#i am a girl of sophisticated tastes

[anetherealpoetess]

perfect triple feature: leap year, chasing liberty, and stoker.

[suguru-getos]

Kid Gojo goes to Kid!Fem-Reader's House

This is a part II to a drabble I wrote, Part I.

Satoru's footsteps matched hers, trailing towards an unknown path leading to a normal-looking house. It was beautiful though, bright colours, gardens had flower beds of roses, tulips, a ceramic pot with fresh water for the birds. Homely, the house looked and felt what the Gojo estate never did. For a ten year old, who wasn't accustomed to this new found feeling, Satoru didn't know what to say, how to react. He hums, "small, your house is small." kicking a piece of gravel from the pavement.

She was on her tippy-toes, reaching for the door-bell and ringing it. "Mean." She pouted, looking at Satoru with a disgusted face. Like he has shit his pants and she can smell it kind of disgusted.

"What is that face?" He fumbles, taken aback, eyes siren in offense. She shrugged, sticking her tongue out, "I make this face at meanie poopy people." She crossed her arms, always works. No matter who it is.

The faint echoes of footsteps carry from farther away in the kitchen to the hallway, becoming clearer as the door opens. "Oh hello Y/N! Welcome home sweetheart!" Her mother beams, bright and joyful. Her eyes scan the little kid next to her, from his clothes he definitely did not look homeless. Beautiful, all-knowing, almost frightening eyes. "Oh? You made a new friend?" Her mother inquires, looking at Satoru. Now, Satoru Gojo was used to people bending backwards for him, this bland reaction was refreshing.

"My name is Satoru Gojo." He hums, "She dragged me here." He scoffs. Of course not, but the heir of the Gojo clan can't look eager for some cookies?

"She did? Oh my" Her mother gasped a little, knowing the kid was just behaving of his age. "I just wanted him to taste your cookies mama, he protected my favourite water bottle tumbler from the poopie kids!" She grins, walking inside. For a moment, Satoru looks hesitant. What is he even doing, he has roles and responsibilities. Cookie-tasting is definitely not one of them. He can have cookies from any part of the world, Paris? Even London's bakeries- why even-

His trance is broken the moment his wrist is grabbed by her, cheerful eyes beaming and dragging him inside. The moment Satoru's footsteps get inside, and the delicious scent of cookie dough fills his nostrils, he decides to stay. Cookies are important. He could get cookies from anywhere but these are the best ones, yes. The girl herself, said so.

"Come sit," Her mother coos, "Satoru kun, Y/N." She hums, getting them both a chair in the dining table.

Satoru's eyes linger around, the house is cute, not too vast. The distance between him and Y/N is also minimal, because the dining table is not so big. It's perfect actually. He grins, he feels happy, the spacing makes him feel included.

"So? What is your job?" Satoru asked, crossing his arms, looking at the girl.

"My job? I dunno- mama's daughter? Though when I play Police with my friends I am never the thief!" She grins. Satoru is… jealous. Satoru is… enamoured.

"No like, okay leave it- what is your dream?" He asks again, surely there can be some similarity where he can link his life to hers.

"I am gonna be an Astronaut!" She grins wide, "Gonna see the pretty moon, the pretty stars!"

Satoru Gojo pouts, he's ten, and his birth shackled him to one role. He wants to be a sorcerer because he doesn't know any other thing. He thought being a sorcerer was his decision, training was his decision. An eerie bewilderment presses his soul, hollowing it like a cavity. Why couldn't he think about becoming someone like an Astronaut?

"When you come here next time- we should play together." Y/N hums, feet shaking in boredom.

Next time… why would there be a next time? Her mother comes in the room, freshly baked cookies with a glass of milk, a slice of the cake she just made.

"Oh drooling!" Y/N whines, watching her mom place them on the table.

Satoru acts, sophisticated, there is no way some cookies would make him say that, he's not a dog! But they smell so good- NO WAY!

Y/N quickly takes the first bite, happy shakes and wiggles follow with whines. "Oh my god mama this is the best!" Satoru looks flustered, hesitantly taking a bite as well. The flavours melt in his mouth, it was perfect. Wow… "This is good." He announces, watching her mother grin and leave the two alone. He gets headpats, Y/N gets headpats. Satoru doesn't get headpats, the flustered expression on his face is evidence enough.

