare me.” 

“We’ll see about that. When do you want me to come?” she asks, genuinely. 

You make eye contact with her to ensure she’s serious. 

“I mean,” you start. The more your mouth freezes, the more embarrassing it gets. “Whenever you can. If you’re free.” 

Here, Gaeul tilts her head, confident smirk and tongue to her cheek. “Maybe my punishment is to make you wait. I don’t like the dry response and straight face on top of it. That’s not your look.” 

“What do you even achieve out of doing that?” you ask. “You’re holding me out from-” 

“Yes, you’ll get between my legs again like last time. But I think you can give me more than that, which I’m sure about. Make me scream until I lose my voice or I somehow lose the ability to walk. Does that sound good to you?” 

Part of you likes the fact that she’s got no filter; speaking her mind whenever it feels right.

“Sounds like a test to me,” you muse, taking the challenge head-on. You’re not the kind to back away, let alone have any reason to impress her. You’ll prove your point again when the time is right. 

“Give me twenty minutes,” she says to you. The information comes as need to know, anticipatory. You’re teasing her to get here faster: come to my place sooner and we can skip the boring exposition and do more interesting stuff together. “I promise not to keep you waiting.”

–

The time ticks a lot faster and when you realize it, three or four knocks are sounding off on your right. A scuffle of your socks, a swing of the door later, and voila: Gaeul’s in the middle of your doorway, reflecting the same head tilt you’re giving her before she leans forward for a few kisses. It’s real-life b-roll footage, the snapshots and captured moments of love that everyone longs for in some way or another; you’re living in it. 

“Mhm,” she hums, arms well wrapped around your neck with wrists stacked. She smells good, her body lighter than usual, letting you pull her closer because she knows you will. “Looks like somebody missed me.” 

“Uh uh,” you breathe, laughing in the open space of your mouths, shuffling into the apartment some more, stumbling. Gaeul’s keeping her attire easy with a pair of baggy bottoms that’ll slip so easily out of her legs once you get her to stop moving- 

“I’ll have you know that I thought long and hard about what to wear,” adds Gaeul, standing still and taking her sneakers off one foot at a time, her hair pooling from one side to the other. “But then it hit me, why not just keep it casual?” 

“Explains the comfy combo,” you’re telling her. You don’t even realize the bag brandished on her shoulder. “Is that-” 

“Exactly what it looks like. I don’t have anything tomorrow, so I figured I’d use my downtime more wisely.” 

This is fun. Sure, it’s the playful banter, mixed in with the flirting. You’re using every self-restraint you’ve got in your head to not pin her over on the couch and put her hips against yours. 

You simply can’t help it. The law of attraction that’s taking place: you like her, and it can’t get any more complicated than that. You’re positive that she feels the same way - to some extent. She rubs the neckbone at the nape, twiddles the ends of your hair. The smile she has is infectious, watches as your eyes wander across the lines of her face, almost like you discovered fire. Gaeul’s lips then fall flat, nodding. This is the second or third time you’re seeing her exclusively, each one more exciting than the last. 

“Hungry?” 

Gaeul shakes her head, “Hm, kinda.” 

“You’re in luck,” you beam. “I was gonna whip something up anyway.” 

“Aw, how thoughtful.” She tells you when you’re setting her down, walking over to the dining table with her setting her bag down, following not too far behind. While you’re getting yourself situated, she takes the time to let her head look and observe all the things organized on your shelves and tables, a peek into the inner workings of what makes you tick. You could feel her gaze on you once you’ve got yourself situated at the stove and she finally settles down at the kitchen island, opposite from you with a front-row seat. 

You throw a towel on your shoulder, playing the measly bartender part loosely. “Water?” 

Gaeul blinks, hums a noise serving as a yes. 

“This is just for starters,” you tell her, sliding a glass across the marble before eying the brandy resting at the top of the fridge. “If you want, we can get the good drinks later when we’re bored.” 

“I’d like that.” 

“Want me to explain why Yujin’s project has been a pain in my ass as of recently?” 

She dips her head down, hiding her smile. 

“I think I can think of a few reasons why she can be a handful for some people,” she says, sipping a bit of the water before she gestures her head to the fridge, wanting to get right to business without wasting any time. “But you care a little too much, so we need to ease your mind a little.” 

“Just trying to not be overbearing; because she’s a piece of work, but I love working with her regardless,” you tell her. Next thing you know the brandy’s been brought down on the counter. While you’re doing that, you’re finding the gaps in her schedule. When’s the next time you’re free? There’s the proposal that you’ll bring her out for a nice picnic, drinks with charcuterie, maybe toss in painting to the mix while you’ll blatantly stare at her cottagecore dress with a wine glass in her hand- 

“Are these your notes?” She asks, pulling one of your many notebooks closer to flip through the pages, looking at the different constellations that are already there, the ones that are easy to recognize. Her eyes dart to you when you’re sliding over a different cup filled with brandy for her to take, taking a sip while you glance over at the two sandwiches on your pan. “Wow, you weren’t kidding. This is quite a lot of work she has you doing.” 

“The name of the game, essentially,” you’re grinning, transferring over a tablet with pictures of different stars and galaxies from an album you curated. Some are straight out of a textbook, the others you and Yujin have found on separate occasions. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re actually a nerd?” Gaeul asks, mockingly, swiping the screen as you give her an unimpressed expression. 

You crowd behind her shoulder, going through the gallery, leaning her head against yours as your nose brushes her cheek, sighing in approval. Your hands have a mind of their own, slithering around her waist, planting a kiss on her neck - just to tease. Hey, you’re not fooling anyone here. 

“So you’re telling me that Yujin’s been trying to find a constellation of love somewhere in the stars instead of an actual person? Okay-” she holds in her laugh, leaning into your touch with another kiss. “Sorry, I- I can’t help myself, she’s a handful with this.” 

“Food’s ready, by the way,” you tell her. “I can talk about my side of things in the meantime.” 

–

Gaeul, effortless as she is, listens attentively. 

Her elbows are on the table top, most of the sandwich eaten as she keeps her eyes fixated on you. She watches while you’re giving her the basic rundown of what’s going on with your work life to the best of your ability - stops you midway, points to a spot under the corner of your lip, prompting you to check it yourself, which you do. By some klutzy move, you miss it - probably on purpose, enabling her into telling you to lean closer for her to wipe it herself, and with a downward tilt of your face, she hides away for a moment. It’s that implication of playfulness that gives way to curiosity, that sense of restlessness where sex was always going to be the eventual inevitability.  She wipes whatever was on your chin with her thumb, and keeps it there. Next thing you know, her lips are on yours. 

You’re fighting the press of her lips, leaning forward. Her hands suddenly palm your chest, pushing you back into the chair; the conquest picks up when she straddles herself on top of your hips, grazing her lips and nose across your face. The rush itself dies down for a bit - taking the sweet time of tasting each other’s lips and sucking the air out of one another. 

For someone like her to kiss you so eagerly. You’d let her do just that. 

Her jacket gets taken off smoothly, and her bottoms are pulled a bit to where you can see a hint of her underwear, holding her by the hips. 

The fucking lace, alright. She looks unreal the way it hugs her figure. 

At this point you’re just hypnotized by her hands and lips, undoing some of the buttons on your shirt, sliding her way down until the trail of kisses reaches the lower regions. Your pants and boxers pool at your ankles, kicking them off. She kisses the inside of your thighs, lets her breath coat your balls before a lick of the underside shifts your hips forward to the edge of the chair. Her pretty little mouth reaches your tip, delicately kissing it; she knows what the fuck she’s doing. 

“You’ve been fantasizing about this for a little, haven’t you?” Gaeul teases, pleased. She grins when she wraps her fingers at the base, sighs when you hiss some of the air out your lungs. Her breasts are fighting the bra containing them. She then opens her mouth a bit, drops her head, sinks - fuck. The seal alone is just the right amount of pressure. “How much am I willing to bet you yanked one out after our first date?” 

Your midsection tenses, balling your fists because there’s nothing else you would rather do than push your hips upward and fill her throat; not to shut her up, but give her an idea of what she’s in for if she doesn’t play nice. 

You know that she won’t. 

“Well- you’re right. I did exactly that. How did you-” you blow air out instantaneously when she moves down halfway to your shaft, her eyes rolling back as she’s forcibly choking down your cock. Some of the spit leaks out of her mouth, coating the skin, soaking her bottom lip. Some of it lands on her chest. 

“-ust my kind of guess. Now how much are you willing to bet you’ll ruin me with this cock of yours?” she asks once more, giving you no time to answer when she’s putting her head between your legs, suffocating herself before popping her lips off the tip, slapping your shaft across her cheek. “Shouldn’t take you that long, huh?” 

The way she’s smiling while talking you through this filth, it’s gonna break you. You need her. You need her mouth right back on your fucking cock before she entertains the idea of blue balling you to oblivion. “I’m slightly worried that you won’t be able to handle this. Maybe I should just hop on your cock and let you have your fun while you fill me up-” 

“So f-fucking bad, you are,” you grit, stuttering. 

Consider this as karma coming full circle: Gaeul breaking you just by her being on her knees, lapping away your cock while you had your fun eating her out in the back of the bus back to her place less than forty-eight hours ago, holding her close while you made a mess of her underwear with your fingers. She was trying so hard to be quiet, covering her mouth while you were fucking her open. 

“Aw, that’s unfortunate,” she tells you, dropping her mouth again, hand cupping beneath your balls, working her way down your shaft even more. 

Her bobs are meticulous and calculated. The levels of stimulation are over the scale you drew up in your head, and when she gets her other hand in the fun - twisting the base while the one at your balls are being squeezed, you draw your head back against the chair. 

It’s all in the slow buildup: the soft pumps, the occasional spit slathered as the sound of skin on skin becomes even more obscene. Her fingers coil your base when she takes you in that enveloping heat, humming down your cock until you feel the gentle graze of her teeth on the topside, eyes open and going cross-eyed. You’re struggling to come to terms that this girl was the same girl that was dressed up so nicely and princess-like in the art museum asking you and wondering what was the meaning of all these pieces. 

But then you’re reminded, that all of it is just the surface level of certain things - once you get to know someone, you learn as you go along with them. Gaeul just blinks through every move of her head at your hips, coating your cock endlessly and teasing to the point where she wants to see that side of you that you’re capable of showing her - to make you bust over and over again until you filled up her cunt where she’s begging for more, watch as she gets herself off if you’re away from her for too long, break her like it’s meant to be a daily routine from here on out - which will happen, Gaeul’s good enough to get you there sooner than you think, her pretty little lips, her dainty hands, that fucking tongue - you’ll get back at her for breaking you. 

“Sweetie, okay.” You gasp when she bottoms out your cock, groaning aloud that she’s smiling into the length. She keeps working with her hands and mouth, takes a moment to breathe, fingers sliding nice and easy along the slick skin. Staring at you. “Gaeul, please-” 

She’s close to getting you there; begging, and you manage to get a hand to her cheek, hold her face while she sinks her lips back on your cock again. Fuck. You might be too far gone already. Her teeth press down on the skin of your dick and you let out a noise showing another sign of just how good she’s making you lose it. Some of your fingers card her hair, like you’re clawing for a grip on the side of a rock and you swear that your cockhead swells at the top of her throat - you’re left speechless. You’re pretty sure that you can see stars. 

Gaeul smacks your tip across her lips, smiles as she does so. “You love my mouth, don’t you? I bet you’re just dying to cum all over my fingers and make me apologize for not letting you have your fun. Sucks to be you.” 

“Fucking-” you spit. She swipes her tongue on her lower lip, kisses your shaft the second after. Her index and thumb tighten around your base. “Gaeul, I swear-” 

“What? Had enough already?” 

Forget what you assumed about Gaeul. This version of her at your feet blows the performance right out of the water. 

All that boldness; that wit and snark while playing it cool, she swept it all under the rug from you. Anything she does or says to you, she knows that you’ll twist yourself into giving in to what she wants. Bratty might be one way to conclude - the way she hides her pert smile when you can easily tell that it’s a teasing grin. She looks at your shaft so earnestly as she jerks it around her hand, testing the girth and thickness of it when she finally decides enough is enough and tells you to plug that sorry little hole up that is her throat. The choice to paint your mess over her face or drain it down her mouth is up to you; you’ll ruin her just to satisfy your selfish ego. 

“I could just let you, ya know,” she leans more into your palm while her tongue laves across the skin of your balls, breath hot and heavy in the same way her eyelashes bat at you so innocently. “Let you fuck my face and fill my mouth up with this cock. You’ve been good enough for me, I think I just might.” 

She leans back and unclips her bra, revealing her tits; nice and perky, her rosy pink nipples too - you’ll mark her up when you get the chance. Her hands go to her hair, tying it like some party trick that only takes a few seconds, leans down to your stomach and kisses it, licking downwards just enough to make you snap. 

Your hand’s fast to grab the ponytail on the back of Gaeul’s head. 

“Thought you said you’d let me take over,” you tell her. And then: “there we go, look at that. So pretty when your mouth is full of my cock,” you hiss, guiding her down along your shaft, dragging your hips down and up into the addicting clench of her throat. You pull yourself out and smack your tip across her face, smearing the spit and precum. She wants the mess: “Gonna take my cock so well, aren’t you.” 

When she sinks again, you lose focus for a moment. 

“Mmphgh,” she hums, gripping your wrist. “Mmmuugh.” 

“Not so tough now if you can’t talk.” You almost feel bad. It’s unfair how she can still look up at you and smile at the corner of her lips, keeping her gaze leveled as you sink her mouth on your shaft - you thrusting upwards to meet in the middle. She’s handling it like a champ, and it takes a bit for someone to take you whole. 

A drag up, down, then up. She’s halfway on your shaft, rises, goes deeper - you could see her upper lip clamp down at the base, cheeks puffing up to dispel the air. Her head shakes a bit, struggling; sucking her cheeks soon after - god. The blush is a lot more apparent now, her eyes filled with lust. You give her a little bit of breathing room while you crash her face back down on your shaft. 

“Fuck yes,” you groan, feeling her velvety mouth, taking all of you. She inhales sharply when you slip out of her - only for her to take you back in as you pick up with the thrusts with every shove of her head back down. 

You are trying, so hard, to not fuck anything up - fucking her face - you’re pretty sure you feel a little lightheaded. Her gaze is hazy, gasping every few seconds or so through the gags before you up the intensity once more. How is she even prettier like this? She has no right. Not when the noises and current actions are this debauched. 

“Mmnph?” She hums, the vibration tremoring on the skin. The clamp of her lips at the base again doesn’t help, but when she slides her tongue along the underside- 

“Jesus, Gaeul-” 

Fuck. She inhales your cock to the hilt and swipes her tongue across the same spot where her lip can’t reach. Rough. 

“Mmph hmm.” 

“Relax your jaw, baby,” and she does so, holding you where the clench is the hottest. She squints her eyes as you move her head side to side, the gagging more punctuated through the wet sounds. Ah fuck-

She makes it so, so easy for you. You’ve got just enough to hold yourself back, tugging at her ponytail while she adjusts her mouth over your length - mindlessly bobbing that makes you forget for a second and get lost in the overwhelming wave of pleasure coursing through your body. You’d do anything for her, she’d do anything for you: even if making her a slut was part of the process. 

If we’re being honest here, she wouldn’t have gone this far for you to fuck her mouth - like, a well-practiced and simple blowjob from her could’ve been enough for you to lose it - but if she prefers things this way, how her wide eyes keep looking at you with your hand in her hair, she’ll keep it up until you eventually dump your cum all over her tongue. 

You just have to, soon, and you will. Gaeul guides her other hand to yours, giving you free reign - sending her mouth to you. She does it with such grace, so beautifully, the arousal catches you by surprise. 

Her hands slide to your sides, gripping. Goddamnit, it’s clustered all over her face: the rosy cheeks, the swollen mouth, the sound of her mewling and gagging once you’re upping the pace of your thrusts, spit spread all over her face and chest that makes her skin shine, her hair around the tie becoming more and more messier. 

She will make you insane. 

“Mhm mhm,” she sputters out because it takes her a while for her to coherently say it, probably since her cheeks are so full of cock you pull yourself out to the point there are webs of spit plastered over your shaft and on her lips. 

You’re trying to hold it together. Gaeul, not so much - breathing staggered before she nudges her lips along your cockhead again, opens wide, and slides her way back down, the hypnotizing movement of drool with every deepthroat stroke she does on you. 

“Gaeul,” you call out, breathlessly. Her gags just keep on coming, and your hands find themselves in a familiar place yet again. 

She forces your hand down, comes back up for air. You’re left speechless, stunned. She’s kissing up your cock - desperately in adoration, practically begging without being verbal about it. 

“I want it,” she whispers - drops her jaw again, and guides your hand with her head back down on your length. The friction alone hangs your mind in suspense. 

“Fuck my mouth,” she commands; her voice soothing. You don’t think twice when you sink her head back down on your cock, the warmth and plushness of it unfathomable to register in your fucked-out brain. When she comes back up, gasping for air: “Please, sir. Just like that.” 

So you grip her hair again. “Shit.” You pull at the root of her knot, let her graze her teeth along the slick surface of your cock. “Christ- Gaeul,” Her eyes red, mascara smeared, cheeks hollowed out once more as her throat rucks up the head of your shaft, taking you- all of you. 

Easing yourself into fucking her face wasn’t the way to go; it would be like shying away, saving yourself the embarrassment. Your ears close in on the sounds: the choking, the new layer of spit coated across your throbbing shaft. She’s so good with her lips - in the most fucked up way possible, the sloppier she is, the more happy she’ll be when you release your cum in her mouth or on her face. 

Whichever one happens first, that is, you’ll find out soon enough. 

“Gaeul-” you’re saying her name, sighing it out in reverence. “Close, baby. I’m so close-” 

It’s when she curls her bottom lip, the technique of her tongue sweeping that sensitive spot at the underside - it makes your vision focus at a fine point, she doesn’t let up with the gulps and gags, the delicious clench that makes you swallow nothing. Fuck, you feel it. She knows. With every passing drive of your hips, there’s enough wiggle room for her to breathe again. 

She’ll kill you if you let her do this more often. 

–

“Uhm,” you’re calling out to her again, noticing something out of place. “I don’t remember you asking for that.” 

Gaeul turns around, stretches the shirt on her like some bathrobe. It’s funny: the hem at the waistline covers the middle of her thighs, but somehow you can’t help but admit she looks cute in your clothes - even when she’s wiping away the cum and saliva with the collar and there’s no point in complaining. 

“Sorry, I thought you’d be okay with me having a small memento of you,” she says, pulling the fabric behind, molding it to her figure. There’s a playful hum she’s singing, wandering around your place like it’s her gallery, eyeing the trinkets and things that make you well- you. 

“Would you be cool if-” she adds, turning around in some coquettish ingénue pose, showing a bit of her panties that’s being engulfed by her ass. “-I made you cum a third time?” 

You give her a chuckle since that’s in the ballpark of recurring jokes or cute memories, somewhere along the lines of flirting like an idiot and fucking like rabbits. It’s getting there, the insight at least. 

Sure, have her keep the shirt. It looks good on her. She brought a change of clothes for the night anyway; God knows as to why but you’ll do whatever it takes to keep her around. 

“I’ll take that as a yes with how you’re staring at me still.” She muses a scrunch of her nose that simmers the cutesy, heart-fluttering, babyism sort of act that would make anyone, in particular, flash a look of confusion topped off with a subtle eye roll. 

She grabs your toothbrush and runs it through the faucet. You don’t say anything about that. 

The balls of her feet lift her heels, but she’s not slick with the small arch of her back and leans in towards the mirror. She’s careless, and that’s apparent with how the collarbone sticks out on the right side where the shirt pools. You give her a light laugh when you’re hugging her side, nestle your nose at her temple, patting her head. 

“Do -ou minth?” Gaeul sighs, smiling. “-m tryimph to cean mythelf ere.” The toothbrush hangs at the side of her mouth, minding her own business as you’re pulling a few wisps of her hair past her ear. “Should’ve closed the door on you when I had the chance. Didn’t expect you to be so clingy. You expect me to believe that you can be soft and bubbly when you just shoved your cock down my throat?” 

“Too much?” you ask. “I can dumb it down if you want.” 

She gives you a genuine shake of her head. No. “I don’t mind at all.” She spits out the paste into the sink for a new one, since she’s drooling it out. “It’s cute that you’re like this when it should be the opposite.” 

“Mmm. Bite me if you have a problem with it.” 

Gaeul then sighs when you bury your nose in her hair, rub the side of her waist, because it feels right. Her eyes follow you when you leave her be at the sink, let her spit out some more before brushing. 

–

A girl like Gaeul makes it difficult for you to come to grips with her small, yet lithe frame - how your hands rest neatly on the swell of her ass, fingertips cupping the indent. She’s not making this any better, palming your cock through your pants, or that cheeky smirk once her hand slithers past the elastic and wraps around you like it’s a lifeline. 

You also realize: how light she is, feeling her tits and having a moment of small joy when you manage to get a mouthful of her breast, mouth parting while you’re sucking on her mounds and nipples shamelessly to the point where she has to tug you by the hair to make you stop, grasp at that last bit of control. 

Marking up her chest serves as a viable response to her. 

“Careful now,” she tells you, mewling, head tipped forward - the stimulation quite a lot for her to handle. “A little aggressive, are we? Ah-” 

Like you’re the kind of person to take it easy, anyway. She says your name so prettily; the sensuality over a simple utterance, the breathlessness lying beneath the tone. You’ll fuck and treat her like she’s the only girl in the world and prove it in more ways than one. You’re on the eve of something big here: finding where her limbs and muscles tense, mark up her perfect skin and knock her up like she wants the filthy mess. There’s an unspoken safe word - a prompt or phrase of some kind. If or when she says: “I’m yours,” she tells you, eyes fluttering when you slip your two fingers in, guiding them to the tempo that she wants you to go. 

