#drafting last will and testament

[tenth-sentence]

That old bastard was rich enough to name African countries after himself and in a draft of his will he laid out plans for a secret society dedicated to planetary domination by English-speaking peoples.

"Right Story, Wrong Story: Adventures in Indigenous Thinking" - Tyson Yunkaporta

[thaiattorney]

Drafting Last Will and Testament in Thailand

Why You Need to Make a Last Will and Testament in Thailand

It is imperative to create a final will and testament in your nation of residence, whether you reside in Thailand or not. Learn why you should create a will in Thailand, what happens if you pass away without one, and what to include in your Thai will in this article. The following advice will help you create a Thai last will and testament. After you've finished making the list, you can begin writing your will.

Why You Need a Will in Thailand

With a will, you specify who will receive your possessions upon your passing. Wills can be quite complex even if they may seem straightforward. After all, nobody is certain of their own death date. It's possible for a child designated as the owner's heir to pass away before receiving anything. For instance, in Thailand, a former husband could sue you for your fortune. Depending on your preferences, you can even specify contingencies like presents to particular relatives or even charities. Without a Thai Will, Thailand's laws will decide how to distribute your possessions after you pass away. Thai regulations are exceptionally stringent despite the fact that Thailand is a country with many different languages. For legal validity, a Thai Will must be translated into Thai. Also, two people must sign any Thai wills. After that, you can register the paper at the district office closest to you. This legal document will enable you to safeguard your loved ones while transferring your property.

What Happens When You Die Without a Will

Thailand has different laws than the majority of other nations. For instance, in Thailand, only one individual may be named as a beneficiary in a will, and no one may serve as both a witness and a beneficiary. The Thai government will decide who gets what from your estate if you don't leave a will. Specific guidelines surrounding inheritance are contained in the Thai Commercial and Civil Law. A properly executed will ensures that your desires are carried out and that no one is overlooked. You want to think about creating a will if you have property in Thailand. The division of property is governed by stringent rules in Thailand. Your spouse will immediately receive half of your common property if you are married. The remainder will be given to your children and legal heirs. Your spouse, children, or those who are legally married must be your heirs. If you die in Thailand without making a will, your possessions will be divided between your spouse and the government.

What to Include in Your Last Will in Thailand

Whether you live in Thailand or another country, you should make a Last Will and Testament (LWT) for your assets before you die. It details what you want done with your Thai assets after your death. A valid Thai will must be written by a person of sound mind in one of the prescribed forms. Your spouse will be the beneficiary of half of your estate. Your Thai will should also state who is to inherit your property and any other assets.

Thai will laws are very different than in other countries. They differ in certain ways, so be sure to familiarize yourself with Thai will laws and the requirements for preparing one. In Thailand, a witness cannot be a beneficiary of the will. To create a valid will, the writer of the will must sign a statement declaring that he is the writer. If you have minor children, you may choose to name a “controller of property” in your will.

Visit our website: https://thai-attorney.com/drafting-last-will-and-testament-in-thailand/

[deathbxnny]

Hi! I really love your fic. Could you write oneshot reader x Viktor that reader has imposter syndrome and they blame themselves for little mistakes. How would Viktor comfort them?

The failed overachiever. | Viktor x Gn!Reader

I'm feeling a little better again healthwise, so I hope this is good, Anon! Thank you for your request and enjoy!<3

Content: Imposter syndrome, pre season 2 viktor, some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, Reader is a genius, established romantic relationship, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not proofread))

"Ah no, no, no! This just won't do!" You hiss out as you toss another paper filled with prototype scribbles in the trash. Working on your latest projects was already a painful drag, but it certainly didn't help that you just couldn't make up your mind. The equations you have come up with also seemed wrong. And the deadline to the showcasing was coming closer and closer!

Sleep was rare to find these days, mainly as you were stuck trying to chase a perfection you just simply never have found yet in your lifetime. An impossible feat you were unwilling to give up on no matter what. The many endless achievements that littered the walls of your laboratory were a clear statement to your deep desperation. You were practically renowned for your genius innovation and philosophies, but they never reached your mind. To you, they felt undeserving as in every one you could only see the flaws and mistakes you've made.

You couldn't escape the cycle of self hate you've trapped yourself in for years now... but that didn't mean that your dear boyfriend Viktor wasn't going to try and help you anyway.

Viktor narrowly dodged an incoming crumbled paper when he entered your laboratory late into the night. You hadn't left it in days now, and whilst it may have very well been hypocritical of him, he had come to bring you to bed. You used to do this often to him as well, way before the obsession for a flawless project had taken over you, but ever since you've been asked to present your latest projects at a inventors gala, things changed for the worst. He was already familiar with your rather self-destructive behaviors and was deeply concerned by them, another form of hypocrisy on his part, he supposed.

Tilting his head at your hunched over form, he carefully approached you, the sound of his cane making you hum weakly in acknowledgment. "Rough night?" He joked, although you found less amusement in it as you shook your head in disappointment. "I am simply enraged by everything! Every draft is worse than the last, and the deadline is in two weeks, and I have yet to finish a thing, and, and-" You let out a frustrated string of curses, before near swiping everything off your work desk. "I'm just... such a failure... nothing I do is good enough. Every mistake is a testament to how little I deserve my position as a scientist and professor."

Viktor frowned gently at your clear defeat, the tears in your eyes making his heart ache. He knew that feeling all too well. And he never wanted you to feel it, too. You were a genius beyond every measure. People followed your inventions like they were religion, always so eager for the latest news. Yet you never saw that part of your success. In fact, not an ounce of you believed you were successful by your own volition either. Every achievement and reward was just dumb luck to you.

"I don't think that's true." He started as he leaned down with great difficulty to grab some papers you had thrown away in rage. "And no one else does either. You're this generations genius. Everyone knows this... but you. And that's sad, my love." His words were soft and warm, the sweetness making you turn to look at him, whilst he sat down in a chair and flipped through your work intently like he always did. Patting his good leg, he invited you to sit in his lap, something that always made you nervous despite him making it clear that it didn't hurt him. Yet you indulged him this time without protest, desperate for some comfort.

He chuckled when you quickly hid your face in his neck, not wanting to embarrass yourself with the tears that were burning in your eyes. Pulling you close with his unoccupied hand, he pressed a kiss to your head and looked over your notes with a prideful glint in his eyes. "Your work moves and inspires thousands. Everyone knows of it and praises it like its gospel. You should be more kind to yourself... which may be hypocritical of me to say, but it's true nonetheless. Your work is perfection." "I don't think it is. The mistakes are so foolish that they are unforgivable." "Hardly." Leaning away, he made enough room to make you see the papers. "This is a flawless equation, and the design is impressive... may I watch you work on it? It would be an honor, my love." The man hummed, making you blink in surprise before you collected your ego and jumped up with a determined, yet flustered look on your face. "Well! If you really think that, then I suppose you can! But don't expect me to slow down for you!" You huffed out, making his smile widen. There you were. The prideful scholar he fell in love with so many years ago.

You began picking and setting things back up, your head turned away from him as you spoke. "... Thank you, by the way. I really needed to hear that." Viktor's eyes glowed with a warm, loving glow as he watched you, his heart full at watching you do what you loved the most.

"No need to thank me. I'll always be there for you."

[azullumi]

“midnight calls and comforts” ; alhaitham

summary — you call him in the middle of the night, unable to sleep and only wishing to hear him.

pairing — alhaitham (w/gender neutral reader)

tags — fluff, established relationship, modern settings, never proof-read ; ficlet/scenario

words — 776

note — hello hehe, did i put aside all of my drafts and did this instead? yes, i did

a ring crashes through the silence of the night, abruptly disrupting the tranquility of it. the continuous sound of tapping being put on halt in the process.

alhaitham who was up and working on his laptop briefly wondered who would call him at this time of the night, it was already well past midnight and most would have been asleep at this point—except for you, whose name was displayed across the screen with the sign ‘<’ and the number 3 next to it.

“yes, love?” he answers, placing the phone against his ear, “calling at this hour seems a little late, isn’t it? is something the matter?”

he maintains the same tone that he always speaks whenever he’s with you, a gentle melody laced with affection, but this time, there was a subtle shift: a touch of worry embracing the usual symphony. just the sound of his voice reassures you of your worries, like a gentle tide that caresses your feet lovingly as it crashes against the shore or a soft touch of the wind as it passes you by.

he hears a sigh coming from the other line before he hears your words: “i can’t sleep.”

