#finally may i find a common experience? of many?

[probablyaseamonster]

Hey so this happened to come up on my feed seemingly randomly but for once I'm not complaining /enthusiastic because I did in fact have a Wreck it Ralph phase last month! Helped me feel better when house became hostile lol. I wonder if I forgot I had the tags saved or something, cause I don't remember what I did to have this pop up on my dash lol. Sorry for anyone who has to see it, but honestly, this was the best way y'all could've found out, lmao. I have Seen Shit, and I made a Spotify playlist about said shit. It is, mercifully, only 8 songs long lol

Anyway, remember I said "topical times do exist, but never feel embarassed to like something years after everyone else seemingly moved on! It's both valid to grow out of something, as well as valid to keep it in your hearts! I mean, that is the basis of the retro genre after all..."

Happy 10th Anniversary to the movie that fundamentally changed my brain chemistry and made me unbearable to be around in 2012!!! <333

[yan-lorkai]

Hi hi

So, I was talking to a friend about a scenario in which Lilia is obsessed with his beloved wife and their unborn child.

Do you think you can do something like this?

(obs:eu duvido 👀)

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Well, it's done. Dad Lilia always make my heart beats a little quickly, he is such a funny dad imo. Duvida, é? 👀 Bem, espero que goste!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, pregnancy, afab!reader

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia suffered a lot because of the war. He lost Meleanor, he lost Levan, he had to travel for years on end to search for a way to hatch Malleus's egg. But finally after so many years, he got his happy ending with you, his beloved and your child, growing inside your womb slowly. It's refreshing in a way. He is a father, he got all the experience but it's his first time being a father to a child who got his blood and genes.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He is very helpful. He likes to fluff your pillows, to wrap your blankets around you burrito style, to help you bathe and dress, he massage your feet and shoulders, he even spoon-feed you if you let him. He gets overwhelming very quickly because he doesn't let you do anything alone or the way you want if he consider too "dangerous" - which is... Pretty much anything. He is a helicopter dad, watching your every move, reading the slightest secret hidden on your voice. He won't have you getting injured because you are stubborn, he is glued to you for nine whole months.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Lilia know that the pregnancy hormones may make you sad or angry, but he knows just how to soothe you, having already dealt with Meleanor years before, even if you two are a little different in temper. And he is very good at calming you down. He wipes your tears while professing his love for you again and again, kissing your cheeks, your nose, your forehead, everywhere his lips can touch.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He loves staring at you. He loves watching how your body is changing, how you're glowing, he specially love your bump. He compliments and praises you a lot, he can goes on and on for hours on end.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He has a list of names already. There's plenty of variation between names, some tend to have a more fae-ish origin while others are more common, he is sure that you will be able to find a name that suits the little one growing inside your womb. He also like to talk to the little one too, he cracks jokes and tell them stories about him and their brothers, he even sing to them when they start to kick.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ When you go into labour, Lilia is there, holding your hand, encouraging you to push, wiping the sweat from your forehead, and when you do give birth to your firstborn, he watches you hold your child and he burst crying loudly, hiccuping. It's too beautiful to take. The domesticity, the warmth feeling on his chest, he can't take it. And he loves it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Be your child a girl or a boy, Lilia will take good care of them. He'll guide you through every step of motherhood with happiness, loving to see you holding your child carefully against your chest as you two lay on your bed. It's a sight he will never forget about, he even take a photo. He even make an album full of them. He is that obsessed.

[monstersflashlight]

can you do a pt 2 of the hole in the wall with a tentacle monster? i’d think i’d pass out if that was me

A/N: Hi there! First of: thank you for your compliments :) Tried to mix all these requests together because all of them had tentacles in common, don’t know if I did a good job, but I hope this satisfies y’all, it was fun to write. Enjoy!

Good monster

Tentacle-monster x fem!reader || dom/sub (femdom), overstimulation, tentacles, double penetration (in the same hole), praise kink (light)

When the tentacle monster gave you your voice back to meet the prince, you were more than happy to get out of there fast. You didn’t think twice about why he did it, or why he would look so sad when you ran away from his cave. But you did it anyway.

And regretted it.

The prince was not only awful, but life at the palace was hell. You wanted to go back as soon as you two spoke twice, but you promised you’d be there for a while, you promised you’d make it work if you got your voice back. But the tentacle monster knew better than you did, he knew so much better. So when he showed up at the castle and eradicated every single one of the stupid royals who made your life living hell, you could only be grateful.

He took you back to his cave, and you stared at him for a long while before you were able to form words. “Are you going to take my voice away?” You asked him. You would gladly give it back if it meant not going back to those awful royals.

He sighed, as if your word pained him, his tentacles moving around his body. It was mesmerizing. “No, little human, it’s all yours to enjoy. A gift if you may.” He said and urged you to leave.

You didn’t fight him, but you regretted that, too. You regretted the pain in his eyes and the way he stared at you even when you were far away. You regretted so many things about him, but when you decided to go back and talk to him, he was gone. You didn’t see him again for a loooooong time.

And time passed. And you missed him in a way that made no sense but all the sense at the same time. He was like an old wound that hurt every time the weather changed. And you didn’t know anything else about him to find him, you made peace with that.

Until you were hired for a new human-monster experiment. (And maybe you only wanted to be fucked by a bunch of monsters until you couldn’t walk straight, that sounded like a great evening in your books.)

You were supposed to be fit into a hole, your lower half exposed to the air and ready to be fucked by as many monsters as they came. But that wasn’t what happened.

You were tied to the hole and completely naked when you heard the soft rustle of tentacles against the floor, your whole body trembling in anticipation as you heard someone behind you. Tentacles were one of your biggest fantasies, images of him flashing behind your eyes, anticipation and desperation mixing inside of you. You parted your legs a bit further, trying to look as enticing as possible to the monster behind you.

But they didn’t touch you. And after what felt like an eternity but was probably only a couple minutes, you asked: “Is something wrong?” You looked back, trying to peek through the hole but unable to do so.

“I- I don’t… I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed in a short breath. He sounded nervous and something inside of you stirred.

“What do you mean?” You questioned, your hand already pressing the button that unlocked your restrains.

“I’ve never fucked a human,” he let out, almost embarrassed.

You struggled out of the hole and turned around, you knew it was against the rules but you didn’t care. The monster was clearly having a hard time and you weren’t heartless. But when you were finally out and turned around your heart skipped a beat and you let out a gasp.

“You!” You both said in unison, looking at each other with utter surprise. “How? What? How”

Your stupor was short lived when a mechanical voice sounded over your heads: “Experiment over, move to the individual rooms.” You followed after him, grabbing a robe that was hanging next to the door. Your brain was swimming with a thousand possibilities.

“What happens now?” You asked to the researcher waiting outside the door.

“We detected abnormalities in your compatibility results, you need to be isolated and studied together. Follow me.” They lead you through the corridors until they open a door at the end of a hallway.

Your tentacle monster enters before you. “What are we supposed to do here?” He asked the researcher once you were in a cozy room that looked like an expensive hotel more than a lab.

“You fuck. We watch. Enjoy.” And they left, leaving both of you there, staring at each other with confused expressions.

“So… Do you want to…” He started, looking at you intently.

“YES,” you answered a little too fast and a little too loudly. He looks a bit dejected by your enthusiasm, and then you remember what he said earlier, at the glory hole. “Do you want me to take charge?” You questioned, all serious.

You wanted to be the one being fucked into oblivion and used like a fleshlight, but if your tentacle monster wants to be dominated you can totally do that. There’s more than enough time in the future for you two to play in other positions. In as many positions as your human body allows, actually.

“On the bed. Now.” You walked alongside him, and once he was looking at you pleadingly, you took pity on him and straddled his waist, his tentacles curling around your legs and middle. “Do all your tentacles feel the same?” He nodded. “Words,” you asked.

“Ye- yes,” he stuttered. You were rolling your hips slowly, spreading your juices over the tentacles trapped under you

“Yes, mistress,” you told him, falling back into your dom mode. He looked at you confused. “You have to say yes, mistress,” you explained.

“Yes, mistress,” he repeated.

“Good monster.” He blushed darker as you praised him, making you giggle as you caressed his chiseled chest. “Okay, so I’m going to tell you what we are going to do: I’m going to grind against the suckers of your tentacles and you are going to stay really still until I come once. Then, if you have been good, I’ll let you fuck me. You like that?”

“Yes, mistress.”

You ground against his suckers just as he said, your pussy was already so wet it made obscene sounds against his slippery skin. But looking down at him, seeing how flushed he looked and how his eyes were rolling back into his head, you knew you weren’t the only one having fun. He was enjoying you playing with him, and the slippery texture he was oozing was making everything more intense. You could see his muscles bulging as he tried to remain as still as possible, his hands going up to grab your hips and stopping just in time, pressing them against the bed and squeezing.

You smiled down at him. “You like that, monster? You like the feel of my pussy against your tentacles?” He nodded vehemently, making you chuckle. “You are a dirty, dirty monster, aren’t you? You say you didn’t fuck a human before but here you are, acting like a slutty monster for me.” He whined. “They all think you are so powerful, but right now you don’t look like it. You look almost pathetic with your groans and whines, but, so, so pretty.” And it was true, he looked great all flushed and frustrated, the noises he was making were driving you insane.

The orgasm caught you out off guard, too focused on him to notice it sneaking up on you. You fell apart over him, your head thrown back and your back arching as you convulsed. It was a good orgasm, but your body craved more. You reached under you and grabbed one of his tentacles with enough strength to make him whine again, chuckling at him as you guided it to your dripping pussy.

“Now fuck me like you mean it,” you instructed.

He looked at you confused for a couple seconds before his hands were darting up and grabbing onto your hips. He moved your body and his tentacles around you, touching and caressing all parts of your skin possible, fucking in and out of your wet pussy. It was almost too much, he was everywhere and the suckers were latched to every sensitive part of your body. Your brain was turning fuzzy with pleasure.

This time you felt your orgasm arriving, and you had enough time to order: “Come for me. Now.” And he complied.

He fell apart under you, and you didn’t give him any peace, your own orgasm going and going over him as you rode him to oversensitivity. He was crying out your name and you were desperate for more.

You grabbed another tentacle and pressed it against your already stretched pussy. You pushed it alongside the one already in, the stretch so big you could barely keep yourself from screaming. But you made it, the second tentacle curling around the first, creating the most amazing textured dick you’ve ever fucked. You rolled your hips slowly until his second tentacle was fully inside of you, until he was a whimpery mess of oversensitivity under you.

You leaned down, your chest pressing against his as you fucked yourself on his tentacles. “Be a good monster and give me one more orgasm,” you whisper against his ear.

“I- I don’t know if I can, mistress,” he whimpered, his tentacles twitching inside of you as you bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“Now,” you ordered. And he complied like the good monster he was, screaming your name until his voice sounded rough.

At the end of the day, he gave you your voice back for the wrong reasons, but you took his away for the good ones. And this time neither of you regretted it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Know Your Place 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, power dynamic, age gap, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall, destroyer!Chris [for the purposes of this AU, I will give him the last name Jackson] (Professor AU)

Summary: after a life time of home schooling, you finally get to experience the real world in college. (petite reader)

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

The noise all around has you reeling. You’re not used to so many people. So many voices and smells and sights. The frantic action of it all reminds you of a mid-00s movie about a high school. The coeds are like animals milling about in groups with the odd single body rushing between with a mission stitched between their brows. 