So she grinds on your fingers and cock whilst making out with you on your bed, eventually fucking her soon after, sheets and pillows tossed and used in the process; you slip some rubber on your cock and cum first before she does, and she’s a bit angry, pouty, coiling her arms and legs around your neck and shoulders until you give her what she wants - the time reads a little past midnight, she’s sprawled on the bed like some happy, sleepy puppy and sighs: “I’m starting to think you can’t handle me. My pussy’s just too good for you to have another round,” laughing as her knee rises and slides her heels along the mattress. 

“Maybe two or three will shut you up, I don’t know.” 

“We’ll see about that,” Gaeul says flatly in lieu of your subtle shrug, “I’m gonna break your cock, just watch me,” and well, you find and realize, she was serious about that; she fucks herself on your hips, determined - and hops off your waist, your front flush with her back, bringing a pillow for her to cling onto. “Something tells me that you’ve been- deprived, I would say. This bed is a little too spacious for us.” 

You laugh with a yawn mixed in. “Yeah, sure.” Gaeul takes the tie you pulled out from her hair and tosses it to the nightstand. “If you want to put it that way, I won’t complain.” 

She scoffs. “Wow. I point out one thing and you’re not even gonna argue against it,” you can picture the quirk of her mouth, a hint of her teeth peeking through into a grin. “For a guy like you to have some experience, that’s not what I expected-” 

“Do you want the polite answer or the truth?” you ask her, leaning more into the cushion while Gaeul tangles a leg between yours. The world around you seems to fade out from your ears, solely making you focus on the present moment, looking at her with a wistful gaze, one filled with contentment and wonder. 

Deprived no more, you’re mentally telling yourself. 

It’s not long after before Gaeul pats your cheek, kisses your jaw before you hear her feet scuff across the floor to your bathroom with nothing on, watching as she checks herself in the mirror, leans into the doorframe, arm raised and stretched up high, locks of her hair spilling from her collarbones and down to her chest, that head tilt to top the silhouette off nicely you’re left in a trance. 

You figure out that this moment, right now, all of the stars aligned at the right time and firmly believe that it’ll stay. 

–

Sometime later, you tell Gaeul that you were holding out for someone like her; someone that took an effort to get because they were simply out of your league - she laughs, half-impressed. 

“Y’know, for you to be figuratively at the altar but still searching,” she murmurs, tapping your chin. “people like you and I can only get so far in life.” 

“People like me and you,” you repeat, the movement between you two isn’t much, but still cautious.

Gaeul drops her eyelids and smiles, a dimple appearing. 

“People. Interesting, enticing,” she breathes. “Enigmatic and those with charisma.” A chuckle hums low in her chest when she looks up with those wistful, doe eyes, “that’s where your type falls, doesn’t it?” 

On the nail, she is - damn she’s good. 

“And where would I be, had I not talked to you that day,” you ask, grinning like an idiot. The space alone is still difficult to interpret, placing your lips on hers and scratch her head while the waves of her coffee-brown locks sift between your fingers. You could feel yourself sinking - sucked into a black hole with no way out, swallowing you up whole. 

“I wonder too,” she echoes your thought. 

You kiss her forehead, give attention to that cute little beauty mark on her cheek. Watch as her gaze softens: a look of love, almost. 

“I’m bad news for you, sadly,” she adds. “Keep me in your life, you’re bound to regret it.” 

–

She wants you so bad, you can’t help but fuck her for the next couple of days. 

Your schedule slowly shifts to Gaeul’s. When the night falls - because there are multiple instances at two in the morning talking about complete nonsense over mac and cheese bowls and slow kissing in the shower with the water falling on both of you that makes her skin a hot blush pink, pressing her into the tile or sink after with your hand or towel in her mouth to keep her quiet - since you learn she likes it that way, letting you feel up the slick curves of her ass and watch the skin ripple to where you see some of the recoil of her tits in the mirror, or even on your office chair facing away from the desktop, Gaeul biting your ear with her knees up to her pits- 

“You like fucking my pussy open with my legs up like this? Hmm?” Gaeul hisses in your ear, voice rasped and torn, sliding her legs back down, tugging hair while you’re filling every inch of her cunt. “Just letting you use me wherever, whenever, however you want-” 

Alright. It’s hard to imagine what you were getting yourself into when Yujin threw a bone to pick at you playing matchmaker - leaving the door open for Gaeul, the girl who waltzed into your life unknowingly, only for her to be the kind of girl that crumbles from your cock being inside her, pumping so full where she’s pulling you into that leaking white slit for another round - but there’s times in the late morning, treating herself another cup of tea, body riddled with hickeys drawn up and discovered by you like a stargazer, her small waist a gift from the heavens above, in your sweatpants where the ends pool over to her toes, leaning down to take your attention away from the screen, grabbing a handful of her tit in place of a hello. 

“What’s that you got there?” Gaeul giggles, hand stacked on yours while you squeeze gently. “That doesn’t look related to the project.” 

She’s half-right. It’s somewhat relevant to the submissions Yujin’s been sending over for you to look at, and the data’s been stagnant; luckily, you’re glad that someone else’s been keeping you accountable for the time being. 

“Well, that's because it isn’t.” you laugh, swiveling your chair a bit so that she can sit on your lap. “This is what the galaxy looked like on your birthday. Gotta say, that does look pretty.” 

Gaeul coos, leaning her head on top of yours. She moves your hand up to her chest, slips her arm out of the sleeve, rucks the shirt on her shoulder. The mix of pale skin and pink bruises, you’re salivating with every lick of your lips - and she leans closer to the screen.

Her eyes widen at the flashes of blue and purple, stares like the picture itself is an art piece, captivated. “Wow, you know what I think?” 

“What is it?” 

“If you’re gonna help discover a galaxy or image like that,” Gaeul tells you, moving her arm around your neck, lightly scratching your hair, “I’d pull your weight with Yujin on this project if I were you.” 

��Really?” you ask her, leaning back so that she can rest her other leg across yours. “I’ve been doing that, but it’s been slow.” 

“Maybe you just have to draw up the connection a little better, then.” 

–

Your groove gets thrown off. Gaeul disrupts the flow which you have no complaint about. You leave your place far later than you intended, and tell Yujin to let you off the hook. The pictures, readings, sketches - the information is a lot to take already. You’re seeing stars. If she’s the sun then you’d be Icarus: flying closer and closer until you get engulfed completely. 

This isn’t simple for you; a little hard to properly explain. The girl just takes and takes and takes. 

You show Gaeul the night sky, have her look through your telescope and tell which stars and planets are seen, painting the image and guiding her to fill that imagination - only for her to say something to make you laugh; next thing you know, she’s got her pretty lips wrapped around your cock, shutting you up with no care right there on the balcony. She keeps batting those lashes at you, fucking her face - hollowed cheekbones too, god. She’s swallowing you whole, hands at your sides, gargling. Putting her hair up in that ponytail. Yeah, you won’t last long. 

The lapping, licking, spitting. She’s savoring the inescapable deepthroat. 

When she licks the upper seam of your balls, you’re pretty sure you saw a new set of stars right then and there. 

“We might need to look at those pictures you have,” you’re telling Yujin on the phone. “I think those from the last look-up. No- I mean, yeah. I was also reading on Rei’s side of the project as well, and what she has is way more substantial than what we were initially working with.” 

“As much as I hate to admit it, her recent stuff has been looking pretty good compared to ours. I’m just glad we found her to work with us in the first place.” Yujin says, laughing. 

“All I’m saying from last time is that if you were this committed to finding someone that can put up with your antics; maybe rough you up and get you all needy and not be as controlling to just live a little, you know? I know that we’re close to finishing this, but I can extend an olive branch for you to reach if you need a guy up your alley.” 

“I’ll hold you to that offer,” replies Yujin, “Hopefully you got a guy in mind that can handle me like how Gaeul is with you.” 

Right, you tell her. Gaeul’s leaned on the frame leading to the kitchen; not tired, sighing when you look over your shoulder to see her hand in her sweats, finger deep up her cunt. The tilt of your head says to keep it down. She bites her lip, continuing what she’s doing. You’ll see why, and be glad that you didn’t jump at the opportunity yet. You look away for a second to notice her sitting right next to you, brushing up your right side, forcing you to switch the phone to the other hand. Watch it. You’re certain that she could hop on your cock right now, and ride you without a care in the world, because why the fuck not? She’s not wearing panties underneath as it is; asking, whining, begging to be bred. 

Shit. 

You really could. 

If you wanted to. 

Like fucking her on the balcony for the world to see would just be another law in your twisted philosophy, breaking a slut like her, leaving the mess of cum all over her body, have her lick it off so sweetly. In a sky full of stars, you’d want to paint that picture somewhere up there too. 

You’re certain that there’s a solace here - one that’s permanently eclipsed with euphoria, certain that it will stay. 

Gaeul’s breathing funnels into your ear as you bite down a smile, grab a handful of her ass and claw greedily at the indent. You could feel her head nod against yours. She’s so fucking needy. 

“I’ll send over the revisions I made,” she pulls back on your lap to see you say. Yujin beams on the other end of the line. “Touch base with Rei also to see if it matches up.” 

Gaeul moves your arm away, pushes your head back with a lip lock. Her hips drop to your growing bulge below. You end the call right away to ensure Yujin doesn’t get caught up in the middle of it, watch as she rips your shirt off from her body. 

–

You hate to admit that you’ve got this dark-twisted fantasy, unwilling to frame that mindset because there was no reason to. She’s so mild-mannered and soft-spoken; wears pretty outfits and dresses waiting for you in the lobby of your building. She’s one messy bun with a hairclip on top away from urging you to snatch her away, Christ almighty. You’ll take away the layers and make mental notes, conceal her away like she’s some comet - write her name into the books that way the whole world knows about her perfection. A girl like her can change what a man thinks, make them say things like I know what you want, don’t give me that look - just for her to stare with that lovestruck look in your eyes. 

If she wasn’t the kind of girl that fell from the sky and onto your lap, syrupy laugh and giggle with those dreamy eyes, you would have a hard time looking through a scope; she’s rattling your brain to the point where you could say one or two things, have her listen dutifully because you know she will. 

Every exploration is a journey into the unknown, and suddenly she could pop a question at any random point in time, like: hey, you don’t need science to make a woman feel good, okay? You can totally fuck me like you mean it.  

But here she’s babbling, heaving. Completely stuffed up on her back with her knees to her chest, brain nothing but mish mash and riding out the pleasure. “Aren’t you a sweet thing,” you groan, “creaming all over my cock-” 

She’s biting down a piece of her shirt, lifted just above her tits, eyes squinched. Her head tilts back, chest up in the air. You’re pressing on the underside of her thighs, pushing her deep into the mattress. The words coming out of her mouth are incoherent, but you’re fucking it out of her: god, oh god, yes, shit, baby, fuck, fuck me- 

“Christ,” you hiss, and move your hands from her thighs to her back, bending the arch more. You’ve done yourself a favor by not railing her on the dining table like last time, gripping her ass, the addicting clench and glide of her folds, begging you to pound and pound and pound until she’s lost the feeling in her legs. 

Everything leading up to this was relatively tame; nothing too serious other than fifteen or twenty minutes of the usual fill-ins of what was done throughout the day, only for Gaeul to flash a look at you and with a grab of her wrist, the rest of the clothes peel away not long after. 

Probably in this universe, there’s nothing left to decipher in the sounds and expressions displayed on Gaeul’s face, small streams of tears falling on her cheeks with every part from the face down riddled in a rosy blush and sweat. You slide your palms up to her chest, rest your thumbs on the underside of her breasts, steadying, plugging your cock up in her tiny cunt and dragging every inch of skin across her walls, clamping hard and soaking no matter how fast and hard you’re giving it to her. Her body’s used to your length, thoroughly fucked that she can’t do anything but feel ruined. 

You see her mouth form an oh shape, some of her hair gets caught on her cheek, glancing you from the corner of her eye before rolling it back to her head- 

“Shhh,” you say, brushing your nose to the side. “Almost there, baby. I’ve got you-” 

Gaeul’s brows furrow together; grinding her teeth, forcing the dragged-out groan down her throat, tears peeking through the seal of her eyelids. She knows that she can’t do anything - besides just taking it like a nice little girl, let this cock pound and wreck her and look gorgeous as you bottom her out. 

“C’mon baby,” you’re huffing, getting one good thrust in while the flesh ripples at your hips, and Gaeul grits out a holy shit but dies down instantaneously, soft, the wail wheezed out in a whisper. Her whole body shakes with another peak, her face flushed with red, saying nothing seconds later. The wetness leaks out of her, coating your cock while holding you true. There’s no objection, only order when you drive your dick back in her cunt. Small threads of her slick forming on your waist, drawing their own set of constellations on her body. 

Her body rebounds upwards on the inhale. 

“Cum,” she tells you, pleading. You could feel her fingers coil your forearm. 

“Condom,” you stutter and fuck. She’s so unhinged - even if it’s just a singular word or simple request. Wringing her out this way was always going to be the result. “Fuck, can’t-” 

Her breath hitches, a cute noise you think. Some of her hair falls on her forehead, eyes lidded. The corner of her mouth ticks up. 

“What?” 

“If you seriously think that I’m gonna cum inside-” 

Gaeul chuckles, twisted into a moan. You can see the gears in her head turning, trying not to get caught up with your cock embedded in her hot cunt still. 

“Not- that.” 

“Not?” 

Her head falls to the mattress. 

“All over me.” Her shoulders slack, hands sliding further up your arm. You let her legs bracket your hips as you grasp at her tit. She doubles down on the command to be sure you heard it the first time. “I wanna feel it.” 

You don’t say anything more when she props herself up on her elbows, watching the sight of your cock slide slowly in and out of her cunt. Slipping the condom off in one swift pull and lick your palm. Gaeul bites on her thumb, smiling at you barely keeping it together. 

“Here is fine.” The way she suggests is dripping in want. Her heaving chest, kiss-bitten lips, tousled hair and sweat and everything in between. “Or maybe,” you see her glossy eyes once more, filled with lust. “Paint my face and get your nice, thick cum all over my fucking lips-” 

You inhale sharply. 

“Watch it,” you hiss. 

“Maybe I won’t,” Gaeul replies, lip between her teeth, challenging. Her hand reaches to your length to keep you second-guessing. The sight of her body; a literal depiction of sin, right in the palms of your hands. 

She grinds your cockhead along her folds, closing her legs slightly. The pressure already sucking you back in. “Sweetie, where- I could just let you lick it off again, grab a towel from the bathroom, that-” 

“You know what I want.” 

You look at her, unsure. But you know what’s about to happen anyway. 

As if she couldn’t give it to you in a different language, she grabs your wrist gently. It’s an easy problem with an easy solution. You can’t argue how pleasant she really is. She doesn’t have to prove more into it, how she’ll be, you could give into that sense of luxury, and you really could. 

So you’re pondering, skeptical. “I told you. You’re insane if you genuinely want me to cum in you. We’re not doing this. No.” 

Gaeul pouts, combined with an eyebrow lift. 

“And I wasn’t kidding when I said that.” She mentioned it the first time, too: “I’d let you cum anywhere you want.” 

A few more passing blinks go by. 

“Why go through all that just to waste your hard work on-” And you’re left surprised that she’s got the strength left to pull herself back up, resting her hips right on top of yours, fingers carding through your hair when she slips you back inside. Inch by inch, you feel her sinking down - slowly. You know that she isn’t stopping in particular, wiggling her ass; a soft implication, teasing. She’s pulling you closer and closer to where you’re seeing eye to eye with her. “Safeguarding a pretty girl like me.” 

In all honesty: it’s in your nature. Gaeul’s simply just being herself. Tender. Beautiful. Fully embracing. You could give her the power to destroy you, and she’d thank you for it. 

She gives you a very hard time thinking, grinding her hips against yours - let yourself get drunk in the raptures since the rubber was starting to become a pain in the ass recently. Gaeul’s cunt siphons out all your thoughts with every single inch of her gripping cunt, speaking listless phrases of praise and wishes that you’re positive to make come true for her. She could ride and pound her pretty pussy all over your cock - orgasm after orgasm after orgasm - until her face is blown out and just flat-out gone. Ease her mind with your dick, since she seems to love it so much. 

To be spoiled, showered and railed in whatever way possible. She just keeps hopping along your cock, bottoming herself out to the point where she’s looking to the ceiling in pure stimulation. 

You ruck your hips forward. Gaeul trembles, sighing in relief, allowing you the reins, lifting her body up and back down on your thighs. Her neck tips down, mouth canted. 

She’s warm and tight - just perfect; so sensitive and responsive after bouncing her cunt on your cock over and over and over- 

You steady yourself, savoring the feeling. 

She wants you to fill her up, to the point where she has to tell you that it’s enough. 

You suck in a breath, slip out a groan, shuddering. “Oh my god-” 

“Good, right?” Gaeul smiles, “Shit-” and you feel her head collapse onto yours, relaxing and riding out the length until her hips mesh with yours. She practically melts on your cock, stretching and tightening all at once, inviting. 

A kiss to her chest is what you give her, trying to keep your mind off her pussy carelessly clinging every inch of your girth; making it simpler for you to nudge your cockhead into the spot that makes her clench and shake; mewling and humming mixed with the moans; soaking your hips till it stains the sheets. 

“Such a slut,” you tell her, maintaining the last bits of coherence you have left, “so careless and needy. I should stop before you do some real damage.” 

Gaeul smirks, looks so admonished you can’t help but stare. “I don’t like that tone of yours.” 

“What tone?” 

She curls a smile before cradling your head. 

“Talking me down, doesn’t sit right with me.” 

“You told me that you didn’t mind.” You lift her hips from the crease, lean forward to swirl your tongue around her nipple. Looking up to see her watch, give a shameless lick on her bud to lay the challenge, pull back with a pop of the lips. “I know you were being polite about it. Call me a good listener.” 

“I might’ve said something different.” 

“Like you beg to differ.” 

“Hush.” 

“Pussy so good for you that you’re at a loss of words? Set your mind right after getting lazy over work?” The arch in her back deepens, gyrating her hips at the hilt to further the connection - your thumbs dig in the crease of her legs. You drag her forward. She moans again. “Shame on you, I should say no the next time-” 

“But you won’t.” 

“No. No. I won’t.” Gaeul huffs into your cheek, sighs once more when you’re kissing her throat. 

You’re fucking her brains into a puddle and somehow you’re still wondering how she can still think straight - ignoring the fact that her body’s split open and folding through on slap of your hips onto the next- 

“I won’t. Not ever.” She mumbles, whimpering. “I- can’t get enough of this dick. I can never get enough of your dick.” 

“Really?” You’re asking acerbically.

She shakes her head, and you give her a nice hot kiss, priming her head at an angle where you both prefer it to be: and she slips her tongue between your lips, groaning and melting on top of your body, pressing her knees to the sides of your thighs and her cunt in this sliding friction across your cock. She’s terrible at keeping secrets, a truth even - trying to convince you otherwise that she doesn’t like when you’re working her so well her face flushes, aching while leaking her endless slick onto your skin. Your mouth, hands, and cock all give her these waves of bliss, hitting the points all at once where her body blooms and she doesn’t know what to do next. 

You slam her ass back on your balls that her hips spazz out, grinding another climax out of her while she screams; a live wire is what she is, purring and gasping once you’ve triggered that reaction. 

“Like that,” she tells you, at this point, her arrogance is fucked out. Then, her lip is between her teeth, puffing out, bites her teeth together: “that’s so fucking good.” 

“Yeah?” and you feel her fingers slither back into your hair, assisting in the lift of her lower half back down - she’s spiraling. “So good for me, love, baby. Oh, baby-” 

She rattles her head when you’re sliding your hips further forward, the press of Gaeul’s knees moving up to the sides of your stomach. “Nuh uh,” she hisses; the angle is too good for her, impaling her from below she can’t breathe at the top, cunt nicely forming around your cock so deep-” 

“Not the love bullshit, no.” Gaeul chuckles, giddy, mouth canvasing your shoulder. Sighing, whispering, swallowing her hums.

You raise and yank her back down. The whine is one part of the whole symphony. 

“Like- love. What the fuck - so soft. God-” 

“Look who’s talking,” you growl. A curse spills from your lips. She’s a fucking waterfall that it’s unbelievable. The tightness alone for the first time would make anybody an instant addict. And you’re bent on the fact that cumming inside Gaeul is your inevitable demise - her walls clamping in increments around your shaft that every slap of skin and swallow of your throat brings you closer. “I’m giving you what you want, no? All you have to do is just take it - like a nice, little, whore-” 

She wheezes, giggling where it gets caught between a coo and a hum of approval.

“-my little cocksleeve, good god-” you hear yourself say, and the bump of Gaeul’s head into yours can hide so much of her flushed cheeks. “So beautiful, ruined for me, my little nymph come to life. You love this cock so much, wanting to be full of cum, lapping it up like a cute puppy-” 

You’re not sure what you’re saying at this point, but Gaeul keeps on laughing, rolling her hips forward and backward. She lifts herself halfway, falls right back in. Exhales. You know what’s coming; what’s about to happen. Her legs lock up, jaw slacked - hung in suspense. She’s breathing where you could see on her shoulders, leans forward with a turn in her ear: 

“My little sex kitten, how bout that?” 

Skeptical, Gaeul sighs; sucking in her stomach while her head turns the other direction, showing some of that fading self-control and common sense. 