"Y-you were saying?" He asked, taking another bite.

"Oh yeah! I was saying, when you c'mere next time, we should play House." "House?" What is that game?

"Like, house? Or we could play Police too…" She grins, so excited, so thoughtless.

"I don't play kid's games. I am ten years old." Satoru scoffed.

"Aw- okay." She looked down, taking another bite, interest and excitement killed. Satoru's eyes glare at her, stop doing that! "Maybe just once." Satoru Gojo was kind, he knew he was… just didn't want to show it to others especially in a scathing world like the Jujutsu community where he is worshipped. "Okay! Let's play House then!" She grins, perking right back up.

Ten year old Satoru Gojo had already promised a second meet to play House. Is this how you make friends, he wonders…

[hrrtshape]

i want the tea emmaaa 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

✶ the latest report on my shift to my better cr (aka kind of a socialite dr)

◞ when i shifted : for way longer. way, way longer. i blinked and suddenly i had months’ worth of memories. time is fake, time is a performance, time is a dinner party where i am the guest of honour and also the mysterious figure slipping out the back door. the ratio? unknown. inconceivable. i went to sleep and woke up and lived. isn’t that enough? but the present in my better cr is currently the present in here !

◞ where i shifted : still new york, still my mom’s penthouse, still living in a pinterest board except this time i fully leaned into it. every single aesthetic touch, every candle, every casually draped cashmere throw. curated to perfection. we are talking "architectural digest home tour where the interviewer is quietly weeping over how good my taste is" levels of perfection. the google maps situation remains the same: in this reality, my house is a hotel. fate? simulation glitch? the universe keeping me humble? who knows.

◞ family dynamics : my older brother remains a tech bro of the most devastating calibre. the type who makes a billion-dollar deal on his phone in between espresso shots, then immediately gets distracted by an art heist conspiracy theory and disappears for a week. my younger brother (he's weirdly obsessed with filming cars for instagram) continues to reside with my dad in the west village, and their place is basically a salon for the emotionally sophisticated. like, picture cigars (unlit, for aesthetic), first edition books, and a record player that only plays vinyls of people arguing in french. my dad..... still at sotheby’s, still slightly overwhelmed, still one misplaced signature away from an auction-house disaster. my mom is still an empire-builder, still the queen of sugar-free decadence, still able to make a CEO cry in under five minutes. i am so obsessed with her.

◞ my friends : lily-rose remains my ride-or-die. our friendship has transcended words and become something closer to an art form. we communicate through glances, through impeccably timed laughter, through the shared knowledge that we are always, always the main characters. also, blair waldorf is STILL in my life, and i am STILL not over it. she tolerates me, which is the highest form of affection. the gossip girl universe continues to imprint itself onto my reality, and honestly? i welcome it. @chaaistained you're still the light of my life xxxx

◞ loml, coryo : mhm. mhm. mhm. (pause for applause). not writing how just yet, but let’s just say the universe finally got the memo. cutest cutie ever.

◞ food : the cafes remain exquisite. the hazelnut croissants remain life-altering. i have officially become one with my iced matcha. my bloodstream is no longer soy milk; it is pure, concentrated vibes. best meal.... one night my mum and i booked out an entire restaurant just to have a private dinner and discuss our enemies. just mother-daughter bonding things. le bernardin continues to serve food so good i nearly cried. and, of course, because i went to paris, we gorged on croissants.

◞ outfits : i wake up. my closet, endless. my options, infinite. every single piece of clothing i have ever wanted? there. there were DAYS i changed outfits purely because i could. there were NIGHTS i sat in front of my floor-length mirror, trying on silk dresses and whispering, "what’s the move tonight?" even if there was no move. just the illusion of one.

◞ school : st. lazarus remains the most iconic institution to ever exist. the uniforms are still perfect. the hierarchy is still thrilling. my classes are as follows !!! :

philosophy : my professor has officially lost his grip on reality. i am his nemesis and also his favourite student. i say things just to watch him spiral. it’s a sport. history : the battlefield. coryo is writing my history IA. i am having the time of my life. literature : divine. ethereal. my professor respects me too much. maths : a struggle but at least my notes look nice. but i did script that i atleast understand what's happening.

