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emmiesoverthemoon · 2 months ago

Text

✧ overwhelming warmth

Pairing: g-dragon / kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 4,309

Summary: Management has forced G-Dragon to collaborate with you—a renowned producer who creates sound like no other—in order to push his creative boundaries with another set of ears, and he is not happy. Unable to accept his jealousy of your skill, he takes it out on you and learns that may not have been the right decision.

Tags: rivals to lovers, forced proximity, jealousy, tension, enemies to lovers, second pov

cross posted on ao3 here

bonus chapter (sexual content warning) here

Resentment had settled in Jiyong’s chest long before he even met her. It twisted through his ribs like a parasite, feeding on his pride, his ego, the carefully built persona he had spent very well over a decade perfecting.

“Have you heard of her? She has been in the industry for only a year, and has already smashed records and won awards, with only one studio album…” His manager’s voice droned out; or Jiyong stopped caring about what he had to say. When he had stated your name, he had barely resisted the urge to scoff. Her? He had spent over a decade crafting his empire, pushing boundaries, redefining sound. He had done it alone. And now, this woman—this newcomer—was being handed his album as if he were some small incapable baby in need of training wheels.

G-Dragon was not a man accustomed to feeling second best. His name was carved into the very bones of the Kpop industry—his sound, his vision, his ideology. He had bled for every note, burned for every lyric, and now, he was being told that did not suffice. It sat horribly in his chest.

“I can do it myself,” he had snapped. He was the King of Kpop for goodness sake, he didn’t need another person in the room constantly with him, poking in his studio, lecturing him how to make his own album.

His elder had barely blinked. “Then don’t even bother imagining a release date. Not with us.”

That had silenced him.

“Right then,” His manager started, “You two will stay together in your home until the project is completed. This is because I know that otherwise you would never show up to work. It will help to have a fresh pair of hands and ears.” Jiyong walked out of the office, not leaving a single word in his wake.

Now, standing in the threshold of the house where they would be forced to coexist, Jiyong felt that disgust and resentment swell again like bile in his throat. He had not even seen her yet, and already, his skin burned with irritation.

And then, you opened the studio door.

You didn’t look smug. Didn’t look victorious or condescending. A nonchalant expression was worn across your face. A polite one; a normal look you’d expect for someone welcoming a new coworker to the office. If anything, the only readable emotion was confusion. As if you, too, had been thrown into this situation against her will.

"Let’s get this over with," he muttered, shouldering past you without waiting for a response.

He didn’t see the way your brows pulled together at his hostility. You did not even manage to get a single word of greeting or introduction out yet, and he had already decided that he had enough of your presence. Even though he is older than you, you were still shocked and a little angered by the audacity of his actions.

But he felt it when you followed him inside, closing the door behind yourself with a quiet, resigned sigh.

彡

You weren’t what he expected.

Jiyong had been prepared for arrogance, for gloating. He had braced himself for some pretentious genius who would relish every second of taking over his album. Or even someone who would immediately start getting all nosy and searching through his studio, eager to copy his work and steal it as your own. But you were… silent.

Not timid. Not weak. Just… observant.

That only irritated him more.

You didn’t react when he snapped in your direction. Didn’t argue when he ignored your suggestions or dismissed your ideas with clipped words. He wanted a fight—wanted you to give him something to latch onto, something that would justify the bitterness clawing at him. Something that would charge him to his management to persuade them that you were indeed the villain he imagined you to be, and to allow him to fly solo once more.

But you never took the bait.

And then, you started working.

It was infuriating, really. How easily you molded sound. How you didn’t force a song into being but rather coaxed it, like you were uncovering something that had already existed in the universe, hidden until you laid your hands upon it.

Worse, you made it look effortless.

Jiyong had spent years honing his craft, bleeding for it, burning himself to exhaustion to achieve what he had. And yet, you stood there, in his studio, weaving together melodies in ways he never would have imagined, as if the music you were creating was an immersive extension of your very soul and being rather than something you had to fight tooth and nail just so it could sound the exact way you desired.

And he despised it.

He despised you.

Not because you were bad at what you did—but because you were better than he was.

彡

You weren't blind.

From the moment he arrived, the animosity radiated from him like heat off pavement. He barely looked at you, barely spoke to you beyond clipped instructions and muttered complaints.

And for what?

You had never done anything to him. Never insulted his work, never dismissed his talent. In fact, you had admired him and his work prior to all of this. You had looked up to him, had studied his music, and had learned from the very foundation he had built. G-Dragon was one of your inspirations.

But now?

Now, you could barely stand to be in the same room as him. It was like walking on broken glass—careful, quiet, blood boiling; knowing that at any moment, he could snap. And when he did, it was over something purely idiotic. It enraged you.

When your manager proposed this idea to you, all you felt was pure excitement and enthusiasm. To work so closely with one of your idols on his newest studio album? You were immediately on board. You had imagined this experience to stimulate the feeling of watching Leonardo Da Vinci sketch out the ‘Mona Lisa’, or witness the frameworks of the Pyramids of Giza in Ancient Egypt be conceptualised and built. Never in your mind did this hatred for you cross over these thoughts. And frankly, you had had enough.

"I think the layering is too heavy here," you had said on one late night together, adjusting the volume on one of the tracks they had been working on. "It’s drowning out the—"

"I know how to produce a song," Jiyong interrupted sharply. "I’ve been doing this shit long before you have even dreamed of touching an instrument."

Your eyebrows ticked, taken aback.

"Okay," you said carefully, trying to ignore the frustration rising in your chest, which was a frequent, uncomfortable feeling you had been having recently. You had repressed enough anger that could cover across several people working with G-Dragon. “But I think if we just—"

"Just what?" He scoffed, turning to face you fully. His eyes held enough rage to kill someone, his expression hard as rock, "Let you take over? Because that’s what you really want, isn’t it?"

The floodgates of your anger management had smashed wide open at that last comment.

"Are you serious?" you snapped, voice incredulous. "I’m literally trying to help you, GD.” Until he held an ounce of respect for you, you had refused to use his real name, which you fore-sought was not going to happen any time in the future. If he did not believe you deserved respect, then neither did he, age-respect hierarchy be damned. “That’s what I was asked to do by my management, just like you were. It’s not my fault if you can’t handle the fact that someone else has good ideas!"

His jaw clenched.

"You’re nothing but a burden in here," he muttered.

Your breath caught.

And then, you laughed—a sharp, humorless sound.

"God, you are insufferable”, you aspersed. "I’m sorry that I am capable of creating something incredible that millions adore. I’m sorry that you like my work. But I can’t help your jealousy, GD. That’s something you have to deal with. Pull your thumb from your mouth and grow up."

You turned on your heel and left, slamming the door behind you.

For the first time, his mouth was left agape; he had nothing to say.

彡

Silence never felt heavier than when you were gone.

Jiyong sat in the now-empty studio, staring at the untouched buttons and controls. The weight of his own words pressed against his ribs.

You’re nothing but a burden in here

He hadn’t meant it, not really.

He had been cruel because cruelty was easier than admitting the truth—easier than saying “I feel threatened by you, I feel small next to you, I hate that I admire you.”

To G-Dragon, guilt was a foreign sensation, but he felt it now, curling in his gut like something alive. He pulled out his phone, opening his message app to request your address from your manager.

The next day, he showed up at your door, embarrassed. Behind his back, he clutched a bouquet of lilies; nothing overly extravagant, but prettier, larger than average to hopefully settle some of the rocky waves between you that his tidal current had forced at you.

After looking in the peephole of your door, you opened it cautiously, your eyes flickering across his face, analysing his inability to meet your eyes as normal, but this time, not for disdain, but out of humiliation. The way his brows were furrowed and eyes low, drifting toward the floor and your feet; you soaked it all in, the powerhouse of the Kpop industry G-Dragon, was here, on your doorstep, flushed as a beetroot. A part of you liked what you saw. Suppressing those images down, you remember his words; you were pissed off at him. Your gaze sharpened.

"What is this?" you asked.

He exhaled. "An apology." He revealed his left arm from behind his back, bringing the bouquet of beautiful pink and white lillies into your line of vision. The sharpness you held in your eyes was loosened. Flowers were an achilles heel in your anger.

Crossing your arms, your right eyebrow raised expectantly as you broke the silence once more, “For what?”

Jiyong met your eyes. Finally, you could see into the pools of his irises and truly pick apart his humiliation.

"For being an ass. For—" He hesitated. "For taking out my insecurities on you."

A beat of silence.

And then, to his surprise, you smirked. Small and amused.

"Well," you sighed, stepping aside, your words dripping, sticky with sarcasm, “I guess you do know how to learn and grow after all."

And just like that, the tension between the two of you shifted. It had initially started small, like a bud of a lily that had yet to bloom. Glances that lingered too long. ‘Accidental’ touches that weren’t so accidental. One night, while adjusting a track together, his hand brushed against yours. Neither of you moved away. A crack of electricity shivered through the both of you. You could see goosebumps quickly scatter and raise across his hand.

It built slowly, like a cacophony of an orchestra rising to its crescendo. Jiyong started to notice small quirks about you. The way you pulled the edge of your bottom lip between your teeth when you were truly focused. How you counted the beat of anything by tapping your pinky finger against your palm simultaneously to the sound. Your incessant habit of humming the same tune he could not identify when you were deep in thought. How your voice sounded when the hours you would spend with him would reach the night, a soft, almost whispery tone that eluded him to a softer, sweet version of yourself he had rarely received the honour to see.

Before he knew it, you plagued his mind. In his solitary moments away from you physically, you invaded his mind. He imagined all different kinds of situations with you as the focal point. Taking you out to dinners, exploring the world together, spoiling you for as long as you would allow him to, being beside you in galas, showing you off to the world as his girl. As long as you were a part of it, he had yearned for it.

His own realisation interrupted his fantasies and caught him off guard. He draped his fingers across the lower sector of his face, which he had just realised was quite warm. Goodness, were you aware of just how big the effect you have on him is?

彡

The house was quiet except for the faint hum of your phone playing music from down the hallway in the bathroom. Jiyong sat on the couch in the vast living area, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, pretending not to be listening for the sound of the shower running echoing, bouncing across each wall, reverberating in his head.

It was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But lately, everything about you had started to feel that way.

The way you laughed—low and warm, like the last sip of wine. The way your voice lingered in his brain and had no means of budging away, similarly to how his cigarette smoke would cling to his clothing and continue to hold on tight no matter how many wash cycles it endured. This woman must be completely unaware that she was making his stomach tighten. The way they worked cooperatively together now, in sync, as if their hands had learned the rhythm of each other’s movements without even trying. It felt oddly domestic, and that was natural to him, too natural.

It was ridiculous.