“Okay, that’s. Oh-” she tries telling you, shying away. Her hand goes to yours, continuing the motion, sloppily, letting out a lazy grin and bouncing your name off your lips as her body leans back and into your control. “Rushed, I think. Maybe. Not sure- need more- to get used-” 

“Gaeul.” There's no hiding it anymore, you’re too dumbfucked out of your own mind to turn back now. She seethes out another cry, making you tilt your lips to a devilish smile. “Poor thing, so dirty. A naughty little squirrel that can’t get enough of my nut, huh? Look at you, so wet and filthy, making a mess all over the place-” 

Yeah, she broke you. You’ve gotten so twisted because of her - no point in mincing words here. 

“Fuck, okay, please, that’s too much-” 

You can’t stop - you just can’t. Her cunt is so close to squeezing you, numbing your mind until she drains you completely. 

The pace is painstakingly slow, the rise and fall of her hips with every pump inside her, nails clawing your skin away at the bridge of your shoulders. It becomes- too much, the way your cock stuffs her tiny pussy until that edge is finally reached, the heat cranked up way past eleven, the desire to take it written all over her face and body.

“Want it,” she chokes out. Her cunt creates this pocket of air inside where the noise is just utterly wrong. “Please.” 

Her eyes water, fluttering.

“I hear you, darling. I know.” 

“Ah, yes. You-” 

Her head lolls forward, lazily. You wrap your arms around her waist and guide her back onto the sheets, slip yourself out and roll her over until her ass is in view. She peers over her shoulder, watching you mount her thighs, pull her hips up and slide a pillow into the open space created, laying back down and bury your cock back in her creaming cunt, kneading the handful of ass in your palm before testing the depth again. 

You notice her shoulders bunch up to her neck, hands gripping the sheets when you’re leaning back down to her face.

“Fight me,” you whisper down her ear, “if it’s too much.” Gaeul shakes her head at the drag of your shaft, driving back in with a firm thrust that makes her gasp for air - bites down a moan into the blankets beneath her. You’re pinning her into the bed frame so harshly you don’t even care if you break it. 

Her hand shoots back to your arm, grabbing. The slaps of skin pick up in rhythm, maintaining a tempo. You reach out for her hair and lift her head, releasing a few moans before her breaths also start to become more staccatoed- 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t- hhn-” 

You’re having too much fun for your sake. Though, you can’t blame yourself in this situation. This was what Gaeul wanted, and she got it. A second later you’re pressing her head back down into the bedding, bend that arch in her lower back a bit deeper where your cock can carve its way down to the hottest point where she can take it. Her mewling and crying rise in volume and you only have the slap of your hips to hers serving as this undertone to her song. 

“Where,” you sputter, because you know the limit’s about to be reached. “Where do you want me-” 

Gaeul turns her head back; you can’t even see her lips move when she says it: “Inside.” 

So you coil your arms around her waist and flush your chest to her back. “If that’s what my kitty wants.” 

You raise the pace then and there. Fucking her tight little cunt as if you finally created the theory in your head into breaking Gaeul. It doesn’t take much for someone smart to put the pieces together: all you need is a nice hold of her ass, impaling your cock deep where you can take it, sliding in and out of her walls with such precision that you’ll empty every fiber in your body to satisfy both her and yourself. 

You’re experimenting with the position of her body - deep into the mattress, lift her upper half where both deepens the arch of her pussy, nudging your cock where her walls can clinch and clench along the member - working so seamlessly to bring that orgasm to the front. There’s only one thing left to do now: to pound and bounce her ass and cunt all over your cock until you spill all of it inside her open pink hole. You’re gonna drain everything in your balls deep into Gaeul’s cunt until she’s whining from the mixture of tension and shaking, growling so loud that you’ll wake the neighbors on the upper and lower floors. 

The pulsing, shooting rope after rope and after rope of cum inside her. She’s moaning in relief at the feeling while you’re still pooling, head spinning so fast that you’re finally on the same page as her: ruined, and thoroughly fucked. 

“T’so warm,” she mumbles sleepily. “And thick-“ 

The slamming of your hips keeps you conscious. “Gaeul, this cunt, baby, so fucking incredible.” 

An angel falling from the heavens. Would anyone ever believe it if you told the things you did with her? 

When you do slide out of her well-fucked-and-worked-cunt, you can’t help yourself still and slip inside again, coating your cock mixed in with her slick and your cum. You watch when you pull your tip away from her folds, the sheen of white coming out of her slit - the whole image of her backside is a picture-perfect painting right here in your sheets: her puffy pussy lips, the beet red spread across the breadth of her ass, bruises on bruises across the plane of her back, hair in this half and half of a bun and wavy locks. You then run your hand across your length, wipe the mess on the person who created it, and look at her while she rolls on her back with her arms raised. 

You’ll also think about treating her; cleaning her up in the shower; dry her hair, swaddle her in a towel, carry her around your place, clean every spot and cranny - worshiping her curves and mounds until she’s willing to be broken apart and put back together again. A girl made to be ruined, an endless experiment you want to keep forever. 

“See?” She laughs, running a finger along her folds, collecting her reward, licking it off her fingertips before cupping her palm gently along your cock, slowly rubbing you to get a few more drops out of you. Her tongue runs across her lips, almost like she’s gonna drool again and it’s just fucking terrible, but you love it. “Can’t you think the wonders of you breeding my poor, sorry, cunt-” 

Part of you wants to shut her up with your dick. She’s so forward with the intent and doesn't care about the consequences. It’s dangerous. You’re thinking ahead of how she’ll look with the ribbons of cum spread all over her body, on her face, in her hair. Sick and twisted it is, and she cups your sack - gasping at the sudden weight of it still. 

Soon. You need a breather and push yourself away. 

She flails her arms and legs around like some kid throwing a tantrum, groaning. 

But she smiles and shies away; not nervous, but happy. “Fuck me,” she swears where she feels relaxed and unbound by any worry. You bring yourself down to her and try to kiss her cheek, but she turns her head away with her hand pushing your face. 

“Nope,” she tells you, softly laughing, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Should’ve fucked me harder.” 

This girl is a problem. 

You pinch her cheek and start poking her stomach, the bubbliness coming to life. She can’t stay in one place the more you tap your fingers all over her body. She’s very ticklish. 

“Poor kitty,” you remark, because you notice her smile and tucked lip, watch the butterflies flutter in her stomach, and when you’re patting her thigh she doesn’t bother retaliating, since the idea’s set in her mind that there’s no further objection. 

“Didn’t you say,” she sighs, voice beaming, face pink and clutching her waist. “You like it when I’m like this, making you stupid that way you’ll just pound me at the end of it? Y’know, pinning me into the mattress. Gotta say, the-” 

“Gaeul, please.” She knows that you’re amused, smiling. “Get up. Go shower, you’re dirty.” 

“No no,” she replies, shaking her head. You stare into her eyes while her legs spread, causing you to look down and scrunch your nose. Her head tips back, trails her fingers up her chest, traces around the nipple, some of her hair falls in front. “If you’re the one who made the mess, you should make the effort to clean me up again.” 

You make a note of the upsetting attitude - maybe forward it to Yujin since she knows a little more about Gaeul out of annoyance. 

Yujin didn’t give you the full report, anyway: about how Gaeul’s the kind of girl that functions over good food, drinks, and a proper dicking down without even considering the whirlwind of logistics she’ll mess up. You should’ve seen the signs. You should’ve known who you’re dealing with. 

“What’s wrong?” Gaeul asks, grinning, relaxing her back while you pull her by the thighs, bringing her closer. You thumb her knee, considering. The warning signs are there - just waiting for everything to come apart. 

She gives you an eye smile while you’re rolling yours, guiding your hand up her inner thigh, stopping right at her pussy lips. It’s draining. A headache. You’ll be sleepless in the morning because you can’t admit Gaeul’s the reason for staying up so late. “Only gonna say it once,” you tell her. “Shower comes first.” 

You say, but your body does otherwise, scooching forward where your finger hovers right above her clit. Though you gently press your palm right above her hip, noticing how sweaty she is - or maybe it’s the spread slick from her thighs; you can’t tell, the slide of it has you in disbelief. 

“I think you can give me one more,” Gaeul suggests, rolling on her stomach, forming the arch so tantalizing you force yourself to look away, knees spreading and her feet flush - imploring without really saying anything because you know she won’t stop and there’s nothing you can do about it. Her teeth peek through her cunning smirk, fully pleased. “Forget about putting another condom on, ‘cause like- god. I know you love how my pretty little pussy lips wrap around your cock when you’re cumming in me anyway.” 

It’s a genesis of sorts: the beginning of an unending madness. A world which you cannot escape - nor want to. 

–

Everything is a mess: you, your place, your work with Yujin. Gaeul comes by every other day - except when she’s swamped with schoolwork where she pops the idea of going on a romantic getaway or a staycation, hiding yourself away from the world and fucking her stupid until she’s sleepy. 

Here’s the thing. 

It’s when you’re with friends- or just you and her, wandering around the city, she’s the calmest, reserved girl you’ve ever seen. Much like she puts on a mask or appearance during the day and nobody seems to notice. Her clothes are much in line with yours, and pulling your face for a kiss - well, to milk the moment, you suppose - curling her fingers across your cheek, eyes so full of her that they’re crossing against each other at the press of her forehead with yours. 

There’s something here. You’re certain that it’s already been found. An exploration of these moments and experiences and the gut feeling rest well in your mind. You ponder, maybe it’s meant to be. This was all for fun at some point too. Maybe, also, that might not be the case. 

You deem it too early to say you love her, but the reciprocating kisses she gives you make you think otherwise, every single time, and you give into her little smile. 

If you or her mean it, one of you will say the words eventually. 

–

“So? What are we thinking? You reckon we’ll get it this time?” Yujin says, optimistic. You picture her with her feet propped up on something or in the air, it sounds like it. 

“Well, I guess we’ll find out tomorrow.” You answer, “Oh- by the way, Gaeul wanted to come along for the final set of tests. Are you okay with that?” 

“Yeah, I don’t mind.” 

“Awesome.” 

Silence builds up on the line. 

“Aren’t you gonna tell me how she is?” Yujin prods, teasingly with a tone higher than usual. “C’monnnnn, I wanna know-” 

“Why would I? My business with Gaeul is not information to share.” 

“Boooooo.” 

“What?” 

“You and her haven’t given me credit for setting you guys up,” says Yujin. “Some of the details can be left out - for obvious reasons. She’s been telling me good things about you.” 

You smile at that. 

“Okay, to be honest, she’s amazing. I haven’t had an issue with her since our date and well- I don’t need to explain more for you to figure the rest out.” 

“Tell me more later when I see you two, but from what it sounds like, I think you struck your luck out with this one. She’s a real keeper.” 

Seeking out an Andromeda wasn’t on the cards, but you’re happy enough to have it fall right on your lap. 

It’s something special to cherish. 

–

Gaeul watches from a distance, admiring the image of you in your element. 

Yujin looks closely at the screen readings while you’re peering into the telescope, following along to the proper adjustment in getting the coordinates right. There’s a double check - then a triple check - glancing at the image presented. She smiles when you give her a nod of approval, looking back over at Gaeul who stares right back. 

Gaeul appears stoic, but you can tell that she was a little bit nervous for you. If things didn’t go well today, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world, but you know deep down that she wants you to succeed - and you do too. 

“We have something,” you’re telling her when you reach the bottom of the steps, rubbing her elbow for comfort. “Wanna come take a look?” 

She bites her lip, eyes tilting down, and nods. 

You kiss her knuckle and bring her up. 

Minutes later, she’s where you were: through the looking glass while Yujin slides her chair over pointing at the mix of greenish blue in the middle of the vast blackness of space. “Looks new, seems lightyears away from us. Have we finally got it?” 

“Judging from what the professor was telling us, nobody is claiming this one yet.” 

Yujin taps your shoulder before leaving to call up her mentor. 

Gaeul still looks into the scope, smiling when she feels your arms wrap around her waist, laughing softly. 

“It’s beautiful,” she tells you, “I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

The night sky shines above the observatory, light funneling through the opening as a natural spotlight, illuminating the glow reflected on her perfect skin. You look at her as if you’d turn into stone when you look away. She looks at you like everything just makes sense - a safe place where she can find comfort in, realizing what she said was already made true, but she doesn’t know that. 

“You speak for yourself? Or?” 

She hits your arm, and you’re smiling like an idiot. 

“Do you have a name for it?” Gaeul asks, turning around so that she’s properly facing you. You’re still trying to figure out how she can look so pretty - so effortlessly; it’s something that you’ll dedicate a whole lot of time to study, see if you can find the answer in her eyes, or her body- 

“Not yet,” you answer. “It'll take some time to pick, but- I’m open to recommendations.” 

She nods, quickly flashing her eyes to see if there was anyone within earshot, pensive. “I got nothing so far, but I’m willing to jog your mind if you’re it.” 

“Gaeul,” you say, sternly, grip tightening on her lower back. “What’re you implying, hm?” 

“All I’m saying is that I can be a great help for you in that bathroom downstairs. Unless you want to step outside, get some fresh air - the breeze is so nice up here, and no one will hear me because of the crickets-” 

“Minx,” you’re saying again. She sighs with her mouth parted, working herself right off the bat. “Now’s not the time, you were good for me earlier. Plus, your ass is still sore, I know why you didn’t want to sit down in the first place.” 

Gaeul nicks her head up, lifts her eyebrows. You’re flashing the image in your head of earlier: her being soaked in your cum, mouth swollen and makeup ruined, naked with a pair of cat ears in her hair and wrists handcuffed to the edge of your bed. It’s been a few hours since then, but nothing’s stopping the urge from burning through your pants- 

“Said you did a good job spanking me, did I?” 

“You know my answer.” 

“Touché.” 

You shake your head and press your lips to her crown. Patting her head and rubbing her shoulder while she puts her thumb on her chin, carelessly minding her own business while you’re treating her; mind already tired and with the amount of pictures and papers and telescopes too complicated to listen to in a firm explanation, she’s unbothered. She pats your back twice to make you stop. 

“We’re still grabbing drinks with Yujin after, right?” Gaeul asks, remembering the offer. “Her treat?” 

“She’s a terrible liar,” you chuckle, “The tab’s on me.” 

–

It’s all a process. 

Day by day. The concept of love is not a linear path; getting to know someone and revealing the pieces, building that trust with a significant other, infatuated about the secrets and intricacies that you’ll take to your grave once they’re shared, seen, and spoken. 

You’re up late nights, peering into your bedroom to see her legs tangled around a pillow. On certain days she comes home excited, jumping onto you at the door to times when she’s tired, and you’re piggybacking her inside because that’s what she likes. When she’s with Yujin, she’s normally quiet and laid-back - but with you, she’s all over the place. Telling you these unholy things that you don’t expect her to know when you’re fucking her into the bed; the way her voice sounds when she’s praising you. She goes around like her own little planet, full of wonderful things. She likes vinyls and vintage stuff and prefers to run outside when it’s raining. You let her steal your glasses because she looks better in them. Her smile is infectious. The way that she tousles and turns when you’re kissing every corner of her body and telling her all the things that she wants to hear. You’ve got the backlog filled out.  

Spread her legs apart, have her sit up, ride your face. Break down those fragile walls until she’s completely sucked into your embrace. Gaeul desires a lot of things that you can try to give - the wonders of the world, a bigger picture - something that you’ll pull down from above and have her keep for the sentiment. 

You’ll keep the fact that she’s somebody who wants to be ruined - get chaotic and a tad sadistic. She prefers the punishment over the crime. 

–

Nights like these, it feels like some kind of mistake when Gaeul brings you over to her place. 

There’s nothing bad happening whatsoever, you just feel the knife twist a little more when you can’t go inside because last time Liz and her other roommate caught you and her red-handed on the couch, even after having the assurance that they wouldn’t be home until later. It wouldn’t feel wrong to hug her, kiss her goodbye, knowing that you’ll probably see her around on campus in the afternoon later. 

Gaeul gazes into your eyes earnestly, as if she didn’t want to go back in yet, hoping that you’ll take her away and carry her back to your apartment. A wish she made on a passing star and praying it comes true. With those white thigh highs she’s wearing, you’ll make that dream a reality in a heartbeat. 

“How long have we been friends for again?” She asks, tugging on your jacket, slipping your hands around her hips. She’ll take wherever she can, you know her well. “Hard to believe that we’d be together. You know, like this.” 

“Do I need to remind you who made the first move?” 

“Fuck you.” She slaps your chest as part of the response. “I was trying to have a moment with you. So shut up.” 

“Okay, I will, please continue.” You lift your shoulders in surrender. “For the record, I’d like to take most of the credit, since I asked and all that.” 

Gaeul rolls her eyes to the back of her head. That was her whole plan from the start - had you not said anything to her, she wouldn’t be here taunting you; while being so quiet and pretty that it’s hard to combine the two. 

“Depends on who asks,” she begins. Her cheeks rise, veneers highlighted. She throws everything out in your head with ease - one hint or subtle suggestion and the common thoughts get brushed aside. That’s a you problem. More so of a bigger problem compared to hers. She can read your expressions like a book. 

So you say: “Are you asking?” 

You keep looking at her, like you did back in the museum, wondering all of the pretty little things that differentiate her from the rest; her side profile, the bunny-heart-shaped-ears, how her lips purse together almost like a pout; it’s like you’re seeing some cosmic pareidolia. Kind of like putting fragments together from your dream. 

Gaeul tilts her head, pondering. “If you are, then I’d agree with what you’re saying,” she tells you, kissing your cheek and stepping inside her apartment.

[clearancecreedwatersurvival]

Absolutely! I'll also include some gems from the notes so far.

First, to expand on what I mentioned earlier, horses make a huge number of vocalizations, not just neighs. A whinny is a loud shrill greeting call usually communicating over distance, a neigh is similar to a whinny but lower in pitch and also seeks a response form herd mates, a nicker is a quieter and even lower rumbling affiliative greeting or request for interaction (or for treats).

Here is one video on horse vocalizations including lots of others such as snorts and groans and sighs and squeals.

Horses greet by touching noses and blowing air at each other to get a good sniff. They like to explore new items with their nose and lips, and their top lips are very good at manipulating objects (for horse crimes such as trying to undo a latch or steal a treat out of your pocket or a hat off your head). Also horse snoots are extremely soft and velvety and good to pet, would recommend.

Horses. Love. Scritches.

They're prey animals and take their cue from whoever is leading their herd, which as the human means you! If you're nervous when riding the horse WILL be able to tell and will be nervous themself and might dump you off. Alternatively, a horse that is relaxed and well trained will often do their very best to keep you on their back and compensate if you fuck up.

Here is a video on horse body language, and from the same creator here is a video on the basics of horse care, and here is one on riding fundamentals. Lots of good stuff on her channel.

#free research advice for this: look up endurance racing#specifically the tevis cup#that will give you an indication of how fast the fittest horses on the planet can cover 100 miles over rough terrain @teddywesworl

#fun fact endurance riders who do 100 mile races (160km) will take about 14-15 hours#that’s faster than a walk but not as fast as a canter#they’re averaging a fast trot#and those are the peak endurance horses#while they do sections at faster paces they are not galloping the race @telecommunikate

These two sets of tags make great points about what the highest level of endurance looks like for horses. The Tevis cup is a US race, here is a documentary on it.

#Also PLEASE use reference for people holding reins when drawing a comic or animation I beg of you#how can DISNEY with twenty gagillion dollars still get it wrong????#look at a PIC of a RIDER @inebubble please share additional details of whichever disney film fucked this up cause now I'm curious

There are two primary ways to use the reins to communicate to a horse, I was taught to ride western and primarily use neck reining with split reins, which uses the pressure of the reins on the side of the neck to communicate direction indirectly. The other option is direct reining, which puts very slight direct pressure on the bit (or a bitless bridle/halter) to cue directions. The difference is explained here in this short video, and there is a longer explanation of the correct way to hold and use reins when riding english here in this video. Reins are not the only option to communicate a command or cue, it's also important to communicate through pressure on their sides by gently squeezing your thighs and nudging with your knees and adjusting your seat. Spurs if used at all are ONLY used for very gentle tapping, if you dig spurs into a horse's sides you're a dick.

Both @qh and @rival-the-rose brought up gaited horses. Some breeds of horses are bred to have additional or different gaits from the standard four of walk trot canter and gallop (here is a video explaining the standard gaits).

Here is a video of an American saddlebred demonstrating a saddle rack, here is a saddlebred doing a much faster saddle rack. Here is a video about paso finos demonstrating their particular gaits used in show contexts. Here is a paso fino gait in a natural setting (with two horses trotting nearby for comparison), and here is a baby showing it off. Both these types of gaited horses provide a much smoother ride than a trot on a non-gaited horse.

@happilyeveraftereveryday shared this great tiktok about having this exact sort of experience reading a book where the author has clearly never ridden a horse.

#an author I love had a line about being easy on their horses and walking up hills and then cantering down. and it totally broke my#immersion in what I was reading @whywishesarehorses thank you for sharing this truly unfortunate writing mistake. Going at speed down an incline on horseback is super duper dangerous and and difficult and likely to harm the horse. There's a movie that's basically a western filmed in Australia called The Man From Snowy River that has a famous climactic sequence where the MC takes the huge risk to gallop his horse down a mountainside which they had to film through camera angle trickery because no one should ever actually attempt such a stunt.

Regarding the specific topic of writing horses in fantasy novels, two authors that I think do an excellent job of this are Robert Jordan and Robin McKinley. Someone in tags also mentioned Christopher Paolini being good at portraying horses, and if anyone has other examples of writers who do it right, please add them in the replies!

And I will finish this post off with some silly and fun horse videos.

Horses playing and chasing and bucking around a field and another on the same theme and one more of horses playing in snow.