“it appears so.”

“are you… busy?” he can sense the hesitance in your tone, afraid that you might be bothering him at this moment. he looks over the open document with the last paragraph left unfinished, the several windows splayed across his laptop screen, and the many tabs that conquers the very top of his browser, and then answers: “no, not as of the moment.”

a short silence ensues before you reply, “are you really?”

he didn’t fail to notice how the call became quiet for a little while after that; alhaitham doesn’t know what to say at that moment, if he should press on with his fib or admit that he was indeed occupied with many things; sure, he was busy but he’s (never) not too busy to spend some time with you, especially at this instant that there seems to be something clouding your mind, persisting and preventing you from falling asleep. besides, he has to admit, he misses you for a bit in this loneliness that this hushed night brings—hearing you does indeed stir some motivation in him, pushing him to finish the last of his work.

“can i stay on call with you?” you speak up once more.

“if you wish so, of course.”

the both of you didn’t speak for a while but the silence that rests wasn’t uncomfortable. alhaitham resumes with his work as the sound of keys tapping did—it was the only thing that you can hear from the other line, yet it was enough to tell you that he was there, that he’s right there with you always, and just the thought of it eases some comfort in your bones.

“what are you doing?”

“just working on a paper, aiming to complete it tonight and clear my agenda of any lingering tasks."

you hum, “have you had any rest?”

“i was able to, even though it was brief.”

in the ensuing quiet that persists, time drifted by. the sole audible sound consisted of hushed breaths, subtle shuffling, and the continuous tap-dance of fingers on keys, occasionally interrupted by the soft scribbling of a pen against paper and your voice that calls out to his name.

“alhaitham?”

he hums as an answer.

“oh, nothing.”

a moment slips by again.

“‘haitham?”

“i’m here.”

it didn’t require an extraordinary intellect to discern that you were simply asking for an assurance, a subtle dance of your intentions were very much clear to him. a delicate tether ensuring his presence remained entwined with yours. and he doesn’t tire of providing you with such assurances if it was to ease your mind, this gesture of his proving to be a testament to his commitment and affection to you; alhaitham was your anchor in the ebb and flow of uncertainties.

a moment passes by once more, fleeting. alhaitham had already finished the last of his work, closing the laptop and setting it aside. he takes notice of the other line of the call being completely silent, no murmur of rustling sheets nor an echo of your voice reaching out to him. there was only nothing but the soft cadence of your breathing filling the quiet space, proving the peaceful surrender of sleep that had claimed you.

a soothing warmth settled within him, painting a tender smile on his lips. he whispers into the serene stillness, “goodnight, my love.” pressing a kiss upon the cool surface phone screen, a silent yearning for it to be your lips beneath instead.

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[eliciana]

Reverse SAGAU: The Weird Door At My Café

-> Chapter 1(Here)| Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | ...

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Hello everyone, pls don't expect much from this chapter,which is going to be part of a series, will be that good. I may have grammatical errors and wrong spellings so please don't hesitate to tell me in the comments about it. English is not my main language. Also, I write some very descriptive and long scenes about what the reader does because i got used to writing descriptive essays so please bear with the long paragraphs and sentences. Thank you.

And yes, I'm back. Also the Misunderstanding series will be updated after my exams this is just in my drafts and I wanted to just upload it.

-Eli

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Tw: Reverse!Isekai!Sagau, Normal Au, Café Au, a bit of cussing like this bit 🤏.

Reader: Gn!Reader, Adult!Reader, Café Owner!Reader

Characters: Reader

Note: Restaurant to Another World animanga inspired au. You can slide into my dms (😝 im joking bro) if you ever want to be tagged in my works just tell me what series you want to be tagged in or all of them. thank you <3.

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You close your eyes and think back to that very fateful day — the day that entirely altered your life's course and shatter any semblance of normalcy you once knew. The memory is etched in your mind, clear and vivid. The secret your café had.

You had always dreamed of owning your very own café when you get older. It had always consumed your thoughts and fueled your ambitions. Doing everything you can to be able to make your dream come true. It was a dream that guided you through your highs and lows, the setbacks and triumphs, and now, your very own cafe is now right infront of your eyes. You stand awe, gazing upon your newly built dream café that represents your years of hard work and dedication. It almost feels surreal. The weight of such an accomplishment settles in your shoulders, filling with a sense of pride that it threatens to burst out of your chest.

The obstacles and challenges you faced along the way have not gone unnoticed. The countless hours of planning, the sacrifices made, the hurdles overcome—each scar and battle wound a testament to your unwavering determination. They have shaped you into the person you are today, a person who is standing on the precipice of their own extraordinary creation. In this moment, you can't help but reflect on how far you have come. You just want to curl up into a ball and cry for how proud you are for yourself.

As you approach the door to your café, your hand trembles with anticipation. You grasp the smooth handle, feeling the coolness of the metal against your palm, and slowly turn it. The door swung open, emitting a soft creak that pierced the silence. Above it, a small, quaint bell dangled delicately, waiting to be disturbed. The cascade of delicate notes wove together seamlessly, announcing your presence, like a whispered greeting to anyone who would listen.

You stare in awe and wonder at the interior design of your cafe , captivated by it's beauty. The space exceeds your imagination and sketches, each detail meticulously brought to life. You explore every corner, your eyes eager to take in every detail. The plants you selected with great care breathe life into the space, their vibrant green leaves adding a touch of freshness and enhancing the cozy, warm aura you envisioned. Sunlight steams through the windows, casting a golden glow that illuminates upon your carefully handpicked furniture, adding a touch of charm. Every detail, from the placement of tables and chairs to the color palette and textures and to the shelf placed at the wall behind the counter with small sized standees of genshin impact, comes together harmoniously, painting a reality that is more beautiful than it was in your imagination.

You took one last look at your own café, only to catch sight of a door that had seemingly materialized out of thin air. It wasn't in your sketches, nor was it part of the layout you had memorized. How could something so out of place suddenly appear in your beloved café? How weird. You were sure that when you went inside this café it was never there. It was on the opposite side of the front entrance door of your café. It had a very different kind of design from the doors you had. How weird . Were you perhaps hallucinating? Was your stress and sleep deprivation finally getting to you? You resort to pinching and slapping your cheeks in an attempt to jolt yourself back to reality. Nope. You can still see it. You rushed to go outside of your café. As you step out into the open, your eyes scanning the exterior, you're met with a surprising revelation—the door you saw inside your café is nowhere to be found. It's as if it had vanished into thin air, leaving you bewildered and questioning your senses.

Nonetheless, you breathed a heavy sigh of relief and once again went inside of your café, blaming your hallucination to your stress. However, as your eyes scanned the interior again, you saw the door still there.

'Oh, hell no.' You thought and quickly opened the front door again, took a look at the exterior, look at the door inside, and continued doing that action for a minute. Yup, you're officialy hallucinating.

You looked at the strange door and felt a nagging feeling of curiousity wanting to try and open that door. Maybe it was actually a big ass sticker that one of the builders placed as a prank. You never know. Steeling yourself, you went closer to the door on your tippy toes. Carefully trying to be quiet. Why? You don't know. You just knew you had to. Maybe it was an instinct of yours. You were now infront of the door and you tried reaching for the door knob still thinking it was a sticker but the coolness feeling in your hands said uno reverse. You abruptly took back your hand in shock. You stared down at the atrocity in front of you. You quickly raised your foot and took off your shoes/heel/slipper and held onto it tightly. Preparing yourself to open the door, you took in a deep breath and reached for the door knob once more. Twisting it open, a ray of sunlight shone through the small crack as you pushed the door open gently.

Your eyes widen at the sight infront of you as you had fully opened the door. The grip your hand had on your lethal weapon widened and it slipped from your hands. The sight infront of you was so surreal. 'This can't be true, right?' your head was going to so many places, unable to comprehend what was going on. You felt kinda dizzy.

You would be a fool not to recognize this place that you had seen so many times throughout your life. A few kilometers infront of you was the City of Mondstadt in view. You could even see the knights guarding the gate and Timmie with his pigeons at the bridge.

The weird door from your cafe was actually a door to the Genshin Impact world. Wow... wtf.