And worse? Jiyong had no idea if she felt the way he did. If he invaded her head in every possible moment, clawing at the inside of her mind and filling every groove and cavity. If when she gazed at the moon after sunset, she imagined the beacon of it's light illuminating his features just as he did. If he was the first thing she thought of as the morning sun beckoned her awake, and if her last thoughts at night were of him as the stars in the sky tucked her in the guest bed's silky sheets. All he could do was hope.

A sudden noise pulled him from his thoughts—the sharp creak of the bathroom door cracking open, followed by the softest, most hesitant voice.

“Jiyong?”

His breath hitched. The voice was small, unsure. Embarrassed. His heart stuttered, completely unprepared for the sheer intimacy of hearing his name spoken like that. Now that he thought about it, he did not think he had ever heard his name slip from her lips; at least not so sickeningly saccharine. The fantasies that generated as a result of your voice speaking to him that way made his blood rush all through his body.

He cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice casual. “Uh… yeah?”

A pause. And then, with the quiet resignation of someone who really really didn’t want to ask but had no other choice— “I… forgot my towel.”

Jiyong’s brain short-circuited.

For a moment, he just stared at the hallway leading to the bathroom, as if his body hadn’t yet caught up with what he’d just heard. And then—heat. So much heat. It crawled up his neck, spreading fast, filling every inch of him with something unbearably awkward and hot. It all was so overwhelming and so so pleasurable at once.

He swallowed hard. “O-okay. Um.” His voice cracked. He winced. “Where is it?”

“In my room. Top drawer.”

Jiyong shot up from the couch like he had been set on fire. It was a simple request. A completely normal, mundane situation. You had revealed how your memory was not amazing sometimes. But the sheer implication of this situation—the fact that you were in the bathroom, wet, barely wrapped in anything, waiting on him—sent his mind and imagination into overdrive.

Jiyong all but sprinted to your room, yanking open the drawer with more force than necessary. His hands fumbled as he grabbed the first towel he could find, cursing under his breath at his own inability to act normal. When he returned to the hallway, the bathroom door was still mostly closed, cracked open just enough for him to see a sliver of your smooth, bare shoulder and your exposed clavicle glistening with droplets of water reflecting the light from the ceiling. His throat went dry, he had never knocked so quickly in his life.

“Here,” he blurted, shoving the towel toward the opening like it was a lifeline.

Your hand appeared, fingers brushing against his as she took it from him. Too warm. Too soft. Jiyong could have sworn he heard your soft lips inhale sharply.

“Thanks,” you murmured, voice somehow even quieter than before. Something thick and charged filled the small space between them. His fingers twitched. He needed to leave. Needed to walk away before his face actually caught fire.

But before he could, she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You’re blushing.”

Jiyong groaned, running a hand down his face as he took a step back. "No way.”

“Yes, you are.” He could hear the smirk growing on your features. He let out a humoured breath, his embarrassment still at an all time high.

“I am not.”

Her laughter grew, muffled by the door but still unmistakably amused. Teasing.

“Shut up and finish your shower,” he muttered, already turning on his heel before he could embarrass himself even further. Behind him, the door locked shut, and Jiyong exhaled sharply.

Ridiculous.

Absolutely, completely ridiculous.

Later that night, technically approaching the a.m., you had found yourself back in the studio alone. The release date was approaching within the next week, and you were giving the album files a listen to ensure that everything was in order for the umpteenth time. Jiyong had grown to know that you were a perfectionist. Even more so than he could be; but he still understood your need to nitpick.

After your first—and currently only—album had soared so successfully after releasing, you had felt antagonising pressure to succeed again. Your fans were expecting the world and more from you—and even though you were eternally grateful for them, you needed a second to breathe. You had grown antsy, nothing that you were adding to this song was making it work. You let out the occasional groan or heavy sigh anxiously; had you really reached your peak before your career prolonged?

Wondering why he could still hear noise from the studio long after he had retired to his room for the night, Jiyong cracked open the door and looked upon you, a look of sympathy in his eyes. The scene of you before him screamed that you felt a heavy weight on your back.

Your hands trembled, the corner of your lip was tucked in your teeth, a tick lay across your expression as your head held the headphones that were drumming noise into your ears worryingly loud told Jiyong everything he needed to know about what was going through your mind currently. You were completely zoned in, your eyes not breaking contact from your monitor screen, so you would not have expected to see a ringed finger reach down to press the spacebar, and the same hands brush against your hair to remove headphones—alleviating some pressure from your head—to be gently placed on the table. You swivelled in your chair to the culprit.

"Jiyong, what are you doing..?" You spoke, your tone unsure of whether it should be angry, sad, or whispered.

"Giving you a chance to have a second to breathe." He replied, softly seeing through you. You stood and let out a sigh.

"I just need it to be perfect. I don't want to release something the people won't like, I need them to value it——"

"People will like what we have made. They will hold it dear to them and value it because you have made it. Not because of its objective value. Because they like you." He interrupted you, his tone soft, holding gentle finality. You nod, breathing softly. A beat passes, and suddenly you realise just how closely you are standing—too close—to Jiyong. A pit forms in your stomach, your mind racing at a million miles an hour. Is it hot in here? You needed to remove your hoodie, you were wearing it because it was cold when you entered.

Was it always so overbearingly warm in here? You tug on your sleeves and look into Jiyong's dark eyes and see something unreadable.

Your breath mingled with his, the air charged with something unspoken. His eyes flickered to your lips. Your fingers twitched at your side. And then——

You moved away, your temperature burning too high to handle. You could barely hear Jiyong exhaling sharply, running a hand through his hair because your heart was thrumming extremely loud in your chest, you were causing a racket in your own head with thoughts and fantasies.

What the hell was happening to you?

彡

The next week had passed much faster than you expected, and the release date had come and gone. It was globally renowned as a masterpiece. It was your masterpiece with Jiyong. Expected by many, it had been nominated for several awards, including Album Of The Year at the Grammys. And of course, it had won by a landslide. Jiyong's half of your shared acceptance speech astounded you.

"I dedicate this to my co-producer," he had opened with, voice steady. "She put up with me. She challenged me. And she’s the reason this album is what it is. She’s the most talented person I’ve ever met, and if I had to do it all over again she would be the first person I would run to in a heartbeat." The crowd cheered loudly after the rest of his speech finished, concluding with the typical thank-yous and acknowledgments.

After the Grammys had ended, the air in the vehicle back to Jiyong's home was heavy. You knew your time together had concluded, and now you needed to go home. This made you melancholy, knowing your paths did not cross paths at all before production commenced, and it would be unlikely that the both of you would converge often afterwards either. After you completed packing your things into your travel bag, you dragged your eyes to meet Jiyong's sadly.

"This was fun." You sighed, not even bothering to hide any fraction of disappointment or sadness in your voice. Jiyong swallowed.

"It doesn't have to be over, you know..." He replied nervously, confusing you. His face and body language mirrored that day when he showed up to your house with flowers and an apology. You held that morning dear to you, even if it felt like eons ago now.

"It is, isn't it..? The album has been made, now we have to go and live our lives," your right eyebrow raised. You were unsure of where he was going with this, you didn't exactly love when he was vague like this.

"What I mean is that it doesn't have to be... exactly how it was before production started..." His voice dropping low now, the confusion seeping deeper within you. "What I mean is that I want to continue to see you. I need you. As close as this," Gesturing vaguely, but you knew what he meant. He took a step forward, now standing as close to you as that night a few weeks ago in the studio.

"Closer than this," He whispered, and you catch his eyes flickering at your soft lips, the confession fanning across your blazing red cheeks. The familiar warmth was flooding your body, forming that same pit in your stomach. You can barely meet his strong eyes, the confusion long been gone, you understand exactly what he means now.

This time, however, you do not move away. Boldly and impulsively, you meet your lips with his. Everything else seemed to blur, as if the universe held its breath. It started soft, tentative, as if testing the waters of something both of you had wanted for months but couldn’t quite give in to. Your heart raced as you felt his warmth, the slight tremor in his hand as it brushed against your cheek, tracing the outline of your jaw like he’d been waiting for this touch too.

The kiss deepened, slow at first, but then urgent—like every quiet, stolen glance, every touch that lingered a little too long, was finally released all at once. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that mirrored yours, and you melted right into him, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you couldn’t get enough. The tension they’d both carried for so long dissolved in that single, searing kiss, leaving nothing but the raw, undeniable truth of how much they’d wanted this. And in that moment, it was as though time stood still, just for them. You pulled back just slightly, your lips curling into that oh so familiar smirk that Jiyong had grown to adore as you met his gaze, still breathless.

“Wow,” you teased, your voice low and dripping with amusement, “you really did need me, huh?” You let the words hang in the air for a moment, your fingers still resting on his chest, watching the flush spread across his face, satisfyingly.

Jiyong then grinned, eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in just enough to brush his lips against the shell of your ear. “Oh, trust me,” he murmured, voice rich with teasing confidence, “I’ve been dying to prove that for months.” He pulled back slightly, looking you over with a playful glint in his eyes. “But I guess now you know.”

thank you for reading!

fic number two! i thank you all eternally for the love on my first one, it really helps my confidence when i see you guys interact! so i thank you for that

my reqs are open if you want any kind of prompt in particular! i'm open to anything you got ;)

#gdragon x reader #bigbang x reader #x reader #fanfic #kwon jiyong x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #enemies to lovers #kwon jiyong #g dragon #gdragon #fanfiction #emmiesoverthemoon

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thr0wnawayy · 9 months ago

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Midoriya's Delusion

This is post that builds upon my previous one, I've copied many of the points I made there to here. Albiet with some corrections and tweaks.

To summarize, I have a bit of a crack theory that chapter 430 isn't as real as we've been led to believe. (As for when this actually takes place, that's up to you but I like to imagine the start of his third year marks the beginning of his mental decline.)

(As an update, I find it dubious whether 8 years have actually passed or if that's also a part of the fantasy. I can see Midoriya becoming so attached to the lie that his reference of time begins to warp)

This theory mostly comes from some inconsistencies in regards to the hero rankings and some other things I've found.

Corrections:

It's left ambiguous whether Best Jeanist and Endeavor are still active. However the fact that people view these two in a postive light (especially after Dabi and the war) still seems absurd.

2. Midoriya wasn't outright abandoned, rather their busy schedules make it hard for their days off to coincide. This falls apart when you look at this panel

"The rate of new villains keep decreasing and the number of heroes have stabilized"

Besides Ochaco who's funding a quirk counseling project, the rest of the class should be able to make time. Again it's stated that they aren't actually fighting.

There's no real threat to face. Besides PR and Community Service there's bot a whole lot else (besides the occasional natural disaster)

One could argue it's because the scope of what heroes do is increasing, thus keeping them busy. But again, we see heroes doing exactly what they did before, PR, Advertising and (implied) Showboating.

This leads me to believe that the lack of contact is based in reality, to some extent.