A very sweet and impressive coming out video where the rider is riding liberty (bareback without a bridle/halter) carrying a pride flag and her horse is running at a dead sprint. (inline link won't work so: https://www.tiktok.com/@ that.blue.roan/video/7124394468098313477?lang=en also on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/lgbt-tiktoks/691501197160546304?source=share)

Another incredibly skilled liberty display with a man working 6 horses in an arena at once performing groundwork tricks

This very accurate voiceover of two horses who are scared of a rabbit.

This person is a comedian and her entire shorts library features her horses engaging in shenanigans and hijinks. (also a donkey)

And finally the most important horse video on youtube: Horse kicks tree, farts on dogs, then runs away.

God I wish more fantasy writers knew how horses work.

‘After a couple hours at a solid gallop they arrived-‘ after galloping for multiple hours??? That horse is fucking dead what are you TALKING about. Have you ever tried sprinting for multiple hours at a time?????? If you are traveling long distances by horseback you are keeping at a walk with an occasional trot and an even more occasional canter, you are not galloping the poor beast the whole way there I don’t care how cool the aerial shots of galloping horses look in film.

Also they make more noises than just neighing. For the record. Since I’m on the subject.

[hyuniemyunie]

her sweet girl<3

fem!reader x cho hyun-ju

nsfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

(ФωФ): nsfw, fem reader, soft dom hyun-ju, fingering, praise, cum eating(a lil)

nothing much really just her fingering you.

HARROOO this is my first time posting so beee nice(/--)/ anyway i love her! diva, queen, girlboss, princess.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

another game ended, and just like that, more people got murdered.

you sighed, sitting down on your bed, looking up at the prize money above your head. before you could get lost in your thoughts, you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. and AGAIN, before you could even react, hyun-ju sat next to you, the mattress dipping slightly under her weight.

"good to see that youre alive.."

she said, raising a hand and resting it on your knee.

"the last game was tough, huh?"

she looked down at her feet, zoning out, lost in her thoughts. you turned around, cupping the side of her face, making her meet your gaze

"yeah, im alive."

you said, voice barely above a whisper as you leaned in, your lips meeting hers in a soft kiss. her eyes fluttered shut at the tender touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as they met yours in a gentle, lingering kiss. hyun-jus hand came up to cover yours on her cheek, holding it there as she savored the feeling. she could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your lips.

"yeah" she murmured, her voice low and soothing in the darkness. "im just glad i get to see your face again." her thumb gently caressed your cheek, tracing the curve of it. "you scared me today, i thought..." she trailed off, not wanting to put voice to the fear that had gripped her heart when she saw you fall. "but.. youre here now."

her other hand slid down to your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze. "rest now" she whispered, her face still only inches from yours. "sleep. tomorrow will be here soon enough." tomorrow would bring new challenges, new trials, but for now, in this moment, they had each other. and that was enough.

"i..dont wanna sleep."

you said, a hint of desperation in your voice. you missed her, youve been missing her for so long. and fuck, who knew if one of you was going to die tomorrow? you couldnt just..sleep, you needed to spend some time with her before the next game. so you leaned down, nuzzling your face in hyun-jus chest.

hyun-ju let out a soft chuckle at your whiny tone, feeling your head nuzzle into her chest. she wrapped her arms around you, holding you close as her fingers gently stroked your hair. "shh, its okay," she cooed softly, rocking you slightly in her embrace. "I don't want to sleep either."

she leaned down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head, breathing in the scent of your hair. "but we need to. we have to be strong for tomorrow." her voice was gentle but firm, knowing that rest would be crucial for their next challenge.

her hand slid down to your back, rubbing soothing circles on it. "tell you what" she murmured, "why dont you stay here with me? just for a little while longer." she tightened her arms around you slightly. "we can talk, or just... be quiet. whatever you want."

she tilted your chin up with a finger, looking into your eyes in the darkness. you melted from her touch, a dreamy sigh escaping your lips

"im so happy i have you.."

hyun-ju felt a warmth spread through her chest at your words. she couldnt help but smile, a genuine, loving smile that lit up her eyes even in the darkness. "im happy I have you too" she murmured against your lips, pressing soft little kisses to them "my sweet girl..."

her hands slid down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until you were pressed fully against her. she could feel every curve of your body, soft and warm against her own. hyun-jus lips captured yours in a deeper, more intense kiss, her tongue traced the seam of your lips, seeking entrance.

"stay with me tonight" she breathed against your mouth, her voice heavy with want and need. "let me hold you" she punctuated her words with another kiss, another press of her lips against yours. "please..i..i need you."

"need..me..?"

oh. oh. so thats what she meant, not like you had ANY complaints, of course.

her hands slid down to your hips, squeezing them gently as she pulled you even closer. she wanted to explore every curve, every dip, every flaw and imperfection. she needed you.

hyun-ju leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of your ear as she whispered, "i need to feel you" she nipped lightly at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. "can I touch you, sweet girl?" her hands slid down to the hem of your shirt, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric to caress the smooth skin underneath. "do i have permission?"

you let out a shaky sigh, arching into her touch, giving hyun-ju a shy nod

she trailed her lips down the column of your throat, her tongue flicking out to taste your skin. "youre so beautiful, so perfect, so sweet..." her hands slid up to cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds gently. she could feel your nipples hardening against her palms, and it sent a bolt of lust straight to her core. her hips pressed against yours, and she could feel the evidence of her own arousal, hard and insistent against your belly. she pulled back slightly, her hands slid down to the waistband of your pants, her fingers toying with the button.

you lifted your hips up slightly, allowing her to take your pants off

her breath hitched as you lifted your hips, allowing her to slowly peel your pants down your legs. she took her time, savoring the revealed skin inch by inch. once your pants were gone, tossed carelessly to the side, her hands slid back up your calves, your knees, your thighs. she caressed and massaged your skin, feeling the softness and warmth of it. her fingers found the hem of your underwear as she looked up at you. "can i?" she asked softly, her voice low and rough with want. "can i touch you here, beautiful? i need you to tell me if i can"

she hooked her fingers into the waistband, waiting for your permission, your consent. she wanted to worship your body, to bring you pleasure and ecstasy like you had never known before. but she needed you to want it too.

"yeah- yeah, just, just..touch me?"

you whispered, getting desperate. you wanted her as much as she wanted you.

she leaned down, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered, "oh...youre so beautiful, so perfect. i want to kiss every inch of you..."

she pressed a trail of soft kisses down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts. her hands slid up your sides, cupping your breasts once more, reverently. "your skin is so soft, so smooth... like silk," she breathed, kneading the soft mounds. "and these... they're perfect, just the right size to fit in my hands..."

hyun-jus lips closed around one hardened nipple, suckling gently, humming at the taste of your skin. "mmm, you taste divine...so sweet" she praised, swirling her tongue around the sensitive bud. she lavished attention on your breasts, determined to worship and adore them until you were writhing beneath her touch.

her hand slid down your belly, over your navel, coming to rest at the apex of your thighs. she could feel the heat radiating from your pussy, the dampness of your arousal through the thin fabric of your panties. hyun-ju groaned softly at the sounds you made, feeling your back arching into her touch. it spurred her on, encouraged her to continue her worship of your divine body. "that's it, sweet girl... let me hear you," she purred, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear to caress your slick folds. she could feel your arousal coating her fingers, your body preparing itself for her touch. "you're so wet..so ready for me,"

she circled your clit with the pad of her thumb, feeling it throb beneath her touch. hyun-jus fingers slid lower, teasing your entrance, feeling your muscles clench and flutter. she slowly pushed one long, thick finger inside you, groaning at the tight, wet heat that engulfed it. she sighed softly, beginning to pump her finger in and out of you at a slow, steady pace. she leaned down to capture your lips in a searing kiss, her tongue delving into your mouth to dance with yours. she swallowed your whimpers and moans, relishing in the taste of your pleasure.

her other hand slid up your body to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing over your lips. she added a second finger, pumping them faster, deeper, wanting to feel you come around her.

you let out a soft moan, your hips rocking back and fourth against her fingers pumping in and out of you. you could feel yourself clenching around her digits, having to bite your lower lip to keep quiet, your hands going up to tangle in her hair. she felt your hips rocking against her fingers, your body instinctively seeking more of her touch. she obliged, adding a third finger and increasing her pace, plunging into your slick pussy with a newfound urgency. the obscene sound of your arousal filled both your ears, dripping onto her fingers as she pumped them in and out of your clenching hole

"oh, love... listen to you," she panted, her voice heavy with lust. she leaned down to capture your nipple between her teeth, biting down gently before soothing the sting with her tongue.

her thumb found your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub as her fingers continued their relentless assault on your G-spot. she could feel your walls beginning to flutter, your body tensing as your climax approached.

"that's it, pretty girl... let go," hyun-ju urged, her voice low and rough with desire.

she sealed her lips over yours once more, swallowing your cries of ecstasy as she pushed you over the edge, her fingers never stopping.

your velvety walls clamped down around her fingers, pulsing and fluttering wildly as you rode out the intense crest of your climax. she could feel your juices gushing out, coating her hand and dripping onto the sheets below. as your body finally began to relax, going boneless beneath her, hyun-ju gentled her touch. she slowed her fingers, now only lightly stroking your sensitive folds, helping you down from your high. she rested her forehead against yours, her own breathing ragged and shallow. she withdrew her fingers slowly, bringing them up to her lips, making a show of licking them clean, a moan of pleasure escaping her lips at the taste

with her clean hand, she caressed your cheek, brushing a few errant strands of hair from your face. she leaned in to press a tender, loving kiss to your forehead, your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

"there you go, my love"

she cooed softly, gathering you into her arms and holding you close as you drifted down from your high.

"thats my good girl...my beautiful girl.."

[moody-alcoholic]

CW: Death, funeral, angst.

___

It’s not easy. 

Christ why did he think it would be easy.

The room is mainly empty, only a few close friends and family. There’s no coffin, just flowers, lilies and forget-me-nots, some of your favourites. There’s a priest reading words that Simon’s not listening to, there's hushed sniffles and silent tears.

It was what you wanted, something small, simple, quiet. A stark difference from the way you really left the world. 

Johnny reaches over and takes his hand, Simon lets him lacing their fingers together. They exchange a glance, Johnny’s face is puffy from all the tears he’s shed for you. Simon has to keep it together, at least here. You made him promise not to cry for you, to be there for the team, especially Johnny. 

Simon squeezes his hand and Johnny turns away, his head focusing on his feet as the priest finishes up. Kyle is sat next to him and John is on the end, their hands resting on their knees, heads dipped, jaws clenched. 

No one gets to mourn now, they’ll all do it later in the privacy of their own homes. After this they will go to the pub, raise a glass for you. Talk about their favourite memories, smiling and laughing. That’s what you would have wanted. 

It’s not easy. 

Music plays and Simon looks up to see the priest going over to your weeping mother, arms wrapped around her by your sister and friends. He bends down to pray with her, her sniffles cutting through the soft music. When he’s done he turns to leave through a door by the stage. 

Johnny squeezes Simon’s hand, he looks over at him. Johnny brings Simon’s hand up to his mouth and kisses it, Simon quickly smiles at him. 

“You worked with my daughter?” Your mum asks. Simon turns to see her and her entourage stood at the end of their row of seats. 

“Yes, Captain Price.” John says standing up and extending his arm. She shakes his hand.

“She used to talk about you alot.” Your mum sniffs again trying to keep it together. “She loved her job.” 

Simon feels the pit form in his stomach. Yeah you did, gave your life for it. All for the greater good. 

“I need to know. The army didn’t tell me much.” A louder sob comes out her throat, she chokes it back. “Did she suffer?” 

It’s like a knife to the heart. Simon looks away. He hears Johnny let out a breath, he can almost hear the quiver in his lip. 

“No. She didn’t suffer.” John says keeping his voice level. He’s so good at remaining calm under pressure, so good at lying to people’s faces too. Simon doesnt think he could do it, not about you. 

Guilt starts to eat away at him as your mother sobs, Simon sneaks a glance seeing John’s arms wrapped around her. 

Why is it never fucking easy?

He looks away squeezing his eyes closed, swallowing the lump in his throat. 

He’ll mourn later, later when he and Johnny will go home after a few pints and cry in each other's arms, in the bed they shared with you. It will hurt, it’s going to hurt for a long time. 

That’s just what happens when love dies.

___

I have writers block bad. I'm just writing anything to get rid of it. (send help)

[butchvampireheimerdinger]

The Great War

A/N: So this was made in response to a request but it ended up blossoming into a full 2K word fic adjacent and I had to split it into two posts! Anyways, if you enjoy sexy and occasionally soft Sevika, dramatic arguments that result in comfort, and mob-wife vibes… enjoy!

Warnings: Not smut but mentions of sex and both characters are D O W N B A D.. A lot of cussing and mentions of violence.

Pairing: Butch!Sevika X Femme!Reader who is super outgoing and forward

🂱 So the two of you’ve met briefly around town, kinda running in the same circles. You notice her right away but you don’t actually talk until she shows up at work — The Last Drop.

🂱 You’re a server and your charisma, magnetism, and punchy/blunt sort of energy makes you well suited to hospitality. You’re the bubbly outgoing type of waitress who gets their table laughing and in a good spirits with ur contagious good vibes.

🂱 You beat the other waitress to claim Sevika’s table, and it’s on.

🂱 She would get a kick out of it — your shamelessness. She really likes the forward thing, timidity makes her roll her eyes. Life’s too short for playing hard to get! Plus, she’s an adult. And a literal revolutionary who quite literally does not have the time for all that.

🂱 Before you learn each others names you endearingly and lightheartedly call her “butchy,” or something like that. She calls you sweetheart.

🂱 You’d pour her beers on the house. You’d lean over the bar counter on ur elbows, making sure ur titties look good and perky. And if it was just the two of you, she would not hide her ogling.

🂱 It’d be a bit of a game to you two. Making the other person crack, being the first to back down/get all blushy. You’d be all flirty-flirty over the bar counter, she’d pull you into her lap during her card game. It’s like how straight guys play gay chicken. Except ur actually gay so it would just be chicken.

🂱 And she’s smoking indoors, as per us. You ask if you can have a hit. She shotguns it into ur mouth and you blow it upward, once again drawing attention to your décolletage, to the girls hehe

🂱 Eventually she just asks you straight up if you wanna spend the night. Maybe you take her up on it, maybe you don’t. Either way, she’s not the fuckboy (fuckbutch?) hit it n quit it type. She’s an adult woman with emotional intelligence and communication skills goddammit and she’s gonna ask you to dinner.

🂱 Takes u to the fanciest place in the undercity, orders everything on the menu trying to flex her wallet and impress u. Whether or not u ask for it she gets you one of those weird rich people desserts where they make part of the preparation an “experience.” like they pour hot liquid over a hollow chocolate shell and it cracks open and reveals a little cake inside. Or something involving a blowtorch.

🂱 Anyways this whole time ur just rubbing ur lil high heeled foot up her pant leg under the table and twirling ur hair, touching her arm, etc. Naughty girl — she mock-scolds you telepathically with a dommy little eyebrow raise thing.

“Here? Now? I pull out all the stops to give you a magical evening and you already wanna leave and bang it out. That’s real classy, sweetheart.”

🂱 You’re both rather bold and upfront, obviously. Strong personalities, fire sign energy — which means you butt heads often. Your relationship is super intense and fiery so every day is like a soap opera, or like The Real Mob Wives of Staten Island in levels of drama.

“Why the hell didn’t you come home last night? And why did i have to find out from Vivi that she saw you cracking skulls in a fishing boat by the pier?”

“Babygirl I told you I was taking care of business. Sweetheart, uprisings don’t happen overnight, it’s all about biding time and strategically applying political pressure in Topside-”

“Jesus, Mary, and the goddamn camels you and your strategic goddamn pressure. I’ll tell you I’ve fucking had it with you and your fucking pressure. You wanna make me look like an idiot? When me and my girlfriends are sitting drinking mimosas for brunch at Jarrod's and they ask me ‘Y/N where’s that woman of yours?’ And i have to look them in the eyes and say “Clint Eastwood was unable to join us as she had a prior engagement strategically applying pressure. To the back of enforcers’ skulls. With a fucking baseball bat. Like a common thug. Mind you, I’m a classy lady all by my lonesome on a Sunday fucking morning-"

“Classy lady I’ll fucking say. You’d think I plan on growing old with Mrs. Fucking Vanderbilt, the way you want to buy ten thousand pairs of red high heels-“

“Omg babe you wanna grow old with me?”

“-that all look exactly the fucking same, by the way. ‘Burnt orange’ and ‘vermillion’ and ‘chartreuse’ or whatever the fuck — You know it’s just fucking red.

“Chartreuse is green, since you wanna be a smartass,”

“Don’t gaslight me, woman. Where do you even plan on wearing those? We live in an oversized sewer pipe. Not the magical land of Oz. I told you who i was when you met me. I told you this is what I do. And you better get used to it if you wanna keep charging my card at every boutique within a ten mile radius,”

“Or what? Gonna give me the spiel again, talk me to death about the uprising and the political elites and the our time is imminent, y/n. Gonna threaten me like you do your little fishing buddies? Gonna apply me some strategic fucking pressure?”

“That’s enough.” Sevika hissed, scary calm. She kicks the pantry door shut and whips around, pointing at you with her cigarette. “I’ve had enough of this shit. You’re done, Missy.”

“Beg pardon? I’ll decide when I’m done, thank you very much. You’ve got some nerve telling me when to speak when I can’t even reach you half the time. I had to track down your little boss the other day — brought him a lovely casserole — and ask if he could pass on a message for me! ‘Excuse me Mr. Scaryman Eye of Zaun, sir, could you possibly ask Zorro if she might head home as soon as she’s done busting kneecaps? And to arrive in a clean shirt, as my parents are in town and they prefer to greet their daughter-in-law when she’s not covered in someone’s intravenous blood. Thank you kindly.’”

“You showed up at work? Wait- you talked to Silco? Babe I told you to stay the fuck away from there!”

“Please. He may be the kingpin of the city or whatever, but I make a gorgeous quiche. Trust me, babe. Once he tastes my cooking, I am henceforth immune to whatever machiavellian basement torture chamber you brutes probably use as your break room.”

🂱 Sorry guys, got a little carried away there. Point is, one minute you’re screaming at each other and dramatically slamming doors and throwing shit, the next you’re fucking on the kitchen floor like the world’s about to end. You guys basically co-authored the book on how to be an absolute nightmare of an upstairs neighbor. The entire building feels the floor shaking and no one knows if the screaming is just you guys having a little too much fun for 2pm on a Tuesday, or if they’re gonna see this on the news tomorrow.

🂱 Kidding! At the end of the day, trust and loyalty are the foundations of your relationship. You love each other wildly, deeply, and passionately.

🂱 Sevika has a strict no going to bed angry policy. If you’d gotten into it that evening you might give her the cold shoulder, curl up facing away from her in the quiet moments before bed. She’s reading by the lantern on the bedside table — an upcycled barstool the two of you stole from your old job at The Last Drop one evening when you were in a particularly silly mood.

🂱 She catches your gaze a couple times as you stare over your shoulder to see if she’s paying attention to you, and then you immediately turn and go back to ignoring her. She takes off her reading glasses, tosses her book onto the bed, and rolls over to you, wrapping her arm around you from the back.

“Hey baby?” She kisses your shoulder and the back of your head since you still won’t look at her, and she continues. “Love of my life? Light of my world? Keeper of my soul and partner in crime through the sea of trials we call the fucked-up game of life?” You turn slightly to give her a glaring side eye.

“…What do you want.”

“Still mad at me, babygirl?”

“Not at all. Why on earth would I be mad?”

“I’m sorryyy,” she draws it out, cooing at you all soft and sing-songy. If the ne’erdowells who often got their asses handed to them by her and her little team could see this Sevika, they’d think they lost their mind. Hell, if any punk on the street could see this Sevika they’d think they lost their mind. It made your knees weak the way she undid herself and softened for you. For only you. You fought the smile forming and she continued murmuring against your skin.

“It’s all this bullshit at work Silco’s got me taking care of. I’m neglecting my little lady, I’m stretched so thin. It’s too much…”

“Too much…?” You echo. “Talk to me, love. Silco’s not letting you catch a breather?”

She grunts in affirmation against your shoulder: “Mm-hrmm”

“Does my baby have the whooole wide world on her poor, tired, buff, strong, sexy shoulders-EEK!” She gleefully flips you over to face her, making you cackle. You’ve been disarmed. At her mercy. You always were.

She leans forward to bonk her forehead against yours.

“Glad someone in this cruel world finally understands me and my line of work,” she says, half-joking.

“No one understands the importance of your job better than me, babe.” You continue, at this point unable to remove the sarcasm from your tone even if you tried. She nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder facedown, head supported by the cushiness of your tit. You weave your fingers in her hair.

“The honorable burden of great duty… The unfathomable smothering of moral obligation, even. One might describe it as an immensely… strategic pressure-”

“-For FUCK’s SAKE”

“You have worker’s rights, you know! Demand an hour off — paid — in your underground torture chamber-breakroom. You’re entitled to relax and sip coffee as you watch the bodies hit the floor, goddammit!”

Feigning exasperation, Sev dramatically collapses backward starfish-style on the old-ass creaky-ass decrepit-ass daddy longlegs convention of a double bed the two of you share; in a shithole apartment, in a shady-ass neighborhood, in a collapsing city. That’s how it was between the two of you. Underneath it all, she trusts that you’ll always be there to kiss her wounds, to make sure her collar is straight and there’s no shmutz on her face. You trust that at the end of the day, it’s you she’s coming home to.

[ropebunnykant]

Hi!! What are your thoughts on the confrontations at the empty pool vs the ocean? Obviously the ocean is relevant to kant's past but the juxtaposition of the two is so interesting to me but I can't really figure out if that was just an aesthetic choice or if there's actually something to it.