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also pls take a look at my poorly drawn drawing of what your view looks like cause for the love of god I can't seem to explain it:

Also you're in a cliff or something. so yeah

Taglist:

None

[nanamineedstherapy]

Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

Minors DNI/Implied Cheating but not really/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?” The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. “Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How’d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

Masterlist

[blairkiss]

Stressed night.

Fluff, Reader POV, Female Reader, Housewife!Reader, Worried!Reader, Stressed!Miranda, Comfort fic

by @blairkiss … this has been rotting in my drafts for a while

I was perched on the edge of the couch, the flicker of the television casting shadows across the living room. A half-eaten plate of lasagna sat beside me, the scent still wafting in the air, mingling with the aroma of simmering pasta in the kitchen. I had planned this evening meticulously, right down to the golden-brown crust of the lasagna that bubbled away, feeling the warmth and richness fill not just the dish but the essence of our home.

Miranda's shift always felt so long, stretching the minutes into hours. As a constable in the Sydney Police Force, the unpredictability of her job kept me on edge. When she was late, my heart would race not just from worry but from a visceral need to have her back in my arms. Sometimes, late or not, I would often indulged in the fantasy that maybe this time she would walk through the door with a smile that could brighten up the grimmest day, though I know that it was far too unlikely.

The clock ticked softly, and I flicked my eyes to its face. Nearly seven o'clock. Tonight, she’d promised to be home early. As the thought danced in my mind, my phone vibrated on the coffee table, shattering my reverie and drawing me back into reality.

It was a message from Miranda:

Last call out? I’m sorry. I’ll be home soon

Of course. I tossed the phone onto the couch in frustration, even as I felt the urge to understand. The nature of her work was unpredictable, but part of me still ached for her presence, the soothing, sultry warmth of her touch, the way she breathed life into the stillness of our home.

It wasn’t long before the heavy sound of keys rattling at the door made my heart leap. A second later, the door swung open, and in walked my wife. The façade of official authority melted off her like wax as she slipped inside — her broad shoulders slumping slightly, those soft eyes now edged with fatigue.

“Hey, gorgeous,” I murmured, a smile breaking across my face in spite of myself.

She returned a tired grin, her voice laden with warmth despite the weariness that draped her like a worn coat. “How was your day?”

“Long. I missed you,” I admitted, feeling a smile hitch at the end of my lips.

She placed her bag down by the door, her blue uniform twisted into angles that I had grown to love — the way it hugged her toned frame, a testament to the work she put in at the gym when she was off duty. But it was her eyes, always, that softened the color of the uniform; they twinkled with an energy that was unmistakably so… Miranda.

“I’m sorry about tonight. I wanted to be here for dinner.” She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my head.

“It’s okay, love. I started without you,” I teased, the warmth of her body banishing the chill of disappointment I had felt only minutes before.

“I’m starving!” she declared, releasing me to head straight for the kitchen, a usual routine, that Miranda and I danced like the waltz each night. I followed, my heart swirling at the sight of her. Every day, standing beside her felt like a privilege — her tall, athletic physique, all defined lines and strength contrasted with my more delicate frame. Together, we fit like two puzzle pieces, strong and soft, perfectly aligned in so many ways.

“Lasagna?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Did you make it from scratch?”

“Of course, Mir! I hope you didn’t think I’d let you eat any more of that takeout from last week.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, reaching for a slice and shoving a forkful into her mouth, her face delighting at the taste. “You’re the best.”

As she ate, we spoke of mundane things: her cases, the struggles at the precinct, and my day spent mostly at home. But somewhere in the back of my head, I could feel that the conversation was only a bandage covering something else. I glanced over at her, her expression darkening slightly.

“Is everything alright at work? Any new leads on the ChinaGirl case?” I inquired, referring to a long-standing case that had become something of a thorn in her side.

“It’s complicated,” she replied, pushing her food around on her plate as if it were the lasagna reflecting her mood rather than her plate. “I just feel responsible. Like it’s my job to solve this so that the city can find peace.”

Her voice was tinged with pressure; I could see the shadows of doubt slipping into her mind. I reached across the table and grasped her hand, the familiar warmth grounding her.

“Miranda,” I said softly, “you can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders alone, you know that? It’s okay to lean on me.”

A flicker of a smile crossed her face, gratitude shining through the creases of worry. “I know. I just... I need to stay strong.”

“You are strong,” I said, giving her hand a squeeze. “But even the strongest people need help sometimes.”

“I think I just need you to always be around me,” she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper.

After dinner, I washed the dishes while Miranda settled into her favorite spot on the couch, sinking into the cushions with a soft sigh. I joined her, curling up beside her and resting my head on her shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me, and in that moment, everything felt perfect.

The world outside was chaotic, but here, in our little sanctuary, I felt nothing but peace. Miranda’s presence was my therapy, the soundtrack of her soft breath pulling me away from the anxieties that waited just outside our door.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” she murmured, her voice dangling in the air like a melody.

“Yes, let’s do that.”

[makissecretgirlfriend]

Late night stroll ✨️

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Pairing: &team maki × f!reader

Genre: Fluff and a little suggestive

Warnings: Kissing(pda)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡☆♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

The air in Seoul hummed with a late-night energy, a vibrant contrast to the quietude of their shared apartment. Y/N, hand-in-hand with Maki, felt a familiar thrill course through her. He, ever the observant one, had noticed the wistful look in her eyes as they watched the city lights twinkle below from their balcony. "Want to go for a walk?" he'd suggested, a gentle smile gracing his lips.

And so, they found themselves strolling along the Han River, the cool night breeze a welcome respite from the stifling summer heat. The city lights reflected on the water's surface, creating a mesmerizing display of shimmering colors.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Y/N breathed, her voice soft. Maki squeezed her hand, his gaze drawn to her face. "Sure... but you know what'smore beautifu?" Maki asked as Y/N's gaze shifted to him. "What?" She asked, raising her left eyebrow at him. "You." Y/N blushed, playfully swatting his arm. "Cheesy." He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Only for you."

They continued their walk in comfortable silence, the occasional murmur of conversation breaking the tranquility. They talked about their day, about their dreams, about their fears. Maki, usually guarded, opened up to her in a way he rarely did with anyone else. He shared his anxieties about his career, his insecurities about being worthy of her love.

Y/N listened intently, her heart aching for him. She reached out, her fingers tracing the lines on his face. "You're amazing, Maki. Talented, kind, strong... You have nothing to worry about." He looked at her, his eyes searching hers. "But what if I'm not enough for you?"

"You're more than enough," she assured him, her voice firm. "You're everything to me." He leaned in, his breath warm on her skin. "I love you, Y/Ν." He whispered. "I love you too, Maki," she whispered back, her voice trembling with emotion.

They shared a long, lingering kiss under the watchful gaze of the city lights. It was a kiss filled with love, with passion, with the promise of a future together. As they walked further, they stumbled upon a small, unassuming bridge adorned with colorful locks, each one a symbol of love and commitment. Maki, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, pulled a small lock from his pocket. "For us," he said, slipping it onto the railing.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with warmth. They engraved their initials on the lock, their fingers brushing against each other as they worked. "Forever," she murmured, her voice barely audible. Maki nodded, his eyes fixed on her. "Forever."

They spent the rest of the night wandering through the city, hand-in-hand, their laughter echoing through the streets. They visited a late-night cafe, sipping on hot chocolate and sharing stories. They watched street performers, their eyes wide with wonder.

As the night wore on, they found themselves back at the river, the city lights reflecting on the water, mirroring the love that shone in their eyes. "This is perfect," Y/N sighed, leaning against him. Maki wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It is," he agreed, "as long as I'm with you."

They stayed like that for a long time, simply enjoying each other's presence. The city lights a silent witness to their love story. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the sky, they reluctantly made their way back to their apartment, their hearts filled with a warmth that would last long after the night had faded.

The walk had been more than just a stroll; it was a journey into the depths of their souls, a testament to the strength of their love. And as they drifted off to sleep, hand-in-hand, they knew that this was just the beginning of their beautiful story.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡☆♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

A/n: This is a short story that has been sitting on my draft for a long time now, and I don't know what came over me to write this. Also, im very sorry for not posting for a while. English is not my first language, and I'm sorry for any of the grammar errors if I have some.

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[hellfiresky]

The rain pauses too

Summary: A chance encounter during a rainy afternoon in Coruscant’s Federal District leads to a fleeting conversation between a weary worker and an equally tired clone trooper.