Whether it was by choice or forced by their (1A's) respective PR teams to preserve their images (can't be seen around the "freaks" for too long, now can we?).

The lie comes in the form of busy schedules.

Now whether that's what Midoriya tells himself or what he's been told, I cannot say for certain.

Disturbia:

For those of you who didn't read my last post, you may be wondering, so what's going on?.

Simply put:

Midoriya's having a breakdown fantasy to cope with the fact that he won't be becoming a hero due to the loss of his quirk.

Im aware it sounds crazy but consider the following:

1. Midoriya subconsciously knows the way he's been treated was wrong.

This manifests within the escapists fantasy in Bakugo's drop in the rankings + the attitude surrounding him (as well as his damaged hand never fully healing)

He meets a kid who just so happens to be in a near exact same position as he once* was (and still is to an extent). One could take this as his mind's way of trying to cope and heal itself, by having Midoriya do what he does best and help others, henceforth working though his trauma by using the kid as a stand in.

*Even the kid's "bully" seems to be a warped version of Bakugo (perhaps this is how Midoriya tries to fool himself into believing how it was)

2. We see Kota.

I believe that here, Kota serves as what Midoriya thinks he could have been had he not failed. Kota is the idealized version of Midoriya here, the unobtainable.

3. A lesson ignored

Apparently people forgot the connection between Endeavor and Shoto. You'd think this would be a good thing as Shoto would be able to become his own person.

This falls flat when you remember that also includes people forgetting the reason and happenings behind Shoto's existence, it feels like Midoriya is trying to have his cake and eat it too

To elaborate, this is a major copout, it allows Shouto to be unaffected by his family's past bith career wise and emotionally. While also feeding into Midoriya's rather toxic belief that forgiveness is required to be a good person.

(The fact that killing Tomura violated this only adds to my theory that this whole thing is an escapist coping mechanism.)

(You can also add the idea that Tomura didn't forgive society for what they did to him and his friends. That likely broke all the "rules" that Midoriya knew.)

4. The Mech Suit is a massive cope, it's the dying whimper of Midoriya's childish hope that All Might will save the day.

This time there's no magic quirk, no garrish mech suit, no plot twist.

No. There's only Midoriya and the consequences of his, his classmates and hero societies actions. It doesn't matter how shiny and seamless the illusion, how sweet the lie.

You can't hide the blood.

Concerning Aspects:

That was mostly the revised stuff, let me introduce you to some new points

1. A Frozen Lake

Something I noticed was certain characters seem to be almost frozen in time, as if someone tried to continue a story using scraps of the original text.

The curious case of Rei Himura:

This scene seems almost stagnant, what was most noticeable was Enji's bandages still being on and Rei still being there.

It's as if Midoriya hasn't seen them in years (or perhaps doesn't want to acknowledge what happened). So his mind uses what he last saw/heard of them, creating a sterile, static scenario. Little better than props.

Those surrounding her (with the exception of Hawks) also seem to be stuck in the past.

It's definitely strange.

2. See No Evil, Hear no Evil, Speak No Evil

Shigaraki is a representation of Midoriya's repressed guilt and his fears. I believe deep down Midoriya knows that, inevitably the cycle will repeat, so long as the system is allowed fester and wallow in it's complancy.

I find the fact that he's behind Midoriya to be ironic, as if to say: don't look back, don't think about what you've done.

A Symbol of Stagnation:

I should warn you that it does get lengthy from here, however I think it's important to get the full picture. Even if I tend to ramble here.

It's implied here that Lemillion's the top hero. This is awful for a variety of reasons. Mirio is a horrible symbol.

All Might was flawed for a variety of reasons, but a majority of these were byproducts rather than directly being his own doing.

Mirio on the other hand, has such a cancerous philosophy that it actively harms all who interact with it.

Mirio is a follower, he follows orders first and asks questions never.

Eri is the best example of this. Even after Nighteye's death, Mirio never truly reflects on the damage his actions could have caused ( only saved by the narrative, seriously it's a miracle Eri trusts anyone besides Midoriya after being abandoned like that)

You see, the difference between Toshinori and Mirio lies in their actions and principles.

Mirio left Eri to die, all for the sake of the "mission".

For all the heroes knew, Eri could have been a trafficking victim and either have been killed or relocated. But no, appearances and "gotta catch em all" take priority even after knowing Eri is in the Yakuza's clutches.

Lemillion made the worst decisions possible. He followed a known murder into a secluded, restricted area (with a hostage mind you) bringing his pupil with him.

Willingly ignored blatant signs of abuse (just look at the girl) and played hooky with thre leader of a criminal organization, who is known for his short fuse and willingness to kill.

He did all of that, when he could have easily detained Overhaul at any point (his quirk being a direct counter)

Toroshinori would fight tooth and nail in that situation. Consequences be damned if it meant saving Eri.

Part of the reason Toroshinori was so effective as a hero was 1. His sense of justice and 2. His compassion.

Mirio is a symbol that can be controlled, a weapon if you will.

The fact that Mirio is at the top shows that things haven't changed and are even beginning to decline. So this brings me to my next point

You may be asking, if Midoriya's losing it in his own mind, what's the outside world look really like?.

Allow me to set the stage.

4. Speculation

Within Midoriya's muddled mind, Lemillion represents both his toxic optimism and a subconscious understanding that nothing has changed. It represents denial and acceptance, a dysfunctional middle ground that's easy enough for Midoriya to stomach.

The truth of the matter is, delusion or not, the reality is soon to sink in.

Something that I don't see discussed is the lack of reactions from other nations or really any insight into how they were affected by everything that happend.

Here's the idea: Most likely they are foaming at the mouth.

Particularly it's the countries who suffered under Imperial Japan in the past (Korea, China, Singapore etc), however this also applies to every nation Nedzu brow beat into aiding with the rebuilding efforts, albiet their reaction would be latent.

Not not only is the attitude painfully reminiscent of how Japan handles it's past atrocities, Japan has had them clean up their messes. seen below:

(you cannot tell me Big Red Dot over here is having a good time)

From an outside pov. The Commission never told anyone about AFO, rather they suppressed any information, locked him up in Tartarus and then sat on the whole situation until it blew up in their (read: everyones) faces.

He then proceeded to: kill over 8000 people (+ those killed during the Blackout period), kill the top hero of one of the world's most powerful nations and incite mass panic. Destroyed massive amounts of infrastructure and transport nationwide, broke thousands of criminals out of prison, destroying those prisons in the process.

Meanwhile the heroes:

Abandoned civilians in mass by quitting in the middle of a war.

Left the public in the dark for months and allowing crime and paranoia to grow rampant, even (forcibly) bringing someone they knew was being targeted by AFO and his forces to the one place they could find shelter.

Mutilated a seven year old girl. Who has a history of being mutilated for the gain of others and patted themselves on the back. (Also having no holdup on how that may effect her physically via her quirk or mentally via her trauma)

Mic: tried to kill a docile prisoner who could be considered in comatose, based off of his emotional attachment to a dead man + viewing it as justified if it meant Spinner couldn't get to him.

Used hospital staff and patients as meatshields (Central Hospital) during a riot.

Most had no qualms supporting a child beating eugenicist and implied marital rapist, even with his one of his victims exposed him and citing it as his main reason for turning to villainy.

Held an illegal questioning* with said abuser while ignoring his main victim (Rei, who is probably the most reliable source of information there)

(*which effectively is like conducting an investigation on yourself and declaring you are not guilty)

And so much more! (But this post is getting too long)

My point is by the time everything was said and done, it seemed everyone but Japan was paying for it.

It's outright stated that the US president risked national security by sending every hero they had to help Japan. (Impeachment worthy if you ask me)

Endeavor's little plan to kill himself and Dabi in a blaze of death ended up disrupting the weather. Very likely it'll end up resembling an El Niño phenomenon, only vastly off schedule and even more destructive than normal.

For Reference [https://oceanservice.noaa.gov/facts/ninonina.html]

Very likely it'll lead to an agricultural drought in the northern America's and mass flooding in southern America's, likely starting at the west coast and bleeding inland. Leading to a domino effect where cost of living surges due to the sudden displacement of people and the rapid loss of products.

Worse still, because the US had no heroes (likely for months on end), crime has likely surged in the America's, which will further impact the rest of the world.

The rebuilding efforts likely emptied the wallets of most participating countries, leaving them unable to help anyone, including themselves.

Also keep in mind that Japan incriminated themselves with the Business Course footage. I don't think the general public (outside of Japan) is going to take too kindly to a known murder and abuse apologist being in charge of a system already known for it's corruption.

The end result is likely be a world that detests Japan, either from a moral perspective (Rei's treatment + the treatment of those society abandoned), a financial perspective (we can't afford shit and you contributed to that) or historical perspective (you do this everytime and ignore the consequences).

A world divided by struggle and united by an immense loathing for the Commission's Japan and the culture surrounding it.

Oh, don't forget there's no finding left for quirk research. Meaning that it's very likely no one will be prepared for quirk singularity to start manifesting in the upcoming generations (Thanks Nedzu).

_______________________________________

Update: Can I just say that Aizawa's lack of ownership infuriates me even though this is likely a fantasy and not grounded in reality.

Like what the fuck do you mean "with the way he talks, it was pointless" Fantasy Aizawa.

Because "Hey Asshole", You deliberately ignored his attitude and offenses!. And what? Now your just gonna shrug it off like it wasn't your fault. To hell with that you had two years, most teacher are said to only get one. As you so graciously mentioned at the start of this shit show of an epilouge.

Heres the moment I'm referring to btw:

While we're at it. Are you telling me it was too hard to get Momo some proper attire all three fucking years she was at UA for.

Not to mention Toru is still naked, how the fuck hasn't she died yet, she is literally exposed to the elements (and lord help her of she gets a cut)

Kirishima's costume is still his biggest liability considering it exposes his chest and back (also seeing as even when hardened he can't repell bullets)

Does Denki still fry himself with his quirk?

Before we move on Aizawa. How's that daughter you neglected, her horn still broken?.

Speaking of which let's look at the rescue team:

What the hell is this!?

Let's see, we got a guy who can only do damage (and his sweat detonates on contact, destroying whatever it touches.)

A brainwasher who only got into the hero course via nepotism and who can only brainwash people who directly respond to him!. A person trapped underneath rubble either frantic or groaning in pain isn't going to be able to respond or even just give consent.

(On a side note what are the laws regarding mind control quirks, does some sort of waiver have to be signed, can a person sue for being controlled against their consent?)

Oh, but wait there's more.

Midoriya running headlong with experimental tech that has, very likely never seen the light of day. Let alone preform in an actual high stakes situation before.

You're trying to carry someone and oops! Something malfunctioned or was miscalculated, now there's an even bigger mess (hooray!)

Who could forget Mezo "they'll come for your kids" Soji. Who climbed the ladder and pulled it all the way up.