Looking forward to your thesis about the boat scene!!

omg thank you for asking and i will absolutely be writing an in depth post about the boat scene probably later on cause it was sooo chock full of things and first kanaphan deserves every fucking award possible for that scene

i will say, i think when it comes to analyzing media, there are so few things that are done and chosen "just for aesthetic." i've had other people comment on that when i've talked about the religious imagery, and while yes, aesthetic is important in media and often times can be reason enough for directors and designers to choose them, i would say more often than not there is also meaning behind big choices like set. they put fadel and style in an empty pool for a reason, just as they put kant and bison on the boat for a reason.

now, the boat was likely a very obvious choice for bison because like you said, it's relevant to kant's past and kant told him on their first date that he was scared of the ocean. so, of course tying him up and putting him on a boat surrounded by water to confront him would be the exact sort of psychological torture bison would want to inflict on kant.

but when you compare it to fadel and style, i think it's also a way of representing openness, and in a way it's a representation of each couple.

because fadel confronts style in an empty pool, and he's stripped style almost completely naked. style is laid almost totally bare, and that's true in a literal sense as well as a metaphorical sense, because fadel knows he's a "snitch." and the thing about fadel and style is that while yes, there's been lies and deception there, style has also been very earnest in every way he can be. it was only more recently that he had to start lying for real, and even then he still sneaks in as much truth and openness with fadel as he possibly can. and it's exactly what he does here - even with a gun to his head and fadel telling him not to say he loves him, style still says it because it's true and style doesn't know how to be anything but open and honest with fadel.

and then when it comes to the bison and kant of it all, there's a lot more lies and deception. kant is not laid bare in the same way - bison even has him in essentially a costume by putting him in the patient scrubs. but at the center of it all is the fact that even with all the lies, even with the murky waters, kant has been honest with bison. he's been vulnerable with him. and that's how bison knows putting kant on a boat and telling him to jump overboard is the cruelest thing he could do to him. it's fair game to bison because of what kant did to him, but it also shows that even if bison thinks everything was a lie, there was always some amount of truth to it. because kant never had to give an assassin his biggest fear, but he did it anyways.

i also think the empty pool vs the ocean says a lot about bison and fadel's intentions in the scene, even on a subconscious level. i don't think fadel at any point planned to actually hurt style. maybe he told himself he would, but i think deep down he knew he would never be able to go through with it. so, he puts him in an empty pool where yeah, he can get hurt if he pushes style into it and he hits the floor of the pool, but those injuries likely won't be serious enough to kill him - and he won't drown.

whereas bison, despite likely also knowing he can't actually hurt kant himself, took him somewhere he could make kant do it for him. and even then, it's clear he regrets it as soon as kant hits the water, because he's calling out to him as soon as he jumps off, as if he didn't expect him to actually do it. bison wants to hurt kant but he knows he can't, whereas fadel wants to want to hurt style and knows he can't. and those are two very different things.

[molter-writes]

pleeeasssee miller i know you let the work stand on it's own but please tell us jsut a tad bit more about the valyerian sex magic!!!!

i meannnn

on valyrian sex magic

i am not the person to ask for the true asoiaf lore, of course; but there is obviously a pervasive source of magic across Planetos — accessible by many cultures in many different forms — and the "flavour" of the magic of each is very much a reflection, i think, of what GRRM wants us to glean about each. the Starks are themselves effectively the oldest singular consistent human organisation, if you will, that we actually meet in the books, and their magic is extremely rudimentary and primordial—they turn into animals and talk to trees. It's giving primordial man, it's giving Lucy—humanity as a symbiotic participant in (rather than an editor of) the natural world.

fast forward almost five thousand years: the valyrians are not tree hugging hunter-gatherers. they are the roman empire if the roman empire were composed of evil wizards. Their magic is dark, rooted in blood and fire—it was a tool of mind control, of asymmetric warfare, of wroth destruction. It required blood sacrifice and whips and horns and knives. It mated slave women to animals to produce grotesque chimeras. The entire thing is about the subjugation, not the embrace, of nature. Obviously until we have WoW or (lol) aDoS, we won't know—and maybe not even then—but the best prevailing theory in my view is that blood of the dragon is literal. Planetos has wyverns and, more importantly, firewyrms (flightless, firebreathing lizards) that the Valyrians almost certainly combined with human beings in some ritualistic hellcurse to produce the first dragons. this explains (1) the psychogenic bond between rider and dragon; (2) why nobody without valyrian blood can ride one; (3) the decline of the dragons correlating near-perfectly with the Andalisation (read: de-magifying) of the Targaryens; and perhaps most importantly, (4) why an animal that can fly hundreds of miles in a day would for some reason be found only on a single small isle in some random corner of a massive content that has volcanos and mountains and hot weather elsewhere. only one culture having dragons is like only one airport having planes.

much like the american NRA often asserts about guns, dragons are something of a sexual equaliser. part of why rhaenyra is so much freer than alicent when they're young is not merely because of her elevated social station (which is a principal part of it, yes) but also because she is in sole possession of one of the only six nukes in the world. At fifteen Rhaenyra possesses the power to go burn Riverrun to its foundation. I mean, if you thought Daenerys had firepower—regardless of D&D's absolute boneheaded visual mistakes in the show—Syrax is bigger than Drogon.

in any case i digress; i bring this up to make the point that while we do know valyria was a patriarchy of sorts, you can imagine a world in which a valyrian noble house would be headed (on occasion) by a woman because she is the most powerful imperial military leader because she is in command of the largest dragon. as a result, you can imagine a culture that embraces less patriarchal sexual and gender politics than do the Andals, and when take this inference a step further with the chimeras and the dragon-making and all the other frankensteinian blood magic, i just don't think it's that much of a leap to imagine that some dragon-wielding all-powerful female ruthless blood wizard in ancient Valyria decided—based on blood purity or necessity or ego or whatever—to impregnate some other woman. some maesters recorded that dragons appeared to change their sex—becoming able and unable to lay and fertilise eggs. Anyway, I just don't put genderbending and fempreg past the people who—if the theory is right—invented fucking dragons. It seems easier to do magic pregnancy than to do dragons. idk. melisandre gave birth to a shadow. nearly every ancient tradition on the planet can explore the miracle of virgin conception but we can't have lesbo baby?? why?? thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

[stargirl-ae]

It's Just Pretend ; L. Howlett ⚔︎

Pairing: Logan x Female Reader

Summary: Reader has a formal work gala she needs to attend and she's spoken to her colleagues that's she's newly married and they wish to meet her husband. Push comes to shove Logan attends the work gala with Reader and the night ends with an exploration of each other.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, Unprotected schmex (wrap it before ya tap it, gents), Oral (F! Receiving), Fake marriage.

Word count: 2.4k

MDNI

a/n: okay, hi! i legit haven't written in SO LONG ! buut, this has been in my notes for like three weeks and I wrote this after watching Deadpool and Wolverine for the second time and i legit was half drunk off of six raspberry twisted teas, but when i say i had an entire h o r n y episode about logan, gnawing on the iron bars (or whatever brittany broski said) plus i don't know how to do summarys and warnings and correctly.

this is not spell checked / grammar checked don’t come for me

anyway, enjoy yall 𝜗𝜚

⋆༺𓆩⚔️𓆪༻⋆

“Please Logan, for the love of God, can you please just get dressed? I will leave alone.” you shouted more at yourself than at Logan, you were still getting ready in the mirror, with a large white light surrounding your reflection. The bathroom counter was scattered with your makeup, your straighter, and possible perfume options. “This is stupid, I don’t look right in a goddamn suit,” You could hear him mumble in the hallway outside of the bathroom. “Look, a lot of important people are going to be there, I just want to see like it’s like I have my life together, with a good job and a husband, please !” at this point you're gritting these words through my teeth. 

“A husband !? You don’t even have a goddamn ring? How are people supposed to believe that!?” The temper in his voice only seems to get higher. “It doesn’t take a fucking genius to order one online.” You snap back at him. Letting out a breath and stare into you reflection, your dark hair perfectly straighten out, your eyes surrounded by the color of sage green eyeshadow, black satin dress clung to your figure perfectly hugging ever curve and contour out of your body. Turning around to look over your shoulder to see yourself from behind and in all honestly, you're happily with your results of your own talent with your hair and makeup.

You could hear Logan huffing, he can be so goddamn stubborn. “A fake marriage, how fucking cliche can y-“ his words were cut off, he stood in the doorframe of the bathroom and the energy changes in the room, the air stiff, no movement, no friction. Turning your head slightly to see Logan in black dress pants, no shirt, no shoes. His toned torso, rising and falling with every breath he took. “Shit, if I knew you cleaned up this good I would’ve made you my fake wife months ago.” His mouth slid into a smirk, his hazel eyes raking my body up and down. Suddenly in that moment you felt way too exposed, collarbones exposed, the way the low-cut satin hung between your tits. “Look, you need to tell me now if you’re going with me, I need to leave in like ten minutes.” You huff out at him, eyes would dart from his chest to his eyes, his lips. “If you weren’t so busy eye-fucking me, we could’ve left two minutes ago, bub.”

— *after the work gala* —

“A fake wife, what a fucking idea,” Logan buried his words into your neck, his lips slightly nicking at the sensitive skin. The work gala ended up being filled with tequila and champagne, seeing a fake three carat diamond ring on your left hand being left to pretend this perfect married life with Logan brought me to this very situation; slammed into his bedroom door here in the X-Mansion. “I could make you mine, bub.” His voice vibrates against the side of your neck. "Y-yes Logan, I’m yours, please.” the words came out more as a whine than they did words. His scruff tickled the sensitive skin near my pulse point, he snuck in a laugh against my skin. “Look at you, so desperate for me.” He trailed kisses down my neck and near my collarbone. My breath hitches in my throat. My thoughts were messily left all over my mind, this was so wrong, but fuck, everything felt so good, so fucking right. 

We were on the outside of Logan’s bedroom door, “Logan, someone could hear us, s-someone could see us.” Your eyes fluttered, his lips felt so good against the tender skin of my collarbone. “Shh, it’s two in the morning, nobody’s up.” Just fucking us. “Wait, wait, wait.” Grabbing on to his face, to pull him away from my skin. “Please, behind closed doors.” Your breath was heavy, and Logan's hazel eyes looked into mine with lust and need. “Do I need to pretend we’re fucking married? I can do that.” He raised an eyebrow at you, in mere seconds he crouches down and buries his arms behind your legs, with the sudden movement you squeal. “Shit! Logan!.” He manages to open the door and we head through the doorframe. 

There was no denying the way you felt about Logan, why would you think I would choose him as a husband. Well, a fake husband.  Logan kicked the door closed and took a few more steps until we reached his bed. The room smelled of whiskey, musk, and cigars. The smell was undeniably him, the definition of a man. “For the love of God, you look too fucking good in this dress,” He was gentle, placing you down on his bed. His eyes taking in every detail of your dress and your body. Your chest rising and falling with the amount of sheer intensity of what this was. “Too good to fuck me in?” The words left your mind before you could even process them. Your left hand flew to my mouth, not believing what you just said. “Oh my God.” 

You could see Logan’s eyes fall to the faux wedding ring, “Is that what my wife wants?” My wife, fuck that sounds so good. He snakes his way between my legs, his face meeting mine. He takes a deep breath in, a smirk curling upon his lips. “I can smell how fucking wet this cunt is for me.” he sneaks a hand between my thighs, playing over the delicate fabric of your lace panties. “Mmm, so fucking wet. Tell me how you want me bub, hmm ? My wife, how does she want me?” His pointer finger swirls little circles on your clit through the thin fabric. Logan may be over two hundred years old, he may know is way around a woman’s body but fuck this was heavenly. “Fuck, please Lo- fuck me please.” Your plea rung through his bedroom like a prayer. 

“That’s my girl.” He placed rough kisses on your shoulder, biting down on the strap of your dress, his finger still swirling circles on your sensitive bud. You could only manage to hum back positive hymns back to him. He pulled down a single strap until your chest was revealed. He managed to do the same with the other side until your entire chest was exposed, your nipples hardened under the feeling of the cold air in his room. “Fuck, look at you, so fucking beautiful.” He buried his head between your tits, his breath against your sensitive skin. Placing kisses across one of your breast, licking over your nipple, a ray of electricity struck through you. He places his warm mouth over your nipple, his teeth nicking lightly, sucking you in softly. Grabbing a pillow and placed it over your face to keep myself from sounding like a fool. Your nipple came from his mouth with a comical pop, he laughed to himself and moved to the other side. In a way you wanted to laugh at that sound, tossing aside the pillow off his bed.d “Do you know how hard I tried to control myself tonight? With you looking like this?” He looked up at you through his thick lashes. Again he places his warm mouth against your sensitive skin, in that same moment I could feel him push your panties to the side. Skin to skin, his index finger meet your clit, circling the sensitive bunch of nerves. 

“Oh my god,” everything felt like heaven. Logan let go out go of your nipple from his mouth to move to the part of your dress that had still been hugging my torso. He trailed kisses down your stomach, fingers digging into the flesh of your hips, dragging you towards the edge of the bed. He lowered himself between your thighs, feeling his breath against your core. You could hear him breathing you in, his chest heaving. “Look at her bub, fucking soaking for me.” His voice hums against the walls of his bedroom. He inches closer to your clit, taking in small kitten-like licks. Even the slightest amount of friction was ecstasy. Your hands traveling into his brown hair, peppered with grey strands. He hums against you, he licks through you folds, leaving you a moaning mess “Fuck, yes Logan! Please baby!” Your back arches off his king sized bed. His tongue laps over your clit time and time again. He dives two fingers into your aching core while his tongue laps over your bud. “Fuck, fuck, yes, yes!” You praise him, your words linger in throughout the room. His fingers steady in your cunt, curling up to reach that sweet fucking spot, your mouth falls open like a goddamn fool. 

“Look at you bub, you wanna come for me?” He came up from in between my legs, his eyes meeting yours. “Yes, L-Logan, please, baby, let me come. Don’t stop.” God, you couldn’t have sounded anymore needy. His fingers pump into your cunt like his like his life depended on it. His thumb tracing over your clit. Your breathing was erratic. Your chest heavy with ecstasy. Your stomach was tight with emotion and warmth. Your chants echoed like a perfect prayer. The warm coil snapped in your stomach and your mouth fell open with the sound of Logan’s name. “Holy shit, fuck me.” You breathe out. 

You could feel the heat in your face flush, you swear you were seeing stars. Your eyes raked over Logan’s body, his chest, his stomach, your eyes meet where his waistline laid perfectly, the outline of his slightly hard cock. “You want me to fuck you huh? Anything for my wife.” With his words he undoes his belt to under his button on his black dress pants. He pulled down his pants slowly, leaving his cock to spring up. He’s not even fully hard and it’s fucking huge. “Oh my god,” Once again the words leave my mind before I could process. He palms himself, his head falling back with the smallest moan. “You gonna be my good girl? My good fucking wife taking my cock?” His words like velvet through your ears. Your voice was barely audible as a hum, you shook your head. He pulled down his boxer letting his cock spring free, coming up to nearly hit his stomach. His tip was this deep red leaking pre-cum. “L-Lo, I don’t know if you’re gonna fit baby,” In all honestly, you did process that thought. “Oh baby, you can take, you can tell me if you wanna stop okay?” His words were soft as he pumped himself. 

Logan wanted to learn your body as he went, and what he knew as of right now if that you’re just a sensitive bunch of nerves, he passes the head of his cock through my folds, playing against your clit, leaving you a whimpering mess. Moving your hips against his cock until he’s lined up against your cunt. “Look at her, begging me to fuck her,” His cock was at your sensitive entrance of the your cunt, “Please baby, fuck me.” Your brows furrowing together. Logan pushed into you ever so slowly, your cunt hugging around every inch of his cock. He groans out your name. “Goddamn it!” He cursed out. “You’re so fucking tight,” He pushed in another inch into your cunt. “Fuck, fuck, Lo, stretching out my fucking pussy, fuuuck.” The words fell out of your mouth. Logan’s hips moved ever so slighty, energy pulsing through your sensitive cunt. “Do you want me to stop.” The genuine concern brought you back to reality, looking down to find that he had inches to go into your cunt. Shaking your head no, bringing your bottom lip between your teeth. “Please, please, go deeper.” Fucking whines left your lips. He pushes deeper into your cunt, his thumb lapping over your clit. This was fucking ecstasy. 

Each movement was carefully done by Logan, his hips jerking slightly, every advancement into my care was heaven. “Fuck, baby. She’s takin’ me so fuckin’ well.” He gritted through his teeth. The delicate praises ring through my ears nearly take me over the edge. “Fuck, give me more, please Lo-“ a pathetic please, a beg, a whine. “As you wish, sweetheart.” He pushes his further into you, reaching that soft spongy center in your sex. He curses out, learning to tower over you. Snaking a hand underneath your thigh to cradle the soft skin, sneaking his lips to meet the crook in your neck. His tongue tracing a line up to your ear, taking your ear lobe between his teeth. Rocking his hips into you, setting a steady pace and leaving you to chant his name like. hymn. “So … fuckin’ … good.” Each thrust kept tightening the warm coil in your core, getting ready to snap. 

“Yes, fuck … Lo, please … don’t stop.” The pathetic plea left your lips barely audible. “I hear you baby, you wanna come on my cock?” He brings his head out from the crook of your neck. His forehead meeting yours, leaving your chest heaving, you hand snaking from the back of his neck to his messy chocolate brown hair. His pace quickens, causing your mouth to fall, Logan looks at you with those determined eyes. “Come on baby, come for me,” His cock was nearly hitting your cervix, your brain became foggy, he was fucking you stupid, you could see the stars, the coil in your stomach would grow tighter and tighter. “You can do it baby, go ahead.” Logan’s soft words fell into your ears. “Oh my god, fuck fuck, Logan! Fuck! I’m coming, I’m coming!” Your legs shook around Logan’s waist, your chest trying to find all the air to breathe in.

You tried to find any to say anything, but all of your words came out as mumbles, barely comprehensible. A smirk curled up amongst Logan’s lips. “Look at you baby, such a good girl.” His lips came very close to grazing yours. “So good for me." He places a kiss on the top of your forehead. Your legs fell on the bed, feeling more like jelly rather than bone and flesh. "You okay?" Logan asks, laying next to you, covering the both of your bodies' lower halves. Turning your head to look into his hazel-green eyes. Sighing out, "Yes."

"Let's get cleaned up for the night huh, bub? You should stay with me tonight." He began to sit up, your eyes tracing over every muscle along his back. "I am your wife after all, Lo." You sit up with him, going in to kiss him on the cheek. "Might just have to make your my real wife." The amount of oxytocin flowing through the both of your brains could wake up a tiny village but both you and Logan ended the night tangled in each other's bodies, fitting into each other perfectly.

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

the end

⛧°。 ⋆༺♱༻⋆。 °⛧

[hlficlibrary]

HL Fic Library ✨ Fairy Fics

Remember to leave kudos and a comment on the fics you enjoyed to show your appreciation! You can find the library's other recs here.

✨ Truth Behind Golden Eyes by MyEnglishRose / @lwtisloved {E, 228k}

Louis is a royal servant born with magic in a kingdom where his sole existence is outlawed with a war he has no idea he has a part in upon him. Harry is the prince on whom the burden of mending a broken kingdom falls upon and he might be willing to risk it all for a simple servant if only he admitted it to himself.

Or. A Fantasy AU loosely inspired by Merlin BBC where one relationship has the power to define the destiny of the whole land.

✨ Collision by itjustkindahappened / @tequiladimples {E, 226k}

Mythology/Fairytale!AU in which Louis is a dainty fairy with a temper who wants to be intimidating and Harry hurts people. Naturally, they hate each other.

(Featuring Liam, the big and not-so-bad wolf who’s got a thing for humans, Zayn, a human with supernaturally good looks, and Niall, the cupid who just wants his job to be easier.)

✨ Black with Autumn Rain by whimsicule {T, 93k}

“Thank you,” Geoff says, taking a sip of his tea. “What did you tell him?”

Louis has a sip as well, lets the tea burn down his throat too quickly, too hot, and he feels it all the way down to his stomach. “The truth. Essentially,” he replies after a moment, licking his lips, relishing the slightly bitter taste of the brew that’s never quite strong enough for Louis’ liking. At least it’s not decaf. “That my dog scented it. That I didn’t touch the body. That I came here first thing.”

Geoff nods pensively. “Did he believe you?”

“Probably not. There’s only so many people who can drown on dry land before it gets fishy.”

or: Harry is a journalist, Louis has lots of secrets and the moors aren't exactly the ideal place to rekindle a lost romance.

✨ fae (series) by whoknows / @crazyupsetter {E, 46k}

The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

✨ through walls of trees by @ineverateakiwi {T, 41k}

Elesdon is a country divided into five kingdoms and had long been considered peaceful. After a coup in the heart of the country, Lady Sulia ascended to the throne and imprisoned the four courts, stripping them of their powers. With the exception of King Louis Tomlinson, who submitted to her favors.

But something is changing on the horizon. Magic no longer obeys her, and scarcity threatens her reign. Desperate to stay on top, she brings Harry and Liam back into play, entrusting them to her most loyal warriors.

The beginning of a series of mistakes that may give them the opportunity they needed to defeat her.

✨ Gently As She Goes by graceling_in_a_suit {T, 33k}

Louis had been Harry’s best friend for as long as she could remember. She was a shoulder to cry on, a head of hair to practice braiding on, a mind as mischievous as Harry’s to scheme up antics and pranks with, someone to fall asleep next to when the nights were cold or when they both got lonely. Someone to dance with, to learn with, to laugh with.

