#go support this fic

[all-inmoderation]

omg i found a really sweet sukuita fic recently that i think others should read: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61331620/chapters/156762136

its 50k words of good food !!! and makes the power system actually seem interesting ?? can you believe it???

[choccy-milky]

💖🎊the end, & thank you for reading!!🎊💖

im so thankful for all the support i got on this story, and i wouldn't have finished it if not for all of you, and for the love i got for seb and clora. so thank you again for giving me the motivation to write this 600k+ monster, and to see it through to the very end. LOVE YALL💖🫶 (ao3/wattpad)

[jeonseoguu]

excerpt:

“And you feel like you’ll die if he touches you one more time. And he asks you what’s wrong, and you tell him the truth, and he smiles at you. He looks just like the sun. He looks more like the sun than the sun does.”

*this is fanart !!!*

fic title: nothing like the sun

by: @succubused

link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22273198

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ᴘᴇᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ (ꜱᴏꜰᴛ)

ROLL OVER | boyfriend!Harry (couples costumes gone wild)

The dalmatian/fire fighter duo runs a little deeper in the bedroom after the party.

★₁₈₊

ROLL OVER as the final installment to the KINKTOBER projects. Based on this ask.

If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects, do so here.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: couple's costume gone wild. pet play (soft). soft dom. praise. leashing. collars. use of "puppy" as a pet name (pun unintended). oral (f to m). dumbification. dom/sub undertones.

WC: 1.7K

“Yeah,” Harry breathes and shifts his hips with a subtle flex that nudges a little more of him past your lips, cradling you close by the shape of your jaw and petting his palm across your heated cheek. 

You swallow, nostrils flaring, and you let the congealed dust— of this particular disposition— across your lashes lure you under a little harder. Let it crush you under the soporific wave of its gravity. 

But you don’t miss the way he swallows, tugs a little harder on the polypropylene end of the dog leash wrapped taut around the knobs of his naked knuckles, and purrs, “Such a good girl, puppy.”

You blink up at him. At the unstilted paradigm of your insatiable hunger (eating, eating, still so hungry for him); bare stomach flexing, shoulders swelling, jawbone tucked and face ducked to watch you swallow around him. Watch and feel you work your little tongue in crescent shapes against the underside of his cockhead. 

You’re drooling. Slobbering, like a needy, little puppy, and your spit dribbles across between the wedges of your knuckles, where you cup him around the base and squeeze every time he throbs. 

It’s good. It’s really, really good.

He sprawls back against the chair but keeps his chin tipped. Staring down at you— the way your lips suction around him and the way your eyes pool under your fluttery lashes with a dew. Inkpools unwavering. Unrelenting. 

His shirt is discarded, so all his ink is on show. The way it breathes alive under the tension of his musculature, his rippling abdomen when you dip the tip of your tongue into the slit on his head; moving, dancing over his skin. 

It feels dirty. Borderline gaudily pornographic; you, on your knees in that careful nook between his split thighs, with his suspenders dangling across his lap. The big, utility boots on his feet, either side of your haunches. The pried zipper on a set of work trousers, slouching low on his hips, multi-faceted into a costume. 

He’s heavy on your tongue. Takes up too much room in your mouth. Leaking and throbbing when you duck your head to take him just a little deeper, a little more.

“Christ,” Harry murmurs. It sounds a little dark. Hardly over a whisper— you make a wet, ugly sound around him and blink back up. 

From your angle, there’s this pastiche of sovereignty to him. Like blue-collar regalia; half-shed firefighter’s rig, shape of his face chiseled in self-possessed stolidity—

Save for his eyes, the little cinch in his jawbone. The glint in the charcoal vats, the sharp carve your lips make, the way it wobbles when his teeth grind together a little harder. Your tongue seeps out over your lower lip when you take a deep breath through your nose, open wide, and take him nearly to the root. 

The sound that crawls out of Harry is so battered that all you can do is claw into the fabric on the apex of his thighs and let your eyes screw. 

His cockhead bludgeons at the gummy lining on the back of your throat, and you’re sure the phlegm is collapsing in little broken pieces like a mirror shattering under the weight of a hammer. Spuming out over his face in creases and rapture. But you can’t look. 

All you can do is try to swallow around him when the hand that was on the side of your face glues to the back of your crown, his fingers tangling into your hair. His knuckles bleach a little whiter with the strain of the leash, the way he holds you in place. 

(When his palm moves, it smudges one of the little tar-black spots you painted on with a brush, across your temple.)

You can hear that he’s groaning, pressing himself into you and folding praise in with the shape of his fingers scratching at the back of your skull. Things like, “Yeah— fuck— just like that, sweet girl,” in rich husks that simmer across your porous bones and trickle when your shoulders shake. When your toes curl under you. But he holds the leash a little tighter for the angle, and the makeshift collar around your throat gets a little more taut—

Really, it’s all his fault. 

Taunting, Can’t be my proper puppy without— the lead he delicately clipped onto the cheap, old hot topic choker you dug out of the closet to use as a collar. The way that he kept his knuckles wrapped over the handle and his knuckles in his pocket at the party. Toting you around like a pet, keeping you rooted to his side when he settled. Tucked to the swell of his massive shoulder. 

The way he told you to stay like a dog when he went off to refill your drinks, the way he patted your head upon return to find your soles glued to the same spot. Scratching behind your ear derisively, fingertips riling a shudder across your shoulders. 

Such a good girl, you are, saturated in artificial, satirical delight. Corners of his mouth curling, the jeer dripping off the corners of his eyes. 

(Here’s your treat.)

It started as a joke. Mocking for the sake of watching the heat froth under your skin, across your cheekbones, the ruckled bridge of your nose. Faux praises and the condescending gravity of the lead across the base of your neck. The subtle tug into an isolated pigeonhole of a docility that soaked across the crown of your head. 

The mushroomed ridges of his tip bludgeon a splutter out from between your sopping lips, and more saliva oozes out and trickles across your tacky, wet fingers. 

You need to hear it again, need to hear him say it, that itch festering in the noxious tangle of your arousal when you rise on your haunches a touch to duck your chin and press your nose to the wiry smattering of hair bedding around the root of his cock—

“Fuck,” Harry drawls. Guttural, heated—

Varicolored phosphenes fleck behind your lids like constellations in the yawn of a mesmeric, caliginous sky. 

“You’re so good, sweetheart,” he grunts, hums, hips tensing and canting up into the wet heat of your mouth like it’s an undiluted reflex to an itch, feeding his cock deeper— “Gonna cum down this pretty, little throat f’you keep sucking my cock like that.”

You rest both palms on his thighs. Twist your fingers into the fabric until it’s soggy with spit. Gag around the swell of him until he wrenches you back with his fingers under the collar, at your nape, and leaves you sputtering for air with your neck craned. When you blink your lashes apart, your eyes are wet. Bleary. Burning like the back of your tongue, the soft lining at the back of your mouth, where the only place left to cram further is down into your esophagus. 

He looks like a hedonistic cover page for a pornographic issue. 