Yeah forget that Heteromorph's were getting hate crimed long before the war, ignore the fact that you yourself were maimed by an angry mob after doing one of the most heroic things a person can do. Dismiss Spinner's comment about being sprayed with Pesticide for walking in public.

Nah screw it, let's all sing Kumbaya while the Creation Rejection Clan runs wild outside the reach of the cities, then ignore that the discrimination still is prevalent in the countryside and it's only a matter of time before somone gets fed up and takes matters into their own hands. (talons, claws, you get the picture)

But your a hero now Soji, you got your's. So fuck the rest of 'em

And don't even get me started on Hawks. Congratulations you ignorant bastard, way to kill time and by that I mean for everyone but the heroes.

"Yeah life is great!, everyone hates us, we're rapidly falling into debt from all that rebuilding 8 years back."

"Speaking of which some of those buildings are staring to fall apart due to being rushed to meet deadlines set within the month they were started."

"Social darwinism is on the rise and people are becoming more complacent that ever before due to heroes applying bandaid solutions on decade long, deeply ingrained problems."

"All so the average person doesn't have to think about what's festering beneath society's floorboards, so thank you Safety Commission. Here's your star of positivity ⭐️." - Some random anti-hero civilian

So much for greatest heroes, huh.

_______________________________________

UPDATE 2:

A dark thought I just had, is that the main reason Izuku killed Tomura was because Tomura broke the rule of "Forgiving Your Abusers makes you Good".

When Tomura refused to relinquish his hatred, when he stood his ground, that is when Midoriya decided he had to die. If not to "stop" him, then to preserve Midoriya's perception of the world .

Shigaraki + The LOV by their very ideals went against everything Midoriya has had beat into him by Bakugo and Aldera over the years.

Makes me wonder how'd he react to a person refusing to forgive their abuser. If he interacted with Natsuo or Rei, I could see that delving into a complete mess.

Now that I think about it, The Midoriya we know now, he would have never tried to hold onto Eri back when they first met.

Ironically, he became what he named himself after, a Deku. A puppet attached to thorns of liquid gold, glistening and burning hot.

A slave to his own biases and belief system, now trapped in a stage of his minds own making.

First bound by his past, then by legacy and finally, now by his own hand.

木偶.

#bnha critical #mha critical #hero society critical #anti bakugou #midoriya critical #just a bit #hawks critical #anti shinsou hitoshi #anti eraserhead #anti enji todoroki #anti endeavor #anti aizawa shota #anti aizawa #anti mirio #lov #league of villains

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venus-haze · 2 years ago

Text

You're My Best Friend (Homelander x Reader)

Summary: Homelander was a test tube baby, raised in isolation in a cold, clinical lab. But that doesn’t inspire America, does it? Vought tasks you with creating the idyllic backstory for its hero, and what starts as a limited comic run spirals out of control when Homelander himself demands your help in making the story a reality.

Note: Gender neutral reader, but no other descriptors are used. Based on a request by @crash-and-cure as well as a bastardization of one of the sweetest love songs ever written (sorry, John Deacon!) This got kinda meta? Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, I guess some gaslighting on Homelander’s part? Do not interact if you’re under 18.

When Vought hired you to create their long-awaited Homelander origin comic series, you were thrilled—until they gave you so little information about his childhood to work with, you weren’t even sure you could come up with one comic, let alone the ten they requested. The details about his childhood were minimal, not even a full printed page—a loving mom and dad, played baseball, did well in school, strong sense of justice from a young age, his friends called him “Johnny.” Your requests to meet with Homelander so you could get some stories from the man himself were constantly denied.

You almost considered dropping the project, until you decided to throw caution to the wind and pull from your own childhood and set it in good ol’ generic suburbia. Some of the storylines were based on your own experiences or things that had happened to people you’d grown up with, though you changed enough names and details to not link it to anyone in particular. Except yourself, of course. Using a pseudonym professionally meant you felt no need to change your own name in the comics. Sure, making your cooler fictionalized self Homelander’s childhood best friend was a bit self-indulgent, but no one would know, really.

To your relief, the editors at Vought loved your ideas, making minor changes before bringing the storylines to their comic artists to bring it to life. The result was Finding Homelander: A Boy’s Journey To Be a Hero. The issues flew off shelves when they were first released, ironically praised for their relatability and authenticity. Vought extended your contract, asking you to produce the cartoon adaptation and another ten issues.

Still, in all of that, you’d never met Homelander. A representative from Vought emailed you to let you know to tune in to his interview on a talk show one day, saying that he’d be talking more about the cartoon project on it. You recognized the host, Tracey, always chipper and having some extravagant giveaway for her audience members. Daytime TV was never your thing, though.

“I think what resonates with so many people is how relatable your childhood is,” Tracey said, holding up a copy of Finding Homelander issue #3, where he saved ‘you’ from getting hit in the face with a baseball at one of his games, catching it with ease. It’d been the happy ending to a short storyline of him struggling to find his place on the team and you encouraging him to not give up. “You and Y/N were pretty close, do you still keep in touch?”

“You know, Tracey, not as much as I’d like, unfortunately. Adulthood can be so busy, you need to cherish those childhood memories,” Homelander said. “I did give them a call when the comics first came out, and wow, the laughs we had over those old antics of ours. Talk about a walk down memory lane!”

You guessed the bullshitting was all part of the promotional circuit for Homelander. Knowing this childhood of his was your own fabrication, you couldn’t help but wonder what else about him was fake. Maybe he wanted to maintain his privacy, you could certainly understand that. You couldn’t shake the voice in the back of your mind that said it wasn’t so simple, that the narrative Vought pushed was a cover to hide something in Homelander’s past.

“Now, I’ve heard rumors of a cartoon show based on the comics in the making, is this true?”

“It is! I’m excited for this project, getting back to my ‘roots’ so to speak. I’ll be voicing myself, of course, but it’s funny you’d bring up Y/N, because they’ve agreed to voice themself, too.”

“How fun!” Tracey exclaimed over the roar of the talk show crowd’s applause and cheers. “I guess this is the hopeless romantic in me, but I hope this reconnection leads to something a little more. I’m just a sucker for childhood sweethearts!”

Homelander laughed along with the host’s giggles, “Well, you never know.”

You balked at the television, mouth agape. Surely he couldn’t be talking about you. ‘Y/N’ could be anyone with your same features. Vought had probably hired a professional voice actor for the role and were pushing the authenticity angle. The whole situation felt odd.

When you checked your work email again on your phone, you nearly dropped it on the floor.

SUBJECT: Meeting with Homelander This Week

The email contained a list of days and times throughout the week wherein Homelander would be free, apparently wanting to meet you to thank you for the success of the comic series and discuss upcoming work. Yeah. That last part you sure as hell wanted to discuss too. You responded with the soonest time available, in a meeting room in Vought Tower the following evening. As soon as you hit ‘send’, you wondered what exactly you were getting yourself into.

Anticipation filled your gut as you went about your day leading up to meeting the supe himself. What would he be like, really be like? Was there even a version of Homelander that wasn’t hopelessly manufactured for the masses? You knew then that his upbringing was a lie, and thus stood the probability that so much else was, too.

When you stepped into that meeting room, you hadn’t been expecting his face to light up at the sight of you.

“Homelander, hi, it’s great to—“

“No need to be so formal, Y/N! You can call me Johnny, just like old times,” he said cheerfully, in on a joke you clearly hadn’t been aware of.

“Sorry, Johnny,” you said, playing along. “It’s great to see you again.”

He pulled you in for an unexpected hug that you returned. “Figured we should catch up before things really start getting crazy, don’t you think?”

You nodded, your nose brushing against him as you did so. Just as your lips parted to offer an apology, he smiled, shooing away the assistant who’d accompanied him out of the room.

He sat down, motioning for you to do the same.

“Gotta say, I’m a fan of your work,” he said.

“Thank you,” you said. “I’m not sure I understand exactly what’s going on, though.”

“What’s there to understand? I’m not allowed to know more about my best friend, our lives together growing up?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Wasn’t hard for me to put two and two together, but considering everyone else around here has their head up their asses, they have no idea,” he said, before lowering his voice conspiratorially and giving you a charming smile. “I haven’t told anyone. What’s a secret between friends?”

You nodded, overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention on you. “What do you want to know?”

He sighed, resting his head on his hand. “Everything.”

So you told him. Not quite everything, of course, but enough to abate his curiosity. At least for the time being. His interviews were sharper, more specific with details rather than rattling off whatever had been in the comics. You watched in shock as convincing photos of his Little League days were posted to his social media accounts, anecdotes provided by his increasingly frequent conversations–or more like interrogation sessions–with you, but in his style, of course. It was almost scary what the graphic design team at Vought could accomplish, not that you’d ever know how, exactly, as they were all under the same strict NDA that you were.

He started spending more time with you, too, and after a while, it did seem like you were old friends. Part of you flinched whenever you called him Johnny, because Johnny wasn’t even real, but with your complacency, this fabrication was slowly morphing into a strikingly tangible memory. With each conversation, he drew you deeper into the world you’d been paid to create for him until you found yourself slipping up.

You’d been showing him a goofy stuffed monkey on your desk, a cute little thing with big sparkling eyes. A prize for getting two out of three at the ring toss. Probably spent more money winning it than it was actually worth, but it was about the effort, the memories made.

“You remember, don’t you? You won it for me at the county fair,” you said without thinking.

He laughed in agreement, as if he actually had. Except he hadn’t. Your high school boyfriend won it for you a week before graduation. Sensing the mood shift, he set down your prize and looked at you with the same intensity he had when you first met.

“It’s been a while since we were there, huh?” he said. “Why don’t we go back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows. “Go where?”

“Home.”

With a strong arm around your waist, he took off for your hometown. You could hardly tell which way was up or down, he was flying so high, but he didn’t seem to mind the way you clung to him at all. When he finally landed, you recognized the community baseball field where all of his fictional games were set.

“Geez, it’s like nothing’s changed,” he said cheerfully.

You looked at him in disbelief. How long was he going to expect you to go along with it? Or maybe the question you should have been asking was, how long were you going to enable him? The end wasn’t anywhere in sight as he took your hand, and you walked him through your childhood, further enmeshing him in it until you arrived at the house you grew up in.

The middle of the day, no one was home, and so you let yourselves in like you owned the place. Suddenly, the house seemed too small for a man like Homelander to occupy, but he was engrossed in the details of it. He scanned the kitchen, no doubt inspecting the contents of the fridge and cabinets with his x-ray vision. Moving onto the living room, he stared at photos on the wall, the magazines and DVDs that were strewn on the coffee table, giving away your parents’ taste in entertainment.

“Which one was your room again?” he asked.