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2067

Warnings: None

A/N: This is my very first x Reader fic and my first-ever one-shot! Inspired by today’s rainy morning that lingered until midday, paired with Vienna by Billy Joel playing on repeat.

Join the taglist if you’re interested

(Rex picture from TCW and Coruscant from Episode III, Yannick Dusseault. The photo in the middle is courtesy of myself)

———————————————————————————

You finger brushed your damp hair back and tucked it behind your ears. The hovertrain was busy that morning, like almost every morning in the Galactic City. You couldn’t remember when was the last time you could effortlessly enter the train and get yourself a seat - you always had to squeeze your way in and hope to god you wouldn’t crash into someone holding a hot caf and spilled it on their shirt. This time, at least, you managed to snag a free grab handle - better than leaning awkwardly against the separator by the door. It was raining again. You wondered if the weather control systems were glitching. There’d been reports about that last month - supposed to be summer, but instead, everyone was layering up like it was autumn. It took a week for the engineers to fix it because, of course, the topsiders raised hell over their ruined summer picnics.

The next station is Orowood. The doors on the right side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform.

A sigh escaped your lips. Five more stations, you thought. You wished you could live closer to your office, but your mid-level salary didn’t stretch to the business district. You wonder how it would be when the war ends - would it be cheaper then? Or would things be worse? And this entire galaxy would go into a galactic-wide dystopia and you would have to find the latest available commercial starship to fuck off this planet and go to some desolate rock like Tatooine? Or worse, a Cthon outbreak might turn the Remnants of Us holoseries into reality. At least that universe had that handsome Kiffar actor.

The next station is Calocour Heights. The doors on the left side will open. Please mind the gap between the train and the platform. Change here for the Federal, Southern, Rotunda, and Uscru Line.

Finally. You muttered the word under your breath as you double-checked your pockets - no pickpockets today, thankfully. You slipped into the river of commuters flowing towards the escalators, and finally broke off towards your usual tapcafe as its shutters slid open. Four people ahead in line. Not bad. You stepped into place, already tasting the first sip of caf. The next few minutes was a blur, it was like your body moving on autopilot to where you work as a communications specialist for the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund. The next thing you knew you were in front of your terminal, clacking on your keyboard for the next press release on the joint effort between ICAF and the Galactic Senate, a collaboration so mind-numbingly routine.

Your datapad vibrated on the desk, demanding your attention. You scrolled through the business group chats. The protocol group for the Core Worlds Educational Reform Committee hadn’t replied to your request for a quote from their head senator. Typical. You’d sent the request yesterday, clearly marked urgent, but as usual, anything involving Senate bureaucracy felt like trying to steer a starship through a nebula without sensors. You returned to the draft on your screen, re-reading it for the third time, wondering if you could sneak in one of the standard placeholder quotes: "This initiative is a testament to the enduring cooperation between the Galactic Senate and civic organisations like ICAF." You winced. Generic. Sounded like you asked a droid to write it. Still, it might have to do unless the protocol group got their act together.

By the time your shift ended, the rain had returned, misting the transparisteel windows of Galactic City's towering spires. The train ride home felt heavier somehow, and you didn’t even bother to grab a handle this time, just leaned back against the cold separator and let your mind drift. You thought about nothing. You thought about everything. About how things might get worse before they got better - if they ever got better. Funnily, nothing was happening. It was neutral. Your life was neutral. You had a great career, a group of friends that you occasionally have drinks with, a nice one bedroom apartment in Orange District. It was alright.

Along the way, you changed your mind and got off the train at the Federal District where you were greeted by the drizzle. The shoes you’d splurged on last week as a treat splashed against shallow puddles as you turned down a quieter street, a detour you didn’t usually take. It was quieter here. Dimmer. And you liked that. You didn’t usually come to the Federal District unless work demanded it, but today you thought it might be worth reacquainting yourself. Another annual event loomed in the horizon - a grand affair hosted by the Galactic Senate involving a coalition of organisations, including your own. Something about health and youth in conflict zones - worthy on paper, meaningless in execution. You’d written enough press releases to know these things rarely scratched the surface, let alone solved anything. You marvelled at how different the neighbourhood is compared to the other topside districts - always well-guarded and clean.

You spotted the venue where the event will be held and watched from under your umbrella. You could already picture it: the Senate representatives filing in, the Chancellor delivering the opening remarks, followed by yet another speech from your organisation’s representative. Then more speeches, probably a ribbon-cutting ceremony, some small side events for civilians to engage with the cause. Booths would line the promenade, showcasing what the organisations and the Senate claimed they were accomplishing. And, of course, the obligatory doorstop interviews.

“Excuse me,”

A sudden jolt rushed into you. You knew that tone. You’d forgotten where you were for a moment, and now, the realisation hit you. Loitering is probably prohibited here.

“Sorry... I—I was just looking at...” You trailed off, flailing your hand vaguely at the outdoor venue in front of the Senate Building ahead. “I’m from ICAF. You know, the Interstellar Children’s Aid Fund? There’s an event there in two weeks, and I was just—”

“It’s okay,” the man bowed his head and shook it with a quiet chuckle. “Calm down. I don’t have jurisdiction here.”

His tone was disarming, almost amused, and it let you take in his appearance for the first time. He was a clone trooper - you knew that armour anywhere. It wasn’t the same as the ones stationed locally, though. His was a combination of white and blue, looked worn with several tally marks on its vambrace. He also had blonde hair that was buzzed very short. Definitely not a rookie.

“But,” he jerked his head towards a nearby window, “it might be better if you didn’t loiter too long. My brother over there already thought you were a threat.”

He pointed with his palm towards another trooper, this one in red armour. The man stood near a small group, some in full armour, others in those familiar grey uniforms. They were gathered inside a modest diner, chatting over caf and food that steamed faintly against the glass. You could tell by their body language it was their usual haunt.

“Oh,” you managed, darting your eyes between the trooper in front of you and the group by the window. “A threat? Me?”

“I believe you. But Commander Fox over there sometimes thinks a kid standing too long in front of the Senate Building is trying to hack into the Republic’s server. Let alone an adult like you.” You blinked, unsure if he was joking. Either way, you let out a professional laugh - the kind you’d perfected after years of working alongside the bureaucracy of the government. Polite, restrained, and noncommittal.

“Sounds like a… cautious guy,” you said. The trooper���s lips curved into a wry smile, flicking his gaze briefly towards the diner where the red-armoured clone - Commander Fox, apparently - stood with his brothers. “Cautious is one word for it.” It struck you how out of place they looked here, despite the Federal District’s veneer of order. Soldiers in a city that didn’t feel like theirs, in a galaxy that seemed to stretch farther and farther from anything resembling peace.

“Must be exhausting,” you murmured, the thought slipping out before you could stop it. “Always having to look over your shoulder.” The rain filled the silence that followed, soft patters against the pavement and your umbrella. You waited for a reply, but the man beside you stayed quiet. That was it, you thought - you’d done it again. Crossed a line without realising it. You shifted uncomfortably, ready to apologise or maybe just walk away, when he broke the silence.

“It is,” he said at last. “But it’s not just him. It’s everyone, these days.”

You caught his profile as he gazed out into the street. His tired eyes seemed to carry the weight of the world. “I guess we all do, in our own way,” you tried to meet him halfway. “Different reasons. Different things we’re afraid of.”

“You don’t look like someone who’s afraid of much.”

“You’d be surprised.” You huffed a quiet laugh.

Another lingering silence followed as though the conversation had reached an unspoken understanding. You didn’t press him for more, and he didn’t offer it.

“Anyway, you should pro–”

“Yes,” you finished for him. You followed him back across the street. The rain still fell steadily, painting the streets in muted reflections of street lamps and shopfront signs. Ahead of you, a row of businesses lined up - tapcafes with warm, inviting light spilling from their windows, a newsagent with a glowing sign advertising the latest headlines, and a pharmacy with shelves barely visible through the foggy window. Among them was the small diner he’d pointed to earlier. Through the window, you could still see the men inside in various states of relaxation, probably sharing war stories - or so you concluded in your head.

“Not exactly your standard war zone,” you murmured as you took in the scene.

He chuckled softly. “No. But sometimes you have to make peace where you can.”

You studied the way their armour contrasted the casualness of the place. “Do you get many moments like this?”

“Not often,” he admitted. “But when they come, you hold onto them. You take what you can get.”