You sit with your thermos of tea and try to focus on your schedule. You have a campus map from the Student Support Centre next to it, trying to map out your route for each day. Momma said you should try to get ahead, figure out where you’re going. She’s always right. 

You have two classes that day. As you find the buildings on the map, planting a finger on each, you find that they are on completely different ends of the campus. Of course. Well, momma didn’t know that where they would be, did she? She said you have to balance your load; if you’re going to be an English major, make sure you take some math and science for your electives. 

You circle the two buildings and put lets beside them denoting which day you need to be there, numbering them in the order the classes occur. A burst of laughter breaks your concentration and you look around, trying to find the source. You almost miss the calm isolation of your childhood living room. 

No, you’re grown now and you begged Momma to let you go to college. Not online, but in person. You even worked all summer at the deli so you could live in a dorm. She was proud but worried. She’s never been good at letting go. She’s already called three times today and it’s not even noon. 

As the crowd blurs around you, a sudden gust blows over the table as someone sits across from you. You stare back at them with a gasp. They must’ve mistaken you for someone else. You blink as the man tugs on the front of his letterman jacket and smiles. He doesn’t seem mistaken. 

“Hey,” he leans forward on an elbow, “you waitin’ for someone? Got some cute girlfriends on their way?” 

He’s so forward, he has your brows as high as they can go and your cheeks are on fire. It’s not much of an introduction. 

“Excuse me?” You eke out. 

“Ah, I’m sorry, hon, I’m getting ahead of myself,” he smirks as he crosses both his arms on the table. “I’m Colin. You looked lonely.” 

“Oh, uh, I’m just... figuring out my schedule,” you utter dumbly. Yor brain isn’t clicking. Why is he talking to you? 

Your ears tweak and you notice a group in similar jackets, sitting just across the dining area, gabbing loudly, snickering. You wonder why he isn’t over there with them. You wiggle your pen anxiously. 

“Ah, you’re not gonna give me a name for that pretty face?” He says. 

“Huh?” Your brows drop, “what?” 

Your momma’s voice echoes in your head. ‘Be careful of those college boys. They only want one thing.’ You didn’t believe her. They don’t want that from you. You were sure once you saw the other girls in their tight leggings and short tops. 

“Your name, baby? Gotta be something sweet, huh?” 

Your face ripples as you wade through surprise, confusion, then something else. You’re almost giddy. This man, with his mussed blond hair and bright blue eyes, and his chiseled features, is asking you your name. It’s flattering. 

“Mauve,” you can’t help but smile as you answer. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s pretty, well, Mauve,” he takes out his phone, “me and my buddies are having a party tonight and we’re supposed to find a hottie to bring with us. I’m having no luck but if I show up alone, well... I might not get to stay in the frat. You get it?” 

You stare at him. You're confused. You don’t really understand frats and whatnot. They just seem like clubs people join so they can drink. 

“You wanna do me a favour? Come with me?” He asks. 

He’s bold. Bolder than any one you’ve ever met. You sputter but can’t come up with any words. 

“Please,” he pouts, “promise, I won’t try anything, I just gotta get these guys off my back.” 

He looks over his shoulder at the table of rowdy guys. You squirm in your seat, uncertain. You’ve never been to a party. Wow. 

“Here, I’ll get your number,” he taps on his phone screen, “I’ll send you the details--” 

“Leave her alone,” a grizzly voice undercuts the frat across from you. 

A thick man stands behind him. He has a cardboard cup in his hand as he glares down at the coed. His burly figure is swathed in a dark green sweater and grey slacks. He’s older and his dark curls are threaded with subtle twinkles of silver. 

“Huh? Who the hell are you?” 

“Why don’t you show her those pictures you were snapping of her? The ones you and your pals were laughing about?” The other man growls.  

You frown. What? You don’t understand what’s going on. You look from one to the other. The younger man sat across from your sighs and rolls his eyes. 

“Fuck it. Whatever. Lots of pigs to go around,” he shakes his head and stands, facing the other man. “You know, bro, just cause you’re too old to get with any ass around here, doesn’t mean you gotta ruin it for others.” 

“Get out of here,” the thicker man snarls. The other winces just slightly before puffing up his chest and stomping away. 

You remain as you are, aghast and lost. The man with the dark curls looks at you. You shrug at him. 

“I’m sorry, sir, did I do something wrong?” You ask. 

The harsh angles of his scowl ease and he lets out a long breath, “uh, no, not you. That boy, you know, any one that wears one of those jackets, they’re no good. Just some advice.” 

“Oh, right,” you look over at that guy, Colin, “sorry, I didn’t know. He just started talking to me. I was being polite.” 

“Seem like a nice girl. Just tryna look out for you.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” you chew your lip and sniff. “Are you... are you teacher?” 

“I’m a professor,” he confirms as he holds his cup close to his chest. He's one of the biggest men you’ve ever seen. And his eyes are as blue as the ocean. “Professor Marshall but unless you’re a psych student, you can call me Walter.” 

“Walter? My neighbour is Walter. At home. He’s eighty-one and he collects baseball cards,” you let yourself smile. You always felt more comfortable around older people. You never had many friends your own age. 

“Don’t mind some baseball myself,” he dips his chin. “Well, you look out for yourself and avoid the Greeks.” 

“Greeks?” You make a face. 

“Fraternities,” he says. “And sororities, if you can help it.” 

“Oh, okay. Thank you, sir,” you feel a little better. You think he’s right and he is a professor. He would know. “I’ll do that.” 

“Sir? It’s Walter,” he corrects you. 

“Oh, sorry, Walter,” you smile. “I’m Mauve.” 

He nods and shifts his cup, “Mauve,” he repeats, “well, nice to meet you.” 

“You too, sir, er, Walter. Thank you,” you say. 

He hesitates then steps back on his heel, “yeah, no problem.” 

He slowly retreats and you watch him, your heart playing like a drum. You did it. You spoke to strangers and you didn’t melt. Things are getting easier. If you could get through that, you’re sure you’ll make lots of friends in your classes. 

[ephie-om]

I love this stupid wizard

Day 9: Solomon

You know one of Solomon’s favorite things is when an opportunity presents itself to show off to you. A flourish of his hands, colorful sparks of magical energy, and your problem has been solved. He never passes up a chance to call you his adorable apprentice when you go to him for help, either. You find yourself relying on him maybe a bit more than you should, but he certainly doesn’t mind. You aren’t exactly helpless when he’s not around, no matter what some of your demons might think. You remind them on occasion that you do have a pact with the Avatar of Sloth, so there’s very little reason for you to go looking for solutions that require more effort.

You stretch out on the couch of Purgatory Hall’s common room. Solomon had instructed you to wait here for him as he went to fetch you “a surprise” from his lab, but that was about half an hour ago by this point. Resigned to the fact that he may have forgotten about you, you decide to make yourself a snack.

The angels keep the kitchen well-stocked with all manner of treats. You peruse your options slowly, deciding if you want something savory or sweet. You open one of the cabinet doors, failing to realize it was barely hanging on. The top hinge gives way with a screech, screws tearing from the wood. You jump back, startled. On inspection, the hinge looks to have been blasted with something magical, probably a result of another of Solomon’s experiments.

The snack long forgotten, you start to search for tools to fix the door. You remember seeing a screwdriver shoved in a drawer somewhere in the kitchen, so you root around until you find the junk drawer. No screwdriver to be found, but your search does yield an extra hinge still in the dusty plastic bag. The screw holes in the cabinet seem to be fine, but the screws are definitely stripped, so you continue your hunt.

You finally scrounge up a screwdriver and a couple of appropriately sized screws from a box mysteriously stashed under the couch, but you decide not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Tools secured, you head back to the kitchen to take a look at the door.

Unfortunately the only stepstool in the house seems to be the one that Luke uses to reach the lower cabinets, and you want to preserve a little bit of dignity, so you climb onto the kitchen counter instead. Screws in your mouth, you start aligning the holes in the hinge with the ones on the cabinet, when a voice echoes from behind you.

“What are you doing?”

You turn your head as much as you can without falling off to see Solomon standing behind you, utterly shocked. “One second,” you mumble through the screws, and fit them loosely into place. “This hinge fell off, so I fixed it.”

Solomon’s eyebrows furrow. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“...because you’ve been gone for ages and this takes me ten minutes?”

He pouts for a moment, but it vanishes just as quickly when his natural curiosity takes over. “Where did you even find all that?”

“Oh, you know,” you motion vaguely with your free hand, “around.”

He’s silent for a moment, and you wonder if he’s wandered off again. You finish tightening the screws as best you can by hand and hop down from the counter, satisfied with your work. You turn to see Solomon still standing there with utter adoration in his eyes. “You’re incredible,” he breathes.

“Solomon, I replaced a hinge and tightened two screws.”

“Yeah,” he sighs dreamily. “You didn’t even use a spell to hold them in place for you. You just did it yourself.”

You facepalm internally. “You know that’s how we have to do it in the human world, right?”

“But you’re in the Devildom, with the most powerful sorcerer in all the three realms down the hall. And you just decide to do it by hand anyways.”

“Solomon, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“It is a big deal. Do you know how many people would take advantage of your situation? I’ve had people come to me asking for help with a hole in their sock. I even have Asmo, one of the most powerful demons alive, ask me to vanish a pimple because he didn’t want to walk over to the bathroom to get a serum. You’re so determined to hold onto your humanity that you’ll still do things like this as my apprentice.”

You can’t help but laugh softly at him. “Solomon, I don’t need to hold onto my humanity. I do human things because I’m a human. And… sometimes humans have enough pride to not go running to a sorcerer for everything.” He cocks his head at you, confused.

“I know you love fixing things for me. You do it all the time. Remember the time I tripped outside of RAD and you came running to heal the wound?” He smiles at the memory. “It’s not like I don’t appreciate the help, but sometimes I have to do things for myself. Ever since I got here, I’ve learned there’s a magic spell for every little thing I’ve thought about, and some that I haven’t. It’s embarrassing, but I need things like this to prove that I can still do something without magic. I’ve been worried I forgot how to live without it.”

His eyes soften, taking in the blush on your face from admitting something like this. “I understand. I can’t say I ever felt like that, but that’s because magic was an escape for me. I didn’t realize it could make you feel like that.” He stands for a moment worrying his bottom lip in thought and you watch him pensively. Suddenly, his face lights up.

“I know! One of the demons I have a pact with is having trouble with their water heater, and it’s something that’ll take me hours with magic. Do you think you could fix it?”

You laugh at him, all sparkling eyes. “I can try. I don’t know if I’ll have the right tools though.”

He slips his arm around your waist as you walk towards the door. “That’s nothing I can’t fix for my adorable apprentice.”

[helslastangel]

Hey, what do you think of Juno in Virgo? I never hear anyone talk about it much.

I don't know for sure, but a part of me thinks that it's a less common Juno placement in general. I meet and hear about Capricorn, Aquarius, and Pisces Junos quite a bit more.

That being said, I have had a few friends with Juno in Virgo and it's pretty interesting. I was particularly close with one and got to see how it played out over a period of time.

Juno In Virgo ♍️

So a few years back, I met this Libra sun woman with Juno in Virgo. She was deeply in love with a rather stoic Taurus stellium guy that I didn't understand at first, but it made a lot of sense after I read her chart. She had Eros in Cancer. So before meeting this guy, she had been drawn to guys who were soft-spoken or had softer or more emotional personalities. However, I think she always subconsciously knew that being this way herself, she needed someone to balance her out.

She came alive when she finally met someone (the Taurus) who had qualities and characteristics that a person with Juno in Virgo would need to feel at ease and fulfilled in a relationship.