You swore you could feel his breath on the back of your neck as you wordlessly led him to your room. Each step down the hall felt dangerous, as if you were about to walk into a trap. Face-to-face with the closed door, you opened it, standing aside while Homelander looked around, from what you had hanging on the walls to the knick-knacks you’d left behind.

An uncomfortable tension settled over the room when Homelander closed the door of your childhood bedroom. An odd blend of hurt and amusement spread across his face as he observed the way you were eyeing him, body ready to fruitlessly run from him the way a rabbit would a hawk.

“C’mon, after how long we’ve been friends, I would never hurt you,” he said, as if reading your mind. “We’ve been through so much together. I mean, we were each other’s first kiss.”

You froze. Issue #9. That was something Vought’s editors had added, claiming a romance angle would make the series appeal to the younger female demographic. You hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

He slyly backed you into the wall, leaning over you as you slinked down the slightest bit.

“Show me how we did it,” he whispered, his hand caressing your cheek. “So clumsy and nervous, I can even feel you…quivering.”

“Homelander, I don’t know what you’re—“

He tsked. “Y/N.”

You let out a shaky breath, “Johnny—“

He hummed in satisfaction. “It’s alright. I know it’s been a while.”

You let him kiss you, sweetly in a way that put your actual first kiss to shame. His lips were soft against yours, his tender movements intentional as he cradled your face, pulling you the slightest bit closer to him when you kissed him back.

A sense of familiarity settled over you, warm and comforting like pulling a blanket out of the dryer on a chilly evening. Every time it seemed like you were beginning to overthink the situation with Homelander, he drew you back in with the kiss, a more than effective distraction until you pulled away with a dazed smile on your face.

#homelander x reader #homelander x you #the boys x reader #the boys x you #the boys tv #the boys amazon #homelander #homelander the boys #the boys

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demensrage · 7 months ago

Text

f for fucking you until you lose your mind ⚊ • . with zaraki kenpachi

summary: when stress is beyond his ability to bear, kenpachi of the eleventh division must use his favorite container of semen to ease his mind.

cw: unestablished relationship, praise kink, petnames, big dick!zaraki, doggy style, fingering, oral (f. receiving), creampie.

wordcount: 4.6k

note: english is not my firts lenguage so please forgive me for the grammatical errors I may commit

You always had a lot of work, especially because in the division you're part of, the work seems never to end. Having a boss with an unhealthy obsession for following the rules, there's always something to do, no matter how insignificant. I knew that being part of the Sixth Division would never be easy, especially because they always expect something from you. You don't do your job to become a captain or lieutenant; you really do it because you were chosen to be part of it.

You don't even know why you ended up in this division; you aspired to be part of the patrol corps. That way, you could legally travel to the human world without appearing as a deserter, but you don't complain. The atmosphere is good when the captain isn't lurking around, watching everyone's illicit movements, especially now that he seems to have had a reality check about how he views life. You thank Ichigo for making him see reason.

Things were starting to calm down in the Seireitei. For two months now, everything seemed lighter—less tension between the captains and more order. After the intrusion into the Soul Society, several meetings took place. From what you had heard, the surveillance forces were reinforced. Of course, they had to; some kids broke into the place believed to be impenetrable, and they must project a good image with the security changes and reinforcements, especially after Aizen and Gin's betrayal.

As you sat in the office, organizing the documents you had been given, you couldn't help but curse your luck. Renji was on a mission in the human world, which meant all his paperwork had ended up on your desk. You sighed deeply, wondering when Byakuya had decided you were more useful in the Seireitei dealing with bureaucratic tasks than on the battlefield.

Your pen glided over the reports, but your mind was elsewhere, distracted. The Seireitei was quieter than usual, and that only intensified your frustration. You had trained, you had fought, and now you felt trapped behind a desk.

You didn't even get the chance to deal with the Ryoka situation. Despite preparing for it, your captain had been clear in his decision: "I'm not going to waste your intellect on the battlefield," he had told you, as if those words were enough to quell the frustration you felt. But they weren't. In fact, they only made you feel even more trapped in this maze of papers, where your ability to fight seemed to have no value.

You looked at the pile of documents on your desk and felt a weight in your chest. You had always admired those who fought in the field, like Kenpachi, who found their greatest purpose in battle. And there you were, considered too valuable to waste on something as "mundane" as a fight, according to your captain.

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the halls, and you immediately recognized who it was—that energy was unmistakable. Zaraki Kenpachi was nearby. It wasn't common for him to approach the offices, which sent a mix of curiosity and tension through your body.

The door to your office swung open abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up only to see his imposing figure leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, with his typical mocking smile.

"Let's go," he said, without even bothering to explain further.

The order was as direct as he was, and your heart skipped a beat. He didn't give you time to think or ask why he was there or what he wanted, though you could make a vague guess.

"Byakuya is nearby, Zaraki," you reminded him, trying to impose some logic on a situation that clearly had none. Knowing the friction between both captains, it was a bad omen for Zaraki to show up unannounced. Neither of them could stand each other, not even a little, and they avoided being near each other outside of strict work requirements.

Zaraki let out a harsh laugh, unfazed by your warning. "So what? Let him come if he wants... He could use some fun," he replied disdainfully, a dangerous spark shining in his eyes.

It was typical of him—defiant, irreverent. He didn’t care what Byakuya or anyone else thought. And although you had grown accustomed to Kenpachi’s unpredictable nature, his presence now made you feel vulnerable.

"It won't be fun if my work gets compromised," you grumbled, starting to file away the documents you'd already reviewed. You knew there was no escaping Zaraki once he'd made a decision, but that didn't stop you from expressing your frustration.

You could feel his heavy gaze on you as you continued organizing the papers, but Zaraki's impatient nature made one thing clear: if you took too long, he wouldn’t hesitate to do something even more reckless.

“Boring work,” he murmured with a mocking grin. “That’s not what defines you. Let’s go before you regret it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and though it irritated you that he barged into your space and routine, a part of you knew that going along with him would be far more exciting than the papers in your hands.

With curiosity scratching at the back of your mind, you finally set the documents aside and rose from your seat, resigned. You knew that despite your complaints, there was a part of you that couldn’t resist what Zaraki offered: an escape from the tedium, the monotony, and, above all, a dose of adrenaline.

Without saying anything more, you walked toward him, feeling the tension melt away as you left the office and ventured into the unknown. Zaraki turned around with his usual confidence and began walking without looking back, as if he already knew you would follow. After all, when Kenpachi Zaraki asked you to join him, you knew that “fun” was guaranteed, though sometimes fun with him could turn dangerously chaotic.

You had no idea how you ended up in such a compromising position, straddling his lap as his tongue roved over your skin with an insatiable hunger. He licked and sucked at the delicate skin of your breasts, barely covered by your shihakusho. The heat of his body, the wild scent that always accompanied him, and the way he engulfed you made you lose track of everything except the desire consuming you.

This wasn’t the first time you had found yourself tangled up with Zaraki like this. You’d lost count of how many times you’d woken up at his place, subjected to his will and his insatiable need to possess you.

You tried to make sense of the situation, but it was impossible. No matter how much you thought about it, you couldn’t tell whether Zaraki preferred to fight with you, fuck you, or if the two were intertwined in his mind, an extension of his untamable nature. The only thing that was clear was that when he had you like this, any attempt at control or reason was completely out of your reach.

The sound of your clothes being ripped filled the room, and the air became thick with tension. The way Zaraki kneaded your breasts, with a mixture of roughness and hunger, made a moan escape your lips. You couldn’t help it—your hands buried themselves in his wild hair, pulling him closer as his lips mercilessly claimed your flesh.

This whole situation was a damn contradiction. You had promised yourself and your principles not to get involved with him, not to fall into temptation. But the captain of the 11th Division was a walking sin, an embodiment of lust that pulled you in with just a glance. He enveloped you in his desire in the same way he did on the battlefield—with violence, with intensity, with a hunger that seemed endless.

And now here you were, completely surrendered to his touch, to the bites he planted on your nipples, sending waves of forbidden pleasure through your body.

It was messed up. Messed up because you knew you should keep your distance from him, but instead, you found yourself getting closer, relishing in the painful pleasure he provoked. You were growing feverish for him, for the man you should have kept away from, but who always dragged you into his jaws as easily as he crushed his enemies.

You explored his body with reverence, a mix of desire and submission. Every line of his tense muscles under your fingers was a reminder of the brutal strength he possessed, the same strength that now seemed to be given to you. You knew he was desperate—you felt it in the way he grabbed you, in the urgency of his hands. He always sought you when he needed instant release, when the weight of being a captain was too much, and the instinct to fight in him began to consume him.

For Zaraki, life was always a battle. And right now, this moment between your intertwined bodies was his battlefield.

Your fingers glided over his torso, tracing scars you knew well—marks from past battles that he carried with pride. Every touch seemed to ignite the fire in his eyes, and though he didn't say it, you understood what it meant. He wasn’t one for sweet words or affectionate gestures, but in these moments, when his desire overflowed, you were his escape, his way of releasing the pressure that came with being a warrior always on the edge.

Your lips brushed his neck as your hands continued exploring his skin. He growled, a low, guttural sound, and at that moment, you knew he was completely lost to you. There was no turning back. He didn’t need to tell you that right now, you were both his opponent and his release.

You arched your back as you felt him suck forcefully, sharp pleasure shooting through every fiber of your being as your nails dug into his shoulders. Zaraki was an unstoppable force, and though his desire was ravenous, there was something in the way he touched you that spoke of more than just lust. His need for you was as raw as his very nature.

To Zaraki, at first, you were just another arrogant figure, one more from the pretentious Sixth Division. The same attitude he despised in Byakuya, he thought you shared as well. He had no patience for pride games or the rigidity of rules and saw you in the same light—until he saw you fight.

That’s when everything changed. On the battlefield, far from the formalities and stiffness of your division, you had shown you were something more. He saw a spark in you that caught his attention, a fierceness he hadn’t expected to find. You weren’t as arrogant as he’d thought, not when you drew your zanpakutō and let your true instincts take over.

Your hips rolled over his hardness, feeling the pressure between you grow with every movement. The need to strip him of his clothes was almost desperate, an action seeking to release the tension building between you both. However, just as you were about to succeed, his voice echoed in the air, mocking and deep: "Anxious?"

His hands, strong and firm, trailed down your stomach, the touch sending a shiver of anticipation through your body. When his fingers slipped between your legs, an involuntary moan escaped your lips. It was a bold move, a reminder of his dominance, and at the same time, an invitation to lose yourself in the moment.

The way he touched you was both a question and a statement. His fingers explored, teased, and ignited a burning need that seemed impossible to quench. Every caress made your hips move with more urgency, an uncontrollable impulse that only intensified the tension between you.

You felt him curve his fingers inside you, pumping with a precision that stole your breath away. The pleasure hit you so intensely that your head fell back, your lips parted, releasing a raw and ragged moan that echoed in the room. Your body reacted instinctively, arching against his touch, as every movement he made caused you to tremble more.