◞ social scene : parties, parties, PARTIES. penthouses, rooftops, spontaneous trips. people draped over velvet sofas, half-drunk champagne glasses abandoned on marble countertops. whispered secrets. dramatic exits. nights that felt like music videos.

◞ unforgettable moments : celebrated my younger brother’s 15th birthday. f1-themed, obviously, because he’s still in his karting prodigy era. the cake was a racetrack. the vibe was grand prix meets family sitcom. the whole paris trip. somewhere in the mix: a snowstorm, a museum date, a night spent on the roof because the city looked too beautiful to go inside. got recognised at least once in public. tried a new restaurant where the shakshuka made me question my entire existence. there were art gallery openings where the champagne was free-flowing and the conversations were like a linguistic fencing match. sunday brunches that spiraled into entire days out. afternoons spent trying on impractical dresses just to twirl in fitting rooms. soft launches of new perfumes (because every era needs a signature scent).

◞ books i read : ulysses (continued). the secret history ( i read it in my cr...but...c'mon. it was time ). a collection of sapphic poetry that made me feel like i was floating.

◞ the details that made it real : the way my pen scratched against my notebook in class. the exact weight of my chloé tote in my hand. the way my breath fogged up the glass of my balcony doors when i pressed my forehead against them in the early morning. the quiet click of my mum’s marc jacobs' boots on marble floors.

◞ oh !!! and christmas !!! : christmas in my better cr was in lithuania, obviously. flew out on the 23rd, spent it with the extended family. my grandma made dubai chocolate (not that kind of dubai chocolate...she lives in karoliniškės, ok). my makeup artist aunt got me a lip tint, very on brand. my one-year-old cousin nora is in her cherubic era. we were besties for the week. played with her nonstop. got my younger brother every f1 lego car in existence. my mum got me archival miu miu. my great-grandma saw me, got sentimental, cried a little, made me eat an ungodly amount of cepelinai. very lithuanian of her. left early, landed at jfk at a stupid hour. 1 am. coryo was there in sweatpants, threw his car at the curb like he was in some noir film, very dramatic, very romantic. nearly tackled me. i was gone for less than a week but he missed me like it had been years. got me presents too. he is so lovesick it’s almost embarrassing.

that’s it for now, lovies. i have MORE, obviously, but let’s pace ourselves. mwah xxxxxxx

[queenshelby]

Sweet Possession (Part 3)

Pairing: Very Dark! Thomas Shelby (32) x Innocent! Reader (19)

Warning: Age Gap, Smut

Later that day, just as you were waiting for your husband to return home, you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety  in your stomach as you thought back to your strange encounter at the Italian grocer earlier that day.

The way the man's eyes had flickered down to the gun hidden beneath Isiah's jacket, before quickly averting his gaze. The memory sent a shiver down your spine and you couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right.

Despite that, you quickly put those thoughts aside as you heard Tommy’s footsteps carrying through the door of Arrow House.

You glanced at the clock hanging in the hallway, realizing that it was already shortly after eight o’clock in the evening.

Thomas walked into the reading room where you were sitting, nursing a glass of wine, the dinner you prepared waiting in the oven to stay warm. He was, still wearing his coat and looked somewhat tired. 

"I am sorry I am late , Love," he greeted you, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead.

"Is everything alright?" you asked your husband, concern etched in your voice as you gazed into his tired eyes. You noticed that there were faint lines around his eyes that you hadn't seen before.

"Yes , everything's fine," Thomas assured you, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, trying not to let your suspicions get the better of you.

"Good. I'll go and serve dinner then," you said, standing up from the sofa and making your way into the kitchen but, just as you stood up, you noticed some red blood stains on the collar of his shirt which he was clearly trying to hide by leaving on his coat.

Nonetheless, you decided not to address it, giving Thomas a reassuring smile before you walked off.

"I should have a shower first, Love. It has been a long day," Thomas told you truthfully in passing, his voice still low but there was a lilt to it, like he was keeping something from you.

"That's fine. Just come down when you are ready," you called after him from the hallway and he gave you a quick nod and a smile before disappearing upstairs.

Minutes later...

The dinner that you had prepared was delicious. The meat had cooked to tender perfection and the rich, earthy flavor of the mushrooms you had picked from the forest earlier that week complemented the dish beautifully. The aroma alone was enough to make your mouth water.