The coarse strip of dark hair from his navel pools in the bed of curls nesting the hilt of his cock, and his thighs are split in this kingly way that makes you dizzy. It’s vertiginous, staring up at him from your knees. Meaty shoulders, one burnt umber curl hanging to eclipse an eyebrow, and his cock is so spit-slick. Wet, and shimmery, and stupidly thick, sealed in his fist. Throbbing. Your spit puddles off onto his heavy sack, the sodden fabric wrenched apart by the zipper, and you watch a little, pearlescent bead drool off the tip when he squeezes and twists his palm up. 

“Want it in your mouth?” Harry muses. It’s a subconscious maneuver; canting forward on the hinges of your joints with your swollen lips parted as he drags the pad of his thumb across the blurting pre-cum and smears it over his frenulum. “Want it bad, don’t you?”

The way he pulls on the end of the lead isn’t sharp. It’s subtle, but it corners you into nestling your mouth against his cock. Against the swollen shaft, cockhead pulsing and leaking out over the sloping bridge of your nose. 

“Beg,” he tells you. It’s soft. The wisp of a breath; a sigh when you smush your cherry mouth to the little vein that rides up the underside and turns baby blue beneath the crown. 

But it’s chock-full of the command given to an animal— beg, and I’ll give you a treat. It makes you sizzle down to your marrow. His lips curl loosely into a lazy grin. So debauched, around the shape of his cock, coated in your own saliva, pressed to your face. 

“Go on,” he smiles, “Let me hear you whine for it. Show me what a needy, little puppy you are.”

The words sink into your underbelly and leave your hands cresting for surface-purchase under the spindrift. They slip to his knees, and tangle into the fabric there as your lashes flutter. 

“Please,” you breathe, mouthing the word along the shape of his cock. Your lashes are still fluttering. Batting. You scootch forward a little, scratching into the firm muscle under the nomex, and let him smear his shaft across the tip of your nose, tarnishing the borders of the snout you painted on.

He hums. His thumb catches on the corner of your mouth, just as you start to paste an open-mouthed, suckling kiss onto the underside of the root. Your tongue smudges out against his sack. 

He’s unconvinced— you watch it in the way his brows notch, hear it in the rumble that stems from his chest when he grips his cock by the hilt and taps it against you. “Come on, baby. I know you can do a little better than that. Really work for it, hm?”

“Please,” you say, rocking your hips. “Want it bad. Wanna keep sucking you. Please, please.”

A hand tucks into your hair. The fingertips there scratch into the spot behind the shell of your ear softly, and the sensation draws a shudder over your shoulders. You feel on fire. Molten, under the weight of his gaze, the unresistant pressure on the lead, the patronization that trickles off his tone.

“Go on, then, puppy,” Harry murmurs, finally, and loosens the white-knuckled, taut grip on the leash enough for you to clamber back, “Take me back into your mouth.”

kinktober masterlist here. | general masterlist here. | patreon here.

TAGLIST: @aprlmuse @babegoals @cinnamonone @lolalovespeaches @flubblubbb

@ivegotthecinema @bxtchboy69 @iloveharrystyles04 @littlenatilda @witch-rry

@watermelonsugarslut @hs1thea @boystepper @carolinaskiwii @kathleengrg

@madstyles3204 @fruity-harry

[densewentz]

Take Your Kid to Work Day (with Dream's decidedly more alarming version of an artist rendering their kid's drawing)

[aylish91]

Thank you so much @mothiepixie for always doing such amazing work and letting me commission you! You never fail to deliver such good works!

Red from, Sea of Hope, is absolutely perfect! Thank you!

[crazymecjc]

every day’s great at your junes!

my piece for @p4zine ! this zine was such a fantastic experience, and I was so happy to be a part of it leftovers sales are open now, so get your copy while you still have a chance!!

[justaz]

thinkin…………..arthur gets injured and is being treated by gaius and merlin but he’s awake and gets to see firsthand this competent and serious merlin that meets his gaze constantly and arthur notices the fear and terror in his eyes that he forces back to heal him. thinkin…….merlin being his nurse while he heals and not leaving his bedside in fear of infections settling in while he’s gone and loosing arthur in such a simple way. arthur constantly wakes to a hand carding thru his hair or caressing his cheeks. thinkin………….merlin holding arthur’s head in his lap as he spoon feeds him broth. gaius rolling his eyes and leaving the room bc he and merlin and arthur all know he can sit up and feed himself but merlin leaves his fingers on arthur’s pulse and breathes in sync with him while arthur stares up at him like he hung the moon and the stars and carries the air into his lungs and squeezes his heart to pump his blood.

[batbusiness-schooldropout]

Au where Lan Qiren goes to Yiling

Lan Qiren: Wangji, beloved nephew, who is like a son to me. I have been to Yiling and-

Lan Zhan: How is Wei Ying?

Lan Qiren: It's rude to interrupt. But he seems well. Except for the part where he claims to be the biological mother of an absolutely sweet little boy

Lan Zhan: Yes. A-Yuan. He is very sweet

Lan Qiren: Quite. While under normal circumstances, I would dismiss his claims as a joke only funny to him, Wei Wuxian's refusal to change his answer, as well as his ramblings about how difficult the birth was, has managed to plant a seed of doubt in my mind. Wangji?

Lan Zhan: Yes Uncle?

Lan Qiren: I remind you that lies are forbidden

Lan Zhan: Yes

Lan Qiren: Tell me then. What are the chances that he is telling the truth?

Lan Zhan: Higher than you would like

Lan Qiren: I see. And if Wei Wuxian is, by some curse or miracle, a mother, what are the chances that someone besides you is the father?

Lan Zhan: ......Lower than you would like

Lan Qiren: I see. And what are the chances that you have both eloped and refused to tell me, the man who raised you?

Lan Zhan: We wouldn't dare Uncle

Lan Qiren: Ah. So you have possibly made the cutest and best boy I have seen in years and saddled him with the title of bastard? I did not raise you to be so disgraceful. You will, of course, do whatever you must to atone for this egregious behavior and bring A-Yuan to Cloud Recesses. Hurry before he picks up his "mother's" poor manners

[moeblob]

Gavin mentally: wait... that doesn't add up........

[hyperfocusthusly]

Lifelines

——-

| Part one |

——-

Tommy leads them up to the front door, shifting her up onto his shoulder, holds her in one arm, hand cradling her head while he opens the door. She snuffles reaching out in sleepy blindness. He tilts his head towards her, presses a kiss to her forehead. Her little hand grasps around until she finds the shell of his ear and settles immediately.

“She’s cute.”

“Ava, her name is Ava.”

He glances up the stairs, normally he would put her down. The one blessing in all of this is that Ava is as big a fan of sleeping as Tommy. He doesn’t want to put her down now, instead he picks the small blanket off the back of the sofa and tucks it around her. He sits down and immediately remembers he’s supposed to be making coffee. He sighs and goes to get up again, but Chimney is quicker.

“Kitchen in there?” He asks, pointing out of the door and down the hall.

“Yeah, but you don’t have to, I can-“ he is cut off by a wave of Chimney’s hand.

“Sit down man, I remember what this bit is like, I’ll make the coffee.”