Zaraki watched with a mix of satisfaction and hunger, his eyes locked on your expression of complete surrender. You could feel his own need growing with every passing second, but as always, he had his own pace, savoring every reaction he drew from you.

Your nails dug deep into his skin, leaving marks as you felt him lift you effortlessly, turning your body until you were lying on the bed. The moment your back hit the sheets, his hands disappeared, leaving an emptiness between your legs that made you arch desperately, seeking the pressure you had just lost.

Zaraki gave you no respite. With his gaze fixed on you, his expert hands tore off what was left of your clothes, stripping you completely in the blink of an eye. You felt exposed, vulnerable, but also eager, your body burning from the lack of contact. And like the hungry man he was, Zaraki wasted no time in taking what he wanted. He grabbed you firmly, parting your legs without consideration, opening you up for him with a brutality only he could manage, leaving you completely at his mercy, ready to be devoured.

His gaze darkened, taking in every corner of you, his heavy breathing and palpable need, and you, trembling under his control, could only wait for him to take you as only he knew how to do, with that mix of desire and savagery that left you on the edge of the abyss every time.

“First I plan to feast on this pretty little pussy you have for me,” Zaraki murmured, his voice husky and heavy with desire, as his thumb began to move firmly against your clit. The sensation shook you, making you shiver under his control. You arched into him, but he was determined to take his time, enjoying every second of your desperation.

He knelt between your spread legs, leaning over you, and began to leave kisses and bites on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Each touch of his lips, each bite that left small marks on your skin, only increased the tension within you. You could feel his hot breath coming closer to your core, as your body responded with each caress, unable to contain the moans that escaped your lips.

You grabbed his hair tightly, pulling on it desperately, guiding it to where you wanted it most. Your body trembled, clenching in a void only he could fill, as your legs spread wider, offering yourself to him without reservation. You couldn’t think of anything but the urgent need to feel him, to have his mouth and hands tear you from the misery of waiting.

“Just a little,” you whispered, your voice cracking with desire, your hips leaning into him in search of that release he seemed to purposely deny you. Your pussy throbbed, clenching around nothing, eager for the contact Zaraki was taking his time giving you.

He placed a slow, deliberate kiss on your folds, the warmth of his mouth drawing a barely contained moan from you. His eyes lifted to meet yours, that dark gaze filled with desire. The smile that curved his lips was pure arrogance, as if he relished in your desperation, as if he knew exactly the power he had over you at that moment.

And then, without further warning, he devoured you. His mouth sank into you, his tongue moving with precision, licking and sucking every corner, drawing moans from you that you couldn’t control. The sensation shot through you like lightning, making you arch your back as your hands tangled themselves tighter in his hair, clinging to him as if he were going to consume you whole.

His tongue moved slowly but firmly, tracing every fold with a precision that made you lose your breath. The heat of his mouth and the pressure of his lips against you drew involuntary moans from you, louder and louder. Zaraki relished in every reaction from you, devouring you mercilessly, knowing perfectly how to bring you to the edge of ecstasy.

His hands held your hips in place as his tongue teased your clit, alternating between sucking and gentle licks that drove you wild. The pleasure built up, making you feel like you were going to explode at any moment. You arched into him, seeking more contact, but he remained in control, giving you exactly what he wanted and at his pace.

Every time you thought you couldn't take any more, he changed the pace, making your body tense with anticipation and desire.

You couldn't help yourself. The moment you felt his fingers sink into you with ease, you arched up and began grinding your hips against his face, seeking more of that delicious friction that was driving you crazy. The warmth and wetness of his mouth, coupled with the insistent rhythm of his fingers pumping inside you, had you losing control.

Every thrust, every movement of his, brought you closer to the edge, as your moans filled the room. Your hands were still tangled in his hair, pulling hard as you held onto the feeling he gave you, completely surrendered to the pleasure Zaraki knew how to draw from you.

Your hips moved against his mouth, feeling his tongue continue to play with your clit as his fingers curled inside you found that spot that made you tremble, making it clear that he wouldn’t let you go until he saw you completely broken by pleasure.

Zaraki growled against you as he felt your hips grind more insistently against his face, his fingers sinking deeper and moving with merciless precision. “You like it that way, don’t you?” he murmured against your skin, his voice husky and laden with satisfaction. "You're so damn impatient… you can't even wait, huh?"

His words turned you on even more, and you couldn't hold back a moan as your hands tugged hard at his hair, guiding him even closer. "Shut up and keep going…" you gasped, your body shaking with every movement of his tongue and fingers. You needed it, you wanted it, and there was no turning back now.

"Always so bossy," he taunted, his cocky smirk visible even as his tongue continued to torture you, licking and sucking with more intensity. "But look at how you're begging me… you're such a slut when you're like this."

Those words made you shudder, your hips instinctively moving against him, seeking more, seeking the finish only he could give you. "Fuck, Zaraki…" you moaned, feeling his fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured, his breath hot against your skin as his thumb pressed hard against your clit. “I’m going to make you cum, and you’re going to scream my name like the good girl you are.”

The combination of his mouth and fingers was too much, the pleasure building so fast you could barely think. “Yes… fuck, yes…” you moaned, your body getting closer and closer to the edge, unable to resist the absolute control he had over you.

But he had other plans for you. With one last teasing lick, he pulled away from you, leaving a void that made you moan in frustration. He looked at you with a mischievous grin as he removed his clothes, each item falling to the floor, revealing his muscled, defined body, perfectly designed for domination.

“Turn around and put that little ass up for me,” he ordered, his voice deep and full of desire. “I want to see that beautiful ass offer itself to me. Come on, I want to enjoy you.”

You didn’t have to think twice. Heart pounding, you turned around, arching your back as you lifted your hips, offering your body to his mercy.

“That’s it, good girl. Show off that perfect little ass just for me,” he said, his hands firm on your hips as he took in your exposed body. “You love it when I tell you what to do, don’t you? You know you’re mine, and I love it when you get like this.”

You nodded, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks at his words. “Yes, I love it… I want you to use me,” you replied, desire burning in your chest as you offered yourself completely.

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice a lust-laden whisper. “I’m going to make you scream, and I want to hear you beg me for more. I just hope you’re ready for what’s coming, because I’m not holding back this time.”

Zaraki leaned forward, his warm, powerful body pressing against your back. You could feel his hardness against you, and it only increased the need burning inside you. “You’re so damn delicious,” he whispered, his hands gripping your hips as he positioned himself to enter you.

With one firm motion, he pushed his body against you, filling you completely. A deep moan escaped your lips, and you couldn’t help but press your hips back, seeking more of that sensation only he could offer. “That’s it, baby,” he said, enjoying the way you gave yourself to him. “Let me feel you clench for me.”

He continued to move inside you, his pace slow at first, but soon turning into a mix of ferocity and control. “You like it, don’t you?” he murmured, picking up speed, as his hands continued to roam every curve of your body. “Tell me. Tell me you like me using you like this.”

“Yes… yes, Zaraki,” you moaned, feeling yourself being pushed to the edge of your pleasure. “I love it… I love it when you take me like this.” Your words made him smile, and that only fueled the fire between you more.

“You’re such a good girl, always ready for what I give you,” he said, his voice deeper, as he increased the intensity of his thrusts. “Don’t play dumb, I know you want this as much as I do. Scream my name, I want to hear you break for me.”

“Zaraki…!” you cried, feeling the pleasure building in your belly, taking you to the point of no return. Each thrust made it more intense, each rub against your inner walls bringing you closer to the abyss. You knew you weren’t going to be able to hold out much longer.

Zaraki growled with a smile of pure pride as he watched you collapse onto the bed, your chest crushed against the sheets as you moaned and squealed under his control. His large, rough hands gripped your hips, making sure you couldn't escape what was to come. Every movement of his hips was calculated, searching for that perfect angle that would draw out every heart-wrenching moan he loved to hear.

Your cries of pleasure filled the room, but he only cared about one thing: getting you to the point where you couldn't think of anything but him, his hardness filling you completely.

“That’s it… stay there, hold on… you’re going to be cock drunk by the time I’m done with you,” he growled, increasing the pace until you were babbling incoherently. Your hands tried to grab onto the sheets, but you were too lost in the maelstrom of pleasure to hold on to anything. Each direct hit to your cervix drew louder cries from you, your walls clenching around him desperately.

Your eyes were completely clouded with tears of pure pleasure, you could barely see, but the sensation was overwhelming, filling you to the brim in a way only Zaraki could. Everything in you was shaking, the pressure in your belly was unbearable, and you knew you were close to breaking completely. Then, you felt him slide two of his fingers into your mouth, forcing you to taste them. The base of his cock glistened with a mix of your juices and his pre-seed.

“Look how fucking wet you are, baby,” he growled with a crooked smile, his fingers curling in your mouth, playing with your tongue as he kept up his relentless thrusts. “You know how good you make me feel, don’t you? All drunk on my cock, you can’t even think about anything else, right?”

Your eyes rolled back as you sucked on his fingers hungrily, unable to respond coherently, babbling between uncontrollable moans. Each slam against your pussy drew a gasp from you, as your inner walls tightened around him, a vicious cycle of pleasure that was tearing you apart from the inside.

And as he continued, your tears fell, your moans turning into sobs, completely lost in him, in that desperate need to feel him, to have him fill you to the point of no return.

Zaraki slowly pulled his fingers out of your mouth, leaving a wet trail as he guided them to your pussy, his large, calloused hands squeezing your bundle of nerves and pinching it. One of your hands shot up to his grip on your hip, seeking any sort of stability as he increased the force of his thrusts, making you feel every inch of his hardness sinking deeper into you.

The wet, messy sound of his thrusts filled the room, and with each movement, he ripped moans from you that could only be described as desperate. “More… please, more…” you gasped raggedly, unable to hold back the words that spilled from your lips.

Zaraki let out a husky laugh, pleased by how broken and needy you were for him. “You want more, huh?” I don't know if your body can take it, but I'm going to give you what you ask for anyway," he murmured, pressing his hands harder against your skin, lifting you up and pressing you against his body to make sure you felt every thrust deep inside you.

With each thrust of his hips, your body reacted as if it were on the verge of collapse. Your moans built into an uncontrolled crescendo, as you felt the pleasure drag you over the edge. “That’s it… keep asking, baby… I want to hear how needy you are for me to fill you,” he growled, digging his fingers into the flesh of your hip, holding you tight to sink even deeper into you.

You were completely lost, your thoughts washed away by the pleasure, and all you could do was cling to him, begging with incoherent moans and babbles, completely at his mercy, as he fucked you harder, deeper, bringing you to a point where reality and pleasure blurred into a whirlwind of intoxicating sensations.