They were girls together.

Then Louis left.

A modern fairytale (literally!) featuring a quest to bring a lost girl home, celtic goddesses, braiding, friendship, true love, and magic.

✨ I Want To Be With You Everywhere by @haztobegood {E, 30k}

A Seed from the Cherished Tree A Cloud from the Mighty Summit A Flower from the Perpetual Volcano A Pearl from the Perceptive Lake A Love across the Faery Realms

Fae Proposals were a rare and ancient ritual. The presentation of the four Tokens to one’s mate would initiate a lifelong, inter-realm bond between their souls. But the Tokens could only be gathered if the lover could overcome the elements of all four Faery Realm Trials.

The Trials were dangerous, deadly even. But for Harry, Louis would risk it all.

✨ Years of Blood and Magic 

by cherrylarry / @beelou , devilinmybrain / @thedevilinmybrain, foreverfanficaddict / @chaotic-bells , idolizingthelightt / @idolizingthelight , @justalarryblog, 

Outofroad / @out-of-road, @perfectdagger {T, 30k}

Harry goes along willingly, but frowns, intrigued by who else is helping Liam on the case. “You have another… like me? In there?” “Hm, not like you. I mean, like you in the supernatural sense? Yes. But I hope you don’t mind, take offence or even feel threatened by him. I was desperate, and he’s been surprisingly helpful behind the scenes like you a few times." “May I know who it is?” Harry stops dead in his tracks right in the doorway just as he sees Louis turning to face him. The spell is broken once Louis opens his mouth and rolls his eyes. “For fuck’s sake, Payne, it had to be him?” --- When Detective Payne calls Harry to help him catch the murderer that is killing children and vampires in their city, Harry and Louis must set their differences aside to fight against the biggest threat they have ever faced.

✨ Delight in Masques by kassio / @fakedeepplantjerker {T, 27k}

Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.

When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

(An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

✨ all their words for glory always sounded empty by 5sexualhomos / @hogwartzlou {NR, 26k}

Due to his overprotective father, Prince Louis of the fairies has never left Faefield. When he finally gets the chance to go out into the world, he must keep his identity a secret, which shouldn’t be a problem.

That is, until he meets his roommate Harry.

✨ Away With The Fairies by @snowy38 {E, 22k}

Harry liked pretty things.

Mostly the ornate flowers that grew around him, the trees majestically climbing towards the sky, sometimes the little colourful birds that flitted around in the branches of those trees.

Harry's wings themselves were considered beautiful, big butterfly-like shaped things glistening pink in the light but white underneath, almost translucent.

He fluttered them behind him, feeling the breeze brushing off them. He was high up where he could see the most, studiously watching the human life on the ground below.

He shouldn't be here of course, he was beyond the borders of the part of the forest where his kind lived, but he couldn't help it.

Because Harry had found the prettiest thing of all.

✨ Flowers of Tomorrow, Seeds of Today by @haztobegood {G, 7k}

Louis grows up in a little cottage. Harry grows up inside the Forest. A dandelion grows at the Edge of the Forest. A wish on its seeds brings Louis and Harry together.

Or, Louis is a changeling and Harry is a human and their fates are more connected than they know.

✨ All This Time (I was Waiting for You) by @ohharold {E, 4k}

Harry and Louis have always been destined for each other. Some time apart has Harry reminiscent of their first meeting.

✨ Wonderland by orphan_account {G, 4k}

For the prompt: Harry the fairy takes up residence in Louis’ attic to hibernate through the cold months, but Louis ends up finding him whilst putting up the Christmas decorations. Queue grumpy Harry being woken up, but he can't go back to sleep once he's tried to hibernate, so he starts following Louis around, full of excitement and questions about his first Christmas.

✨ Carry These Feelings by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 3k}

Harry is one of the fae, and has to return to Court once a year to please the Queen.

He makes a detour on his way home to Louis.

Two weeks and I'll be home.

✨ glow. by dontletmedown / @princessyles {M, 3k}

All Louis wanted was to escape the city and find inner peace. He didn't know he would also meet a beautiful fairy that would be part of his meaningful destiny he never knew he had.

The destiny to save.

✨ the most fantastic things by bluegreenish / @greenblueish {G, 2k}

When he reads a fairy tale today, and it’s one about love, Harry will find himself in it. Because in all the fairy tales about love that exist in the world, he knows that a little part of Louis and him is written in between the letters, hidden between every page that curious fingers turn.

or, Harry's version of the fairy tale Thumbelina, minus marrying toads or moles, plus waxing poetic about Louis.

✨ If You're Hoping for a Harbour by LadyLondonderry / @londonfoginacup {G, 2k}

Harry finds a ring.

✨ Curiosity by @hellolovers13 {G, 1k}

Fae Harry lets curiosity get the best of him.

Human Louis is intrigued.

[ugh-yoongi]

the great british fake-off | xmh

you thought the guy in the hawaiian-print shirt who seems physically incapable of being quiet would be the most annoying person here, so imagine your shock when it's xu minghao, who has seemingly decided you're the enemy and keeps sabotaging you. a baking competition for charity might have others on their best behavior, but what's a little sugar without some spice?

❆ pairing: minghao x reader ❆ genre: great british bake-off, holiday au; crack, fluff ❆ wordcount: 5.5k ❆ rating: e for everyone ❆ warnings: some swearing, minghao is a saboteur, idiots abound. ❆ credits: this netflix psd template for the banner. this recipe for the yule log; this recipe for the gingerbread house; and this recipe for the entremet. divider from here. this post for the divider. this was roughly edited by me, so any and all mistakes are my own. ❆ written for: the winter with you collab hosted by @camandemstudios. thank you for letting me participate! please make sure to check out the rest of the stories as they're posted. ♡ ❆ author's note: i had this rotting away in my wips since literally 2021, so even though it started as a completely different story, i'm so glad it's finally seeing the light of day even if it's not what i originally intended. (also, i know the banner says 12 contestants but the holiday specials only had a couple, okay. i forgot when i made it and i wasn't going back to fix it.)

The obnoxious one is wearing an aloha-print shirt.

He’s also extremely loud, his raucous, fake laughter filling every corner of the large warehouse you’ve been assigned to for filming. Makes a show of batting his eyelashes, throwing his head back every time someone cracks a joke that’s not even funny, comes up with nonsensical nicknames for the entire crew just to suck up to them.

“John Davies? Mind if I call you Joe?”

Joe doesn’t even make sense as a nickname for John, but John fucking loves it, apparently. Looks at the annoying guy like he just watched him string the stars in the sky.

But it’s the shirt—god, the shirt drives you absolutely crazy. He’s about to go on national television, be a household name, and some ill-fitting, charity shop Hawaiian print shirt is what he woke up and chose to wear. What’s his angle here? Appeal to the public with some sob story about only being able to afford second-hand clothes so that’s why he’s competing? Needs the money to care for a sick relative?

(The expensive watch on his wrist and his limited-drop sneakers tell an entirely different story, but you’re keeping that to yourself for now. No reason to play your hand so early.)

As much as you hate the shirt, you have to admit it suits him. The colors are garish and unsightly, just as obnoxious as he is, and you can’t stare at it too long because you start going cross-eyed. Looking at him feels about the same as stuffing your mouth with a bunch of sour candies: you get that same burn in the back of your jaw, same scrunched-up, grossed-out look on your face; have to squeeze your eyes shut to blink back tears.

You don’t even know his name, but you hate him immediately.

Your eyes scan the other contestants. None of them inspire the same level of animosity within you as the annoying one does; all of them nearly unremarkable. A variety of ages, appearances, backgrounds. You hear one say they’re a retired investment banker. There’s an accountant, a teacher, a fucking aerospace engineer.

And then it’s his turn to introduce himself. He clears his throat, speaks with an easy, practiced confidence. Completely void of nerves. Makes eye contact with everyone in your conversation circle. Gesticulates wildly as he speaks, immediately endears everyone to him.

“I’m Tim,” he says, and you nearly recoil at how honeyed his voice is. “But you can call me Tim. I’m thirty-eight, originally from a small town. Work as a…”

You can barely stand to listen to it anymore, each “Nice to meet you, Tim!” like another punch to the gut. How can’t these people see right through him? How are they falling for his bullshit? You should’ve known. Producers always throw in at least one bomb to up the ratings—a secret millionaire, someone rude and confrontational, a flat-earther. Even if you’re competing in a charity baking competition, of all things, it’s still reality television at the end of the day.

Just because the bunch of you are going to spend the next few days creating confections out of sugar, spice, and everything nice, doesn’t mean you have to be part of that ‘everything.’

Tim thinks he’s got this in the bag. Thinks he’s going to show up and win easily, the rest of you be damned, and even if you are typically a very nice person, you’re also highly competitive. There’ll be no rolling over done by you, and if Tim wants to play dirty—

Game on.

As you introduce yourself, you feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of your head. Probably because you don’t bother with the faux-humility the rest of the contestants have. Polite and charming but firm, just the way your mother had taught you. You’re not boisterous, don’t crack silly jokes to play up to the cameras the way Tim loves to do, and you know he’s scrutinizing you the way you’d done to him, trying to figure out your angle.

Well, joke’s on him—you don’t need one.

And you really, really hope it drives him crazy.

Except maybe the joke is on you, too, because you don’t account for Xu Minghao.

In true reality television fashion, the tent is boiling hot.

As if the universe itself had looked down on all of you and decided what you all needed was a heatwave uncharacteristic of this time of year, just to up the ante. Not even ten minutes in the tent and you’re all fanning yourselves and wafting air up your shirts. Which is great, really, because it isn’t like you need to use ovens or stand over hot burners. It’s not like you aren’t going to be soaking through your clothes with anxiety sweats, either! Sweat dripping off your brow into your eyes won’t matter because you don’t need to use them.

Everything’s going to be fine!

But everything is not fine. Not only has the universe gifted you with sweltering heat, it’s given you the work station directly next to Tim’s. You’ll have to feel his annoying, off-putting aura near you for the entire competition. There’s always the possibility of him bungling it and making an early exit, but you know that’s unlikely. Obnoxious he may be, you also know a strong opponent when you see one, and something tells you you’re going to be stuck with him for the long haul.

Think of the cats, you tell yourself. All of this is for the cats.

It’s not like you never would’ve returned here of your own volition. No, your first go-round with feel-good, competition-based reality television had gone fine. You hadn’t won, of course, because you wouldn’t be here again if you had, but you placed respectably in the top three. Became a fan favorite, too, which was arguably more lucrative than winning. People make a living on social media these days.

So, it’s not the competition itself that has you white-knuckled gripping onto the edge of your station. It’s the man at the one beside you, cracking all these stupid jokes about the weather and how it’s a horrible day for tempering chocolate, so he bets that’s going to be the first challenge!

You suck in a deep breath. Try to remember the breathing exercises from that one yoga class your sister had dragged you to. It had been about the same temperature then, too—well duh, it’s hot yoga, your sister had said, which was news to you, because you never would’ve signed up for something called hot yoga willingly. Still, you endured it, just like you’ll endure this, and a little sweat is not going to get in the way of you delivering a check to all those poor, sad cats without families.

“Psst, hey,” you hear from behind you. When you turn, a man is smirking at you as he finishes tying his apron around his waist—has to wrap the strings around twice, you notice, because only someone hand-picked by the gods themselves would have that shoulder-to-waist ratio.

You don’t really recognize him. Can’t recall his name or where he’s from; can’t remember what he mentioned doing for a living. Probably something artsy, if you had to guess—he definitely has the style and demeanor of a creative, with his trendy shag-mullet and the multicolored, glitter-y snowflakes decorating his nails.

You aren’t sure he introduced himself at all, but the confidence with which he holds himself—easy, like it’d take a national emergency to rattle him even a little—implies he doesn’t really have to. Most of the people here already know him, if you had to guess, and he gives the impression that he’s not fussed with impressing any of them.

If only Tim was so inclined.

You clear your throat, vaguely aware you need to respond. “Yeah?”

“Are you nervous?”

“Ah, I don’t think so? We’ve done this before, after all. We should be seasoned veterans by now.”

He smirks. “Should be,” he emphasizes. “Feels different when it’s for charity. Extra serious, you know?”

“Right,” you agree, taking a look around the tent. “Anything for the cats.”

There’s an immediate shift in the atmosphere. What was friendly and carefree is now tense; where a smile and a floral giggle sat on the man’s lips has been replaced with a crooked scowl. And it doesn’t make sense, all you’d done was agree with what he said, but then the producers are yelling something at the front of the tent, cameramen are rushing to their equipment, and a woman appears at your side and starts clipping equipment to your clothes, and there’s no time to question it. On your right, Tim’s laughing and joking around with some crew members like they’re old drinking buddies. It drives you nuts, has annoyance pricking at your skin, flushing your cheeks—

So much so that the woman at your side leans in and asks, “Should I get hair and makeup over here?”

“I—no, it’s fine.”

The unnecessary members of the production team scatter away after a loud countdown. Hair and makeup don’t come to wipe the sweat tracks from your skin. You already know Man Behind You is standing there looking perfect because he’s equally as attractive as he is mysterious. God truly has favorites, and this guy somehow made the top five.

You stare down at the instructions in front of you, confident in your ability to read but not so confident in your ability to make sense of any of it. And it’s your own recipe, which is the worst part. You’d typed this recipe yourself. These are your hand-written notes in the margins. You’ve conceptualized, tweaked, baked, and eaten this recipe more times than you can count, and now all you can do is thousand-yard-stare into the ether.

In the time since you were on the show, you’d somehow forgotten about the chaos. Not unlike that hormone women have that makes them forget about the pain and agony of childbirth, you reckon.

In addition to being one of the most bothersome people in history, Tim apparently doubles as a prophet.

Because it is a terrible day to temper chocolate, and you’ve got a bûche de Noël on the horizon that requires you to do so. You can pivot, maybe make some kind of buttercream, but a basic chocolate buttercream is not going to win you a world-renowned baking competition even if it is Swiss meringue. A child could make that.

You sigh. Push that wave of panic to the back of your mind. In a setting like this, you have approximately ten seconds to come up with a back-up plan and execute it and you wasted your time thinking, so you’re just going to have to temper the stupid chocolate and stick to your original plan. God, you have a headache.

But the show must go on, so you do too.

Step 1: Preheat the oven.

Easy enough. If nothing else, you can preheat an oven.

Step 2: Make the sponge.

Not as easy, but you’ve made so many sponge cakes throughout your life you could probably do it in your sleep. Whisk attachment on the stand mixer. Four eggs. Sugar meticulously weighed and added to the bowl. Sugar and eggs whisked together until the mixture is the color and consistency you’re looking for. Flour, cocoa powder, and salt sifted in. Metal spoon to fold it all together as delicately as possible. You won’t have a sponge cake if you beat all the air out of it, now will you?

“Good enough,” you mutter to yourself, staring down at the bowl.

At least you’d had the foresight to grease and line your baking tray, because the entire entourage arrives at your station just as you’re meant to be pouring the batter into it and sticking it in the oven.

“Ah, we meet again,” the group choruses, genuine smiles peeking through as if you’re old friends separated only by time and distance.

That’s the weird thing about being on television. For as long as you’re able, you exist within a microcosm of daily life. A world exists outside of your bubble, you know, but you don’t see much proof of it. All of your meals are eaten together; all of your conversations are had with one another. You share temporary living quarters and oftentimes too much of yourselves, and you’re thankful the show encourages teamwork and kindness because that’s the kind of thing that can grow sour if you leave it unchecked too long.

And then it just—ends.

Bubble burst, you all go back to your regular lives. You look back on that time fondly, but the friendships are thinned out by time and distance. Eventually it all starts to feel like a dream, except every now and then something breaks through the haze to remind you it actually happened: a stranger recognizing you at the store, a message on social media, the casting team contacting you to ask if you’d be interested in competing in a holiday special for charity.

“We certainly do,” you retort, smile matching everyone else’s.

All things considered, you are happy to be back. Even if the tent is crowded and far too warm, the atmosphere is unmatched, especially when it’s decorated for the holidays.

“What are you working on?”

You explain the general workings of your yule log: chocolate sponge, hazelnut liqueur cream filling, and chocolate icing to top it off. You aren’t sure how you’re going to decorate it yet—you’ll figure it out once you get there, depending on how much time you have—but you guarantee them it’ll look festive and professional.

Satisfied with your plan, they wish you luck and move on to the man behind you. It’s so great to see you again, Minghao, someone says, and you’re grateful they’ve spared you the embarrassment of having to ask for his name. It still doesn’t ring a bell, and you can’t recall what season he’d been on for the life of you, but he speaks with a patience and a gentleness that is so unlike Tim that you nearly drop to the floor in thanks.

But as the commotion of the tent reminds you, you don’t have time to waste thinking about Minghao. You’ve only been given an hour for your signature, and you’re going to need all sixty of those minutes if you have any hopes of presenting a finished product.

It doesn’t register at first.

It doesn’t register at second or third, either.

In fact, you’re sure you’re hallucinating when you open the oven door to pop the sponge inside and you aren’t hit with a blast of hot air. Room temperature. Perhaps a bit on the cooler side, if you’re being honest.

And that can’t be, because you know you preheat your oven. It was the first thing you did, because it’s always the first thing you do. It’s just… automatic, like opening your mouth to eat or washing between your toes in the shower. Instinctual. Not something that needs to even be considered, because it’s always the first thing you do.

No, this cannot be. Forgetting to preheat the oven is a rookie mistake and you’re not a rookie.

…Could it be?

Perhaps you were so caught up in the lights and buzz, the thrill of returning to the tent, that it had slipped your mind? Perhaps you’d pressed the wrong buttons and turned the wrong dials? While it’s not likely you’d somehow bumped into the oven and turned it off, nothing is impossible, so… maybe?

“Shit,” you hiss through your teeth. The producers are not going to be happy about your swearing. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“Everything okay up there?” Minghao asks from behind you. When you turn, he’s got a flour-dusted towel thrown over his shoulder as he nurses a cup of tea, and his composure in the face of your hysteria has your head spinning.

Your mouth opens and closes like a goldfish. Minghao is drinking tea without a care in the world and your oven isn’t even halfway to the temperature you need. “I—yes? No? I don’t know. I could’ve sworn I preheated the oven, but—”

“Don’t panic,” he offers, his top lip catching on the rim of his mug. “You got this. Work on something else while you wait.”

Something else. Right, you can work on something else. Both the filling and the frosting still have to be made, and quick mental math tells you there should just be enough time to get everything done if you’re efficient. Of course, that’s a big if, but that’s why you’d chosen a yule log, after all: sponge cake doesn’t need that long to bake, and anything can happen (and go wrong) in this tent.

So, you get to work on something else. Measure out a sheet of parchment paper, dust it with cocoa powder, and set it to the side. Decide to get to work on the frosting, because if one thing has already gone wrong, you don’t trust the universe to let you temper chocolate correctly.

The chocolate is halfway melted when the oven dings. A small harrumph of victory and you’re finally good to go, setting a timer for twelve minutes. Minghao offers you a discreet thumbs-up, fingers covered in something sticky you assume is marzipan.

Time flies after that. You get both the frosting and your filling made, and it’s only through divine intervention that your sponge cake comes out perfectly and with enough time to score and cool. When you dare a look around the room, everyone seems to be in a similar position as you: frazzled and covered in powdered sugar, making frantic trips to and from the refrigerators, chucking seized-up caramel into the trash and starting over for the third time with a pained expression.

A holiday special—it was supposed to be more laid-back, more for the vibes and festivity than actual competition, but it looks to you like everyone’s taking it just as seriously as your first go-rounds.

“Fifteen minutes!” someone calls, and your competitors fade out of focus. You’ve got a yule log to ice and fondant to roll out.

You make it by the skin of your teeth.

It isn’t perfect, of course, as few things on this show ever are, but it’s more than acceptable. It looks great and tastes even better which is all you can hope for. Much to your dismay, Tim also gets top marks, but it’s Minghao that shocks you all. His stollen wreath earns him a handshake and a lot of clandestine, private glares, but he’d been kind to you earlier, helped untangle that knot of pandemonium, so you return the thumbs-up he’d given you earlier with a smile that feels akin to getting away with murder.

Something is wrong.

On its own, this is not necessarily surprising. Gingerbread, tasked with bearing the weight of an entire house, can be fickle. On any other day you wouldn’t blame it if it wanted to rebel and go sideways, but the thing is—you’ve made gingerbread before. Tons of times. Another thing you could probably make in your sleep if you absolutely had to. So it doesn’t make sense when you look down in your mixing bowl and it just… doesn’t look right.

You tell yourself it’ll get better when you knead it. Maybe the color just looks off because it’s underworked, and a few good punches will set it straight.

But it doesn’t. The dough sits at your station like a sad, formless lump, giving you no indication it intends to become anything at all. Which is, admittedly, a problem. Your technical challenge is to build a gingerbread house—one complete with little windows and golden-toned nightlights, a scalloped roof dusted with powdered sugar to look like fresh snow, a working door!—and you’re far from an engineer, but you don’t think you can have a gingerbread house without gingerbread.

You sneak a peek at Tim’s station, where he’s well into measuring an immaculate-looking dough with a ruler. The contestant in front of you is in a similar place, too, so it’s with an oh fuck I’m doomed sigh that you turn around and hope to find a comrade in Minghao again.

“Hey,” you whisper, trying not to draw attention to yourself. “Does this look right to you?” You jerk a thumb in the direction of your dough-lump. Minghao, bless him, looks around you and tries his best to hide his grimace.

He does not succeed.

“Um. Well, no.”

You sigh. Place one flour-dusted hand on your waist and pinch the bridge of your nose with the other. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong with it. I’ve made gingerbread a million times.”