——-

“My sister died. Her husband too. A car wreck.”

Chimney winces. He knew that it wasn’t going to be good.

“I’m sorry.” It doesn’t feel like anything close to enough.

Tommy scrubs his face with his free hand.

“I don’t how to do this Howie.” Tommy swallows around the lump in his throat. The admission that had been swirling in his mind for the last two months, finally said out loud.

Chimney makes a sympathetic sound.

“I was taking her to this group but- it’s stupid, everyone thinks I’m her dad, and when I tell them I’m just her Uncle they- they look at me differently. Like I’m not part of their club, like-” he hears his voice crack, he closes his eyes and forces himself to take a breath.

“I haven’t gone the last couple of weeks.”

“Something happened?”

“One of the mums, she didn’t mean to, she was just trying to make conversation.” He chews on his lip. “She asked what Ava’s parents do for work.”

Chimney blows out a breath.

“And I just couldn’t, I couldn’t speak. I felt like she’d just punched me in the face.” He laughs humourlessly. “I’d probably have felt better if she had. I haven’t gone back. I can’t even think about it because-” the edge of his vision begins to blur. “Because if I think about it then- I’ll never be her parent. W-what if I can’t do it? What if I just drag her down with me and-“ A tear slips free, he’s hyper aware of it as it tracks down his cheek.

Chimney shifts on the couch, puts his hand on Tommy’s knee.

“I know. When Kevin died, it felt like I was falling. All the time.” Chimney ducks his head. “He’d been there my whole life, and then he just wasn’t. So I get it.” He looks up, meeting Tommy’s gaze. “But if there’s one thing I’ve always known about you, it’s that you come through. It’s doesn’t matter what it is, you show up. That’s all she needs. She just needs someone who is going to show up for her, that’s enough.”

Tommy takes a shaky breath, the doubt clear on his face.

“She’s so little. I just- I don’t know how I’ll ever explain to her what happened. That I’m not who she thinks I am.”

“I mean it, you are enough. And if you need some help then that’s not you failing, Tommy. An 8 month old by yourself is no picnic, I would know.”

“I don’t-“ he swallows harshly. “I don’t want to put you in that position.”

“In what position? Helping out a friend?”

“You know what I mean.”

Chimney sighs.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But if you think he wouldn’t be twice as mad about me knowing and not helping then-” he stops short. It hangs between them.

“What happened? You guys seemed so good and the next thing I know I’m drowning in poppy seed loaf.”

Tommy shoots him a quizzical look.

“He’s dealing with it by baking. A lot. Honestly it’s getting to be an issue.”

“He asked me to move in with him.”

Chimney does a great job of not spitting out the sip of coffee he was taking.

“He did what?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“No, oh my god, that’s so Buck of him. All in, all the time.”

Tommy chuckles, but the humour quickly drains.

“It scared the shit out of me. I’ve done this before and it doesn’t matter how much I l-” he cuts himself off. “I’m not the guy people end up with.”

“So you ran?”

“Haven’t you heard Howie? Running is the only thing I’m really good at.”

“Hey, that’s not true. You’re pretty nifty with a helicopter.”

Tommy smiles, but it’s tight.

“I was going to call, I was and then-” he clenched his jaw. “It doesn’t matter now anyway.” He turns his head, resting his cheek against Ava’s.

“If your biggest problem was that you cared about him so much that it gave you the jitters, then I think it very much does matter.”

Tommy shakes his head minutely.

“What am I supposed to say? You went too fast and scared me, I need to be able to slow down and make sure we’re doing this right. Oh and by the way I have a child now.” Chimney rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.

“Well you could take the sarcasm down a notch and give him some credit.” There’s the slightest tinge of sharpness to Chimney’s voice. His phone chimes and he glances down at the screen.

“I’ve got to go, just- just call him. Tell him what you told me. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you don’t just let go of something like this.” He stands, picking up the mugs from the coffee table and taking them into the kitchen. For a moment Tommy thinks he might just leave, but he doesn’t. Instead he crouches down next to the couch, gives Tommy a soft look.

“I meant it, when I said I would help. I’ll come by next week, we can go for a walk or something - or I can take her and give you a break. Whatever you need.”

Tommy feels his heart clench inside his chest.

“Yeah, okay. That would be good.”

“Great.”

Chimney heads to the door, just before he closes it he yells back into the house.

“Call him!”

The door clicks shut and Tommy feels like his entire body turns into jelly. An indeterminate amount of time later he forces himself up off the couch, takes Ava upstairs and gently lays her down in her crib. He pulls out his phone and finds the contact.

He takes a deep breath and presses the call button.

——-

[Read on A03]

| Part three |

Winner of the name! that! baby! event is the lovely @rubydaiquiri 🥳🥳🥳 Ava stole my heart! Thank you to everyone who gave me suggestions and the feedback on the first part blew me away, you are all truly amazing 🫶🏻

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added or removed);

@leashybebes @beanarie @partofthelouniverse @big-urchin-energy @loucifersbitch @fyrehose @evansbuck-ley @sad-girl-hours23 @certifiedbisexualdisaster @theweewooshow @beckym2001 @kinardevans @bidisasterevankinard

@sweaters-and-silly @apassingbird @sunnywithachanceofbi @theotherbuckley @desert--moonchild @comfortingevanbuckley @livelaughlou @typicalopposite @wikiangela @bi-bi-buckleys @littlepaws9 @ohithankyou

@agentpeggycartering @sherlockismarvelous9-1-1 @adiprose @eliotwaughdeservesbetter @honeyloulou @tommykinard @casismybestfriend @owlgirl495 @hellion-child @3min17sec @sherlocking-out-loud @o0anapher0o @sorryimlatecapt

@buffaluff @hipsterdarcy @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @that-one-dudette @aringofsalt @cliophilyra @bisexualmadney @reginamillls @zeraparker @harmonic-intervention

[drenched-in-sunlight]

saying this as respectfully as possible but. Do not put fandom content creators on a pedestal. We are also just fans contributing to a community just as you are. We have boundary on our own work and that’s it. What I say is not and should not be considered sth the whole fandom should listen to. I’m just a normal ass person ranting about things on my blog. If it does not have a fandom tag for others to engage in, do not make it out to be me trying to start fights or addressing the whole community. Because it’s not.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again, my art, my lore talk, is biased. I’ve never tried to hide that I view Marika a certain way and will always develop my theory following that base assumption.

Aside from translation stuffs and pointing out in-game items, everything else I say you can look at it, agree or disagree, and move on to form your own opinions. Just because I draw stuffs doesn’t mean you get to saddle me with responsibilities about managing fandom expectations. What the hell? I’m a fan artist, I’m the last person who you should look at for “leaderism” (?) WHAT?

I can and will be a hater in my own space, like I know sometimes other artists will just post their stuffs and not engage too heavily with fandom, and for a while I did try to do that here (because I’m already a dramatic ass on twitter), that’s just not me though.

You will get art and you will get my opinions as well.