You squeezed him tightly, feeling his seed flooding inside you, hot and thick, filling you to the brim. Pleasure washed over you, a rush of sensations that left you breathless as you rode the wave of ecstasy.

“Zaraki!” you commanded, your voice echoing with desperation and desire, as if you were trying to absorb every bit of him, every moment that belonged to you. In that instant, you felt like you would never get enough of him, of his body, of his intensity, of the way he made you forget the world and kept you completely caught up in his maelstrom of pleasure.

He let out a low, satisfied laugh as his gaze met yours, filled with arrogance and desire. “See? I told you I was going to leave you a mess, crying for more.” His hips continued to move, slow at first, enjoying every second, making sure you felt every inch of his p0ll4 still inside you, but increasing the pressure with one final movement.

“But, baby, this is just the beginning. There’s always more for you.” His tone was a whisper laden with promise, and you knew that every time you fell into his arms, you were swept away into a world where he was your only reality, where everything revolved around that intense, wild connection you shared.

The euphoria of his seed inside you transformed into a heat that left you yearning for more, and no matter how many times he filled you, there would always be an insatiable hunger for him.

#bleach #bleach x reader #bleach x female reader #bleach smut #bleach kenpachi #bleach kinktober #kenpachi zaraki #kinktober #—demensrage.

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aizawaz · 8 months ago

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A short lil Logan drabble for you all <3

Am I projecting a little bit? Yeah. Am I ashamed to admit that? Not at all!!

Warnings: fem!reader , implied age difference , fingering , slight overstimulation , (first time) squirting , praise , humiliation if you squint real hard , Logan’s a nasty dawg

!NSFW below the cut!

The sensation builds in your stomach before your blissed out brain even realizes. A pressure deep in your stomach, one that’s both recognizable and foreign to you, and with every rapturous thrust of Logan’s fingers the feeling only gets stronger. It makes you hiccup in surprise when the realization suddenly hits you. Oh god, are you about to pee? Your hips squirm as weak protests begin to spill from your mouth.

“Lo-Logan, wait a second, I-“ You’re reaching back to pull his fingers out of you, to save yourself the humiliation of peeing during sex. “Sto-p, somethin’s we-weird!” You mewl, thighs trembling as the sensation engulfs your lower half. Logan merely hums and continues to incessantly piston his fingers into your sopping wet hole. “Gonna cum f’me again? Y’got it, let it all out, sweet’art.”

Something about the way he talks so casually, as if you’re not a blabbering mess in front of him, causes the dam to collapse in an instant. With a broken cry, you’re squirting your release all over the bed and Logan. He laughs in awe, the sound deep and husky as you make a mess of his forearm and the bedsheets below you. “Holy fuck, baby, yeahh,” he groans while his eyes are laser focused on the way your pussy spasms around his drenched fingers. He curls them experimentally, earning a jolt of your legs and a squeal as you gush once more. A prideful smirk pulls at his lips. “Didn’t know a pretty li’l thing like you could make such a fuckin’ mess.”

Even with your head spinning with ecstasy you still have the ability to whine in embarrassment at Logan’s words. Though you can’t help but think the same. That was the very first time someone has made you squirt. Hell, that was the first time you’ve ever done it, period. You don’t even need to say this because he already knows what’s on your mind.

“Never felt that good before, bub?” You hear Logan click his tongue, almost as if the thought disappointed him. “What a shame.” He’s sinking his fingers back into you, accompanied by a faint yet wet squelching sound when he buries himself to the knuckle. You shiver with a gasp, and Logan continues. “That’s alright, though. I’m gonna make up for it and have you do that again.”

—————————

A/N: Hi I hope this makes up for my long absence!!! This scenario has been plaguing my mind for so long and I just had to write it down

#logan howlett #wolverine x reader #wolverine smut #logan howlet smut #aizawaz

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maxdibert · 7 months ago

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How can you reconcile being a fan of Snape and defending him so much, while also knowing about the terrible attitude he has as an adult toward his students? This isn’t a malicious question,I’m genuinely curious

I don’t justify Severus’ behavior, I simply understand it. And it’s not for the typical reasons like Harry being a copy of James, or Neville being clumsy, or Hermione being insufferable in class, or just because he can’t stand kids. I understand it because, in my view, Severus is still very much a child.

Take Sirius, for example. We can all see that being locked up in Azkaban for so many years essentially froze his life at a young age, so even though he’s old enough to have grey hairs down there, he still acts like a childish, immature person a lot of the time. And well, that’s exactly what Sirius is—an immature kid. He never had the opportunity to have experiences or grow throughout his twenties. Maturity doesn’t come with age alone but through everything we go through during that time and the experiences that shape us. Without those experiences, there’s nothing to build on.

Severus’ case is different from Sirius’, but it also stems from a lack of maturity and the inability to grow. Severus was a victim of violence from childhood, and that violence didn’t end—it continued throughout his school years. After all that torment, instead of leaving Hogwarts, telling everyone to screw off, and starting a new life where he could rebuild emotionally, he ends up trapped in the same school, playing a role to maintain his cover with pureblood families and burdened with having practically sold his soul to Dumbledore. He has no space to heal, no tools to work through his traumas, and no safe, healthy environment to grow into an adult. Severus is stuck in his adolescence, haunted by his past, his traumas, and totally incapable of managing his most visceral emotions. Sure, he’s great at faking it, acting indifferent, and wearing a mask to hide what’s going on inside. But just because he’s good at repressing doesn’t mean he’s good at managing his emotions, because in that regard, he fails completely. I mean, there are so many moments throughout the saga where Severus gets triggered, and every time it happens, his serious, unflappable façade crumbles, and he acts like a kid throwing a tantrum, someone with unresolved anger issues. That’s when you see that, deep down, he doesn’t know how to handle himself, which makes sense because he never had the chance to do so. We’re talking about an abuse victim who, instead of processing and exorcising his demons, had to lock them away and throw away the key—literally the last thing you should do when dealing with trauma.

What I’m getting at is that, on one hand, it’s reasonable to expect an adult to act like an adult. But on the other hand, as I grew older, went through years of therapy, and worked with people who come from messed-up backgrounds and have lived through terrible things, when I revisited the series and saw certain scenes where Severus is being an absolute jerk to his students, I didn’t just see an adult acting out. I saw the teenager he once was, insecure, feeling worthless, scared in the hallways. And now, for the first time, he’s in a position of power where he can say what he thinks and lash out without consequences. It’s not an adult acting here—it’s a kid who never grew up, trying to have the moment of glory he never had. It’s incredibly childish. And I have to say, I really like this aspect of his character because it’s so consistent with his backstory, even though it’s clearly irresponsible and abusive.

Severus shouldn’t be a teacher because someone who hasn’t matured, grown, or healed can’t be a role model, nor do they have the tools to properly handle situations where it’s so easy to project their insecurities and abuse their authority to compensate for their own shortcomings. But we can’t really expect anything else from him—if he were a well-adjusted adult, it would make him an unrealistic character. It’s impossible for someone with his background, without professional help and many years of personal work, to function properly in an environment like that.

#harry potter meta #severus snape #pro severus snape #severus snape defense #severus snape fandom #snapedom #growing ass childs are my faves #sorry not sorry

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redgoldsparks · 3 months ago

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I went all out for Hourly Comics Day 2025! These took between 6-7 hours to draw across three days, and then another at least hour to scan and edit which I wasn't in the mood to do which is why they are a week late lol. Had a wonderful time at Lumacon though and I'm glad I was able to document it! Transcript below the cut :)

insta / patreon / portfolio / etsy / my books / print store / bluesky

Page 1

7:50am: Alarm goes off

Morning phone: check eSIMs, insta, discord, Spanish vocab

El tiene pelo largo

Jonathan Van Ness, is that you…?

Drops App

8am: My friends gave me a delicious new black tea that’s very easy to over steep

3 minutes seemed too long, but 2:30 was a bit weak… I’ll try 2:45…

Honestly, I prefer a tea where I can leave the bag in the whole time I drink the cup…

For the first time in many years I’m actually doing something cool on hourly comics day! Today is Lumacon! This is the show’s 11th year- I think I’ve only missed 1. For the first time, it’s raining on con day!

Page 2

I’m so glad we had another avocado!

This bagel was so chunky I cut it into perfect thirds. Perfection

It’s so rare that I’m awake before my parents… SIP

Should I write about Larrupin sauce? My friend Alina buys this for me up in Humboldt since it’s hard to find…

Every object/moment suggests a story when I’m paying attention!

8 to 9am

Page 3

Pick up Martina! Very cute raincoat (@martinamonster-art )

Chatting and Ateez on the drive 9 to 9:30

OMG why am I drawing cars :(

LUMACON! 10-11AM

My newest zine is a recruitment zine for Authors Against Book Bans (AABB).

I zero in on folks I know to be authors–

Maia: I want you–

Author: Me?

Maia: To join AABB! (info zine)

Author: Oh thanks! I will!

Maia: This zine is so fun to hand out!

Page 4

Teen: Thank you so much for writing Gender Queen. I gave it to my mom and she credits it for a lot of her understanding. I came out as gender queer a year ago and she said “I love you.” I don’t know if that would have been possible without the book!

Maia: Thank you for saying that!

Different teen: I want to buy a copy of your book but I need to make more sales first.

Maia: Where’s your table?

Teen: Behind you

Look.

I spot some of the cutest round crochet bois I’ve ever seen including a nonbinary bee

Maia: Can I please trade you a book for that bee?!

Teen: OMG yes!

You know it’s a good trade when both parties think they got the better deal!

12pm

Page 5

I check in with Anna (@thebeanbaguette) 1pm

Maia: How’s the con so far?

Anna: Really good! I love how many furries are here!

Maia: Oh yeah it’s fun

Maia: I had never seen the skull fursuit head before this show… for the size event it’s impressive furry turn out

Cute goth/pastel couple

Anna: To be honest, I’d love to get a fursuit head one day… and the hands!

Anna: But I don’t know what animal…

(Table is covered in cute rats)

Later, another friend comments

Cynthia: So many furries here!

Maia: Yes, the per capita is very high… sign of a healthy ecosystem!

(we all wore masks all day I just forgot to draw them)

Page 6

My friend Nic comes to visit & cover my table during my lunch break- 2pm

Nic: Don’t worry I’ll do my best impersonation of you! I’ll even sign books with your name!

Maia: Okay, great, thanks!

Maia: (Has not had water, snack or bathroom break in 6 hours)

Later we chat with Gio, another friend about knowing when a story is done

Maia: I had a publisher reject a pitch basically saying “this isn’t fully baked yet” which… was true.

Nic: Unfortunately I’m doing that to myself! I’m on the 4th draft of this short story that just needs to be done.

Gio: But when it’s a personal project how do you know?

Gio: When it’s my own work, no deadline, no editor, it’s tempting to just keep putting it back in the oven. But at what point are you like, I’m making crackers. I thought it was bread but it turned into crackers!