“Looks pale,” he offers. Of course, this is the exact moment he dumps his own dough—his beautiful dough, flawless chestnut brown—onto his station to knead it. “Was the sugar right?”

A strangled, disbelieving laugh escapes you. Was the sugar right—of course the sugar was right! Dark muscovado sugar. Everyone knows that's what you use for gingerbread, so of course the sugar was right because no one, both in their right mind and at this stage of competition, would use anything else.

Before you can respond, Minghao’s pointing at your jar of sugar. Your jar of pale, producer-supplied sugar, which even a blind person could tell does not resemble dark muscovado sugar.

A million thoughts race through your head at once, but it boils down to instinct, you think. Your brain had seen flour, butter, and sugar and went into baking mode, not stopping to take in the color of anything. Maybe a smarter, more perceptive person would put two and two together and get sabotage, but you don’t have enough time to play detective.

“Here, here,” Minghao says, hurriedly handing over his (correct) sugar. “It’ll be close, but you should have just enough time to redo the dough.”

You’re going to throw up.

In the end, a chunk of chocolate buttons is missing from the roof and the piping around the edges is far from your neatest work, but it’s passable. You already lamented your loss during the signature bake, because anything less than perfection was not going to win you much of anything, and you’re now 0-for-2 on showstopping, unbelievable, awe-inspiring confections.

Just like the devil, your fall from grace will be studied.

Overthinking isn’t going to get you anywhere, but you can’t help it.

You collapse sideways into a chair, immediately face-planting into the catering table. Everyone else buzzes around you—animated conversations that have your head spinning, words that jumble together and start to sound like nothing at all—but you’re a million miles away. One mistake is out of character for you, but two? It’s unheard of. Something you would’ve said was impossible if it didn’t happen to you just a few hours ago.

This is something you need to file away for later so you can think about it just as you’re about to fall asleep, horror and embarrassment there to keep you company when it keeps you awake until the wee hours of the morning.

A chill runs down your spine.

“Hi. Do you mind?” You startle. Bang your knee on the underside of the table. “Sorry,” Minghao apologizes, but he doesn’t look sorry at all. You shake your head. Gesture to the empty seat across from you as if to say it’s all yours. “I brought you some tea,” he continues, setting it in front of you. “I find it’s easier than coffee when you don’t know how someone takes theirs. Less chance of getting it wrong.”

You smile. Wrap your hands around the Styrofoam cup and delight in the warmth. “Thank you. This was very kind of you.”

“Seemed like you had a rough day.”

Groaning, you try to wave away his words. “Please don’t speak of it.” Minghao jokingly salutes you before miming his lips sealed. “Anyway. Let’s talk about something that is not reality television or baking or a reality baking competition.”

So, you do. Most of the talking comes from you, to be fair, but Minghao is a good listener: nods along, chimes in when appropriate, keeps the spit in his mouth where it belongs. You talk about your hometown and what made you apply for the show the first time. He tells you about growing up in Haicheng and all the things he grew up baking with his mother. You swap stories from your respective seasons; Minghao shares anecdotes with a straight face that have you clutching at your stomach.

Hours pass this way, and you end the night feeling like you’ve made an honest-to-god friend.

Xu Minghao ends the night feeling the guilt weigh him down like an albatross.

In retrospect, it is probably a bad idea to make another sponge, but no one can accuse you of learning from your mistakes.

“It’ll be a patterned joconde sponge with two mousse layers—chocolate and raspberry—and a raspberry jelly. Then I’m going to attempt to top it with chocolate and raspberry decorations.” The judges blink. Are you sure that’s a good idea? you know they want to ask, but this is a holiday competition for charity, so they’re trying not to be pessimists. “Anything is possible through holiday cheer,” you tack on, hoping your smile doesn’t look crazed.

They nod. “Right, right,” they say in unison. “Well, good luck!”

And then they’re off.

Determined to nail this, you triple-check your oven, which is preheating to a crisp 400 degrees; you double-check all your ingredients and confirm they’re correct; when you can spare the time, you watch your refrigerator like a hawk, making sure no one tries to sneak their own work in there and displace yours when you aren’t looking, but everyone’s engrossed in their respective showstoppers.

Tim’s planning a shadow box of sorts, with blown-sugar baubles and isomalt fire. Someone else is stressing over their three-tiered cake, asking the presenter if they think they’ve taken on too much. From what you can piece together, Minghao is making a three-dimensional house, also made from cake that he imported special pistachios for.

“Special pistachios?”

“Mm, from Iran. They have a better color.”

“Iranian pistachios! Can you believe it!”

But you don’t have time to worry about Minghao and his special Iranian pistachios. You have so much to do and not enough time to complete it. Your paste is in the freezer and the sponge is in the oven, but you’ve still got two mousses to make, a jelly to infuse, and little chocolate trees to create—and all of this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t pointless, but you don’t want to disappoint the cats by half-assing it. They deserve your whole ass, and your whole ass is what they’re going to get.

The result is stunning—not necessarily in stature, but rather craftsmanship and effort. This is what you’re capable of. This is why you came back to the tent. For all your complaining and wanting to put your head through a concrete wall, there’s nothing like seeing the judges ooh and ahh when you present your work to them. There’s nothing like the ego boost of someone taking a bite and watching their eyes light up. There’s nothing like carrying your cake back to your station feeling proud of yourself.

“Great job,” Minghao says, a genuine smile stretched across his face. He also exceeds expectations, of course. Must be those special pistachios, you think, but your congratulations are also sincere.

Production makes a spectacle of judging, much like they always do.

The set is decorated to look like a winter wonderland, even though you’re still in the midst of autumn: a giant Christmas tree in the center decked to the nines with garland and baubles; warm, golden bulbs strung from every awning they could find; all the participants bundled up tight in festive sweaters and scarves all the way to your chins, cheeks and tips of noses dusted with red-pink blush to mimic the cold that’s nowhere to be found. Fake snow falls from the sky, and it doesn’t feel real, but it does feel magical.

One of the hosts catches you by the elbow, asks who you think is going to win. “Oh, I’d have to say Minghao,” you answer, because you’d rather die than give Tim the satisfaction. “His showstopper was incredible, but he was really great the whole competition.”

In the end, however, neither of them wins—it’s Jeon Wonwoo, three-tiered cake guy, who comes out of nowhere to claim first place. He’s bashful as he accepts his prize and says he’s going to donate the prize money to an organization that provides underprivileged kids with video game equipment. No one has a whole lot to say about that.

Once most of the hubbub dies down (and you give Tim a half-assed you did great, so sorry you didn’t win), you find Minghao near the refreshments table. He’s frowning around another mug of tea. “Alright?” you ask, helping yourself to some cider.

“For some reason, I’m no longer feeling very festive,” he replies, which is a very funny thing to say while wearing a hat with a little pom-pom on the top.

You roll your lips to keep from laughing. Sidle in a little closer and knock his shoulder with your own. “Ah, I know how you feel, but you really did do great. You were my pick to win, for what it’s worth.”

“Please don’t tell me that. It only makes me feel worse for losing.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Would’ve been nice to donate some money to the cats, but shit, if I didn’t know better, I would’ve sworn some dark force was sabotaging me. Like, come on—forgetting to preheat the oven? Using the wrong sugar? Not even a kid would’ve made those mistakes.”

Two things happen in rapid succession: beside you, Minghao goes very, very stiff, and you realize you had been sabotaged. And not by some dark, evil force, either. You were sabotaged by the very man standing beside you—the man you shared thumbs-up with and thought was your friend. The man whose cake you complimented and picked to win. The man who is now standing ramrod straight, as tense as a corpse, and the thought of sabotaging someone in a charity baking competition is so ridiculous and unbelievable that you just—

You just laugh.

At first, it’s a bark of stunned laughter. Then, the more it sinks in how absurd, how nonsensical all of this is, you can’t stop. Tears are rolling down your cheeks. You gasp for breath as your stomach begins to ache. People are staring, including Minghao, who sort of can’t believe what he’s seeing, but none of it does anything to deter you.

“Oh my god,” you wheeze, “I can’t believe it was you—”

Minghao groans. “In my defense, it was for the cats!”

This was not the answer you were expecting. It makes you laugh harder. “What do you mean it was for the cats?”

He swallows. Removes the mitten from one hand to run it through his hair as if that one tic was enough to distract you from everything that’s happened in the last sixty seconds. (It is.) “Listen, you told me you were going to donate the money to a cat charity if you won and I just—so was I, was the thing. I was also going to donate the money to a cat charity if I won—”

“Okay, but which one, though?”

“The Cat’s Paw-jamas.” Much to Minghao’s horror, this sets you off again. “What? What’s so funny?”

“Minghao,” you try to choke out, but you can barely breathe around the cramp in your stomach. “Minghao, that’s the charity I was going to donate to. Oh my god, you sabotaged me and I was going to donate to—to the same fucking place. Jesus Christ, this is some Gift of the Magi shit.”

Your saboteur, who has gone deathly pale, is quiet for a very long time. Every now and then he’ll open his mouth like he’s going to say something before it snaps shut again. When he does manage to speak, what comes out are mangled apologies that sound like gibberish, and you wave all of them away. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“I—I really don’t think it should be?”

“Minghao, it’s fine, trust me, this was just for fun—”

“No, I really insist.”

You sigh, good-natured and exasperated. Something about the fake snow has you feeling romantic and a little bold, so you turn, grab him by the lapels of his coat. “Please tell me if I’m misreading this, but if you insist, maybe you can start by taking me to dinner…?”

This was clearly not what MInghao was expecting you to say. Dazed, he recovers quickly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in a half-smirk. “Dinner, hm?” You nod. “I think I can manage that.”

You smile. “Great. How do you feel about cat cafes?”

[bwat5-blog]

My Hero: Arcane Fanfic

(Rough attempt at a scene I like to imagine went down in 2x05 behind the scenes)

The dim light shifted lazily with the creaking and groaning of the squalid little apartment. Jinx moved softly, not daring to risk waking Vi in this state. She had been coming to the pits for weeks since she found her… trying to work up the nerve, trying to figure out how to approach her. But she was afraid. Their last meeting hadn’t exactly gone well.

At first, she had been able to pretend there was some sick amusement to be found. Cast out by her trigger-happy Piltie girlfriend, left all alone after putting on the uniform, Violet was back where she belonged. In the muck with her people, covered in blood and sweat… but it wasn’t that simple. Jinx knew that after only the first fight.

She’s giving up…

She had watched Vi decline over the last few weeks, getting slower, not protecting herself. She went down. Hard. Almost every night. She was only making enough to fund her next drink and barely eating. She was killing herself… and all the Zaunites around her didn’t lift a fucking finger to help. Jinx had been planning on revealing herself the next time she came down anyway… and now Vander…

We have a chance… maybe we can… we can fix this…

So it was that she found herself holding her breath… until she had crept close enough to see Vi fully. Her stomach dropped, and she forced a hand into her mouth, biting down to keep from crying so hard that she drew blood.

Vi looked like a corpse. She was pale and drawn, still muscular but… not healthy. Her hair was crusted with thick black grease paint and what Jinx could only assume was dried blood. Her face, disturbed even in sleep, was a mess of white and black grease paint and bruising. She wore only black leather pants that were fraying and dirty white wraps around her chest.

“I’m sorry, Vi… I should have come for you sooner,” Jinx whispered, wiping tears away.

She looked around at the trash and empty bottles of booze and shook her head, kneeling down. She took a deep breath and started to move to gently touch Vi but stopped. This was the first time she’d really been this close to Vi without a fight or something else happening… the first time in years. She looked down at her older sister’s body clothed only in the wraps and leathers and had to choke down a sob of horror.

Vi’s body was covered in scars. She had taken plenty of licks as a kid, sure, but… her flesh was a tapestry of abuse and pain. Years of torment played out over every inch of her worn but still muscular frame. Far beyond the wear and tear of Vi’s childhood or even the meat grinder of the Undercity fighting pits. Vi had been tortured.

Jinx scrambled back quietly into a corner of the room, hugging her knees to her chest and biting down hard on a strip of leather from her cloak to keep from sobbing out loud. She shuddered, trying not to wake Violet, as she heard her voice from that day they first saw each other again:

“I tried to come back, I promise I did, but… I got arrested.”

Vi’s voice echoed in her mind.

Seven years… seven years in that goddamn place. Jinx gritted her teeth and tried not to scream. She thought back to Vi begging her to come with her, to just pick up and go. Telling her she loved her and how sorry she was. Sorry for what?! Getting kidnapped and thrown in a place where they did that?!

Jinx curled up tight and bit down on the leather so hard she was afraid her teeth would shatter. She remembered Vi’s hand on her cheek when they were little. Telling her how strong she was, how she couldn’t lose her…

Finally, she was able to stand slowly, wiping her eyes. She walked forward carefully, making sure not to step on anything that would wake Vi before she was ready. She looked to the dingy little cracked mirror on the wall and saw a black stick of grease paint, smiling sadly as she picked it up and whispered:

“Well… if you choke me out when I wake you, at least I get to go out looking like my hero,” she whispered, leaning down and gently blowing across Vi’s hair before going to the mirror and marking her name on her cheek.

[thecourtjester-e]

Do You Have to Let it Linger? Part 4

A/N: y’all wanted a twist? (Short chapter the end is near)

CW: substance abuse, angst, yearning, depression, anger issues

SCHLATT POV

“GOD, you can be so STUPID.”

As soon as he said it he froze. He tossed the phone onto the table and put his head in his hands. As he heard the phone hangup from the table he felt like he couldn’t move. His face started to burn as anger rose up in his chest. He looked for the nearest victim to aim this mindless rage at. He picked up a controller and chucked it as hard as he could across the room. He could feel the tightness in his chest rise and tears threaten their way into his eyes. God, he hated that he let himself do that. Why the FUCK did he do that???? Schlatt’s frustration from the week all culminated into this moment. The confusion of why y/n had ignored him for a whole week, racking his brain to remember every little thing he did and said to you at the wedding for some explanation. And all to find out it was because you like him and you think he doesn’t like you back. It made him mad. You couldn’t be further off.

In the beginning of your friendship the flirting had been for fun. He did think you were stunning, but it was all in jest, at first. It slowly grew into a real blooming friendship beyond the clicks and views he genuinely grew fond of you. Your personality, your quirks, and little traits. He would watch to boost numbers, but then he found himself tuning into your streams on his second account to just watch. He found your voice entrancing and the way you moved and danced hypnotizing.

He couldn’t believe that you thought he didn’t feel the same. The fact that you had a “big fat crush” on him was enough to make his heart jump, do a backflip, and fall out of his ass. He was so dumbfounded that you couldn’t see how crazy he is about you.

At first he grappled with his own fear and uncertainty, could he let someone in in this way? Was it worth it? You guys lived so far apart. Not to mention how public it could all get and the bombardment from the fans. He was terrified. As the days turned to a week his fear turned into intense longing and pain. Pain knowing how he had hurt you. He missed your constant communication that he had grown to rely on in a way. He just missed hearing you and seeing you. How your smile lights up rooms and your raw charisma enchants all who watch. He couldn't stop seeing you up there singing at the wedding. And how you smiled at him while laughing and dancing. The memories practically uncorked the bottle themselves. Minimal resistance was found when lifting it to his mouth. Each sip felt easier and easier.

Ted called sometime during the second week while the bottle was half drunk. Interrupting his quiet stalking of your stream.

“Schlatt.”

“What.”

“You gotta tell her man,” Ted pleads. He had been bothering Schlatt to spill his heart since the wedding. Then, even more so after this whole ordeal. It tired and aggravated him.

“No dude.”

“Jared Schlathew,” Schlatt scowled at the nickname as Ted continued, “I know we’ve known each other a while, but I’ve known Y/N longer. I’m going to have to tell her soon man I can’t keep listening to her heart break like this.”

“Ted, I sweartgod, if you tell her you won’t hear from me again. Ever,” he slurred and sipped.

“I don’t understand the big deal!”

Schlatt cuts him off, “I can’t, Ted, I fucking can’t! I already hurt her man, who’s to say I won’t just hurt her further or… I don’t know! I’m no good for her. She deserves someone better. She deserves to get over me…”

Ted sighs, “Schlatt, genuinely, you are one of the most kind hearted individuals I've had the pleasure of meeting-” Schlatt scoffs, “You have a rough exterior, yes, but I’ve seen how she melts your icy shell. I wouldn’t allow you anywhere near Y/N if I didn't think you deserved her, man. But I truly do think you are one of the greatest people I get to call a friend. So please, skip the angst, and get on a plane.”

As he hung up he turned your stream back on. Your presence was much duller than your normal effervescent self. He studied at the screen while you absentmindedly answered the chat.

“Ok, well I have another cover I’ve been working on so,” you sit up with your guitar a little better and begin to play “High and Dry” by Radiohead. Through his drunken haze, Schlatt sat and listened to you sing as if you were speaking directly to him.

“Fuck it.” Schlatt opened his phone and booked a flight.

———

[susiekern]

16. the one with the boys

a/n: after two important chapters, I present to you: this fucking thing

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.096

masterlist

previous | next

“Are they mad about it?”

“Nah, Toge almost cried about me getting a girl faster than him, but Yuta and Cho are actually pretty chill about it. They know it’s serious and all.”

“Shit, it’s so weird when you say it’s serious.”

Megumi’s eyes move towards you, giving you the meanest side eye in history. You’re on your way to one of the bars, so you can meet the rest of the Fallen, or more like just Megumi’s friends. It’s been a few days since you officially started dating, the right way this time, and it was his idea, believe it or not. The three of them are the closest people in his life, besides you and Yuji, and he wanted you all to meet and get along. You know Yuta, obviously, but you’ve only heard stories about Toge and Choso.

“I’m kind of nervous. What if they don’t like me?” Saying that, you furrow your brows. Megumi sighs and squeezes your hand tighter in his own.

“I couldn’t care less. Besides, Yuta already likes you, Choso is as chill as it gets, and Toge’s been following you on Twitch for the past few months. But don’t tell him you know that; he wanted to act all cool around you or something.” He says with a smirk. “And I’m not with you to show you off, they could hate you, and I wouldn’t give a fuck.”

Your smile is back on as you get on your toes to peck his lips. Before you pull back, one of his hands is on your neck, keeping you close and deepening the kiss.

“We’ll be late, Megs.” You laugh quietly, but that doesn’t keep the black-haired man away from you.

“They’re constantly late for rehearsals, I don’t care.” He murmurs, relishing your taste for a few more seconds. When he finally lets you go, your cheeks are blushed, and you have that glint in your eyes he loves so much. “If you hate them, you can just talk to Yuji or tell me, we’ll go home and watch that weird show of yours.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He opens the door for you, following close by as you enter the bar. It’s the middle of the week, so it’s relatively empty, which makes it much easier to find a booth occupied by the boys. The sight of Yuji’s pink strands soothes your nerves a little. He’s talking with Yuta and a black-haired man with a dark streak running through his nose bridge who must be Choso. There’s also Toge, you assumed, his white hair making him stand out from the group. He’s also the only one who’s not dressed in dark colors, with the pink t-shirt (that’s weirdly almost the same color as Yuji’s hair) and light jeans on. His focus is on his phone, tapping fast on it, until he notices you two coming their way.

“Gumi! Finally, I can’t deal with another minute of their boring shit.” Toge puts his phone down on the table and gets up to greet Megumi with a typical manly handshake and back pats. His brown eyes then land on you, and he smiles. “And you must be y/n?”

“Be nice, Toge. She doesn’t know how weird you are yet.” A much taller figure appears behind him, the man you recognized as Choso, based on Megumi’s stories.

“You don’t need to spoil it for her then, gosh. Give a man a chance.” Toge sighs and moves a little, so Megumi and Choso can greet each other. “The tall emo is Choso, I’m Toge, as you probably know already.”

“Nice to meet you both. Y/n y/l.” You offer them a smile and a polite head nod. Before you can say another word, there are warm arms wrapping around you, as Yuji almost jumps your way.

“Finally, a crossover episode.” He grins, squeezing your body and pulling you to the leather couch, where you quickly greet Yuta. Thankfully, without any awkwardness. You haven’t seen each other since your little date, only exchanged polite texts where you thanked him for the evening, not expecting that the next time you’ll meet will be like that. With you, meeting your boyfriend’s friends. The universe has a weird sense of humor, you have to admit.

“I’ll do that, and you all will see. It’s a new way.” The evening is going great; it turns out they’re all as welcoming as you could ever ask for, and it’s not long before the conversations are flowing naturally.

They share a few funny stories about Megumi, asking you how you’ve met Yuji in exchange; Toge admitted to following you, to which Choso reminded him about the time he called you a “twitch baddie” in their group chat. You’re really enjoying this. Megumi is by your side all the time, keeping a hand on your thigh or at the small of your back, smiling almost constantly. It eased his mind to see you getting along with his friends, something he was anxious about, even if he’d never admit it. He doesn’t keep a lot of people close to himself, so the sight of you joking around with his support group warms his heart in a way.

“Toge, I guarantee saying random food items won’t make you popular among the girls.” Yuji is shaking his head, barely keeping the laugh in. For the past few minutes, Toge explained his brilliant plan to the whole group, and you weren’t sure if you should laugh or cry.

“It works for him!” The white-haired man says offended, brows furrowed as he looks around, looking for any support but meeting none.

“It’s a guy from an anime. He has a magic tongue, and you think it’s about saying salmon all the time?” Megumi lifts one brow before taking a sip of his drink.

“First of all, he’s a cursed speech user, he doesn’t have a magic tongue. And second, I even look like him!”

“When was the last time you looked in the mirror?” It was Choso’s time to stick a pin in. “If you look like him, then I look like the blood guy you talked about yesterday.”