Here are some of those qualities that people with this Juno placement often find themselves drawn to when ready to settle down into a longer-term relationship:

🌾 Juno in Virgo can lead someone to be highly attracted to practical people, whether they consciously like it or not. They may go out with other types but end up being drawn to people who seem to have their shit together.

🌾 This is not the same kind of pull that Capricorn Juno experiences towards people who are ambitious and have a head for business or strategic planning. Virgo Juno ends up being drawn to the people who have routines, rules, and rituals for themselves that they follow religiously and quite happily.

🌾 People with their Juno in Virgo are often deeply attracted to minimalists, or they are that way themselves.

🌾 Not to be cliché, but perfectionism follows Virgo placements around like a toddler who knows you have candy-Juno in Virgo is no different. These folks will often be single for many many years waiting for the ideal partner or persist with the one person they consider "perfect" for them for a very long time. Usually waiting for them to feel the same way, or actively trying to improve a partner they already have (occasionally against their will lol "for their own good").

🌾 Virgo Juno women/feminine people especially can give off "ideal wife" vibes to the majority of men. Whether she is one or not (and whether she even wants this image) depends on the rest of her chart and her synastry with various people, but she will come across that way to many. Unless there are fire or water placements, she can seem a bit distant or even cold (though attentive and responsible) under most circumstances.

🌾 Virgo Juno men/masculine people are similarly cool, calm, collected types who might lack passion or warmth without placements that balance this out. However, they also might not be particularly attentive either, especially to love-related matters. They may enjoy being around coworkers or casual friends more than romantic partners and interests. They are responsible though and if they do get into a relationship, they will take care of their partner and ensure that life is as comfortable as possible.

🌾🌾🌾🌾🌾

Hope you found this insightful! 😘

[tinycheesecakedetective]

Character Files #1: Blueberry Milk Cookie

Hello again! It's been a while. Today I'd like to waffle on about Blueberry for a bit. If you'll allow me to. In the past I discussed his trajectory, but I wanted to take the opportunity to update a few things and add some fun details. This post is meant to cover Blueberry's past. What will become of his kingdom will be discussed when I get to the aftermath of the Dark Flour War. Now let's begin! ~~~~~

Personality & Early Life Blueberry Milk is a scholar with a taste for thrill and has an insatiable curiosity. He's kind to others, however he has a tendency to be overdramatic and cocky. He always pushes beyond boundaries despite the consequences or risks it may pose. He's an adventurer specifically because he found traditional studying too boring and would much rather get his hands dirty with experiments. But before Blueberry Milk became the illustrious founder of the republic, he was just a student at the Parfaedia Institute of Magic. Many teachers considered him a prodigy due to his prowess and intelligence, however others dreaded teaching him due to his penchant for troublemaking.

He would graduate at the age of 17, and took on a job as a professor before quitting years later. Many would cite a lack of stakes as one of the reasons for his departure, though that was common knowledge to anyone that was close to him. Blueberry Milk would then become an independent researcher, exploring the world and doing field research.

The Kingdom's Beginnings With months of travelling under his belt, it became very clear that he needed somewhere to store all of his findings. Initially he planned to establish it back at Parfaedia, but found it too stifling for him. So he packed all of his things and began moving north. Some old colleagues heard about this and followed suit, joining him up north in what would be called "The Land of the Studious." Alongside his colleagues, they established The Congregation, a meeting hall where they could all discuss the progress made with each of their projects.

Over time, more cookies heard of this place up north and had began seeking it out to perform their own personal projects. The Land of the Studious became known among Parfaedians as a wizard's getaway, a place where students could perform magic more freely than in the Institute. With the surge of visitors, the Gelato Villas were built for incoming travelers and eventually permanent residents, and the Wafer Train Station was built soon after for easier access to and from Parfaedia, and a new school began construction. As the area expanded more and more, the Land of the Studious had changed from a small community of scientists to a bustling city-state. The Congregation evolved, with the original founders becoming council members and gaining more political power over time. Soon even the name itself had changed, now being known as New Yogurt City.

A City in Crisis As the city developed, Parfaedia began to recognize NYC as a legitimate entity outside of "tourist destination." With competition on the rise, the magic city was forced to evolve to stay relevant. More technology was implemented into daily life as a result, with new experimental magic being tested. It was all going well until everything came screeching to a halt.

The incident happened outside of the institute. It started as a few electrical malfunctions inside some of the classrooms before quickly spreading to the rest of the building. Strange rifts opened inside one of the classrooms before letting in a legion of cake monsters. Even with all wizards pushing back, they were unable to stop the rifts. More appeared, wreaking havoc across the magic city. In a final attempt to get outside help, the wizards looked to the legendary beacons and lit them.

Dozens of wizards saw the lights and answered the call, including Blueberry Milk. With additional backup, they all began to go around the city, fighting the cake armies with staffs and wands. The city lit up with magic spells and potions as the streets were enveloped with smoke. For a moment, it looked like victory was near for the wizards, until the smoke parted with a mighty shriek.

Flying over them was their last and greatest opponent: the roll cake hydra. A horrible beast with cream cheese frosting bleeding through it's teeth and seven heads to boot. While the wizards and townsfolk fought long and hard, it kept coming back harder and more angry. The terrible beast forced them to retreat into the nearby forests.

A Glimmer of Hope Tired and exhausted, the cookies tended to their wounds. Many of them had passed out from spending too much mana, and others didn't know how much longer they could go on. Splitting from the group, Blueberry Milk wandered through the woods. He began flippantly going through spell after spell, trying to find one that could stop this before he never could. In his darkest moment, a voice beckoned to him. He tried to find the source, moving further inside before it spoke again.

It asked him if he was truly determined to save Parfaedia, and he responded with a nod. Sensing his desperation, the voice offered him a deal. It would give him the power he needed to stop the hydra in exchange for defending Earthbread as a whole. With dwindling options, he agreed, and his powers were amplified. Using his newfound strength, he left to face the hydra alone.

The fight was intense. Standing in front of the hydra armed with only his staff, he launched the first blow. Taken aback by the sudden attack, the hydra was struck, backing up before lunging it's heads at the cookie.

Move.

Blueberry Milk jumped out of the way, heart racing as he looked down at his hands. He felt sharper, quicker. The hydra tried again, snapping it's neck at him as it attempted to swallow him whole.

Roll.

His body acted on impulse, rolling away from it before sending a shockwave at the monster's body. A direct hit. A grin curled up onto his face as his teammates returned, mouths agape in shock.

Again.

The fight raged on as Blueberry Milk effortlessly weaved through each attack while dealing blow after heavy blow. More onlookers came, cheering him on as the hydra grew tired and sloppy. Another set of attacks came as he pushed the hydra into a corner.

Once more.

Pouring his remaining mana into his staff, he sent one final attack aimed at the hydra's chest. The hydra, desperate to live, fought back with all it's remaining strength, but it would be of no use. The attack speared through it's chest, pushing it back into a wall before it erupted in a beautiful collage of colors and sounds.

His finest work yet. And one that made him faint. His body was quickly ushered into a recovery room. When he woke up, he found himself surrounded by friends and acquaintances. If he didn't shoo them away, they would have killed him with kindness. He also wouldn't have noticed the gleaming blue gem resting on his chest.

The Aftermath Since the attack, Parfaedia immediately began reconstruction efforts, and with the help of the NYC was able to recover almost completely. After intense discussion and meetings, the two cities agreed to join under one entity as the New Yogurt Republic. The new republic recognized the efforts of the brave wizards that defended Parfaedia as heroes, and Blueberry especially began to grow in popularity. He was eventually appointed as the leader of the republic, with a new and improved council by his side, and with their combined efforts helped to usher in a new golden age for both cities.

For now.

Blueberry Milk, now a wielder of the soul jam of hope, began doing research into how exactly it worked. He knew that it helped him during the fight, but something about it felt.. foreign. But Blueberry wasn't one to give up, and he began to seek out others like him for his research. His curiosity knew no bounds, and he was determined to unlock the secrets of the soul jam.

[thedinanshiral]

Bellanaris.

After witnessing Solas' regrets through his murals in The Veilguard many wondered, what exactly was his relationship with Mythal?

Even the Veilguard members had questions and discussed about it.

Spoilers for everything. Goes with this one too, if you want more of Solas analysis from me.

He followed her without question -or reserving the ones he had- and maybe reconsidered that love in their friendship when her crimes with the evanuris outweighed what Solas could stand, when he asked her to run away with him and she declined, and by the time she listened and tried to stop the others it was sadly too late. When Solas started his rebellion he was already carving his own path away from her, but their love was still present and it was because of that love that he warned her, and that she finally decided to listen. She may have been his dearest friend and he did everything for her. When he writes to Ghilan'nain and says "you would not be the first to sacrifice your morals for love" he was talking about himself, he was referencing his personal experience because that's what he did with Mythal.

I'll be blunt, i don't think they were romantically entagled. It's been mentioned in past games that the ancient elvhen related with each other on different levels that present Thedosians may struggle to comprehend. Now knowing they were originally spirits helps understanding things a bit better; spirits are beings of raw, intense emotions, whatever they feel they do so on a much higher degree, and whatever words they used to communicate it once translated fail to convey their real, full meaning.

I think Solas and Mythal were friends, but friendship for them was felt much strongly. There was love between them but not in the sense we'd imagine it now.

They were not equals, there was an imbalance neither were truly aware of until Solas rebelled and maybe then he started understanding their differences and from there his feelings for her changed, as he changed, his purpose twisted from Wisdom meant to guide in times of war, into a rebel leader fighting in what were supposed to be times of peace. He went from being a friend to becoming the enemy.

The romance with the Inquisitor may have been a last minute addition to the game (I have my doubts, it's too perfect and fits too well with everything to have been improvised) but it makes perfect sense only a female elf Inquisitor can sway him like that..because it's reminiscent of his relationship with Mythal, that past bond coming back to haunt him except this time the roles are a bit reversed: he's the powerful god, she's the simple mortal. But Lavellan is far from being a simple creature and she reminds Solas of all he ever loved and cared about and changes a terrible broken world into something that can be fixed, She turns his despair into hope, the fact she came out in such a way from the same world he broke tells him something may still be saved..

In both instances Solas finds himself in the service of a powerful elven woman in a position of leadership trying to save the world. But with Lavellan there's no protocols, there's no real hierarchy, with Lavellan they're more like equals, they're partners. There's no master and servant, there's people on equal standing fighting together for a common goal.

Lavellan becomes Solas' partner in a way Mythal could not and would never be able to.

Mythal was possibly Solas' first relationship, whatever label you'd like to apply there, a loyal friendship sustained mainly on his one-sided devotion to her that he eventually grew out of. While Lavellan is real, realized love, a relationship that may have started out of necessity, finding mutual respect that turned it into friendship, later developing further into something both wanted and neither could ignore. There's no one-sidedness with Lavellan, there's only mutual desire, this love unlike the past one is overwhelming, requited and wanted. Lavellan makes the first move, she's the one that isn't running away and in fact, in Trespasser and later finally in Veilguard, she shows him she's the one willing to run away with him. She's the one willing to do for him the sacrifices he once made for Mythal, even when she doesn't have to, when there's no ancient bond, mandate or obligation of any kind. Lavellan is willing to be with him out of her own free will and for the love she holds for him.