[books-not-people]

AU where when Danny first got in the portal for the picture jazz being the protective older sister she is and knowing her parents "lab safety" she goes in with Danny and when he trips her immediate thought was to save him from falling in the danger trap she considered the portal and they both become halfas que the canon ghost shenanigans but add protect younger siblings obsessed jazz being a absolute nightmare standing behind Danny the hole time just daring someone to go after team phantom and any time they do they immediately regret as they have angered the older sibling and mercy is not an option.

When pariah dark happens they team up to own him no suit required and jazz and Danny become sibling rulers of the realms.

Somehow their parents find out and go mad scientist on them jazz is 18 in this so says fuck you takes Danny and as the nature secretly petty as shit just calls CPS and takes Danny and sues her parents for child support.

They + Sam & Tucker (because they can convince Tucker's parents it will be good for his future tech career and Sam just tells her parents she's going to stay with her dads side of the family(the drakes)) go to Gotham because no GIW unlike Amity and is ecto rich I also imagine that both are on their way to becoming Ancients of space (Danny) and as odd as it seems older siblings(jazz) they are confused at first until it's explained that the belief of the love and protections that older siblings are some of the most protective and also mischievous towards their younger siblings has built up to for an ancient and jazz just happened to become that ancient.

Que jazz helping college students in the Gotham U library study when they miss their older siblings help like when they where growing up and just being a protection spirit but to siblings in particular. This becomes super annoying when the bats and the birds start setting off her instincts after joker escapes and she can only relax after beating the shit out of him with the anti-creep stick in front of red hood who promptly falls in love with her much to the annoyance of Danny who was already secretly dating tim and meeting at the local coffee shop and ordering their coffee

Feel free to add your own ideas and if anyone writes it please send me a link or title I would love to support your story💖

[heyimkana]

Untitled

Pairing: Yuuta Okkotsu x Female Reader

Word Count: 5K (I feel like I should apologize but if you’ve seen my other works, this is considered super short I’m being fr rn)

Summary: Yuuta is your new neighbor, and everyone loves him because of his sweet and kind personality. He has a crush on you, but you’re a married woman, so you can’t reciprocate his feelings the same way. But when your husband starts cheating on you, you can’t help but turn to him for comfort.

Content Warnings: alcohol, swearing, adultery/cheating, age gap (Yuuta is in his early twenties, reader is almost in her thirties), unprotected sex, also Yuuta going down the yandere route at the end I'm not playing so if it's not your cup of tea don't read

A/N: wrote this in one sitting after aleks @yuutito said something about yuuta and older woman that rewired my brain (how dare she went to sleep after casually telling me this like I wasn't going to just just sit there thinking about *redacted*-ing this ver of him in 124352 different positions). i was supposed to be watching my kids playing in my backyard but i wrote this instead. pls don't call child support. this is also supposed to be a drabble 🤡 🔫 i was going to send it to her on discord but a few people were asking if i was dead (girl, only on the inside lol) cause i haven't posted in a while so hi everyone guess who came back from the war (i'll go through my inbox asap i promise ily)

P.S: don't use your brain when you read this cause i certainly didn't use mine when i wrote this only my dick

Yuuta Okkotsu is your new neighbor. 

He lives across the street, and you’re not close to him, not yet. He’s younger than you, much younger than you—a fresh graduate from a reputable university who’s lucky enough to be able to work from home. He doesn’t go out much, but he’s friendly, always leaving good impressions around the neighborhood. Everyone knows Yuuta. Everyone loves Yuuta. 

The first time you asked about him, purely out of curiosity, was when you greeted your neighbor next door, an older woman living alone ever since her late husband passed. She just got home from, what you assumed, another trip to the clinic. You saw him stepping down from her porch after making sure she was okay and bidding her with a polite bow. You traded smiles with him, but he didn’t stop for a conversation. You just saw his face turn scarlet at the sight of you, and he dropped a quick “Hello” before he bolted.

“Who was that?” you asked.

“Oh, he’s our sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

“Sweet neighbor Yuuta,” you laughed a little. “He just moved here like three days ago, and everyone calls him that.”

“Because it’s true!”

“Uh-huh, and what did he do that was so sweet to you?”

“He’s helped me with my chores—washing the dishes, bathing my cat, mowing my backyard. He saw me having trouble crossing the street yesterday, so he offered to take me to the clinic today. Such a sweet boy, that man. Very handsome, too.”

That last part you could agree with. Instantly. 

You see Yuuta occasionally, always by coincidence, like maybe in the morning when you leave the house to put out your trash or grab a newspaper. He always seems like he’s eager to strike up a conversation but gives up before he can, simply because his heart can’t take it. You know he has a crush on you; it’s clear as day. He’s young, and he’s in love. It’s cute. But you’re married and committed, so that’s that. 

You meet him more frequently when he starts going to the same local supermarket. You bumped into him in one of the aisles, with him approaching you first because he saw you struggling to get that ketchup bottle on the top shelf. He’s so polite, and he’s, indeed, very sweet, especially to the elderly, always taking his time to humor them when nobody else seems to pay them any attention. He grabbed the bottle for you, and you ended up chatting with him while waiting in line. He offered to help carry your groceries, and you were thankful because you weren’t sure you could bring everything alone. He walked you to your car, bade you good night, and told you to take care. 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta. 

Things haven’t been going well with your husband. It’s fight after fight after fight.  At first, your relationship became so strained because you couldn’t conceive even after two years of marriage. The truth is, you don’t want to have a baby, not too soon, not when you still want to focus on living your life, but he wants it terribly, and if you want your marriage to work out, there’s no other choice but to try. You’re somehow glad that the universe seemed to work in your favor, at least for now.

You’re unsure if it’s your fault or his—you don’t have the money or time to get yourself tested. Nevertheless, he kept trying, turning your sex life into a string of dull experiments, one after another. It didn’t come as a surprise that after a while, he gave up. What did come as a surprise was when he started cheating. 

You have reasons to back your assumptions from all the evidence you’ve found along the way. The lipstick stain on his shirt, the hint of female perfume in his car, the way he never left his phone out of reach, terrified of you looking into it. It’s enough. 

It’s Friday night. Your husband won’t be home until late. Still got a bunch of stuff to do at work, he said, which is another way of saying, I got my secretary sucking my dick since you barely even bother anymore. Which is true.

You’re tired of him. You’re tired of having sex with him where he only cares about him cumming inside you and nothing more. You’re so tired of fighting. And now that he's cheating on you, you grow too tired to care. About him. About your marriage. About everything.

So, you head down to a bar one night just to distract yourself. And there he is again. Yuuta. Sitting by himself, watching a football game on the big screen with a beer bottle in hand. He looks rather… lonely, a new face that makes your heart twitch a bit. His solemn look makes him more gorgeous in a way, more mature, more mysterious, and girls love that, don’t they? A slightly dangerous aura to a very sweet face, unapproachable yet inviting.

But that doesn’t last too long because the moment he sees you, his face brightens entirely. He smiles, standing up from his seat to greet you, and you meet him halfway. You end up chatting all night. He’s a fantastic listener, and he’s so kind and thoughtful with each word, comforting you the way you need the most. It’s embarrassing that you nag about your husband like this, but he seems genuinely interested in helping you convey your emotions, and you just can’t stop. It feels so liberating.