Carefully, you removed the dish from the oven and set it on the table in the nearby dining room, lighting the candles that you had arranged in its center. You had always loved setting a nice table, believing that food always tasted better when it was presented beautifully.

You had spent many hours as a young girl watching your mother, a talented cook, prepare meals for your family. Now, you were proud to use the skills she had taught you.

You had just finished setting the table when Thomas walked into the dining room, his dark hair still damp from his shower. He was wearing a clean white shirt and dark trousers, looking both comfortable and sophisticated. His face was free of stubble and his eyes sparkled with warmth as he looked at you.

"Something smells good," he commented, walking over to where you stood by the table and giving you a kiss.

You blushed, always feeling a little shy when Thomas praised you. 

"Thank you," you responded, making a small curtsy before taking your seat at the table. Thomas chuckled, sitting down across from you and reaching for the glass of whiskey you had already placed in front of him, knowing how much he enjoyed a drink as he dug into the food. 

"I enjoy cooking. In fact, I was thinking about doing some work at the local orphanage. The children there could really do with some decent meals , and it would give me a chance to feel useful," you told Tommy as you served yourself up some food as well, never enjoying the maids doing it for you. 

Thomas raised an eyebrow at this, studying you closely. "You want to work at the orphanage?"

You nodded, taking a sip of your wine. "Yes. I know how much you support local charities and causes. You're always helping people in need, and I want to do my part too."

Thomas smiled at this, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "That's very thoughtful of you, Love. I'm sure the children will appreciate it," Thomas replied, gazing at you with a softness that made your heart flutter. "But remember, Love, the world can be a dangerous place for a young woman and you, of all people, should know that, eh." 

"It's an orphanage, Tommy. It's not the Garrison," you chuckled, recalling the night he had saved you from a less than favorable situation.  Thomas cocked an eyebrow, his face growing serious.

"I know that, Love. But even so," he began to say, before trailing off, collecting his thoughts. "I will send Isiah with you," he then said, shaking his head and you stared at Thomas for a moment, surprised at the intensity of his words. It was clear that he was deeply concerned for your safety, and you couldn't help but feel touched by his protective nature.

"You are always so worried about me ," you told him with a soft smile, reaching across the table to take his hand in yours. He met your gaze with a steady one of his own and gave your hand a reassuring squeeze.

"It's my job to worry about you, Love," Thomas replied, his voice low and earnest. "You're my wife, and I want to keep you safe."

The two of you finished the rest of the meal in relative silence, the only sounds being the soft clinking of silverware against china and the occasional sip of whiskey or wine.

Thomas watched you closely, his gaze warm and affectionate. He had always been a protective man, although sometimes his methods could be a little unconventional. But you knew that in his heart, he always had your best interests at heart.

As you finished your meal and pushed your plate away, Thomas leaned back in his chair and gave you a small smile. "I have something I want to show you," he said, his voice low and mysterious.

You raised an eyebrow at him, intrigued. "What is it?" you asked and Thomas smiled, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

"It's a surprise, Love," he said, standing up from his chair and offering you his hand. "Come on, I'll show you."

You took his hand and let him lead you out of the dining room and down the hallway to his study. The room was dimly lit, with only a single lamp casting a soft glow over the large wooden desk that dominated the space. Thomas closed the door behind you and crossed over to the desk, reaching for something behind it.

It was then that you noticed a large painting leaning against the wall, wrapped in thick brown paper.

"Are you going to tell me what it is?" You asked, unable to hide the excitement in your voice. Thomas chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Patience, Love," he murmured, carefully unwrapping the painting to reveal an exquisite work of art. It was a portrait of you , a stunningly accurate depiction of your likeness, down to the last detail. Your eyes were wide with surprise as you took in the image of yourself, feeling a little self-conscious under Thomas' intense gaze.

"It's beautiful," you breathed, reaching out to touch the canvas. The brushstrokes were delicate and precise, capturing the softness of your skin and the warmth of your smile. You had never seen anything quite like it before.

"I had it commissioned as a wedding present," Thomas explained, his eyes never leaving your face.

"I wanted something to celebrate the woman you are, and the woman you're becoming."