For roleplaying and replayability it would have been great if Solas could have been romanceable by more Inquisitors, but by his nature and personal history it makes absolute perfect sense that only a female elf could. Now we know he was a spirit and spirits are at their core very simple and fixed creatures, interestingly ironic considering they come from a realm where nothing is fixed. Solas isn't just stuck in his ways, he's a spirit! There's a limit to what he can understand and experience, even if he's a spirit of wisdom and is very knowledgeable, his nature is still limited (as we all are), his focus is singular, and a female elf Inquisitor fits right into that singular focus of his. Making other races romanceable for him would have broken that and it would have taken away from the Thedas pattern and his personal pattern as well.

He left the fade to enter the physical world because an elvhen woman he loved asked him to, and he followed her loyal to a fault until he had to break away from her when she chose an abusive status quo over his desperate cry for freedom and justice.

He destroys the world as a result in a desperate attempt to save it, and wakes up thousands of years later to find one person who shows him something of all he loved lives on and in doing so gives him purpose. Spirits need and crave purpose and Lavellan gives him just that.

He falls in love, something he could have never foreseen, an event completely out of all his calculations, but the pattern is shifting, there's no longer an evident imbalance, he's treated as an equal, even when she learns who he is she still talks to him like he's just the man she loves.

And on his lowest point when he's about to repeat a past mistake and destroy a world trying to save it, he returns to the Fade accompanied by the elvhen woman that loved him back with a devotion he was never shown before. Some may argue they're not equals, because he's Fen'Harel and she's a mortal elf he lied to for the better part of a year, that they're not equals because he always kept that secret from her and maybe took advantage of her affection to get what he wanted. But they are equals in the end in the sense that they feel the same way, and are capable of the same sacrifices for each other, and their respect is mutual in equal measure.

Solas may have been mistaken, but had their circumstances been different you know he would have stayed with her, as he wanted to. Most of his dinan'shiral is fueled by monumental guilt, regret, shame and a hurt sense of duty and that's what prevented him from giving in to his feelings for Lavellan, just as he understood Lavellan wouldn't abandon the Inquisition for him, and wouldn't just let him burn the world without opposition. Because Lavellan also has duties she's devoted too as much as she's devoted to him. They're an unstoppable force and unmovable object clashing against their will and if it weren't for the people around them you know a Lavellan that is on equal standing with Solas would have confronted him, maybe neither would have succeeded, maybe they would have died in each other's arms if it came to it.

But fortunately it didn't have to end that way, and yes, I'm sure Solas knows too well he doesn't deserve her (because she's too good), that she doesn't deserve him (because he's such a mess), but Lavellan has always been there to prove him wrong and he welcomes that with a smile.

I headcanon my Gallia Lavellan would be a spirit of Devotion. Wisdom and Devotion make an odd pair, but she's Devotion all around, mostly for him, their love that endured everything, but she's also devoted to the truth, to their causes, to the people, to Thedas, she's devoted to doing the right thing and to doing it as best as possible; she's devoted to continue learning about the world, protecting those she love, and those who have no one to look after them.

She does all that by following him into the Fade, by becoming the fixed point in his life, his North, his Anchor, to remind him what should be done, not only what must be done, to remind him of what truly matters. She doesn't simply follow him into the Fade out of love for him but out of love for the world, which is another thing they have in common.

Lavellan is truly his match, and Solas is aware of it in a way that makes him more ashamed for everything he's done and feel more undeserving of what is yet to come for him by her side.

I don't think Wisdom turned to Pride, I think Wisdom became Pragmatism in the wars, later turned to Regret for most of his life and through Devotion's love and perseverance he returned to Wisdom with a renewed love for life. Maybe he's become Love now, love for her, love for the world he's protecting, love for his people, and for all that love he decided to sacrifice himself, his own freedom, to spend in eternity with his one true love.

And for once in his very long and troubled life i think this time he made a choice he does not regret.

[dissociative-misinfo]

"If you really had DID, you wouldn't know!"

Says who?!

The idea that people with dissociative identity disorder (DID) can't be aware of their symptoms until they're diagnosed... This is a huge myth about DID and similar experiences; one that has been debunked again and again by experts. Yet it remains! Here are a few examples of this misconception being spread around online: source.

People with DID can be, and often are, aware of their DID symptoms before ever speaking to a clinician.

Where is the proof? Khan (2024) states that, while it's normal for dissociative people to not realize the full extent of their symptoms, trauma, or alters, they can still become aware of any of these things at any point. Source. Dell (2006) actually considers the awareness of alters before diagnosis to be a "common occurrence in DID" which has been widely documented in studies. Multiple diagnostic screening tools inquire about awareness of alters for this reason. Source.

Additionally, alters can have varying degrees of awareness of each other and their symptoms. To quote Howell (2011) from her book, on pages 3-4: Source.

"Different dissociative parts may or may not have knowledge of the affects, behaviors, histories, motives, and thoughts of other parts. How coconscious patients are also varies—that is, the extent to which they have knowledge of and are privy to the thoughts, history, and affairs of the other parts varies. Often, the part of the self that is in executive control is unaware of the thoughts and activities of other parts (often called one-way amnesia). However, this is a tricky topic to try to make clear. For example, coconsciousness may be minimal before beginning psychotherapy for DID but tends to increase considerably in the course of appropriate psychotherapeutic work. Although parts other than the part who is most often in executive control (often called the “host”) are more likely to know of each other and of the host, this is not always the case and is not always the same for different parts of the same patient. Some parts may be unknown by many of the others. The dissociative structure of each patient is different."

Even in the case someone has no memory of their symptoms, they can be made aware through external evidence such as finding purchases or notes that other alters made, police reports confirming traumatic events, someone pointing out their dissociation, etc.

Now let’s talk about something that I feel goes frequently unrecognized: becoming aware of symptoms is often a positive thing! For many people, recognizing their own symptoms is the first step to seeking help for them. As mental health awareness and access to useful information increases, we will likely see an uptick in people with DID developing more awareness of their symptoms and getting help sooner. That’s incredibly positive!

Finally, a small note about diagnosis... Diagnosis is its own loaded topic for a different day. However, I want to point out that people diagnosed with DID still had the DID before their diagnosis. The symptoms were still there, whether they were aware of it or not.

Furthermore, not everyone with DID can obtain a diagnosis or even wants one. There are a myriad of potential reasons for that and I encourage you to do your own research on it. These articles can be a good starting point: source, source, source.

Thanks for reading!

[aziraphales-library]

Hi team! I was wondering if you might have some recommendations for Aziraphale-centric fics? Not really looking for whump, or fics where his feelings for Crowley are his sole focus (though I'd still enjoy it if were a significant part of the story), but moreso fics that look at Aziraphale holistically. First fic that comes to mind as an example is "Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach" by Nnm. Thanks!

Hello! Here are some Aziraphale-centric fics for you...

Could you breathe with me? by Euny_Sloane (T)

Aziraphale goes to counseling/therapy with an unnamed therapist and spends some time exploring his feelings related to love, loss, and family. Note that this is an imagined counseling session, and so may bring up uncomfortable feelings, regardless of how many tags I place, especially if you have the unfortunately common experience of feeling unloved by your family, or unworthy of love. Nothing graphic happens except a reference to Pompeii, though.

In a Perfect World, I would Hold your Hand and Kiss your Cheek by boredom (T)

A chance encounter with a young man leads Aziraphale on the path of healing and discovery. Maybe now he can finally admit to what he wants, without guilt and without fear. Maybe now he and Crowley can finally move forward, together.

Human Labels, and Angelic Discovery by Hemlock_Holmes (G)

Aziraphale discovers autism, and goes on a one-angel mission to learn everything he can about it. This is a purely self-indulgent fic about discovering yourself after many years, because I am so tired of reading books (not fanfic!) where the word autism is skirted around and treated like taboo, even when everyone knows that's what the author means. Just say it people! Also because nothing gives me greater joy than watching Aziraphale stim.

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years. Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

The Other Arrangement: or, How the Angel Got so Hungry by burnttongueontea (T)

‘It’s just… funny. Don’t you think it would be funny, if it turned out we’d had it the wrong way round all these years? If I ate all the time, and you hardly ever?’ Crowley discovers that Aziraphale has been strictly and obsessively limiting his food intake for millennia, due to fear of punishment from Heaven if he gets caught eating too regularly. The angel’s confident facade comes apart at the seams after they move to the South Downs, as he struggles to cope with new-found freedom while still keeping his past a secret. With the future of their relationship soon hanging in the balance, Crowley must find a way to convince Aziraphale that he is a safe pair of hands to collapse into – and that they can rebuild things from the ground up.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (G)

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

- Mod D

[mysteria157]

Moment One: An Old Flame

Rating: Explicit 

Pairing: Nanami Kento x Black Fem Reader

CW: fluff, profanity, explicit sexual content (whole lotta smut, I’m talking: vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, creampie…lol you get it).

Word Count: ~6k

Summary: When Nanami has no choice but to work overtime, you bring him dinner as a surprise. But you unexpectedly find his ex-girlfriend already keeping him company. 

Takes place a few weeks after Chapter 15 of It Had To Be You!

Notes: I had this idea way back when I wrote chapter 15 weeks ago and I finally made it a reality last night LOL. I don’t have a beta reader, so sometimes there may be a mistake or two. I have a habit of being way too detailed when I write, and that includes smut. So hopefully you enjoy it! 

Likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome! Happy reading!

Divider: @saradika | Header: myself

Those Moments In Between Masterlist | Moment Two

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

MINORS DNI

Nanami knows better.

He knows that his ex-girlfriend, Pia, is just as devious as she was when they were in undergrad. 

When they were younger and together, she gave sweetness and tender love that made Nanami stick around a bit longer than he should have. Though they had nothing in common and she was far too outgoing, she helped him embrace many different things that were normally out of his comfort zone.

She taught him how to express public displays of affection in his own way. She taught him how to express what he felt when it came to romantic love. 

He was grateful for it. Truly.

Indirectly, her personality only made him realize just how ill-suited they were for one another despite her good intentions.

Pia was spiteful to those who disagreed with her, disrespectful to those who did not have the same values as her, and outlandishly rude to those who came on to Nanami. She covered it all up with smiles, jokes as a means of apology, and an innocent glint in her eyes that Nanami at the time, didn't have the experience to see through.

Gojo had tried to warn him, year after year.

But he was young--his disdain for Gojo was five thousand times more intense than it is now--so Nanami treated everything that fell from Gojo's lips as a ploy to annoy anyway. 

Nanami remained oblivious to her behavior, caught in the haze of young love, until their final year of college.

That haze had gradually become easier to sift through. The complaints from his friends finally began to register in his mind. Then, one day between classes, a significant moment allowed him to finally blink away the fog.

Every action that he had once dismissed, enticed by the flutter of her lashes and the touch of her lips, rose to the surface from an ocean of naivety--loud and unfiltered.

He despised himself for having to come to the painful realization that Gojo had been right all along. 

Nanami allowed Gojo to mock him for a week before reverting to his habit of telling him to shut up unless he had something meaningful to contribute to their conversations. 

Despite feeling embarrassed and heartbroken, he cut ties--clean and simple--moved on with his life, and never heard from her again.

Until now, that is, as she is currently in Nakameguro for a project to market her wine enterprise. She specifically chose his company to assist in expanding her business in the Japanese market, and he despises every minute of it. 

Pia clearly wants to make up for lost time because she goes to great lengths to be close to him. 

She has a habit of discreetly slipping into the elevator just before it closes, coincidentally finding herself alone with Nanami every time. With a simple smile and a polite greeting, she faces the front and they ride in silence, but with every encounter, she subtly edges closer and closer to him. 