Yuuta buys you your favorite drink but also reminds you not to get too much alcohol in your system. You begin to trust him, knowing for certain he won’t take any advantage of you. He walks you home right after. It’s true that he lives right across your house, but he makes sure you get inside safely. He leaves only after he sees you close and lock the door behind you. You spy on him from the window, wanting to see what he does after you’re gone. You see him rubbing a hand over his face, flushed from ears to neck, looking extremely happy that he got to spend time with you. 

He’s so cute, you think to yourself. Like a high school lovesick boy, kind of cute.

Yuuta then notices your husband’s missing car, meaning that you’re alone in the house. He looks sad on your behalf, which is so kind of him to think about your feelings that much. Then he turns upset, as if he was thinking, how dare he stay out so late, leaving her without protection like this. Looking visibly worried, he then texts you, “Let me know if you need anything, okay? My door is open for you anytime.” You smile and promptly reply to him with, “That’s so kind of you, thank you.” 

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

These friendly sorts of private meetings between you and him go on for a while. Your husband often arrives late, usually drunk out of his mind or too tired to stay for a chat, and he heads straight to bed without even giving you a goodnight kiss. It hurts, but it’s fine. The more your husband breaks your heart, the harder Yuuta will try to mend it and make it whole again. And he did. Every night, when you’re lucky enough to see him, you’ll feel like a heavy weight is lifted from your chest. You feel… happy, even in this terrible situation, and it’s all because of him. 

You usually hang out with him at the bar, but sometimes you don’t feel like going for a ten-minute drive, and you choose to just cross the road and knock your fist against his door. No matter what hour you visit, day or night, for a morning latte or evening tea, he always greets you with the prettiest smile.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

Weeks passed by, and now you spend most of your free time chatting with him, sitting on the couch in his living room, and talking about yourself more than you ever did with your husband. He likes listening to you talk about yourself, and he tells you that you shine so brightly when you talk about the things you’re passionate about. He always stammers out his praises, looking like he’s seconds away from combusting into flames just from calling you beautiful or something. He’s so young, so inexperienced yet passionate when it comes to love and romance, and it shows.

You ask questions about himself, too, and you can understand why it’s addicting for him to watch you speak, because the second he does that, he’s breathtaking. 

You find out that he likes the things you like, he’s watched the movies you’ve seen, and he’s read your favorite books. It’s not just a coincidence, is it? Maybe you’re a match made in heaven. But even so, nothing happens. He’s too respectful, and he makes you respect yourself. You’re married, and he’s a close friend of yours. That’s it.

He’s just your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

One morning, you find a bouquet sitting on your porch. Oh, right, today’s our anniversary. Your husband has this habit of sending you your favorite flowers on your anniversary. He does this every year, which is nice of him, but you really didn’t think he’d send you one this year, seeing how he barely exchanged more than three sentences with you. So now that you receive his flowers, you’re beginning to think, oh, maybe he’s trying to fix things between us. You’re not sure if you want that, though, not anymore. Most of your heart already belongs to someone else, which is terrible since you’re married, but you can’t help it. 

You pick up the flowers anyway; too pretty to be thrown away. You open the card attached to it. I will love you forever, it says, written in his handwriting. The way he wrote the letter f is a little different. Looks like he wrote in a rush, you presume. Either that, or he just didn't care enough. And it’s whatever; you didn’t expect much anyway. You appreciate the thought until your eyes land on the name he wrote.

That’s not my fucking name.

He must have sent flowers to his secretary at the same time and had his card switched. That fucking cheater.

You thought you didn’t care about him anymore, but God, now you’re livid.

Yuuta shows up at the perfect place and at the perfect time. He invites you over to have dinner together at his place. “J-just, you know, as friends,” he says, unconsciously giving you the confirmation that he does not think of you as a friend. Not at all.

So you come over in a beautiful red dress later that evening, and he stares at you, completely in awe, for a good three seconds. “You, umm—” He blushes madly, his head so full of steam he could barely think. “You look like… like a goddess.”

“Thank you,” you simper. That was so corny for him to say, but he meant every word, which makes it endearing. “You look amazing, too.” And he is. God, he looks so handsome in his black buttoned-down shirt, and his parted hair, and his sweet, sweet smile.

I want to fuck the shit out of him.

It’s the monster inside you who speaks it. The part of you that’s been neglected for so long, that’s never been touched in the way you wanted to. And it’s screaming, begging for Yuuta to love you.

But no. We’re friends. We’re just friends, aren’t we, Yuuta?

Yuuta cooks, too, apparently. Every dish looks fucking delicious, and everything else is perfect. The table setting decorated with your favorite flowers. The scented candles with your favorite fragrance set up romantically on top of the cozy fireplace. The soft music playing in the background, a piano instrumental of your favorite song. It’s like a date. A celebration. Like something you should’ve had with your husband today.

“You did all of this on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Hmm?”

You gesture to your surroundings. “We’ve read the same books and watched the same movies. Okay, fine, maybe we have the same taste. But this song, those flowers, everything you’ve set up in this room, you did all of these for me, didn’t you?”

He pauses before he tucks his chin, avoiding your gaze. “I just… wanted to make you happy,” he confesses bashfully. “Is it… Is it too much? Do you not like it?”

“Yuuta, of course, I love it.” You stroke his arm, washing his worry away. “I just… I’ve never had someone care about me this much before…”

He melts under your touch, and there’s so much he wants to say, but his lips form nothing but a sad smile. He caresses your face with tender hand, his fingertips quivering slightly when they land on your cheek. His heart must be beating like crazy right now, you smile to yourself, leaning further into his touch to soothe him.

“I would do this every day for you if you let me,” he whispers, promise behind each word. “I would make you happy, so happy you’d forget what sadness feels like. What loneliness feels like.”

That stirs something inside your chest. “And what do you want in return for that?” You slide up a hand, testing his limit.

He stops your hand by covering it with his own. For a second, just for a brief second, he emits a different feeling. There’s intensity behind his gaze that burns you as if he wanted you all to himself. And that’s understandable. No man, especially one who’s so desperately in love like him, would want to share his woman with someone else, but he knows the situation they’re in, doesn’t he? It’s just not possible for you to be together, not now, not completely. Maybe that’s why he switches back in a blink, smiling until his eyes crinkle adorably. “Nothing,” he answers. “As long as we can be friends like this, it’s more than enough for me.”

He’s a terrible liar, you think, slightly amused. It’s cute how he tries so hard to conceal his feelings and you still can read him like an open book.

The food tastes as amazing as it looks, even down to the last bite. You don’t talk about the bouquet, afraid that you’ll ruin the mood, but Yuuta is always so attentive when it comes to you. He asks you what happened, and he hugs you the second he sees tears brimming in your eyes. You’re not sad. You’re fucking angry. And thank God Yuuta is there to let you vent your frustrations. You go as far as telling him almost every little shitty thing your husband did to you behind your back, as well as the slutty secretary that’s been sleeping with him for money. It feels relieving to finally say their names out loud, with so much hatred, so much rage, and to have Yuuta respond with, “No matter how pretty she is, she’s nothing compared to you. Your husband doesn’t deserve you. If I were him, I would’ve—” he stops himself, just in time, flustered and mortified under your gaze.