One of the troopers inside had noticed the two of you and nudged another, who turned to look. You wondered what they thought of this. Of their brother standing in the rain, talking to a stranger who clearly didn’t belong in their world any more than they did in yours.

“Do you ever get tired?” the words tumbled out before you could stop them. “Of always having to take what you can get? Of never having more?”

“All the time,” he let out a deep sigh. “But tired doesn’t mean done.” There was something grounding in the way he said it. No resignation, no, but a quiet resilience you didn’t think you had in yourself. Of having to keep moving through this wheel of life. “We slow down,” he added with a smile, “Better cool it off before we burn it out, yeah?”

“Coruscant by Bili J’ole?” you chuckled.

“Love that track,” he mirrored your laugh, warmth creeping to his tone. “But I guess it was written for non-clones like you. Slow down, don’t be too ambitious, take your comlink off the hook, and all.” He raised both hands as if to say he wasn’t part of that world.

“Well,” you said softly, cocking your chin towards the diner. “I guess this is where you head back to… not being done and not disappearing.”

He looked at you for a moment, and you thought he might say something more. But then he just smiled. A small, tired smile..

“Yeah,” he said. “Thanks for the chat.”

“Thanks for the company,” you offered a small smile of your own.

You lingered for a moment longer, watching as he turned and headed back to the diner, one of his brothers in orange and white armour opened the door for him and slung his arm around his shoulders. Then you turned too, just as the rain eased into a soft drizzle. You folded your umbrella, shaking off the droplets, and began mentally listing your unfinished to-do list for the day.

Neither of you asked for a name. Neither of you looked back.

[sunnebeam]

twin flame bruise. (01)

PART 1.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader, jeon jungkook x reader (yes they're different people)

plot: the jeon twins have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name. but in their senior year of college, the estranged twins may have found one more thing they share in common – you.

warnings: jeon twins au, possible headache bc the use of jeongguk and jung kook is v confusing (but they're different people here your honor), specific warnings will be emphasized in the actual completed fic (whenever that may be)

series index. | masterlist + disclaimers.

note: normally i don't post unfinished wips (especially ones with plots that aren't completely fleshed out yet) but this au has been sitting in my drafts since amas 2021, so i thought why not post a lil snippet and just dip right after? (p.s. please manage ur expectations bc 1. i'm too lazy to write this and 2. i have no idea where i'm going with this plot)

More often than not, identical twins are actually more different than similar.

The Jeon twins are a testament to that, even going as far as to insisting they’re entire opposites instead of merely different.

Jeongguk — the older of the two by a mere seven minutes; the golden son — can’t remember the last time he and his younger brother Jung Kook — the black sheep of the family by a great margin; the problematic son — saw eye to eye. In fact, their whole lives have been a flurry of grit and determination to prove they’re not the identical twins people saw them to be; that they’re individuals, that they’re their own persons.

First it was the nicknames. Despite the differences in spelling, Jeongguk and Jung Kook sound almost exactly the same and neither twin is having that. Thus, Jeongguk became “Guk” and Jung Kook became “JK”. Anyone who calls them otherwise will earn themselves a grimace from the older twin and a scoff from the younger.

Next it was their personalities, and by extension, their forms of expression. Both twins are conventionally attractive, a commonality they can’t help but share through their genes, but each own up to the word “beautiful” in their own unique ways.

Jeongguk is the calmer of the two, the more responsible one, the reliable pillar. His stellar grades and bookish habits surprisingly go hand in hand with his eleven piercings and constant need to work out at the gym. He prefers his hair in a short, neat cut and favors studs as earrings for a generally clean look.

Jung Kook on the other hand is the more adventurous of the two, the mysterious one, the wild card. His grades are just enough to make him pass despite the fact that he rarely shows up to classes, always disappearing during periods of time and reappearing as if nothing is amiss. He prefers his long, chin-length hair slicked back so that it complements his undercut and favors hoops as well as dangling earrings for a slightly bolder look.

Despite these insistent differences, the twins still end up in the same university, in the same campus, albeit in different programs. Guk earned himself an academic scholarship into the business program their parents always pushed at, whereas JK also landed himself a scholarship through his participation in their old high school’s varsity team that allows him to pursue a sports science program.

Studying completely different majors and living in completely different parts in the huge campus, the two brothers see each other less and less with each passing year.

After their freshman year, JK stops coming home for holidays and breaks. In the middle of their sophomore year, Guk stops making excuses for his younger twin whenever their parents ask questions. By their junior year, the two brothers have become nothing more than two strikingly similar looking guys who share a mere home address and a last name.

But in their senior year, the estranged Jeon twins may have found one more thing they share in common.

Something. Someone.

You.

You’ve known JK since your first year and after that first hookup, you’ve become a regular fixture in his apartment. You fight endlessly, you make up frequently, you fuck constantly, but most of all, you care for each other deeply. Though you never really crossed the line between friends-who-fuck and something more, you know him well enough to be assured of your place in his life.

You trust him. That is, until you meet his twin.

You meet Guk in your last year of college, which opens up a whole new jar of questions. Why didn’t JK tell you about his twin brother? Didn’t he trust you? What other secrets is he hiding?

Will you just be another thing they have in common that ends up further driving the wedge between them?

He’s running out of time.

Fuck, Jung Kook knew he shouldn’t have come here. No amount of money is worth the stress of putting himself in sketchy situations. Not to mention this is the longest he’s been gone and there’s no doubt that his phone is filled to the brim with your concerned texts and voicemails.

“What did Yoongi tell you about this guy?” his partner Namjoon asks him as they’re observing their client from a distance.

“Nothing,” Jung Kook replies robotically.

“Figures.”

A tense silence falls over them. Nothing like the smug, comfortable silences they shared in previous gigs. This one is more fragile, more different. Just like how this client seems more different, more dangerous.

“You still wanna go through with this, JK?” Namjoon still thinks to ask even though he already knows the answer.

The logical decision would be for Jung Kook to say no, to not risk their safety for the sake of measly profits that they only get a portion of, to walk away and forget all about the sketchy looking client. But Jung Kook has never been exactly logical.

Your face flashes through his mind, your smile, your laugh, the way you felt in his arms, the sincerity in your voice when you said three peculiar words to him, the tears you cried when he shut you out weeks ago.

Even in this tense situation, you’re all he thinks of. You’re it for him and that’s exactly why he needs to make this gig. He needs the money. He needs you.

So instead, Jung Kook replies with, “yes,” and takes a step forward.

All he needs to do is take a step forward.

The front door is already open and he can already see the inside of the apartment, but for some reason Jeongguk can’t move. Maybe he’s afraid of what he might find. Or more specifically, what he might not find.

It’s been a week since he heard around campus that his twin brother has gone AWOL, and this time around doesn’t seem like one of his usual two-to-three-day disappearances. Normally Jeongguk wouldn’t meddle. After all, it’s been several months (or was it years?) since he last physically saw and talked to his own twin. But something is tugging at him this time. Something tells him this time is different.

He sighs. Then takes a step forward.

JK’s apartment looks exactly like how he remembers it, save for a few minor changes. Nothing seems to be amiss. Nothing indicates distress or disturbance, but almost everything indicates a voluntary exit. He pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s heard all the rumors about what exactly his twin does in his spare time. He once tried confronting him about it but was met with an enraged cry of, “mind your own business!” When he asked again on a particularly calm day when they were both civil with each other, the latter merely whispered a shaky, “nothing too dangerous, I swear.”

Guk paces around the modest apartment, running his hands through his hair in agitation. It’s obvious what he has to do but how exactly does he start looking for his younger brother who’s been gone for nearly three weeks? He doesn’t know where to begin, where to sit down and think. He doesn’t even know if this apartment is the right starting point.

A knock on the door. Then another one. Then a series of hard knocks followed by frantic shouting.

“I know you’re in there, asshole!”

Jeongguk lurches out of his seat and fumbles with the locks on the door. He doesn’t know if the shouting was directed at him, that whoever is outside was talking about him, or at his absent brother. The yelling continues with a mix of “open up!” and “I hate you! I hate you!” before he finally manages to open the door and is greeted with the sight of an angry, tear-stained face.

You’re panting, looking at him as if he’s the bane of your existence but that’s impossible because he’s sure he’s never met you before.