Like clockwork, without fail, she makes a point to peek into his office every morning, disregarding his attempt to keep the door closed. She greets him, extends an invitation to lunch—an invitation he consistently declines—and continues with her day. 

Being a recluse by nature, he rarely leaves his office except for coffee runs to the breakroom or when Yuji relentlessly calls for his presence. But with Pia’s presence, he can hardly focus when she’s around. He refuses to engage in conversation or give her an opening to pursue him romantically. Because he knows she will. So now he makes Yuji come to him and will bring his own coffee from home. 

He chooses not to confide in you about his struggles.

You had only met her once, but it was more than enough. Because to you, Pia is overwhelmingly beautiful, with a well-traveled life and wealth. You are an amateur ceramic artist with modest savings, a mother that you can’t stand, and a body that had recently been stretched and marked by childbirth.

You thought Kento deserved better—deserved someone like Pia. 

You were grappling with the overwhelming responsibilities of taking care of Ulani, trying your best to navigate through postpartum depression in a healthy way, and coming to terms with a body that seemed alien to you.

So the sight of Pia for the first time, radiant and flaunting a badge of honor for dating Nanami, did nothing but throw you into a deep pit of insecurity.

Kento lifted you out of that dark place, demonstrated to you again—without fail—how devoted he was to you then and always.

He made it abundantly clear that he was yours. 

He’s determined to never make you feel unsure of yourself again. 

So it's not a big deal. She’s just a nuisance that he has to dodge for the next week. 

Just another week until she goes back to Italy where she—hopefully—will never return.

What’s the worst that can happen?

It turns out, a lot.

He tries to stay one step ahead, deliberately exchanging a brief greeting with her in the lobby to prevent her from slithering into his office. He even waits until the office is deserted, and the day is nearly over before stepping into the elevator. 

He doesn’t know how he got out scot-free, but Friday rolls around and he thinks that he just might pull this off.

But Yaga chooses today of all days to ask Nanami to stay behind to consolidate a few contracts that only Nanami—unfortunately—has access to. In normal circumstances, Nanami would decline and suggest pushing it off until Monday.

It’s even more unfortunate because he has plans tonight. He wants to help you make dinner and spend time with his daughter and he shouldn’t even have to think about excuses because he hates overtime. But, the consolidation is due Monday, and he wants to get it done now so that he can avoid the hassle later on.

You don’t sound upset when he calls you to break the news. Your usually calm voice is slightly downcast with a gentle sigh that you think he can’t hear.

“I guess it’s rare so I shouldn’t be mad but,” you complain weakly, your words tinged with a slight whine that makes Nanami smirk to himself. “I made Katsudon.” 

He groans, mouth instantly watering at the mere thought. 

“I’ll be home as soon as I can, my love. I promise.” 

You grumble a reply that makes him chuckle, a tender sound resonating deep in his chest as he listens to you tell him that you love him before hanging up the phone.

***

It’s seven o’clock and he’s fighting a migraine. But he’s almost done, and he’s determined to finish the last stack of contracts that require organizing before he can make his way home to you and Ulani.

As he pens his signature on the bottom of one contract, there’s a knock on his office door, prompting him to invite them in—assuming it’s merely the janitor since everyone else on the floor left hours ago. 

That’s all he thinks to himself; he focuses his attention on yet another clause, preparing to initial his name on the side when everything comes to a screeching halt. 

Because standing before him isn’t the janitor—it’s Pia.

Pia, clad in a tight black dress that not only defies workplace etiquette but also starkly contrasts the one she wore earlier in the day.  

Earlier that day, he followed her every movement as she got into her car and drove away, silently relieved that he could finally relax. Yet, here she is; her dark brown wavy hair hanging over her shoulder in a manner far too seductive for his comfort, and black heels clutched in her hands instead of adorning her feet.

It takes him only a second to assess how quickly he can maneuver past her without a word. He will take the steps if he has to, or maybe he can grab the remaining contracts and finish the rest at home and—

“Gojo always mentions how you never stay late anymore, so I’m surprised to see you here,” she purrs, her Italian accent grating against his ears, exacerbating his throbbing migraine behind his eyes. Her lust-filled, indecent intentions taint her dark brown eyes, reinforcing the strong urge within him to leave, quickly. 

He’s not the type of man to belittle a woman’s appearance because they all possess their own beauty. His mother hammered that among other things about the respect of women deep into his skull before he hit puberty. But he’s well-mannered enough to acknowledge beauty and let the line be drawn there—because other women aren’t you, and he doesn’t have a wandering eye. 

He never has and he never will.

“Is there a reason why you are here, Pia?” he questions, discreetly binding the stack of contracts together so he can swiftly grab them along with his blazer and push her out of the way if he has to. “Your project finished at the end of the business day, so I assumed you would be on your way back to Italy.”

She scoffs a deep and guttural noise that makes Nanami’s stomach twirl in distaste and intensifies the pounding behind his eyes. “You know exactly why I’m here, Kento. Don’t be dull. You never were back then, and you aren’t now.”

His stomach churns, the knots tightening with each passing moment between them. The tension becomes unbearable, culminating in a swift rise from his seat as he retrieves his blazer behind his large, deep red chair.

“You need to leave,” he demands, his voice devoid of the polite courtesy he had extended to her during her visit. He tucks the contracts beneath an arm, grabs his car keys, and makes for the door—but she’s quick to sidestep so her frame blocks his path. 

Irritation surges within him, an emotion that others—excluding you—are keen to elicit when they begin to waste his time. 

“Pia, please move out of the way so that I can go home.”

She arches a perfectly groomed eyebrow, adding to the torment coursing through his stomach. “So you’re saying you don’t even want to talk? It’s been years since we’ve seen each other, and you’ve done nothing but avoid me during my entire stay.” Her whiny, petulant tone and childlike frown only serve to trigger flashbacks to times when she didn’t get her way, intensifying the deep divide that caused their separation.

“And you don’t understand the reason why?” he retorts, irritation heavier and thick in his mouth. A frown etches itself onto his lips, and his patience dissipates in the tense air encircling them. 

A noise in the lobby—a noise that implies someone can be listening—makes his heart stammer in his chest and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. 

While she has an agenda, he does not. He refuses to allow others to lose respect for him in this office, thinking he indulges in infidelity during his free time when that couldn’t be further from the truth. He couldn’t care less about others’ opinions, except when it involves you and your relationship—that’s where he draws the line. 

Unaffected by his sarcastic remark, she delicately places a perfectly manicured hand on his chest. He’s quick to react, catching her wrist in a way that makes his blazer fall to the floor, pulling her hand away from him as his body begins to shake in frustration.

 “I don’t know where you’ve gotten the impression that I want anything with you, but I won’t be entertaining it. What we had was a long time ago and it won’t ever be reignited again. Try your best to understand that,” he states firmly.

“But—” she begins to protest.

“Enough, Pia. Leave. Now.” 

He isn’t asking nicely anymore, his head pounding, and the decision to simply push her out of the way is made. Just as he prepares to do so, the door swings open, and the person he longs to see the most but also wishes wasn’t here right now, rushes in.

“Ken, I thought I could bring you dinner and—” you stop mid-sentence, words wedged in your throat as you take in the scene in front of you. You’re holding a Tupperware container, the steam inside condensing along the edges.

Nanami with papers under one arm and the other dropping from a delicate wrist to flop down at his side, his hair disheveled from hours of musing, his face clearly disturbed. And Pia, beautiful and ethereal as usual as she whips around to look at you. 

Since that first day you met her, you haven’t encountered Pia again. And Kento’s unwavering loyalty and trust have provided no reason to entertain the thought of her. 

However, Nanami’s stiff stature, Pia’s tight dress that reveals a bit too much in the front, and the stiletto heels swinging from her finger in one hand make it abundantly clear to you why she is here. 

At seven o’clock at night.

With no one else around.

You want to shy away from the implication, to fend off your surprise with a shy chuckle, and let the poisonous current of insecurity draw you away like that time before. But Nanami had skillfully put those doubts to rest weeks ago. 

Now you’re just irritated.

“Pia? What are you doing here?” You keep your tone light, masking the annoyance bubbling inside you. Pia’s earlier sultry gaze has vanished, replaced by widened eyes and hands smoothing her already unwrinkled dress, anxiously. “Kento told me the project ended a few hours ago. Aren’t you flying back to Italy soon?”

She fumbles, her rose-tinted lips curling as she searches for something to say, gripping her heels tighter in her hand. It’s reminiscent of watching a child scrambling for an excuse after being caught with their hands in a cookie jar.

Nanami remains silent, astonished. In the past, any other woman daring to breathe his air while Pia was present would have been met with scathing words and threats. But now, that Pia is desperately trying to produce an excuse for her late presence within a workplace when she she should be on a flight home.

“She was just leaving, love,” Nanami interjects, trying his best to make the situation as simple as it can be. Pia agrees, blushing and nodding, hastily slipping her heels back on with hands seemingly covered in sweat.

Watching her struggle to secure her heels, her fingers slipping on the buckle, reignites a surge of confidence deep within you. The once persistent insecurity in her presence now feels like a mere joke. In this moment, she becomes the joke. 

And you want to savor every minute of it.

The next words spill from your mouth, impossible to contain. You wiggle the small Tupperware container in your hands, gesturing towards her and offering a shy but satisfied smile.

“I was just bringing my husband dinner,” you chuckle airily, the lie slipping from your lips with ease. You relish the reaction from them both. Pia’s hands slip on her heel strap, causing her to stumble. Nanami struggles to contain his composure, eyes wide as saucers, his breath caught in his throat as your words ring in his ears like a piercing siren.

“Kento is the only one on this floor, it’s awfully late and I doubt you would have left earlier without saying goodbye. Surely you—” you pause, pretending to be taken aback before leveling an accusatory gaze at her. She looks up from her hunched position, hands still fumbling with the straps of her heels, her eyes wide and beautifully tan skin appearing pale. You’re not one for pettiness, but the delight from the sight of her struggling courses through your veins. “Surely you’re not here with the intention to do something else, are you?” 

“No!” she quickly retorts, her voice both loud and tinged with a hint of nervousness that makes the corner of your lip twitch. “No of course not—”

“So what are you doing here?” you cut her off with a narrowing of your eyes, repeating your question from earlier with a touch less feigned innocence, your tone slightly more serious and impatient. 

“L-leaving actually! Just wanted to say goodbye to Kento before my flight in the morning,” she stammers, now standing three inches taller, maintaining an air of elegance and grace even as her embarrassment paints her cheeks red.

She hastily bids Nanami farewell—a choked and tight goodbye—, a lopsided and anxious smile directed at you, and stumbles once more as she hurriedly exits the room, a snort of amusement escaping your lips as she trips before disappearing from your sight.

You close the door behind her, shutting away her presence for good.

The room falls into silence, Nanami’s face turning a vibrant shade of red that forces you to suppress your laughter with every ounce of effort you can muster.

“Love, I can explain—,” he begins, but you promptly cut him off, a giggle escaping despite your best attempts to hold it back. 

You know he would never do anything. Nanami would probably take infinite shifts of overtime instead of letting a woman who was not you touch him. In fact, you heard the entire conversation before you rushed in, and it makes your heart flutter with love that is already overflowing for him. 

“It’s not funny,” he grumbles.

But it’s so funny to watch him squirm, his face burning even more and his movements awkward as he clutches the bundle of disheveled contracts in his hand. His expressions of frustration and his furrowed brow only serve to ignite a warmth in your stomach. 