You’re older. You’re older than him by eight, no, nine years even. You know what’s going to happen if you encourage him to say the words he’s been dying to say. You know what it’s going to do to your relationship. But fuck that. If there were one man in this world who knew how to treat you like you deserve…

It’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

So, by the time the two of you move to the couch with some wine in your system, you lean forward, letting your fingers trace the protruding vein on the back of his hand. His eyes widen at the way your dress does very little to hide your cleavage, but he averts his gaze right away, being the gentleman that he is. But tonight, you want him to be the opposite of that. You don’t want him to be sweet; you want him to let his desire win. There’s a monster hiding inside him, something much more terrible than your own. You sometimes caught its glimpse when he thought you weren’t looking his way. The amount of obsession that fogged his eyes, his fixation over you, turning his sapphire blue eyes so dark, so deep, so intense, like he wanted to have you locked up in his room, tied up and used and thoroughly fucked until you found no strength to stand and no will to escape. It should’ve been a scary thought, but it wasn’t. It was… exciting.

“I want to hear it, Yuu…” Seduction lays thickly in your voice as you lay a gentle hand on his cheek, guiding his eyes back to you. You stare up at him from underneath your lashes with this look in your eyes that makes his breath hitch in his throat. “If you were my husband…” You wet your lip, your tongue a sinful dance to his eyes. “What would you do to make me feel…” You purposely drop your gaze to his lips, letting him catch your message. “…loved?”

You watch him gulp, goosebumps breaking on his skin. You watch his eyes fall to see the way you rub your thumb over the bumps on his knuckles. You watch them turn half-lidded as they linger a second too long on your lips. And you watch him break all control he has over himself, and you let him devour you the way you’ve been wanting him to.

He’s your sweet neighbor Yuuta.

And he tastes even sweeter with your cum on his tongue.

It’s happening too fast, yet it feels like it’s not going fast enough. He starts by holding you by the face, slotting his lips against yours, passionate and gentle at the same time. He pulls away for a moment to see your reaction, and when you kiss him back, he lets out this sinful moan that causes your stomach to churn.

He’s so fucking sexy. Even without trying, he is. 

In the next second, he’s eating you out on the couch, spreading your legs, and kneeling on the floor with his head trapped between your thighs, wanting to get as much of you as you can give him. When his tongue circles your clit, and he’s moaning against your heat, it feels so good you almost run away, not used to experiencing this much pleasure. It’s scary how easily he plays with your body. How fast he can tell which part of yours likes to be licked, which ones want to be sucked, and which ones want to be fucked. He moves agonizingly slow, but each touch feels so right that you find no reason to complain. He’s sure to take his time with you, to make you feel loved in the way a wife should be when her husband makes love to her.

He takes hold of your thighs, holding you tight, but you want it even tighter to the point of leaving bruises all over your skin so you can show them to your husband later. His gaze is intense, constantly keeping his eyes on you. Your expression turns him on, making him ache so bad within the constraints of his pants that his eyes turn watery, desperate for release. He’s too ashamed to ask you to touch him, and maybe he doesn’t want to be touched, not yet, he just wants to focus on pleasuring you for now. So he keeps sucking your clit into his mouth, and he slides one hand into his own jeans to grip his cock tightly. He fucks his fist as fast as he fucks your hole with his tongue, groaning, whining, whimpering against your cunt. He’s pathetic. You love it.

You push him down to the carpeted floor after you drench his mouth and chin with your juice, and you push his fingers, coated with his own cum, into your mouth. He curses once at the sight, and it’s so sexy when he does it. After all this time hearing him talk so softly, so innocently, hearing a low, “Fuck, you're making me lose my mind,” tumbling off his lips is such a fucking turn-on. 

You tear yourself away from your dress before you rip open the buttons of his shirt, not caring if the two of you are in the middle of his living room, visible for anyone to see if they dare take a peek through the window. You wish the light in the room were brighter. It would’ve been a lovely show for your husband if he came home to see you riding another man’s cock, using Yuuta to your own satisfaction, and watching him make you cum the way he couldn’t. 

Yuuta, oblivious to your thoughts, is gasping out your name, one arm hiding his beet-red face while his other one is gripping your thigh. “W-wait,” he flinches, his breathing tattered. “You’re going—too fast—”

You know you are, but it’s so good that you can’t stop. His cock rubs your walls so deliciously as if it was made solely for this purpose. You cum so fast, so hard, and he follows almost right away, unable to hold it even longer when he sees you looking like that when you cummed. 

Your body is still trembling when he suddenly lifts you off his cock and guides you to his face. “Ride me again,” he says, begging. “Please, Angel, I want to taste you again.” And you do, sitting on his face and letting him lick, suck, and lap at everything that seeps out of you.

He’s staring at your swollen clit, licking his lips and seemingly dazed as he rubs his thumb softly over it. “I’m sorry I came inside you,” he says, genuinely feeling guilty about it despite you giving him permission to.

You shiver, still feeling so sensitive for receiving so much stimulation at once. “It’s okay. I can’t get pregnant anyway,” you laugh it off. “I haven’t gotten myself checked yet, but we’ve been trying for two years, and nothing has happened yet, so…”

His gaze darkens. “I see,” is the only thing he utters before he scoops you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. You’re surprised; you really thought that was it. Both of you came twice already in, like, fifteen minutes. That’s enough, isn’t it? But he’s still young, and he has a lot of energy that leaves him insatiable. If you let him, he’ll have you for the entire night.

It’s not a bad thing, not at all.

So you kneel in front of him on the bed, bite the corner of your lip to drive him even more insane, and stroke him slowly with your hand. “You still want to fuck me?”

“Yes,” he breathes out, the muscles in his abdomens tautening. “Yes, Ma’am, please…”

Ma’am? You almost laugh. How does he keep getting cuter and cuter?

“Okay.” You reward him with a little kiss on the head of his cock, robbing a soft whimper out of his mouth. Lying down on the bed, you spread your legs, sliding two fingers down your body to do the same to your cunt. “Come here and love me again, Yuu.”

He obliges in a split second. Yuuta has so much love to give, and he lets his mouth, his tongue, and his cock paint a perfect picture on your body.

Everything feels like heaven until he suddenly stops in the middle of thrusting his hips, earning himself an impatient whine. His blue eyes have lost their warm, pretty light. They’re as dark as the night, but lust and greed are the perfect colors for him. He sits on his knees, resting your ankles on his shoulders, breathing heavily. 

“Yuuta?”

He’s not listening, too captivated by the way his tip slides in and out so easily. You’re so fucking wet for him; it’s embarrassing, but Yuuta would take a picture of you like this in a heartbeat, with your wedding ring still wrapped around your finger and his cock sheathed deep inside you, should you allow him to.