“Yeah, I’m with Cho on this one, you don’t look nearly similar.” Yuji nods, eyeing his friend up and down.

“Just admit you all hate me.”

“Easy. But when did we start playing truth or dare?” You almost choke hearing Megumi’s words.

“Shit, and you say Nobara’s rude.” He rolls his eyes as you murmur, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“She is. You just don’t notice it anymore.”

tag list (lmk if you wanna be added!): @nytylie @fresa-luna @syrooo @zaranobiyuyu @jvpit3rr @pandabiene5115 @good-mourning0 @pearlydays @irwinchester @pxppetmxster @ivydoesit23 @zayuriluvs @applepi25 @s777athv @estella-novella @wgafa @pookalicious-hq @lovely-maryj @briezy04764

[lolitastories]

Soldier

Bucky Barnes

“There you are!” I raise my head to a certain redhead. She had a bright smile as she rushed over to sit beside me. “Look!” My eyes widened as I looked at the picture on her screen. She has always been able to read my mind so when I tried to speak, she already knew what I was going to ask. “It was part of some article about Steve.”

“God,” I groan.  I pull the phone closer and zoom in on only Bucky. “He was such a precious baby. Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” I couldn’t help but feel giddy just by saying his name.

“Does the cigarette do anything for you?” I look at her with furrowed brows. “I know you say you hate men or people in general who smoke but don’t lie-” She wiggles her brows giving me a playful shove. “You think he looks more than cute,” I roll my eyes pushing myself out the couch before I confess something I shouldn’t. As I walk towards the kitchen to prepare a drink, she turns herself over to lean against the couch. “Your knees would be weakened by his sole presence. You would flutter your eyes as he would speak to you in that 1940’s Brooklyn accent.” I look at her through my lashes as I shake my head. “Then he would invite you to a date at the fair, holding hands, eating ice cream and like a gentleman he would walk you home,” I looked up seeing how her big grin grew even bigger. She takes a pause before spitting out her next words. “Then fuck you into oblivion” I gasped reaching over to grab a single grape and throw it at her.

“Shut up Nat!” Of course, she smoothly avoided my deadly grape and continued to laugh.

“You can’t tell a lie! I can see right through you.” I roll my eyes, ignoring her completely.  I grabbed the bowl of grapes and started washing them. “He hasn’t dated anyone yet.” I was focused on washing the grapes, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t have an ear out to what she was saying. “There are girls who would love to date like in the 1940s. But do you think Bucky would adapt or stay the same?” I set the bowl on the counter and begin drying the grapes. My eyes still look down as I do the task as I begin to think about her question. “It would be hard to break a habit since for him it's only been a couple of years.”

“A major part of a relationship is compromising. I think when he chooses to date again the girl, he picks will be open to those kinds of dates.” Who wouldn’t? “Plus, you can never go wrong with a fair date.”

“Got a fair date?” I stupidly look up. My first thought was how easy it was for Nat to change her voice to a deeper tone but then I look over to find Bucky walking into the room. “Didn’t pick you for those kinds of things” It stung a little to hear those words from him. I gave him a little smile but that was the only thing my body allowed me to do.

“She might not seem like it, but she likes all that lovey Dovey stuff.” Thank God for Nat. “She loves too many rom-coms and that's the reason why she doesn’t have a favorite movie.” I looked up trying to give her a look that said, “Thank you for making it less awkward but you don’t need to continue!” “She hates big crowds, but you will see her smile at every person who passes by. She’s a sucker for romantic gestures and loves flowers!” She exaggerates as she opens her hands wide, because it was true, I do love flowers. “I know women nowadays say that flowers are just a waste of money, and she will agree,” I looked down at the fresh clean grapes as I felt both Bucky and eyes on me. “But I also know she’s a sucker for any bouquet. She romanticizes everything! The fair is her favorite ambiance which I was shocked to find out because the air is filled with the thing she hates most-”

“Cigarette smell.” I look up hearing Bucky instantly respond.

“Yeah!” Nat points out but at that moment as she continues to ramble on, Bucky and I are looking at each other. “She loves the lights, the adrenaline from the rides!”

“So, you got a date?” He whispers, raising one brow. I look over smiling at Nat who continues talking but simply shakes my head.

“She hates all that deep fried stuff, so she never eats there, which I tell her she is definitely missing out on.” I watch as Bucky opens his mouth but restrains himself when we notice Nat now standing on the other side of the island.

“Care for a drink?” Bucky nods. I grab a glass and place ice on it before pouring his choice of alcohol. “Nat.”

“Hmm?” She says a little distracted. “It's 2.” I turn to her with the finished drink in my hand and wait for her to catch on.

“Shit is it really?” She grabs Bucky's arm and pulls it closer to see the time in his watch. “Got to go!” She smiles before waving goodbye and running out of the room.

“You would think she would be always on time since she is an agent and everything” I laugh walking over to hand him his drink.

“In her defense the problems you guys deal with don’t have a certain schedule,” He nods agreeing while taking a drink. “Plus, she was stalling because she’s the one going on a date.” He looks over shocked. I smiled as I grabbed the bowl of grapes and started walking over to the couch. “Now you will be more surprised to know Bruce built up the nerve to ask her.”

“Bruce?” He asked. Which I turn my head from the couch and nod. “Good for him.” He took another drink before he started walking over to me. “So,” I untangle my legs and plant my feet on the ground to let him sit beside me.

“Yeah?” Bucky and I became friends over the years. Hanging out with Nat allowed me to enter the avengers inner circle. We got stuck together while watching a movie and spent the night whispering to each other. Since the end of that night we started getting closer and closer.

“I got you this.” I looked down as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a little trinket. I place the bowl on the coffee table before grabbing it from his hand. “If I knew how much you liked rom-coms I would have chosen La Vie En Rose,” I bit my lip holding back a chuckle. One time Sam and Bucky came back from a mission, and he was bragging about a little trinket someone had given him, and I mentioned I liked it. Months later on the next mission and the ones following that, he always came back with something in hand.

“You can get it for me next time,” I joke. I opened up the small little music box and turned the handle. “This one is perfect, thank you.” I look up to find a smile on his face as well. We burst out laughing as the Pirate of the Caribbean song started playing. “Yeah, this one is perfect.” I look back over to him but then my eyes fall towards our hands. I didn’t notice when it happened, but he was holding my hand in between his own. I flinched to pull away but froze when he lifted my hand and pulled it closer to his chest.

“So, you don’t have a date?” I couldn’t tell you how fast I looked up to search his face, but his eyes were plastered to our hands. I felt his thumb gently trace over my palm.

“No,” I let out with a shaky breath.

“Would you like to go on a date?” He said it so unfazed I thought he was joking but when he finally looks up his eyes are full of wonder. His brows raised up just a bit waiting on my answer. “We can go to the fair.” His tone was low. “You-”

“Yes,” It was like a last breath of air I let out. I didn’t want him to change his mind. “I would love to go on a date with you.”

“Okay.” He nods nervously as he lets out a chuckle. “I will apologies in advance because I will come off as old school- like old old school-” I laugh, removing my hand and grabbing his face.

“Good for you then, I have a thing for old school romance,” He laughs as he places his hand over mine. “Even if it's old, old school.”

“Yeah?” He says a little teasingly.

“Yeah.” I fix my posture. “I think it's hot.” I felt my nervous calming down and we were back to joking with each other. “People call it daddy issues but, in your case, would it be grandfather issues?”

“Seems like either way you have a problem.” I opened my mouth, acting offended.

“Says the one going on a date with someone who is 82 years younger than them.” He raises his finger with a smile

“Technically 8 years.” I raise my finger challenging him

“Technically you are 106 years old. so do some math, grandpa.”

“Oh, wrong choice of word!” We make some distance between us when we hear Sam walking into the room. “Last time I called him that he threatened to disappear me,” I looked over to Bucky who was giving him a death glare. “And that is the nice way to put it because I don’t want to bore you with the details, it was graphic” I laugh not believing Bucky would do such a thing. “So, what are you going to tell her, huh?” He grinned leaning against the island. Bucky turns over slowly, giving me a wink and that blows my breath away.

“I’ll see you tonight.” He whispered low enough for only us to hear. I held back my urge to smile even bigger, but I didn’t know it was possible. He patted my hands before standing up.

“What?” Sams shrieks raising his hands in disbelief. “Wait.” Bucky stops in the middle of the room and places his hands in his front pockets. “You are just going to let her off the hook. No warning or threats? How is that fair?” Bucky takes long and short strides over towards Sam. I could see the life drain from Sam's body; I can imagine how intimidating Bucky must look.

“Because it's her.” He pointed out plain and simple.

“But I'm me?” He smiles, proud of himself.

“Not even close.” Sam slaps his chest playfully, taking offense to his words. “Plus, she’s pretty.” With a simple shrug he turns around and walks out of the room.

“Don’t you dare start blushing!” I looked up stunned knowing blushing was an understatement. I was totally red like a tomato.  “You don’t even know his favorite color!” He grabs his newly fixed drink and starts walking away. “Pretty? I am prettier, Bucky!” He walks out screaming behind Bucky. I don’t think I could laugh any longer. My mind was preoccupied with a certain person. Did he say tonight? Shit. I am going on a date with Bucky tonight.

“I got just the thing for you to wear.” Thank God I am not an agent because the many times I haven’t noticed someone walk in would be concerning.

“You're an angel” I rush over to Nat.

“I knew it would get Bucky’s mind running when he heard you might be going on a date. Now let's get you ready for your soldier!” Mine. Baby steps, but I can feel it deep down that this won’t be our last date.

"Wait," I stopped in my tracks turning over to her. "What happened to your date with Bruce?" She smiles towards the floor.

"I got to excite and thought it was today. When I walked into his lab, I felt stupid and ran away." Of course she did. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close.

"Okay well since you are helping me out tonight, I will help you out tomorrow, deal?"

"Deal."

[patchworkcuddlebug]

Humanity

[CW: Passive suicidal ideation.]

Being a person feels... heavy. Like I'm always full of something. It didn't have to be gross, but it usually was. Sometimes it was something with an easy word to it, like disdain or cowardice, but usually it was more vague. Some sort of congealed, disgusting mass that's been slowly accumulating for as long as I've been alive, weighing my guts down until I'm too stressed to eat and too tired to sleep.

I don't want to die. Death sounds too painful, and I'm scared of commitment. But, as I looked out into the bay, waiting for the traffic on the toll bridge to advance, I can't help but daydream. If I drove into the river, just by some freak accident out of my control, I... wouldn't do much to fight it. I would just let whatever happens happen as I sit still. Let this heaviness in my chest weigh me down and drown me.

My whole life was like that, really. Just moment after moment of letting things out of my control happen to me. My parents never really let me do much, either because we didn't have money, or they decided it wasn't right. I had to move out young after they died, and that didn't give me much of a choice in where to work and where to rent. I didn't even have a chance to think about what my major would've been.

Being a waitress meant doing what you're told when you're told, which table to go to and what to bring them, and what to clean. The work itself was fine, it's just... everything around it. The same awful people just as trapped here as I am, the same inconsiderate boss that barely pays me enough to buy vegetables, the same disgusting smell of fish and chips, all building up and coagulating little by little.

The only way I could get through an average work day was by shutting my brain off and just letting my body move on its own. The years I've worked there have just been the same fog of meaningless obedience. It's a sort of torture, suppressing your ego all just to become your work, for the sake of people you hate. Just feeling full and heavy and gross.

That's how I survived most of my life. Ever since I started school, I learned quick that you keep your head down and go with the flow. Don't be too loud, too big, too anything. Just look pretty and do what you're told without thinking too hard about what you're doing. Try not to feel too much.

Of course dying isn't that big of a deal. I don't feel like I was ever truly alive, ever something that could really be called a person.

Oh, I'm home.

God it's so cold out. It's like the wind is trying to bite me through my coat. I really wish our heating worked, but I've given up trying to fight for it a long time ago.

I can hear the music from here. I swear to fucking god if she's throwing another party I'm going to scream. She can't keep doing this, she really can't.

I fumble with my keys because it's too cold in the hallway, and I struggle with the lock because it hasn't been replaced in over a decade. This is the right key, and I keep trying to turn it, but it won't unlock and my fingers are starting to hurt.

Today needs to end. Please. I just need to stop, after everything, I just need things to stop and let me be still for a single fucking-

Finally.

I leave the door open for as little time as I can. I don't even take my coat off before I march into the living room. She's there, on the couch with more friends than I've ever met. They're all smiling, talking with each other, and having fun. They're smoking weed inside.

I need to stop looking at the one sitting on the arm of the couch, she's not important right now.

"Hey, what the fuck?!" I raise my voice to be heard over the music and drunken ramblings. "I told you that you can't keep doing this, I'M the one who gets in shit for this with the landlord!"

She looked around her, gauging her guests' reactions. She forces a timid smile. "Hey, you don't have to make a big deal out of this, alright? Nothing's gonna happen if nobody tells on us, so just relax." She turns away from me, back to the others. To the woman on the arm of the couch. My roommate falls into this sort of drunken fawning, trying to excuse my behaviour, but that woman on the arm of the couch doesn't join in with them exaggeratedly rolling their eyes or shooing me away.

"I'm not the bad guy here! You're the one who keeps...!" I wince, bringing a hand over my eyes as I recoil into the door frame. It's so loud. "Fuck it, I can't do this with you, I'm going to bed." I turn and leave and slam my door and lock it. She turns the music back up. I'm ordering food and going to sleep.

After I stop crying.

. . . . .

"Do you like your life, darling?"

I'm floating. I'm naked. I can't tell where I am. I don't think I'm anywhere.

"...No."

The woman from earlier. I couldn't stop thinking about her all night. The way she looked, how she carried herself, it was just stuck in my brain.

She's so... big. She's towering over me. I'm like a toy, barely up to her shins.

This isn't a dream. She's there. I can feel her in front of me, almost more real than being awake. I've never been more lucid before.

"Such a poor thing..." She looks so sad. For me?

She's kneeling. "Let me take all that hurt away. I've always wanted nothing more than to help someone like you live the life they deserve." I should be scared. I shouldn't trust her. "I already know you'd make such a good doll~"

I look down at my body. It's fluctuating, moving in and out as I look at myself. My torso is flat and wooden like a marionette, but with each breath in it expands with cloth instead of skin. I can feel the seems of my stitches, the plastic of my joints, the clattering of my porcelain, all at once. It feels... welcome.

She's reaching for me. I know I should flinch, I should be scared of her crushing me as she wraps her hands around me like a doll, but I can't even remember what such a distrust would feel like. She's pulling me to eye level.

Why does her touch feel so... nice?

I feel a breach, like I've just come up for air. I can feel my soul hack and sputter, and finally begin to breathe. I've never felt so light, so emptied. Everything disgusting inside of myself was drained away. Have I been drowning all this time?

"Meet me whenever you're ready, darling." I know where she means. I see her manor, grand and sprawling, but tucked away just out of sight. I can see it so perfectly. "I'll be waiting for you there."

Her hands start to loosen, and I start to fall, further and further away from Miss.

I inhale sharply, way too deeply, as I wake up. It feels like I'm gasping for air. My whole body... hurts is the wrong word, there's a heavy rawness pulsating through me. It's not the heaviness normally in my chest. I'm in a puddle of sweat. I can feel my heartbeat behind my eyes.

My phone says it's 4:37 am. I don't care. I need to see her.

. . . . .

It's a blur. I'm on autopilot, too wired to think. This doesn't feel like before, this isn't the fog. This is pure intention.

I find myself in my car, driving to her. I know where to go, I know. I need to get there. I can't afford to waste any time.

I leave my car parked on a dirt road and wander into the forest just as the sun starts to rise. I didn't bother grabbing anything I didn't need to get here, and I left what i did grab in the car anyway. I didn't even take the keys out of the ignition. Whatever happens, I'm not coming back.

It's a few minutes of walking from the road to her manor. I have plenty of time to reconsider. It's not too late to go back. I'm afraid, of course. My self-preservation is trying to restrain me by my neck. But every time I think about giving into that fear, that complacency stopping me from stepping into the unknown, the idea of returning to what was... I keep walking. I couldn't explain why. Too much momentum, too heavy to bother stopping.

I'm here. Oh god, this is really happening. I lean against the house on an outstretched arm as I stare at the front door. It's thick and wooden, like something from a fairy tale. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and raise a fist. She opens the door before I can knock.

This is really happening.

"Oh, I'm so happy you came, darling!" She quickly reaches an arm around me and ushers me through the door. "And so quick, too! I knew I made the right choice."

She sits me down on the couch and disappears just a room away. Before I can even admire the decor, she returns with two glasses, and a jug of iced tea. She sits down beside me, pours herself a glass, and sets the jug out of my reach.

She takes a swig of her drink, leaning back and swirling it in her cup. She stretches her arm across the back of the couch. I could cuddle up to her so easily, and I've never before felt this tempted to do that with someone. "Tell me what you know about dolls."

I feel something I've never felt before. Just a little, just enough.

"U-uh..." I try to gather everything I can. I don't know why I'm so caught off guard by the question, I came here for a reason. But saying it out loud, actually articulating these feelings, is something totally foreign.

"A doll is like a person, but... not." I take a deep breath. I feel like I'm standing in front of a stadium of thousands. "Witches use their magic to turn people into dolls so they can have servants. And... there are rules to being a doll, like how you have to call yourself an object, and do everything you're told."

I look at her for approval. She's waiting for me to continue. "Am I gonna be a doll?"

The witch almost... melts. She has such a kind, compassionate smile. She sets her drink down and turns her body to face me as much as she can. "Do you want to be a doll, darling?"

"I... I mean, I, uh..." I have never felt more like prey. Why is my face so warm? I'd do anything for her.

She reaches out and takes my hands, that I was holding up to my chest defensively. I leave them limp, just letting her grab them. I feel my shoulders start to lower just a little bit. She's so warm.

"Dolls are empty spaces shaped like people." She teaches me. "Dolls are objects that are obedient and docile. There's a special feeling they have called stillness, where your thoughts go away and you just feel happy." She starts to smile, a tender eagerness. "Can you feel it now?"

I feel it. I feel it. I feel it, I feel it. The stillness. She's making me still. It's gone. I don't feel heavy. I'm empty in such a wonderful way. I feel like I could float through the breeze for the rest of my life and be perfectly happy. Like I could do anything, and I would be happy. Is this what life was supposed to feel like? All this time?

"It's a big decision, darling." Her voice is so... magical. It's calming, it's exciting, it's everything to me. "This can only happen if you want it to. Think about your old life, everything you'll leave behind. This is your last chance."

I think about being a human. I think about everything that comes with being a human, the things I'll lose. My autonomy, my identity, things I was never granted in the first place. The privilege of destroying my self just a little every day, all to save myself the trouble of feeling. More than anything, that disgusting heavy feeling, the filth so deeply compacted inside me I thought it was inherent to being.

"Y... y-yes... yes, I want to be a doll!" I'm smiling so wide. Crying hasn't felt this good in a long, long time.

The witch smiles back at me. She pulls me into her, hugging me so tenderly. She's soft, and warm, and so many things.

"You're going to become such a good doll."

Good doll. I can finally feel good.

[sillylittleguy420]

It always sort of upset how much people in this fandom seem to misread Giyuu and Shinobu's relationship? Not in the sense that it "is or isn't romantic" but more so in the sense that Giyuu is a sensitive wittle baby and Shinobu is bullying him - I hate that read, it feels like a lot of people have just NEVER had actual friends in their entire lives - and more importantly I feel like it downplays the obvious fact that these two are really fucking tight.

I mean I could bring up the fact that Giyuu manages to match Shinobu's passive aggressive energy, Shinobu being the only person outside of Ubuyashiki who GETS Giyuu in any meaningful way (According to the Light Novels, which we can assume are canon. I mean hopefully, that's literally where half of the dynamics come from, BECAUSE THE MAIN SERIES SURE AS SHIT NEVER ESTABLISHED ANY OF THESE -), Giyuu having a clear reaction to her death in Infinity Castle, or even Shinobu knowing exactly what Giyuu means when he says "I'm not like you guys" and telling him to explain himself. But instead - I will raise another point!!!! It's clear that when these two banter there's a clear sense of Catharsis between them. Shinobu gets to drop the act and actually be herself, and Giyuu can loosen his shoulders and relax. I think them gnawing at each others throats during Mount Natagumo is a pretty clear example of their dynamic - even if it's more violent than it would usually be. It's very sibling coded if I had to put a nail on it? There's not really a sense of decorum between the two of them, it feels like at any moment either one of the two will throw a jab at the other. Maybe a "You're not reaching that, even on your toes." Or a "Ah, Your awful expression scared those kids away! For shame." And I think both of them appreciate that level of comfortability. If she was paired with anyone else during Natagumo, I don't think Shinobu would've been so biting? Like if it was Rengoku, Mitsuri, or even Sanemi? (Who I think she's also VERY close with, but in a completely different context to her relationship with Giyuu) I think she would've kept up the air of kindness, instead of jumping straight to "Nobody likes you, you fucking dork." But because it was her favorite Wet Cat of a man, she felt comfortable in being so crude. Even if Giyuu probably sat on that for a while for sure. He probably made direct eye contact with Tanjiro and went "Kamado likes me. . ." in his head. But ah, that's a part of the reason I view it as so sibling coded. I wish we got to see more of Shinobu and Giyuu's dynamic, we got a bit in Giyuu Gaiden, and some in the light novels, but it never felt substantial enough for me - and that's probably why so many people misread it so thoroughly, because the series doesn't really do a good enough job of establishing their sibling-like relationship and ribbing tendencies. Then again. . . Demon Slayer and not expanding on these fun and interesting characters in any meaningful way outside of the exact moment where they fucking DIE go pretty hand in hand.