You love to tease him. And now you’ve been given the perfect opportunity to make him sweat.

“There’s no need to explain, Ken. I’m just messing with you,” you reassure him, taking his free hand and gently pulling him back to his desk. Turning to face his still-nervous figure, you retrieve the papers from his grasp and place them neatly on his large mahogany desk. 

“I heard the entire conversation. I am curious though,” you begin, pressing him down into his chair. He’s silent as he watches you push the chair back a little, so you have room to stand between him and his desk. “What do you think she would have done if I hadn’t come in time?”

“Absolutely nothing because I don’t—” he starts, but his words are abruptly cut off by the touch of your hand gliding against the fabric of his chest. Unlike Pia’s touch, your fingertips radiate heat and beckon him in a way that has his cock twitching in his slacks. His heart skips a beat as he watches your own manicured nails circle the buttons of his dress shirt before undoing them quickly. “We can’t—”

“Why?” you interrupt, your voice low and hot, instantly drying up his throat. Your fingertips dance along the exposed skin of his chest, gently teasing him as your nail flicks against a pink nipple before trailing down between the contours of his abs. You tap your fingers along the downy hair that trails under his slack and his stomach bunches in response, twitching from the stimulation, his heart skipping and his throat tightening slowly. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

He doesn’t. God, he doesn’t, and the words ‘no’ are out of his mouth before he can stop them, giving you his consent even though he’s embarrassed out of his mind. His migraine becomes an insignificant thought, the pulsing from earlier falling into a slow ebb, eclipsed by the escalating desire coursing through his veins. 

Nanami has never been the type of man to do this sort of thing. While he likes to be inside you anytime he can, he cherishes the privacy that safeguards both himself and you, more. 

But he can’t lie to himself that the thought of something happening in this office with you hasn’t crossed his mind multiple times—especially when you used to work together.

The sound of you undoing his belt buckle has his heart racing, thumping loud and heavy in his chest and his face is on fire as he watches you release him from the confines of his pants, his cock already hard and leaking. 

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, biting down and finding it difficult to contain your own desire from the sight of him. The area between your legs throbs as you trace your eyes down a cock that you’re intimately familiar with. Warm and achingly heavy, leaking with anticipation and pleading for your touch. His abs tense with a sharp intake of breath as you wrap your hand around him, a pleasurable hiss escaping his throat as he watches you stroke him languidly. 

You press your free hand into the arm of his chair, leaning in until your lips are mere inches apart. Inhaling his ragged breaths, you admire the way his deep brown eyes blow out, leaving only a ring of burnt umber for you to gaze into. 

Your grip on him has his mind foggy, desire overtaking any rational thoughts that he would normally use right about now. 

But you’re so good. 

You’re curling your wrist with every upward stroke just the way he loves and his abs bunch with every jolt of pleasure that zips inside of him.

He has to touch you, has to get his hands on you in some way to ground himself, and he instinctively reaches out for you when suddenly you tsk, pulling back slightly to create more distance between your lips.

“No touching.”

Oh.

You never deny him when you’re both like this. You always want his hands on you. The fact that you’re now denying him, gazing at him with a dangerous look in your eyes, shocks him. And it arouses him to a degree that makes him choke on a breath. 

He sags back into his chair, gasping for breath when your hands trail down to cup his balls. He digs his fingers into the chair’s armrests, scratching red leather, and he’s desperate to keep himself from cumming too soon.

“Did you—did you lock the door?” he manages to gasp, grasping onto any shred of coherent thought he has left.

You tilt your head in confusion, gaze at him with an indifferent stare, and then shrug nonchalantly before sagging down to your knees in front of him. The sight makes his toes curl in his expensive Chukka boots.

The rational part of his mind urges him to get up and check the door. Just get up and make sure the door is at least locked before anything else—but then his thoughts are short-circuiting and stuttering as your tongue slides wet up his shaft and you swallow him down to the base without a care in the world.

The back of his head slams against the cushioned chair as a surge of pleasure courses through his veins. You’re wet and sloppy, teasing him with your gaze as your mouth stretches from the thickness of him—and he’s struggling to hold on, struggling to keep his orgasm at bay even though it’s right there.

He tries to reach for you—tries to card his hands through your hair but you smack it away and glare at him with such a ferocity that he’s embarrassed for even attempting. 

Marketing templates. Morning traffic. A cold cup of coffee. 

He thinks of everything he can to resist the warmth in his stomach and the coil tightening along his spine; because you suck his cock in a way that makes him fidget in his chair, humming and gurgling into his ears in a wicked melody that’s making him go insane.

You’re enjoying every second of this and it only makes him blush harder with just how exposed he is to you right now. The mere weight of his cock in your mouth and the slightly salty taste of him makes your panties damp, your cunt pulsating and aching to be filled. 

And you’ll make sure it happens.

So you patiently wait until he’s panting harshly, his grip on the arm of his chair growing tighter and tighter. You wait until that crazed look dances in his eyes—the one you’re so familiar with right before he cums. And right when he’s on the cusp, you pull away. 

He exhales hard and sinks into his chair almost in relief as the band inside of him relaxes slightly, desperately trying to catch his breath and hissing as the cold air of his office wraps around his wet cock.

“Pia really did have a plan, didn’t she?” you playfully tease, standing to card your fingers through his blonde locks. Your fingertips glide across the faint traces of sweat, your hand moving along with the shake of his head in response to you, his gaze unfocused.

You kick off your shoes, hook your thumbs into the corner of your leggings, and slide them down and off your legs—his eyes following every inch of creamy brown skin that is revealed to him. 

You’re wearing an oversized sweater, a soft cashmere that he got you simply because he wanted, and it now covers your faint stretch-marked thighs. They are your battle scars, your own reminders of the journey your body underwent to grow and birthed the beautiful daughter you both have now.

His breath falters as he watches you gracefully perch on his large desk, placing your legs on top and bending your knees so your fuzzy sock-covered feet press against the rich mahogany. Leaning back on one arm, you effortlessly open your legs for him. His naturally narrow eyes widen at the sight of your white damp panties, and he longs to lick, suck, and slide his cock inside the very place they conceal.

The glint in your eyes is mischievous and taunting, delighting in the way he struggles to stay seated even as you slide one of your hands down into your panties.

“Can I—” he starts, but you cut him off.

“No.” 

You leave no room for argument and don’t offer anything else as you begin to circle your clit leisurely, arching into the touch as echoes of pleasure hum to life. It’s not long before you’re pushing your panties to the side to expose yourself to the open air. Your cunt throbs with desire when you hear Nanami groan softly under his breath. 

You’ve never been this bold, never entertained the thought of anything voyeuristic. But Nanami seems to awaken something within you, something you’re slowly embracing. He’s so shy about sex outside of the privacy of your home, and it only makes this more exciting that he’s even entertaining it now.

“Did she do this with you?” you ask him, your voice breathless as you sink two fingers into your wet cunt. The corner of Nanami’s eye twitches from the sight and you swallow down a giggle that threatens to escape. “Did she ever make you watch her while she touched herself?” 

You moan softly as you curl your fingers up as best as you can from your angle. Nanami’s fingers dig into the leather of his chair with barely contained restraint. 

“Answer me, Kento.”

“No. She didn’t.”

Satisfied with his answer, a sense of pride flaps in your chest, and you gleefully continue fingering yourself in front of him. It always takes you a while to get off with your fingers, so you use that as ammunition to watch Nanami squirm. 

You watch the way his exposed muscular pectorals move with his increasing breaths. You watch the way his cock twitches, hot and heavy against his stomach, leaking precum onto his abs. And you soak up the way he traces his eyes along every inch of you, leaving nothing without his attention.

When you finally cum, sharp and abrupt, he’s hanging on by a thread—ready to abandon your command to be still, yank you to him, and sink inside. 

He watches your cunt flutter around your fingers as you slowly come down from your high, gasping like an angel into the office air. Breathless, you stand on shaky legs and move to stand before him, lifting slick-covered fingers to his mouth which he readily opens without command, desperate to taste you any time he can. He groans softly against your fingers, eyes drooping, tongue sliding wet between your digits. The sight makes your cunt throb weakly, faint embers that had just died down, licking to life again.

You taste like everything to him, everything he wants and everything he needs.

But it’s not on the menu tonight.

You straddle his lap wordlessly and smack his hands away when he tries to wrap large hands around your waist. He swallows his frustration, yearning to touch you, yet willing to comply for the promise of more.

Using the remnants of your arousal between your legs, you coat him, stroking him enough to make sure you take him effortlessly, and then you guide him to your entrance and sink down to the hilt. The feel of him inside you is glorious, stretching you in the way you like that makes your cunt tremble to life around him, grateful for his presence once again. 

“Fuck,” he hisses—chokes with eyes squeezed shut, hand gripping the chair until it groans. You’re so wet, so fucking warm and tight that he’s shaking--practically trembling and swallowing a whimper as he fights the urge to grab your hips.

You didn’t need much to get used to him. You’re a masochist when he stretches you—you crave the way your cunt tenses from the intrusion, gripping him like a vice.

You’re a champ, enveloping him and giving him little time to acclimate before you’re bouncing on his cock with a finesse that would make any woman jealous.

You slide both hands into the hair at his nape and pull so that he cranes his neck back to gaze up at you. He’s slack-jawed, panting with breaths that tickle your lips, his eyes heavy with desire. 

“Did she ever fuck you like this, hmm? Come into your office when you would work long hours and ride you until you couldn’t see straight?” 

He can only shake his head ‘no’ in response, his throat too dry to speak, his lungs burning. He craves your touch, your lips on him, something to anchor him as he struggles to keep up. It’s the only way he can stay sane when the neurons in his brain are frying by the second. He begs wordlessly, groans deeply up into your mouth, pleading for anything.

And thankfully, you grant him a searing kiss. Your lips mold against his, tongues battling for dominance that he willingly surrenders to. His every thrust hits that perfect spot within you, brushing away hints of oversensitivity and bringing forth faint pleasure that makes you dig your hands into blond tresses and pull tight.

The pleasure caresses the insides of your thighs and tightens the muscles of your legs. Every brush of your clit against the skin of his abs shoots electricity throughout your cunt and up to the base of your spine, igniting a simmering fire that begins to heat deep pools of lava that reside there.

You pull away from his lips with a harsh moan, gasping into the warm air of his office, riding him harder to the point that the legs of his chair begin to squeak.

He knows you well. He knows how you get demanding and delirious and incoherent when you ride him, and he loves to count the seconds until that switch in your brain goes off. And it’s not even a second later when—

“Fuck, you feel so fucking good. So, so good,” you moan against the skin of his lips. “Fucking me just the way I like Ken.”

He watches every move you make, tracing his eyes over the contours of your face and the way your loose curls cling to creamy brown cheeks.

His eyes roll when he picks up your whispered chants. You’re a woman possessed and you take what you want—when you want. And he gives and gives with every yes, yes, more Ken, you’re so good, please, please, please yes!

Your pupils are blown and glazed over with desire, but suddenly your brows furrow in frustration. 

“She walked in here in a tight dress and high heels looking to get you in the same position that I have you now. But at the end of the day, you’re mine.”

There’s not an ounce of coyness in your words. You’re so serious, firm, and unyielding that it makes him shudder, a groan sliding from his parted lips, his eyes rolling into the back of his head and—

“Look at me,” you command, voice low, panting from exertion and the feel of your body beginning to draw tight with embers of a powerful orgasm. His eyes roll back without hesitation, locking with yours. “Unless—unless some other circumstance tears us apart, you—you are mine. Pia can have all the money and fame, but she will never have you. I do.”