He splays his hand over your stomach, giving a little pressure to your womb. You squirm, suddenly feeling like you no longer have control over anything, over him, not like the way you did before. It’s frightening and thrilling at the same time. “Yuuta, what are you—” Your jaw turns slack at the sensation when he thrusts inside, just once, just to see how far it goes within your walls. He’s so hard and thick and throbbing that you could practically feel him poking from inside of your stomach. And perhaps he’s thinking the same thing, his eyes glistening when he feels a bulge forming under his palm. He swallows. He looks… hungry.

“You said you couldn’t get pregnant,” he says, running a tongue across his lower lip, his eyes still fixated on the way you’re taking him so well, all stretched out and tight around him. “You know what I think?” He pulls himself out completely, shivers in his breath. “I think you’re wrong.” He slams his hips forward so abruptly, and with so much force, you have one hand shooting past your head to keep a safe distance away from the headboard. 

“Yuuta—” You gasp out, struggling to match his rhythm. “Wait—”

He only smiles a little, chuckles a little. He’s so far gone. He leans forward until you’re pressed chest to chest, folding you in half before he laces his fingers together with yours. “I think you can get pregnant.” He moves closer to your ear, whispering with his lips caressing your lobe, “And I’m going to show you how.”

He fucks the breaths out of you, swallowing each cry with his mouth, embracing you so tightly you can feel his heart beating against yours. “I’m sorry,” he pants, “It hurts, doesn’t it? I—” He’s interrupted with a low groan, feeling you clenching around him.“—really am sorry—” He smashes his lips against yours, smothering you with his kisses, too. “I know I’m being too rough, but I can't—”  He has one hand gripping the top of his headboard, giving him more support to drive his hips even deeper. “I can’t—stop—” He fucks you again, and again, harder each time until you find yourself unable to make sounds. “You’re so good... You feel so good around me... My angel…” You’re being folded, handled, trapped, and he fucks you until you’re drained, until you’re filled, until he’s spent. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... Just a little bit more..." He kisses your forehead and your cheek to soothe you down, cradling your head as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. His hips start to move erratically. “Don’t ever leave me… I will love you forever, so—ah, God—” He chokes out a sob when he feels you spasming around him again, reeling in another wave of orgasm that hit you so intensely, you see white.

It takes him a little over an hour until he finally lets you go. For now, at least.

But once he gives you a chance to breathe, he cleans you up so gently, dabbing a warm towel over your skin, peppering kisses as soft as butterfly wings down your back, your thighs, your chest, before ending his journey at your stomach. He rubs the supple flesh of your belly and smiles, completely satisfied after giving you his everything. And it scares you a little bit because… You might really end up getting pregnant this time.

“I have to go before he comes home,” you say, feeling your body ache terribly when you try to raise yourself off the bed. They’re not shown vividly yet, but there will be bruises in the morning in places you’re not sure you can cover. 

Yuuta hugs you from the side when you barely have one foot on the floor, whispering against the bare skin of your hip, “I’m not letting you go.”

It makes you happy. You feel so wanted, so loved, even after all the affection he gave you all night. The truth is, you don’t want to leave. Ever. To walk into your own home after experiencing what heaven feels like… It would be torturous.

“I wish I could stay with you, too.”

“You do?” He looks up with big, round eyes, hope residing in each one of them. “Would you stay with me forever?”

“If I could,” you reply and it’s true. God, if only you could stay forever with him, let him love you this way, forever. That would be perfect, wouldn't it?

“That makes me happy…” He takes both of your hands, kissing you on each wrist before he does the same to your palms. “That makes me so happy…” 

It tickles, so you laugh a little. He makes the same sweet sound, the sound of a boy in love. 

“I really need to go, though…” You whisper, hypnotized when he starts pushing your digit past his lips. It’s warm and wet inside his mouth, waking up the butterflies in your stomach. He keeps his eyes on you, looking so sensual as he sucks around your finger, enveloping it from base to tip. “Yuuta…”

“I understand.” He pulls away, ending it with a kiss. He seems disheartened, his smile doesn't shine as bright anymore and it hurts you. "I guess you left me with no choice."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay." He returns your embrace, just one more time before you have to let him go. “Can you turn around for me, please? I want to give you something,” he softly smiles. “A present. It will be quick, I promise.” 

You do as he says, excited at the thought of it. What will he give you? Knowing him and how he went through so much effort to prepare a dinner for two friends, you just know it would be something incredibly romantic. Yuuta kisses your nape, open-mouthed and lingering. You nibble on your lip to suppress your moan as he trails his lips from between your shoulder blades down to your spine. 

“Yuuta,” you sigh, squeezing your thighs together. You’re aching for him again, and it’s dangerous. Your husband can come anytime soon. “I know what you want, and really, I wish I could stay,” you say from the bottom of your heart, looking over your shoulder to see him, and you’re immediately answered by a kiss. He presses his chest to your spine, one hand cupping half of your neck and your jaw to keep you in place so he can deepen the kiss. His mouth moves with fervor, filling you up with desire, and if it weren’t for the sound of your husband’s car moving into your driveway, you would’ve let him take you there for another hour or two.

“I need to leave. Now.” You break away to gather your clothes quickly. Except you can’t.

You can’t move your hands.

Robbed out of your balance, you fall face-first to the floor. Your breath catches, your heart plummeting to your stomach when you realize you have your hands tied behind your back. You feel something rough grazing against your skin. There’s a rope ensnaring your wrists together, and it’s digging painfully into your flesh every time you struggle to break free. 

Panic rises quickly to your chest. You look up, your body froze with terror at the sight of him smiling at you. 

He’s not your sweet neighbor Yuuta. Not anymore.

This is the monster you caught a glimpse of before, in full form. His handsome features suddenly feel unrecognizable, not when you can no longer witness the warmth in his eyes.

What is happening? You breathe fast, frightened beyond your mind. Why is he doing this?

“I told you I’m not letting you go,” he says, walking slowly toward you. With every step he takes, your urge to escape grows bigger.

The second the dread sinks in, you part your lips to scream for help, but he clasps a hand over your mouth just in time. “Sshh shhh shhh,” he whispers, bringing you back to your feet. “We wouldn’t want your husband to find out, would we?” 

You try to kick and toss your body around, but he’s strong, much stronger than you could ever imagine him to be. From your peripheral vision, you see him taking out a syringe from a drawer behind him, fitted with a hollow needle to inject the clear liquid into your skin. You feel your heart pounding in your throat, your scream muffled as he sinks it into your skin. “There, there. Off you go, honey,” he whispers in your ear, as you begin to lose your will to fight. Your consciousness slowly wanes away with each second passing by. “I’m so sorry, Sweetheart. It’s only scary at the beginning, I promise.” He tosses the syringe away, now empty. “Oh, I almost forgot to ask. Did you like the card I gave you?”

The card? What card?

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I’m sorry for tricking you like that,” he says with a little pout. “Truly, I am. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to do something to push you over the edge. I knew you liked me too from the start, but you wouldn’t make the first move. You kept staying faithful even when your husband was cheating on you like that. I admire you for that,” he sighs, utterly smitten by you, but only for a second before his tone drops. “But I was getting impatient, you see. And I knew you were, too. I watched your favorite movies. I read your favorite books. I learned everything about you and did everything you liked, but you still wouldn’t leave your husband for me. So you left me with no choice. I have to make you understand,” he slides his hand up your stomach, passing the valley between your breasts before he chooses to linger there, squeezing, teasing, pleasing. “That no one can touch you like I do. No one can love you like I do.”