“You asshole!” you screech at him as you step forward and land punches on his chest, not noticing how it’s slightly bigger and sturdier than you’re used to. “You act all cold to me out of the blue! Disappear for three weeks, ignore my calls and texts! Then you come back and not tell me? I hate you, JK, I hate you!”

Jeongguk is bewildered and if he isn’t so distracted by your hands on his chest and your pretty eyes trained on him, he would’ve noticed how your entire body relaxed in his hold and your lips formed a pout.

“Fuck it,” you whisper.

Then you kiss him.

He’s kissing you back.

You deepen the kiss, and it’s like the past three weeks of worrying never happened. The kiss is as explosive as usual, both of you so into it with passion and eagerness, and you’re just grateful he’s back. He’s safe and in your arms again. Your tongue darts out to trace his lower lips and you hear him moan appreciatively before your wet muscle feels something different. Something metal.

You pull back all of a sudden. His eyes are still closed as he tries to chase your lips but you push his chest back with narrowed eyes. He opens his eyes in a daze.

“You got a lip piercing?” Your squinted eyes land on his right eyebrow. “And another on your eyebrow?” Your eyes trace the six studs that form an aesthetically straight line on his right ear. “You look different. You cut your hair. And your arm… those tattoos…” you trail off when you spot a full sleeve tattoo on his right arm instead of the few inked doodles you remember. “JK, what’s going on?”

The name which you call him snaps Guk out of his kiss-induced haze and he finally, finally, takes a good look at you. You’re beautiful. Wait, that’s probably an understatement. You’re the most beautiful girl he’s ever seen — from your swollen lips to your arched eyebrow to your sweet, confused face.

“Who are you?” he asks. Something he should’ve done before he welcomed your lips on his.

You growl adorably in irritation and he almost kisses you again before you spit back a retort. “I’m not playing around. Be serious for once, JK.”

“That’s the thing,” he says slowly as he steps back and looks at you cautiously. “I’m not exactly JK… I’m his twin brother—“

“I told you to stop messing with me!”

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear!” He holds his hands up in surrender when you look at him threateningly. “I’m his twin brother, Jeongguk, but I mostly go by Guk. I’m sorry my brother never told you about me but I’m sure he has his reasons.”

Your eyes narrow even further. “What are you implying? If you’re saying he— Are you saying he doesn’t trust me?”

“That’s not what I meant. Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know any more than you do but I promise you I’m telling the truth.” He grips his hair in frustration and resumes his earlier pacing.

You eye him cautiously when he finally takes a seat on the couch. You observe how he looks eerily similar to JK, if not the exact same — from his doe eyes to his luscious hair to his full, rosy lips — yet he harbors his own unique features that separate him from your missing lover. Your chest aches when you remember those same pouty lips spouting hurtful words at you weeks ago and shutting you out.

“So you’re really…” you start cautiously, “…JK’s twin brother?”

“I am,” he answers promptly and you vaguely hear him add a hushed, “unfortunately.”

JK has always been secretive with you but hiding the fact that he has a twin brother is like a slap to your face. How could he have kept something this big from you? How could he, when you have always been unapologetically open with him?

“Why didn’t he ever tell me?” you whisper, your voice cracking in the end.

Jeongguk sighs. “I don’t know.”

You’re both quiet when you sit on the couch a few inches away from him. You both stare at nothing on the floor, with you trying to grasp the fact that JK never told you about his identical twin and with Guk trying to comprehend the truth that his twin brother never told him about you.

“Jeongguk… I mean, Guk?” you whisper. “Do you know where he is?”

He answers after a minute. “I don’t.”

Another minute. “Is he in danger?”

Half a minute, then Jeongguk turns to you with soft voice. “I hope not.”

COPYRIGHT 2023. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[oleanderbane]

Parkour Civilization is driving me insane

So this is the first text post I've made on this forsaken website, but I can't stand it anymore.

I watched Parkour Civilization over my brothers shoulder months ago and thought it was a testament to the brainrot of modern teens. Now, having watched PK Civ 1 and 2 in one night, I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong.

See, Parkour civilization isn't just some youtube series, it's a satirical comedy about both society and media, in a easily digestible format for younger generations.

I don't even think that the storyline is that creative, I mean it's Start at the bottom, fight your way to the top, defeat the bad guy, but I do think that the minecraft parkour aspect and clickbaity youtube style sets it apart. Every time I felt myself getting bored, there was a joke or a crumb of lore that was just... huh. interesting. And then I was sucked right back in baby I couldn't look away. AND THE ENDING???!! OF PK CIV 2?!?!?!!! I'M DYING HERE BRO

PLUS the fact that the narrative doesn't give much focus to character's relationships and backstories (besides seawatt lol) means that the fandom has SO MUCH ground to work with

and the fact that it's in god damn minecraft means that artists get to do whatever the heck they want with character designs. EMF as a ranboo lookin elf dude? Sure! How about a cloud of actual smoke? Why not! The possibilities are endless.

I JUST REALLY LIKE PARKOUR CIVILIZATION, ALRIGHT??

Anyways this brings me to my last and final point- I'm currently drafting up ideas for a PK Civ 3, filled with more drama, tension, and weirdly specific make up lore than ever before.

As I've stated before, and evidenced by the 10 pages of bullet points currently sitting in my google drive, I'm going insane.

[the-mercurial-star-o-vesper]

Pretty sure that the reason Stan Pines, in the last act of Gravity Falls, not only falls for and fails cons, but also acts far more impulsive and self-centered and impulsively money-grabbing than he usually does...

... probably has something to do with Ford returning, effectively telling Stan to "Get your shit and get out" after summer ends.

And that's... after 30 years of Stan doing whatever he can to rescue Ford, and keep himself, afloat. After over 10 years of homelessness, scrapping buy, crossing criminal lines (..and probably going to Columbia to dodge the Vietnam Draft).

And the man is like 60 something.

Stan was probably having some severe PTSD flashbacks the entire time, made worse by age, and the additional add on that his work of literal decades, with focus on family and surviving, came out to Nothing and he was about to get thrown back to square one, do not pass go.

I'd be tripping up all over everything to. Its a testament to his skill as a entertainer and shyster that he wasn't falling apart at every hour.

==

On the Flipside....

Ford has spent the last 30 years on the run. He's wasn't just lost in another dimension, he was lost into the whole multiverse.

( Though, implied to be more akin to running into realms where the natural laws or histories are different--as opposed to parallel earths. So a bit like teleporting to Xen in Half Life.)

With the distinct implication that when he fell into another dimension... he kept falling into them.

( Think on it. It took a entire portal meant to destabilize the universe in order to dimension hop in the first place. That sort of thing doesn't just pop up at K-mart; when he went through the super-duper portal, it kept portalizing him over the course of 30 years. )

So Ford had no place he could stay long, without the possibility of him getting teleported, or noclipping or Something (we have no idea on the details--but the speculation of implication is fun), immediately forcing him to adapt to a new environment with new rules whenever it happened.

As such, we now have a guy who is good to go on a moments notice and has everything he needs on him at all times.

So if he was to return through the portal and finally find a home, a stable home, and he himself no longer has to fear getting transportalized at random moments; he'd definitely would fight tooth, claw and gods knows what else to keep that home.

And probably, again running with the implications and the world-build set up Gravity Falls had going by this point, suffering his own traumas. By going back through the portal to his own home dimension, there Shouldn't be a worry about getting grabbed and thrown into another dimension again, but after years of dealing with it--the fear and anticipation of it would also produce some serious PTSD.

( Even though we never had Ford around long enough to really explore it... or really to give him as much depth and character as Stan got. All of this about Ford is speculation by implication after all. )

It would explain why he would get so pushy about things and situations (beyond the simple "Plot Plot Plot" writing so the show can hit Weirdmaggedon as fast as possible); if you've had to get dragged into another dimension at a moments notice and at random, you adapt to lack of time and thus, push to get as much done as possible in as small time as you can.

[ It also explains why Ford is just so damn cool headed. After dimension hopping and meeting strange peoples, places, and systems--to return to this place, Earth. There is literally nothing on Earth that could possibly scare him at this point, he's already experienced the worst ]

And that isn't to mention how Ford also suffered Stan's old situation. Homeless, often Penniless (Because what's money worth between dimensions, after all?) and no possible permanent companions to speak of.

To Ford, jumping from place to place is something he's already adapted to and excelled at, so he doesn't even consider Stan's situation in the slightest. To Ford, moving around on Earth isn't anything in comparison to being flung across spacetime into new physics and new atmospheres.