“Yes,” he whispers, the word tumbling from his lips without faltering. His hips struggle to keep up and his thighs begin to stiffen as pleasure begins to curl deliciously so that his hands dig into the chair. His fingers slip against the leather, sweaty and tingling.

“You’re the father of my child.”

“Yes,” he chants again, breathless and quivering as the rubber band along his spine grows taught, stretching and shaking from the tension.

“You sleep next to me. You kiss me. You fuck me.”

“Yes, only you—only you.”

You tremble from his words, satisfaction oozing like hot thick globs along your skin. “That’s right, Kento,” you purr as your hips begin to roll against him, your clit carrying currents of pleasure through your veins, that pool of lava at the base of your spine boiling and rising to the brim.

“Please,” he whispers, his plea pulling you from your desire-induced haze. You look down at him, admire the flush of his cheeks, the warmth of his breath against the collarbone of your sweater, the sweat that beads along his hairline. “Please.”

“Please what?” you tease, trying to maintain a playful demeanor even though your hips are beginning to ache from overuse. You come to a stop on top of him, your breaths mingling together.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, always gentle and caring, even when he’s bursting from the seams. You love him so fucking much.

“Will you make me cum?”

“Always,” he responds without hesitation, his words filled with conviction. You lean in, pressing your lips against his, savoring the affection he willingly gives you. When you pull away, you brush thick blonde locks from his forehead, exposing more of his sharp features that will never fail to make your heart race.

“Then touch me, Ken,” you whisper, your voice laced with desire and anticipation.

Without wasting a moment, he swiftly lifts you in his arms, his cock still nestled inside as he carries you towards his desk.

Your breath catches as you stare up at him, the sound of papers scattering to the floor filling the air. He pulls your sweater up, revealing every inch of your faintly stretch-marked belly, before tugging down a cup of your bra, heady eyes watching as one of your breasts spills from its confines. 

He’s too fast. You fumble for words and let out a surprised yelp when he yanks your waist toward the edge of the desk. He presses your knees as close to your chest as you will allow, and then he slams into you once—and then twice before picking up a rhythm that makes your toes curl.

He devours you, tongue flicking and swirling wet and dripping around your exposed nipple as he pounds into you unabashedly, the desk squeaking and groaning from his efforts.

All bravado that you had earlier splinters away with each smack of his muscular hips against you, the skin of his abs brushing against your clit deliciously, coaxing moan after moan from your lips. His tongue flicks your nipple again before he bites the hardened bud, and your cunt flutters—clenches around him, your thighs beginning to twitch even though they’re pressed to your chest.

“I’m all yours. Always yours,” he whispers against your lips, blonde tresses gliding against your cheeks.

You hope there’s no one on this floor, or that no one has decided to come back for something because the last thing they need to hear is Nanami Kento, Director of Strategic Partnerships, railing his girlfriend on his over-priced, too-large mahogany desk.

You can barely breathe, your moans growing in pitch, the sound of skin on skin echoing through his office, your hands sliding up to dig fingers into the skin of his back. You don’t even have the chance to tell him you’re close. 

The stroke of him inside you, the slap of his skin against your bundle of nerves, and the feel of his mouth trailing along the sweaty column of your neck with a deep and heavy cum for me baby breaks the seal inside of you.

The lava boils over—pools along your bones, hot and delicious and caressing every nerve ending within you, your cunt squeezing him without remorse. You can’t help the loud moan that shakes from your lips, growing in pitch when the pleasure seems to spike and overheat you in oversensitivity, your entire body tingling and shaking like an exposed nerve.

Nanami takes every ounce of pleasure you offer. Everything, every part of you is precious—treasured in a way that no one else will ever be able to comprehend. He takes every breath, every hitch in your throat, every droplet of sweat on your skin, every whimper and moan and scratch of your nails against him. He savors it all—needs it to survive, to know that you have chosen him, that you want him, that you love him.

You’re the only woman who makes Pia tremble and stumble over her words. You are a force to be reckoned with, and he knew that the moment you snapped at him when you first met. You’re fierce in the way you love, strong with the words you say, and so fucking beautiful that he cant help but feel proud of just how threatened Pia was by the sight of you.

Those words you spoke confidently to her have played like a record in his head since you forced him into his chair.

“I was just bringing my husband some dinner.”

My husband.

My husband.

He’s thought about it, so many fucking times. And he swears it will happen. Soon.

One day you’ll be his wife.

His wife.

His wife.

His thoughts come to a sudden halt because he’s cumming, catching him off guard, that rubber band snapping in half, pleasure yanking from the base of his spine and pulling a harsh groan from his chest as he spills inside of you.

His hands slip from behind your knees and smack onto the wood of his desk and you wrap your legs around his waist as you both regain your breath. He’s putty against you, melted and loose and molding against every crevice of you as he takes in your intoxicating scent. Lilac from your body wash, shea butter from your lotion, and a hint of cooking grease that wafted onto your skin when you made dinner.

Your fingers lovingly comb through his sweaty hair, your legs blissfully achy, your cunt satisfied and throbbing, and your heart coming to normal sinus rhythm in your chest.

“Ome is probably wondering where I am,” you finally speak, breaking the tranquil silence of his office. “She offered to watch Ulani when I left.” Nanami hums against you, a low and gravelly sound that’s typical of him when he’s ready to go to sleep. “Bring the rest of the contracts home. No more overtime.”

As if he would even entertain the thought of being in this office a moment longer. “Okay,” he agrees, pressing his lips to your neck. He still has his arms around you, still connected to you despite having softened inside you minutes ago. 

But you don’t mind. You cherish these moments with him, holding them dear in your heart, knowing that each one is a gift.

Because you’re the only one who can revel in the way he needs you, the way he craves having his hands on you, the way he murmurs his adoration into your skin. And you love every bit of it. You love him.

“Will she be back?” you ask, a hint of hesitance in your tone.

He shakes his head, groaning softly as you scratch that spot behind his ear. “No. Never.”

“She better not,” you jest, an eyebrow lifting to the ceiling, gazing at no one. “If she pulls shit like that again, there won’t be a happy ending for you.”

He barks out a laugh against your neck, lifting his head to take in your blissed-out form. Fatigue weighs heavy on your eyes, your lashes delicately curled, your hair spread out on his desk to make you look like the most otherworldly thing he has—will ever see. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”

He kisses you tenderly once and then twice, before resting his head against your chest, the soft cashmere of your sweater caressing his cheek. His eyes catch something on the corner of his desk.

The Tupperware of food that you brought still emits steam, a homemade Katsudon by your hands, just for him.

His heart thrums in his chest, full and filled with warmth.

His wife.

Soon.

Thanks for reading!

©mysteria157, all rights reserved. DO NOT copy, plagiarize, reupload, modify, or translate (without permission) my work to other accounts and platforms.

[leggerefiore]

I understand if this is too triggering so you don’t want to touch it, but I have a somewhat cathartic request. Did any of the kids take longer to conceive than their parents hoped/planned? If so, how did they deal with the feelings that came with it?

cw: mentions of pregnancy and infertility, struggles conceiving

characters: Ingo, Volo

▲Ingo▼

● Admittedly, Ingo's son was not an instant success in coming to be. He truly held many ideals. Far too many. He would admit that he was horribly concerned about various things when many attempts went by without bearing fruit, so to speak. Was there something wrong with him? Infertility hung in the back of his mind, but he was far too terrified to even say the word until he absolutely had to. In that case, he knew adoption was an option, yet he desperately wished to experience every step of the way with his partner. He was careful in tracking various things and eating foods and vitamins meant to aid in the act of conception. His breaks at work were spent reading articles after articles related to conception. Truly, he definitely seems like he is going mad.

● His feelings are both sad and determined. He realises quickly that his expectations for it to be simple and easy were not something that anyone should hold. Hurt eats at his heart, which would only be worsened if the situation also saddens his partner. It stings to know that both of them shared these strong feelings. Yet, his nature as a responsible person refuses to let him ruminate on these sorts of things. As stated before, he turns in his energy into looking for solutions and aids in changing this. It was not the end of the world should there be failure to conceive. There were various options to explore aside from the most common way – neither of you were failures or lesser people for this. It was simply a commonality in the world that no one really openly discussed.

● Though, he is in literal tears when his partner shows him a positive pregnancy test. All his hard work… He squeezes them into a tight hug and shouts a loud “bravo.” His joy in unable to be held back. He will quite literally do anything for his partner now. (Not that he would not have before.)

📜Volo💫

⭐️ To Volo's endless frustration and blaming of being in Arceus's ire and shadow, his child seemingly is denied to him. Now, seeing as the time period is the 1800s, Volo does not exactly have the extensive knowledge of fertility that someone of the modern era could obtain, so he absolutely assumes that Arceus denies him this simple wish. To him, a child is a necessity. His bloodline is deeply important to him – He refuses to allow the ancient Sinnoh people to end with him and Cogita. Yet, a certain deity seems keen to make that a reality despite his endless efforts in trying to change that. He ends up consulting Cogita to find answers about what he should do – There was little else who he could turn, and he trusted her most of all in this world.

⭐️ Mostly, he feels spite and angry. Volo's cruel side really gets fully exposed when it comes to anything he is desperate about, and this is, unfortunately, something that he was desperate for. He berates himself while pondering truly if there is something wrong with him to bring about this situation. Then, he will turn towards his partner and wonder if it is them before realising that Arceus's chosen likely would not be stricken with such an affliction. He turns fully into any action or belief or myth that may absolve this situation. Pleading to Landorus and Enamorus for some kind of blessing – Perhaps even daring to scream for Arceus to do something. Honestly, he is not exactly the most stable and capable of handling this. His partner will have to help comfort him while getting little in return for their own feelings about this.

⭐️ But, in the end, whatever deity had heard his plea gave a reply in the form of an obvious swelling of his partner. All his desperation and heartache are finally vanquished. His attention then shifts in maintaining this precocious thing – food, comfort, and safety being deeply ingrained in his mind. He is ready to do anything to make sure this happens – Truly anything.