You can feel him kissing your neck, licking a stripe up from your collarbone to the spot below your ear. “It was quite tricky copying his handwriting like that. There’s one letter I still can’t do very well even now. But it was enough to trick you, so I think everything’s fine in the end,” he chuckles, the sound filling your chest with horror, though you could barely register it now, not with the drug flowing in your system.

“You asked me what I would do to make you feel loved if I were your husband.” He carries you closer to the window, letting you see, with all the little power you have left, your husband closing the door of his car. Yuuta embraces you from behind, his hands tangled around your waist as he lets you rest your head on his shoulder. “I’m gonna show it to you.” You watch your husband make his way to your porch, oblivious to what’s happening in the dark room across the street. “I’m gonna love you, Angel. I will love you forever. With all my heart. And I’m gonna take my time. I’ll be so thorough with you that once I’m done, you won’t be able to spend a second of your life without me.” 

Your husband closes his front door, and with it goes your last chance of escaping, if there was even one.

You start losing strength in your legs, in your arms, but you’re still able to cry, and so you do just that. It won’t help you, nothing will help you, no one will help you, and no one will know what he’s doing to you, not when everyone thinks so fondly of him. 

“Oh, Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He kisses your tears away, landing an even softer one on your temple. “Don’t be afraid of me, my love. After all, it’s just me.” He meets your eyes in the reflection of his window, smiling with his hand holding the front of your neck.

“Your sweet neighbor Yuuta.”

***

[missmagooglie]

When Steve and Eddie first tell the kids they're dating, Dustin's immediate reaction is: "YES! Steve, now you HAVE TO play DnD with us!"

Despite the excited encouragement he gets from the party, Steve waves them off and tell them that they can borrow his boyfriend for their nerd game but he will not be joining.

Prior to this, everyone in the party (besides Dustin) was kind of ambivalent to Steve learning how to play. But now it's a challenge. Now they are on a mission to get Steve Harrington to break down and *finally* play a game of DnD with them.

They try begging.

They try bribing.

They try asking Eddie to withhold -- "Not a freaking chance!" Eddie tells them before they even finish the question. "No way I am punishing *myself* for your dumb mission."

They all take turns designing potential characters Steve could play, all mighty heroes with the coolest powers they can come up with.

Steve turns each of them down.

"Why not just do a session to get them off your back?" Eddie finally asks him

"It's just not my thing, ok?" Steve says. "Besides, you guys don't really want to spend a whole session just teaching me how to play."

Eddie lets it go, but his gears start turning and he starts forming his own plan to get Steve to the Hellfire table.

He throws himself into the character design, making sure to get every detail right. Then he marches down to Family Video and presents the character to *Robin*.

She's excited about the character. Eddie knew she would be. She's less excited about spending a whole afternoon with the "munchkins", but gets on board quickly once Eddie lays out his whole plan.

At the next session, Eddie leads the party on their quest until they reach a dramatically appropriate moment, and narrates, "The doors to the ancient castle swing shut behind you, trapping you in the ornate foyer. From the top of the grand staircase comes a cackle -"

Robin's voice rings out from the top of the Wheeler's basement steps in a deranged laugh, causing the whole party to jump.

They stare in varying stages of shock and excitement as Robin and Steve come down the stairs together. Eddie notices the pair already egging each other on to lean into their characters.

"You didn't think we'd just let you walk away with the amulet, did you?" Steve asks as he and Robin take their seats on either side if Eddie. "Sister, what should we do with these intruders who are trying to steal from us?"

"I say we KILL THEM!" Robin says gleefully.

"The Lord and Lady of the castle have you trapped," Eddie tells the party, delighting in the panic laced excitement he sees in their expressions as they realize what's happening. "Roll for initiative!"

[girlsdads]

#ok it’s giving girl dad wearing his daughter’s handmade necklace special for him into work 🥺🥺😩😩

couldn’t stop thinking about this tag of mine, wrote a little smth about it 🥰

The stomping footfalls racing down the hall behind him could only be those of a toddler. Daniel turns and squats just in time for his tiny blonde projectile of a child to come barreling into his chest. The force sends Daniel falling back onto his butt with a surprised oof, his daughter giggling delightedly in his lap.

“Hey, Ellie-bug,” Daniel smiles. “Daddy’s gotta go to work, remember how we talked about it and you promised to be a big girl?” He brushes a strand of hair away from her mouth where it’s gotten stuck in a little smear of jam leftover from her breakfast. Daniel had shown Max how to make it just the way she likes—the pancake batter shaped in the silicone star mold, the silly faces drawn in jelly and jam.

Ellie’s head bobs up and down dutifully, but she makes no move to get up.

Max appears from the kitchen then, looking like a man who’s been fighting a losing battle with the second pancake. There’s a splatter of thick batter on his white t-shirt. He’s holding the spatula like it’s offended him somehow. Daniel looks at him over their daughter’s head, and loves him fiercely.

“She is of course the biggest girl,” Max says. Ellie grins proudly. “Why don’t you give Daddy your present now, then we will finish your pancakes.”

Daniel watches her grey-blue eyes light up like she’s just now remembering why she came running at him in the first place. She reaches a chubby hand into the bib pocket on her overalls, embroidered Enchanté script stretching as she roots around and produces a string of brightly-colored plastic beads. She holds it out to him expectantly.

Daniel takes the strand delicately in hand, wraps it around the backs of his fingers and rotates his wrist to get a good look. It’s a necklace, probably more of a choker given its relatively small circumference, the fat pony beads the only real indication it was made by a child. The powder pink and fuchsia beads are separated by interspersed pearlescent white orbs and clear sparkly stars. Smack in the center is a single number bead, a glittery pink three.

“Jeepers, did you make this for me? It’s beautiful!” Daniel says, and means it. He’s already been wanting to talk to his team about adding a jewelry collection to a future drop, and what better inspiration?

Ellie nods excitedly. “Papa helped me do a…,” she pauses, squints and tilts her little head, searching for the word, “…a pattern!”

“We made it the other day, while you were out with Blake,” Max chimes in. “For good luck.” He sounds almost bashful, like maybe it wasn’t their daughter’s idea in the first place. Daniel’s heart is so swollen it’s threatening to leak out through the gaps in his ribcage.

“How’d I get so lucky, huh?” Daniel muses, softly, mostly to himself. He stretches the elastic over his head, feels the smooth plastic three settle in the hollow of his throat. His pulse thrums evenly against it, grounding.

He flashes his biggest smile at his family. “How do I look?”

“Pretty, Daddy!” Ellie throws herself forward again, wrapping her arms around Daniel’s neck. It leaves him locking eyes with Max, who’s gazing down at the two of them like nothing else in the universe exists. Daniel can never quite get used to that look—still feels butterflies dancing up the back of his throat, his stomach dropped into a glorious freefall.

“Beautiful, Daniel,” Max says, reverent. “Always.”