==

There's prolly going to be quite a few arguments and adjustments on the Stan O War 2 before the two can fully understand where each other is coming from.

[inimitablereel]

2024 vid recs

Under the cut, recs for vids I saw last year that were published in 2024. Since it's already January I am cutting myself off and making a list from things I've already seen and loved but inevitably there is so much more out there and I would love to see recs from everyone else! Fandoms include dungeon meshi, wheel of time, the general concept of time loops, several miscellaneous cdramas, and other random stuff I personally like

Dungeon Meshi

what are the rules for breakfast today by @dykealloy - anime only action heavy ensemble vid that's just full of energy and a bop!

MONSTER and OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE by @mynnthia - two super short manga vids about Falin (but I'm pretty sure that this is manga from before where the anime cuts off rn if you're avoiding manga spoilers but not the manga in general) - this does SUCH cool animation with the lyrics and the manga panels the movement is so dynamic and well matched with the song and fun to watch

Eat It by @allegoriestamvs - this is exactly what it sounds like, a goofy fun vid about food in the dungeon meshi anime, which much like the show itself packs in more characterization than you'd expect given the silliness

Kiss Me Dungeon Lord by @sevenangrybees - manga vid that is full of delicious delicious spoilers don't watch this if you haven't finished the manga. But if you have the parallels!!! The original post for this vid has been sitting in my drafts for ages because I Needed to rewatch it (I still need to rewatch it there's a lot in there)

Wheel of Time

best friend by @thiswildernessismyhome - Moraine&Lan vid that is just a real bop. Friendship!!! Really fun movement to watch in a fighting as dancing kind of way! Also some incredible anachronistic lyric matches

put on a show by stardust_rain - another bop! but about Lanfear so it's a more evil bop :D some really fun stuttery editing that gives it a real groove

What's Up by cosmic_llin - Moraine character study - I do think of this song as kind of a meme song but it's taken VERY seriously in this vid and it's perfect for Moraine - it does make me sad about her

Velodrome by stardust_rain - aes sedai focused. This really leans into how beautiful this show is, lots of gorgeous visual parallels and also another one that makes me sad about how aes sedai are very constricted despite being very powerful

Time Loops

Okay so this time loops section is one multi-fandom vid and several Reset vids but whatever, I love time loops

Do What You Want by cupidsbow - this is SUCH a cool multi-time-loop vid - it really gets into the nihilism inherent in time loops

And Do It Again by @rhea314 - Reset - a bop! This combines extremely fun boppy music (and fun boppy movement editing) with dying repeatedly which is the kind of incongruity I love

one wrong turn by @marquisguyun - Reset - this one you probably are better off having watched the show for because it really leans into the parallels with everyone on the bus' story and how one moment can lead to death in a time loop

Everything Else :p

queer cinema - pink pony club by @finalgirlguy This pulled in SO much queer cinema, much of which I haven't seen (and now want to), but even without knowing all the source it's a real testament to queer joy and so fun to watch

Trust+Fall by @sandalwoodbox (fandom: Romeo+Juliet) I was not expecting to be sad about Romeo and Juliet, like the characters not the whole play. We all know how this one ends and they're just dumb teens or whatever but ugh this vid was SO upsetting (positive, love to be sad about a tragedy)

Hell or High Water by dkwilliams (fandom: Word of Honor) This vid takes the plot of WoH seriously and draws a ton of beautiful thematic parallels and turns it into a more coherent arc than the show imo. This made me sad about, well, you know the dead people, but also everyone in the jianghu.

Thunder City by @bingeling (fandom: DMBJ: Reboot) Really beautiful aesthetic vid leaning into creepy tomb stuff with a ton of silence and diegetic audio. This is one of those vids that is so impressive to me on a technical what you can do with the medium level (and also just really cool to watch), would highly recommend with/without fandom knowledge. To do the equivalent of a bookstore readalike, fans of the older multi-dmbj show vid Aspara Calling may enjoy this (and vice versa)

Joyride by @himemeiya (fandom: utena movie) extremely fun, very short, sometimes you gotta lean into wtf is the utena movie

this Nirvana in Fire vid by @zhoudadudugongjin I love NiF vids that are goofy but also saying something real about the show. In this case that real thing is MCS will break your heart :D

Boys in the Ocean by @rhea314 (fandom: Fire Island) I'm bookending these miscellaneous recs with queer joy. This vid just made me grin the whole time - it captures all the fun goofy moments and also all the cute moments of this movie and also is a bop!

Also going to put a blanket rec for the four festivids for Bound (including mine!) here - they were all really beautiful and extremely sexy (do mind the tags)

FYI I've decided to leave out the vampires (specifically ones being interviewed, though I also haven't included any snowfall or fangs of fortune vids here) - I haven't seen the source material and while I have seen several rad vids, I feel unprepared to give recs based on the random things that have crossed my radar. But there's a lot of cool vids out there, if you like iwtv definitely go looking for vids

[yuugen-benni]

''I'm home''

A/N: this drabble is just a random draft I wrote when I finished the last episode of BSD; Number of days etc. are speculation as it is not said how long everything in season 5 lasted; Cry a lot and I will be happy ;3

"Akutagawa……."

A murmur escaped from your chapped lips; your eyes widened, and a chill ran down your spine at the sight of a familiar figure in the doorway. Before your lips could fully part, and your body, nourished with immense desperation, could move towards him, everything turned dark. Akutagawa quickly scooped you up in his arms, preventing you from hitting the ground directly.

_

At that moment, if someone had to describe you in one word, they would choose "relieved." Akutagawa hadn't returned home in over 4 weeks. Initially, you didn't understand why, but as soon as the Detective Agency was branded as terrorists, you expected that the Port Mafia would temporarily align with them. However, you never anticipated that it would last almost a month.

You had feared that your husband's existence had been erased, and with each passing night, the loneliness that enveloped you in bed seemed to confirm these fears, sapping your hope and energy.

But now, he was there, holding you with his slender fingers pressed against your skin, supporting you upright.

_

''Are you-… Are you okay?! I-'' your words barely made it out of your mouth. You tried to break away from his grip nervously, your eyes scanning his entire body, your trembling hands searching for any injuries. All you needed was to know if he was alright, and-

''Stop!'' Akutagawa exclaimed, taking hold of your shoulders, looking you up and down, realizing the toll his absence had taken on you. His tone softened but remained resolute. ''I'm fine… I'm here… you can rest now, [name].''

''But-''

''Stop worrying; everything is fine now…'' He whispered, gently wiping away the tears that fell onto his cheeks, a testament to the immense longing that had consumed you. ''You look like a helpless puppy when you cry…'' he murmured, and you hugged him even tighter than before, burying your face in his chest and wetting his clothes.

''I'm sorry…..I'm not good at it.''

He sighed, holding you close.

''Darling, I'm home.......'' he whispered, his voice filled with the warmth of a love that had endured even the darkest of times.

[mothergold]

18+ minors dni thanks // warnings:

blowjobs, not sfw, shigaraki x afab!reader, face fucking, rough sex, neck grabbing, choking (i think?), overstim (shig) , afab!reader, no pronouns for reader, this can’t be more than 1k it’s just a drabble i wrote in tumblr drafts, enjoy.

thinking about blowjobs with shigaraki. shigaraki tomura, who curls his toes and grips the back of your head as you take all of him in your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat. shigaraki who hisses when he becomes too overstimulated, but begs for you to keep going. faster, he begs. tears prick at the corner of your eyes and the air stings them, as you suck tomura off like it was your last will and testament.

“fuck, that feels good.” he moans. loud and proud as he takes both hands on each side of your face and gets on his knees so he can fuck you into oblivion.

you’re now crying and grinding your pussy against the blankets that are beneath you. they become soaked with your fluids and eventually your cum. shigaraki does not take kindly to this. you’re only allowed to cum after he cums.

“fuckin’ brat.” he snaps at you, pulling himself outta your mouth and forcing you onto your knees.

for a moment you regret cumming on your own, but when he thick cock enters your cunt, that thought immediately leaves your mind along with all other thoughts. his cock leaves no room in your pussy for anything or anyone else, and he prefers it this way. shigaraki figures that this way no one but him was allowed to touch you, and if one day someone were to fuck you. well, then he’d just have to teach you a nice, long lesson, now wouldn’t he?

he fucks and thrusts and does whatever he damn well pleases until you’re begging to cum on his cock.

an evil grin forms on his face. “say it.” he says.