Page 7

3-4pm last hour of the con

My parents came! My Taekwondo teacher came! A trans teen who came to my first Gender Queer event in 2019 came! I saw so many friends & my heart is full! Thank you Luma!

4:30

Maia: I think I’m ready to go…

Table: EMPTY

Martina: Me too!

Maia & Martina: LOOK

Anna- nothing packed, stuff fully out

Anna: Haha, you go! I pack slowly!

In the parking lot & rain

Maia: I’m really glad you came!

Martina: Thanks for talking me into it!

Martina: You’ve been manifesting this since September!

Maia: Haha yes,

(I talked both Martina & Anna into applying for this show; Martina’s first zinefest table!

Page 8

5pm I drive home

after all the rain, the ditches & fields are flooded

Maia (texting): I just got home

Anna (texting): I haven’t left the venue yet

Page 9

6pm I should be unpacking but I’m lying in bed looking at my phone!

Maia: Wow so many hourlies! I haven’t even started! I’d rather read them on tumblr & patreon later. How is my finch doing?

Nic incepted our entire friend group into the finch app back in January. I’m pretty hooked. In the finch app you make a little bird persona who travels the world & gains experiences. You give it energy & earn points by crossing items off your to do list & completing self care tasks like stretching or drinking water.

Maia: To be honest, I don’t really need an app to help me do tasks. But look how cute my bird is!!! Also! You can get pets for your bird! I have five! Owl, seal, caribou, ball of fluff, cow

Later, I pet my real cat.

Maia: Don’t worry you are my actual favorite pet.

Page 10

7pm: Dinner with my parents. Big salad, fried tofu. We talk about clay deposits in odd places.

My dad: There’s that Bentonite clay at Shell Beach! That’s the kind you want for poison oak rashes.

My mom: And the deposit at school by the office, some teachers have kids use that for crafts.

8pm: Formatting my January book reviews

I really like the monthly wrap-ups that Storygraph generates.

Books: 11 Pages: 2855 Average Rating: 3.91

LGBTQIA: 5 Fantasy: 4 Comic: 4 Contemporary: 3 Romance: 3

9pm: I fall into the trap of looking at the news which I’ve avoided all day. Escape to tumblr where I discover some amazing Ranma ½ fanart. Should I reread it?

10-12am: I draw the first 4 pages of these comics then go to bed!

In total, drawing these takes 6 or 7 hours across 3 days. -Maia Kobabe 2025

#hourly comics day 2025 #hourly comics #hourly comics day #maia kobabe #diary comics

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shiny-jr · 2 months ago

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hi shiny ! i saw ur post on that anon who was asking abt AI i use it too ! i don’t use it to write my works but i use it to refine it like my grammar and punctuation.. i feel like it’s bad. even though all the ideas, and writing are mine (minus the better synonyms and punctuation)

so need a genuine writer on how they feel abt it cause i feel like after all the AI hate i don’t think my writings are okey.

Well, there are a lot better sites to use. I can recommend some resources? So maybe take a look at some of these and consider using them as tools without the need for AI!

WordHippo - This one is my personal favorites, and I've mentioned it in multiple other posts. It's great for finding anything word related, like definitions, synonyms, antonyms, etc. I literally use it all the time, whenever I'm writing something.

GoogleDocs - This is my preferred site to write. It's where I keep all my drafts and saved files when it comes to writing. There are others though like Word and such, but I just prefer this application because it can be used without downloading any app and it's free. Plus, some of the time, it'll catch spelling mistakes and such. Additionally, recent updates on it added a feature to create subtabs within a single document, which really helps when I'm creating an extensive project. So for example, I'll create the document, and have a separate subtab on it for the story, another subtab for notes, another for ideas, etc.

Reading - It's also important to read. I don't mean reading of your own work, but while that is important too, I mean read over things you like. Try to understand why you enjoyed what you read. Was it something about the style, the word choice, descriptions, plot, characters, themes, etc? The list goes on. Find what you like and build on it. Maybe you like a certain author's style. It's okay to attempt to emulate (not directly copy) it, and form your own style from that.

Share - Sharing is vital, and posting falls under this. While I understand this may be more difficult to complete depending on if you have mutuals that would give good critiques or not, if you do have friends and are confident in them, maybe they might be willing to read one of your works and give pointers. Keep in mind, this doesn't work for everyone. I know a lot of writers who prefer not to share their work before posting, I only share my own work with like one person before posting, others have multiple friends who read their work before posting. It varies.

Acceptance - I will say this: accept that your writing is not perfect. And that's okay. Literally, no matter what you do, you will have supporters and you will have haters. You yourself may sit there and believe your writing is not good enough. Believe me, this is a very common thought process amongst writers.

I remember being so hesitant and scared to post in the beginning. My writing was BAD, I will be the first to admit. But that's because I was inexperienced. With time and effort, my experience grew and so did my skill. It became something that I'm sometimes proud of, sometimes I'm not. That's just how it is. Even now, years later, I still get those negative thoughts and anxiety as I look at the post button when finishing a project. Those thoughts creep in and I begin to doubt myself. But, I think I would rather post it and risk the chance of maybe regretting it later instead of the alternative where I never posted something and regretted never sharing it.

#shiny speaks #writing advice

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pep-rambles · 1 year ago

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Lucifer is a Swiftie headcanons because I kin this man so much I am projecting my other hyperfixations on him

But also I mean c'mon,

Look at him

yes there is RadioApple in this

-It probably started from Charlie. When she was in high school (post emo phase obviously) she may have enjoyed Taylor Swift (maybe Fearless got her through her senior year because I can't stop projecting) Lucifer started listening to try and have something to bond with his daughter about. But about the time Charlie kind of lost interest is about the time Lucifer doubled down on his obsession.

-He has been to basically almost every Eras concert, usually in really good seats because many a swiftie has offered to sell their soul for tickets. He said keep your soul just let him tag along.

-He is definitely an Evermore stan mostly because of relating too hard to the divorce narrative of it.

-Speaking of, Charlie has threatened to lock him out of his Spotify after catching him on the floor crying to “Champaign Problems” on repeat too many times. She never would but most definitely tried to ban him from listening to it for a month.

-She then caught him crying to “You’re Loosing Me”

-Angel Dust is most definitely Beyhive (killer bee probably) and though initially joking that they are rivals the two men bond over their love for the two queens of pop, recommending songs and videos to each other.

-Angel is a Reputation Stan though

-After one of Lucifer’s many tiffs with Alastor, Charlie is expressing her frustration asking her dad why can’t they just get along and Lucifer explains that he doesn’t trust Alastor because “I think his ever-present grin is a little troubling” and is a little upset when she doesn’t get it

-One day, Luci is sitting in the Lobby doing his work while listening to Taylor on shuffle. He’s casually minding his own business jamming out to one of her poppier love songs and Alastor wanders in commenting on the “Obnoxious trite little diddy” Lucifer doesn't even hesitate to take the bait

L: HOW DARE YOU! SHE IS A TALENTED GODDESS!! A DOWNRIGHT MUSICAL CHAMELEON! You are such a snob Alastor! Good music didn't stop getting made after your tiny little lifetime.

A: I never said it did but it's certainly not this frivolous noise!

L: Oh, you uninformed uncultured cur! She is a fucking poet!

He then proceeds to play examples for Alastor of her most creative and heart wrenching lyrics (he absolutely makes Al sit through all 10 minutes and 13 seconds of ATW)

After all that though Lucifer will never get Alastor to admit that he finds T.S. musically talented (or that Lucifer did in fact catch Al tapping his foot a couple times)

-Alastor does come to Lucifer, after a bit of research, admitting that though he does not find her music enjoyable, he respects her business cunning. Luci figures that's good enough. For now.

-because I bet my non-existent Eras tour tickets that Lilith was a hater. I’ll leave it at that.

-OP works at Barnes & Noble and let me tell you there are about 80 different Taylor Swift magazines that even my swiftie ass thinks is excessive but Lucifer has every single one

-including the Taylor Swift paper dolls magazine (yes this is a real thing). He probably gets a few because he convinces Charlie to use them as a team building activity.

-He has at least 3 copies of each of the covers for the 2023 TIME Person of the Year magazine.

-Also all cardigans. On a casual day he definitely lounges in them and has a set rotation of when to wear each one (and I am totally not gonna draw that nope)

-Well, it seems Lucifer is no longer crying to the depressing break-up songs on repeat but now he seems to be angrily listening to “Gorgeous” on repeat. Charlie asks him about it and he goes full denial mode “No no Charlie I'm not thinking of anyone specific, I've just been really into this song lately.” Everyone else in the hotel, besides Alastor, has already figured out what's going on

Alastor: If I have to hear that obnoxious noise one more time I will reduce that tiny maniac’s room to rubble as well as the abode of whatever sad sack is making him play it.

Angel: *knowing smirk* I'm gonna hold ya to that one, Antlers.

-Al may very well hear it one more time if Lucifer uses it as his confession song (I don't fully commit to this headcanon, I just think it's funny)

-Anyway boy’s probably in his Reputation stan Era b/c LWYMMD is like his long overdue big F-YOU to Heaven song

btw this is NOT gonna end at these headcanons I am running with this idea like scissors.

@nunalastor

@julsiemagne

@nose-nippin-fun (I know you're not a swiftie but we talked about this so idk if you care I can un-tag you if you want)

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chaifootsteps · 9 months ago

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Pilot Charlie made me feel like she was a girl who grew up in the streets of hell, has seen it all, is not easily fazed, made friendships with the citizens, understands them on a deeper personal level. Grew up maybe more raised by them than her own parents. Like when she said “you all have good inside you, I know you do” almost implying that she’s seen the good in them before. And the exterminations hurt and traumatised her on a personal level, maybe she witnessed some sinner friends dying at the hands of angels and never wanted to see that again. Even though it means going against her parents wishes.

Series Charlie has barely left her tower and was attached to the hip with her mom. She copies all of her mothers wishes. The only time she did leave was in her limousine. She doesn’t really care if her friends kill people as long as they aren’t the ones selected as her favourite projects. Or as allies to her projects. She also doesn’t even really care what her ‘friends’ problems actually are. She just wants to use them to uplift herself and her own self esteem problems. And she has no problem with having her citizens die at angels hands if it’s for her sake. Pilot Charlie would throw herself in the line of fire before ever war mongering. So…yeah. Reminds me of someone.

Oh, definitely. Pilot Charlie could be naive and insensitive to the needs of her subjects, but you could tell she had at least some idea of what she was dealing with and what her people were dealing with. She'd spent some time in the trenches. For all her faults, she was anything but stupid.

Series Charlie is naive, sheltered, and dumb as a box of hair.

#Anonymous #vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel critical #viv stuff #actual blog post

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mysteria157 · 1 year ago

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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

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.

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 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!

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