[goqmir]

if you want to be a chef in this day and age you have to want to fuck the food. it used to be that you could get away with just desiring food-related sex-- in western saloons in the late 1800s, for instance, there were often gouges in the floorboards leading from the cook's favorite lovemaking bedroom in the inn to the nightly spot laid out for the salad bar trolley. Now, though, you have to have sexual urges about the food itself. If you don't, you will be easily outclassed by those overworked bakers who stop for condoms on the way home after they score some extra jelly-filled pastries from work, or the Michelin star chefs who have hours of mac and cheese stirring ASMR saved in a YouTube playlist. They simply want the food more than you do. Every chef with a decent career in the fine dining world has that not-so-hidden secret. If you can afford it, expensive dishes usually have wonderful texture-- just ask Gordon Ramsey and his fridge full of crab puffs-- but if you can't, I would recommend first starting out with something affordable you can easily keep on hand, with little preparation time and a decent texture. Of course, not all beginning chefs follow this advice-- a lot of dedicated chefs attempt to start fucking the food after learning about this subculture, leading to an alarming number of juice fetishists in the sous chef workforce. Unfortunately, many learn too late that you need substance in your food-- some decent texture to rub against-- or you won't get the same experience with food you need in the industry. By that time, of course, the juice kink has set in-- if you see a sous chef pouring apple cider into a pot of mac and cheese, you don't have to ask what it's adding to the flavor profile. A lot of popular picks are easy to reheat in the microwave, not quick to perish, and give a decent enough texture to be satisfying. A common pick is simply bread; filled donuts offer a pleasant pocket and satisfying orgasms; muffins are thick enough where working a hole from its bottom to its top is not only possible, but expected; almost all of the kitchen staff at Red Lobster leaves for the night with a few extra-soft biscuits in their bags. Others have more interesting taste: melty cheeses, the pointiest carrots and pineapples, the claws of lobsters, the most decadent helpings of whipped-cream topped parfaits. This all works fine for a number of years, until you notice your skill as a chef starting to plateau. Many chefs simply stay in this zone, as well enough preparers living happy lives at good jobs. But the best chefs, the headliners, those who prepare the best meals the world has to offer... they take it to the next level. They spend a good, long time preparing the dish they are covering in their cum up to four nights a week. Hours of baking, broiling, dirtied pots and pans. The food preparation is like foreplay, one of the most creative parts of sex and cooking alike. A good chef gets hotter with the pasta in the pot, sizzles along with the eggs in the pan, finds themselves on edge with each slice of the potato into the crock. Until finally, hours into the night, cock hard like a lamppost, after dicking down that beautifully prepared pasta frittata since the sun was still up, they orgasm all across its gorgeous pasta fillings and creamy cheesey insides and finally Understand food. After learning all of this, you may be tempted to go down to your neighborhood spot and ask the chef what they do to deepen the connection between themselves and their meals. Of course, if the neighborhood spot happens to be a bar, you'll probably actually have a line cook-- where instead, you should probably ask what they like most about putting their cigarettes out on twinks.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I'm not sure if you've answered a question like this before but do you think Sebek would feel less insecure about his human-fae heritage if he became acquainted (or even friends) with someone similar at NRC? Or would he just end up projecting his own struggles onto them?

It'd be a different story if he grew up with one in Briar Valley, but I'm not caught up on the lore enough to know how common mixed fae-humans are there 😅

I don’t think it would make a significant difference.

Firstly, the impression I get is that mixed fae-humans are rare, since fae are unlikely to mingle outside of their kind (pixies and Briar Valley fae behave similarly and are suspicious of non-fae; only the Dwarves seem to be friendly with humans). The chances of Sebek being even finding someone of his kind are low. Recall too that nocturnal fae (which Sebek is descended from) have beef with diurnal fae, so even if Sebek were to run into a mixed fae like him, he might still clash with them on the basis of that difference in background.

Another point I’d like to make is that one person for like a year or so may not be “enough” to totally change Sebek’s mind. Think about it. The way you’re describing it, Sebek has still grown up in Briar Valley his entire life and comes to NRC still carrying the attitudes he grew up with and the experiences of being looked down on by full fae. One encounter at school won’t be sufficient to counteract what is basically a lifetime’s worth of isolation and self-loathing. That just isn’t how character growth works; it’s a steady thing that you have to actively work toward.

As an example, Epel does not instantly shake off his views on traditional gender roles in book 5 just because he met Vil and lived under his dorm. Exposure alone isn’t “enough”. Epel has to be challenged and shown the error of his ways, as well as actually gain a respect for Vil’s perspective and then learn to overcome his own prejudices. A similar thing happens in book 7 when Sebek is confronted by the bigotry of his grandfather, which reflects his own attitudes towards his human peers. Again, he is being challenged and forced to face these unsavory aspects of himself and sees how that shows in others. It’s a process far more complex than simply meeting and/or befriending someone like you and realizing on your own, “oh hey, maybe I was wrong”. Sebek has to put in the work to change.

Looking at Sebek’s current circle also doesn’t yield any… hopeful results? He looks up to Lilia so much yet also puts up resistance and ignores advice from him to be more kind to non-fae. Note also that Sebek, despite being friends with Silver (a full-blooded human), he still holds a bad opinion of humans in general. It didn’t make him magically not racist or more understanding of humans when so much of his socialization fell outside of that purview. If anything, Sebek just acts like Silver is “one of the good ones” rather than his friendship with Silver making him more accepting of other humans.

Finally, I don’t think just the presence or the befriending of another person like him would change Sebek by itself. It would depends a lot on what type of person that other guy is. Who knows, maybe they’re just as bigoted and agree with his thoughts. It could also result in a scenario where Sebek feels comfortable staying in his own little echo chamber and refuses to venture beyond that. In another case, Sebek could very easily warp his views to confirm the narrative that already exists in his head. He could very easily tell himself “yes, this person is fine because they, too, have fae blood in them”. (Think of how many bigots use the “but I have a [insert marginalized group here] friend so I can’t be [X]ist!” excuse to justify their own terrible stances.) There are many ways this could go wrong or perpetuate what he already believes in. Confirmation bias is a thing!

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #54 – The Design of Everyday Things by Don Norman

I try to read a piece of somewhat respectable nonfiction every month or so, which means I’m always vaguely on the lookout for titles that seem interesting and which aren’t either inspiration porn or just some random New Yorker’s collection of personal essays. I first heard of Design in an editorial in a local paper, which described it as a ‘seminal read’ – the basic conceit and title both seemed interesting so I through it on the list and, however many months later, finally got around to read with it. It was interesting, but altogether a more dense and technical read than I was at all prepared for when I picked it up.

The book is about what it says on the tin – looking at the processes and practices of industrial design and how it can be best applied to create useful, pleasurable tools. It is very much written for an assumed audience of at least interested amateurs or casual practitioners, with lots of specific practical tips and guidelines for the working designer to apply to their own projects. For the same reason it isn’t at all shy about the jargon or business-school models and charts.

Design, from the book’s perspective, covers an extremely broad field – everything from the physical structure of a tool to the systems and procedures that should be followed for its safe operation to the aesthetics and layout that give the most enjoyable and frictionless user experience handling it. The book considers its principles equally applicable to designing physical products and bureaucratic systems, and is mostly even convincing as it says so. That said, it absolutely assume that whatever is being designed is being designed by a large, multi-team project with budgets and stakeholders, and designed for sale on the private market, both of which do shape the advice given quite clearly (the entire final part of the book is about ‘designing in the real world’ and about these exact conditions).

The prose is written with the precise tone and cadence of an above-average but not great professor giving a long, rambling lecture that illustrates every single point with a tangential personal anecdote – though my mind may only jump to that comparison because that’s basically what this is in book form. It is not, being honest, ever exactly gripping or a page-turner; this was probably the book whose reading felt most like homework of any I’ve opened so far these year. Something not at all helped by the fact that the field of industrial design does the same thing as every other slice of academia and redefines a bunch of very common nouns to be very precise and occasionally very counterintuitive terms of art (though in fairness the book could have been much worse about this).

That aside, I did find the jargon mostly helpful, in terms of clarifying and separating out concepts. The distinction between capabilities (what a given device can be used for) and signifiers (the implicit or explicit ways a device presents itself to be used) is useful and pretty easy to keep in my head, for example.

The initial chapters of the book are primarily about the theory and best practices of designing specific, physical things – for example, how it represents a shameful failure for a door to ever require a sign or instructions on how it should be opened. This was probably the roughest part for me to get through, just because I felt like I should be taking quizzes or filling out worksheets to make sure I remembered everything correctly as I went – the sections get dense. It was fascinating reading to bludgeon through though, if only as a collection of the most practical insights yet provided by the study of human psychology. None of the best practices and recommendations given – never require the user to input more than a few commands without feedback or guidance, map the layout of controls to correspond to the physical ordering of the things they control, mechanical commands should feel like they have some sort of intuitive relationship to their effect, that sort of thing – exactly blew my mind, but it was helpful to see them laid out. Also interesting how much a lot of them contrast so strongly with the minimalist, ‘clean’ aesthetic which actually governs the design of so much these days.

The sections on mistakes and accidents were probably the most interesting and compelling in their own right. Maybe because I found the examples more intuitive, or maybe just because industrial accidents and airline disasters are more attention-grabbing examples than confusing and inefficient light switch layouts. In any case, the typology of mistakes versus errors (basically: whether you are trying to do the wrong thing, or trying to do the right thing and just failing in execution) and their subcategories seem genuinely quite useful, as do the various meditations on how to make both types less common.

This is also the section that has stuck with me in the most detail, if probably just because it seems like it might have some direct relevance to day-to-day life. Most especially the idea that focusing on how to assign fault or blame is the most useless possible thing to do when trying to investigate an accident – it only makes everyone motivated to hide any involvement they might have had, and lets you stop thinking about it as soon as you decide who is responsible without ever digging into the actual causes of the mistake. ‘Human error’ is, in Norman’s view, a mirage – if people are making dangerous or expensive mistakes at any appreciable rate, then that is axiomatically a failure of the systems which should be supporting and guiding them.

The fact that airline disasters are drastically overrepresented in the case studies used because the investigative infrastructure for them is uncommonly (almost bizarrely, really) well-designed and diligently maintained in the US is also just a fun bit of a trivia.

The third part of the book is about the actual process of designing something in a large organization. Perhaps unsurprisingly, this is mostly about bureaucratic politics and navigating frictions between, say, the design and marketing teams – the offered distinction that design is about making things that are useful and good whereas marketing’s input on the process is ensuring it is something that people will be willing to buy is pithy and memorable, if perhaps one that people on the marketing team might not be entirely happy with. This, along with terms like ‘the double-diamond design process’ and the oft-repeated saying that ‘the day a project starts it’s behind schedule and under budget’, and the gratuitous use of Japanese, all left me with the uncanny feeling of walking into an MBA seminar.

This is in fact an extremely famous and successful book – I know, because this is a heavily revised second edition, and the new material never missed a chance to say so. Having come out in 2013, the updated material – overwhelmingly about software UX, the internet, and smartphone design, because of course it is – is already somewhat charmingly outdated. The additions did include a long and very interesting section on changing standards, standardization, and when it is or isn’t worth the massive disruption involved (including a fascinating if probably not entirely trustworthy digression into the history of the QWERTY keyboard), so on the whole I’m happy I got this edition rather than the original from the ‘80s.

Overall, not a book I’m likely to open again anytime soon unless I end up making a dramatic change of careers, but interesting enough that I don’t regret reading it.

[writingquestionsanswered]

how do i create compelling characters when i dont know many people in real life and also dont care about other people that much due to neurodivergence??

Compelling Characters When Lacking "People Experience"

You can create compelling characters without a lot of "people experience" or a neurotypical mind. The key ingredient to creating a compelling character is really to make sure your character has a strong story goal that makes sense for them or their situation, believable motivation and believable stakes driving them toward this goal, and--if you're writing fully or partly character-driven fiction--a character arc that includes a back story that explains how they became who they are and an emotional wound/lie they believe that helps explain their current misbelief and why they make the choices they make, as well as some sort of growth or change. And finally, believable flaws to balance out their strengths and make it a little bit harder for them to reach their goal.

As far as personalities go, if you're neurodivergent and struggle with understanding personality, you may want to try looking at personality types based on different personality tests. For example: enneagram, MBTI, 16PF, and DISC. While there are all sorts of debates on the accuracy of these and other personality tests, the point is that the personality types can be a great way to understand the common ways personality types are often grouped. While you by no means have to stick to any one personality type specifically (personality is way more complicated than that), it's a helpful foundation when you're otherwise starting from nothing.

One last thing you can try is see if you can find a good character personality generator, or at least a character generator that includes personality. Once again, you don't have to stick with everything a generator puts out, but it can get you going in the right direction when you're stuck

Happy character creation!

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