“say-say wha-ahhhhh.” you struggle to get out the words but manage.

he grabs your neck and squeezes it, and whispers into your ear. “say it.”

your eyes widen as you realize what he means, and instantly you become hot with embarrassment.

“y-your…” you start but shigaraki begins to ram into you at an unforgettable and unforgiving pace.

“come onnnn, say it!” he yells as he pulls your head back by your neck, his grip tightening the more you resist.

“y-your the best i’ve ever had.. tomura.” your moans are like smooth purrs against shigaraki’s skin and it causes his nerves to ignite.

he pulls you back by your neck again and tongue kisses you, stopping the sloppy kiss with a wet ahh. “that’s it, keep going.”

“you’re the best i’ve ever had and—,” tomura interrupted you.

“and what?” he snaps.

“and you own this pussy. this pussy is all yours, you own me. i’m yours and you’re.. you’re mine, tomura.”

he grins and gives u another sloppy kiss. “that’s a good pet. now, cum.”

and as he rubs the rough pad of his finger against your clit, you cum. the pleasure is blinding and grand, it truly was and remains the best pleasure you’d ever experienced in your entire life. your body falls limp and you begin to doze off, but not before shigaraki lifts you up and presses your back to his chest.

“oh no, we’re not done yet.” he laughs.

[mrpenguinpants]

Telling genshin boys about Orpheus and Eurydice and asking them if they’d look back

My Faint Magnolia

— He wonders how many times he's heard you tell this story, and how many more he'll force you to recite.

— Dottore / Zandik

White magnolia flowers symbolize purity and perfection. [Masterlist]

I read one Wiki page so don't yell at me if I got anything wrong. Tbh, I don't really like how this fic turned out but it's been sitting in my drafts for years.

"The musician and prophet Orpheus fell in love with the beautiful Eurydice, only for her to die shortly after. Thus, he journeyed into the Underworld to plead with Hades to bring his beloved back. His wish was granted - but on the condition that he must not look back at Eurydice until they were both back in the land of the living. But Orpheus couldn't resist one glance, and Eurydice was lost to him forever."

"Fascinating. The seventh retelling adds to the suspense."

"Boo, you're no fun. Minus ten points," he hears you whine. The sounds of a book being tossed carelessly aside as ink-stained papers filled with formulas slide forward and brush against the sleeves of his arm. All are pushed away to allow you to sprawl your upper body over the desk so you can mope and continue to avoid doing any actual work. He can feel your gaze on him, patiently waiting for him to look up from his notes and give you attention, yet he continues to write making you huff in annoyance.

You're both supposed to be working on your assignments, so he has excellent reason to keep ignoring you to focus on his work. If anything, he should be annoyed at you, and he is, but it's a testament to how much he's come to tolerate you that he doesn't immediately get up and leave. Or deal with you in another, less unsavory way. Instead, he flips back through the pages of his notebook. A list of collected components of spare parts of a vast machine and smaller notes of their possible working principles and manufacturing processes. Diagrams and sketches of their possible construction and engines filled with footnotes and annotations. Not all of them are in his writing. He wouldn't dare use that atrocious shade of yellow that you seem to love so much.

"Can't we do anything else? I'm bored out of my minddd," you stretch the words out, effectively cutting his concentration in half with nothing but the sound of your voice. He can feel his eye twitch and his pencil's wood creaking from the pressure he's slowly exerting onto it. Your voice is muffled, which means you haven't picked yourself off the table yet, probably hunched over with your cheek against the table that will take another hour for you to pry yourself back up again. He can't wait for his future headache with your complaints about back problems, even though you're killing your own spine and his head. The sound of a pencil rolling back and forth fills the silence, and that's the last of his patience. He slams his notebook down, the pencil bouncing and dropping onto the floor, and the clattering of wood causes his frown to etch deeper. He re-opens his notebook to the page of the Khaenri'ahn machines found in Devantaka Mountain. There's an annoying doodle of a Ruin Hunter in the corner mocking him right back.

"Work."

His clipped voice has you quiet down. It's a good thing you have some sense of preservation and know that even though he indulges you frequently, there are only so many distractions he will let slip through. But the resounding sound of a chair scraping against the floor, papers being shuffled, and your footsteps tell him you're equally frustrated. He thinks he hears you mutter "rigid oaf" under your breath as your footsteps grow fainter. The silence should put him at ease, but it only serves to irate him further since you're the one who's causing him trouble when he just wants to work in peace and quiet. The worst thing about this situation is that he knows you'll refuse to talk to him unless he apologizes first for something he hasn't done wrong. But alas.

He lets out a deep sigh that sounds twice his age. Puspa Café should still be open at this time. If he leaves now, he can still catch up to you. With a sweep of the arm, he quickly gathers his papers haphazardly but still slides them into their rightful places between the meticulous sections of his notebook.

"Would you look back?"

He pauses when your voice sounds behind him unexpectedly. You sound a mixture of cheeky and skeptical, but the drumming of your fingertips against the back of his chair tells him that you are genuinely curious about his response. Maybe even a bit nervous to ask him such a ridiculous question too.

"The fatal flaw of Orpheus is he never stopped to consider the psychological cost of Hade's offer. To think "Do not look back" is an impossible sentence to think without simultaneously speaking the opposite. Every time you repeat, "I must not look back," you are forced to say: "Look back." But that is the weakness of the human mind," is the answer he supplies. He thumbs at the edges of his notebook, worn from all the years he's opened it but still in pristine condition. He doesn't like his things to be dirty. It makes his skin crawl.

"What? Are you above the human mind now? So you wouldn't be tempted at all?" you say with a hint of dumbfoundedness. He's sure you think that he won't give you an actual answer.

"No."

His answer is short but firm. He won't look back. He won't be Orpheus and lose his Eurydice so easily to temptation. His finger moves and tips the cover open, papers flipping until they stop in the middle of the book. Frantic scribbles of ink of his research on the rare disease of Elezar. He thumbs the page's corner until it creases.

"Hey, look at me."

The next page is on segments.

"Why won't you look at me."

The final page is on dreams.

""Please look at me Zandik."

He closes the notebook.

"I thought Orpheus couldn't hear Eurdicye."

He hears you laugh at his unempathetic reply. It's a hallow imitation. Then silence. It always ends like this. His mind dangling what he needs most only to take it away, making him question if you are even still there behind him. Just one look. Just one look to confirm what's behind him but he won't. He won't be a fool like Orpheus. Not until he's finished. So he does what he always has, removes any option he hates, and creates his own means.

+

He blinks awake slowly. The white ceiling of his laboratory stares at him back and the first thing his mind registers is that it's cold. His hand automatically moves to his side only to meet air. That's right, you're not here anymore. You haven't been here for years. The manifestation of the withering caused dark hardened scales to grow across your limbs. Slowly numbing the affected areas until you couldn't walk anymore, which progressed into fatigue and progressive nerve damage. Your last days were spent asleep in a coma surrounded by as many Nilotpala Lotuses as he could find. He closes his eyes again, but the sound of the heavy steel door grates against his nerves before he has the time to truly relax.

"You know you'll never succeed. You know why. Even if this one doesn't die, it won't be the same."

The voice isn't right. Another failure.

Dottore lifts his head to see your segment standing in front of him. That's correct. He can already see the beginnings of scales on the segment's arms. It's funny. He is capable of creating physical carbon copy segments of himself from different stages of his life and yet you, the outlier, it's never the same. A body is made, and a piece of his memories of you acts as the brain, but it's never the same. He knows why. It's because his memories of you are dying. His dreams are getting shorter, and fuzzier around the edges. He used to dream of seeing you, holding you, and he knows the next time he dreams of you, he may not hear your voice anymore. His own segment thoughts echo in his mind. Don't you think this is a waste of materials and time? It's time to give up. They don't understand, they can't dream.

He won't look back because he knows that as soon as he does, he will never dream of you again. Even if the next dream takes away your voice, the next takes away your presence, until he's left with a void of nothing. Even then, he won't look back. He has only dreamed of you every single night, regardless of anything. These are the only things he has left of you. Everything else was taken, stolen, or burnt. He isn't sure if the person he's constantly dreaming of now is actually you or a figment of his imagination that's begging to be free. But he won't let you go.

My doleful aria, tell me that story again tonight.