His words sent a rush of warmth through you, filling your heart with a sense of love and pride. You had never felt so cherished, so adored. It was an incredible feeling, one that left you breathless and overwhelmed.

You stood there, hand still resting on the painting, heart pounding in your chest as you looked into Thomas' eyes. You could see the raw desire burning in his gaze, the hunger that told you he wanted you as badly as you wanted him.

"This is the most beautiful gift anyone has ever given me," you whispered, your breath hitching as Thomas stepped closer to you.

His hand reached out, gently grasping a tendril of your hair, and he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"And you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen," Thomas growled, his breath hot against your skin.

Your heart raced as he pulled you towards him, his lips crashing down onto yours in a passionate kiss that left you breathless.

"Tommy ," you gasped, your voice barely audible as his hands roamed over your body, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist before cupping your breasts over your dress.

"Yes, Love?" Thomas murmured against your lips, his thumb teasing your nipples through the fabric until they hardened beneath his touch.

You moaned softly, arching your back into his touch as he deepened the kiss, his tongue tangling with yours in a dance that was both familiar and thrilling.

Your hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer as the hunger inside of you grew stronger.

"I want you, Tommy," you whispered hoarsely, your breath hot against his ear.

Thomas responded with a growl, his hands tugging at your dress until it slid down to your feet, leaving you standing there in nothing but your lacy underwear.

"Fuck, you are so beautiful," Thomas groaned, taking a step back to drink in the sight of you. "And you are mine," he added possessively, reaching out to trace the curve of your hip with his fingertips.

You shivered at his touch, feeling a pulse of desire low in your belly. You had never felt so desired, so wanted before. It was intoxicating.

"Yes, I'm yours," you whispered, reaching out to touch him in turn. Your hands found their way to his belt, the metal buckle cool against your skin as you undid it and slid it free from its loops.

Thomas groaned as you began to undo the buttons of his trousers, revealing the hard length of his cock beneath.

"Fuck, Love," Thomas gasped, his voice barely above a whisper as you wrapped your hand around him, feeling the velvety softness of his skin beneath your fingertips.

You pulled him forward, pressing your lips to his collarbone and trailing kisses down his chest as you unbuttoned his shirt and sank to your knees before him all at the same time.

The scent of him was musky and intoxicating, and you couldn't resist the urge to take him into your mouth.

"I have never done this before," you confessed, looking up at him with shy, yet eager eyes.

Thomas' expression softened at the admission, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "I know , Love," he murmured. "I'll guide you." And with those words, you opened your mouth eagerly, waiting for him to make the first move.

Your tongue darted out, teasing his tip and tasting his pre-cum as it leaked out. Thomas moaned deeply, his fingers tangling in your hair as he guided you to take him deeper, urging you to taste more of him.

You complied eagerly, exploring every inch of him with your mouth as Thomas thrust gently into your throat. Your hands wandered up to his toned ass, pulling him closer as you sucked and licked with abandon.

Thomas' breath hitched as you drew back, gasping for air before sliding back down on him once more.

"Good girl ," Thomas grunted, guiding your head back down onto him.

You could feel the trembling in his legs as you worked him with your mouth, the intensity of his pleasure building to a peak.

"I'm going to cum, Love," Thomas warned, his voice low and strained. "Do you think you can swallow it?" Thomas asked, his voice tight with anticipation. You looked up at him, eyes wide, and nodded eagerly.

"Good girl," he praised you before grabbing a fistful of your hair and pumping his hips faster.

You worked your mouth up and down his shaft, feeling the throbbing of his cock intensify until finally, Thomas thrust deep into your throat and held it there as he came hard. You tried to swallow as much of him as you could, feeling the hot streams of cum coat your tongue before spilling out of the corners of your mouth.

You felt a sense of pride wash over you as you took it all in, Thomas's hips still thrusting as he emptied himself into your willing mouth.

Finally, with one last gasp, Thomas pulled out, his cock sliding free from your mouth with a wet, sucking sound. You looked up at him with a sense of accomplishment and longing, unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of him.

Thomas reached down and gently brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek for a moment.

His eyes were soft, filled with love and admiration. You blushed under his gaze, feeling both proud and self-conscious at the same time.

"God, you're beautiful," Thomas murmured, his voice raw with emotion. "And so fucking sexy."

Your blush deepened at the compliment, but you didn't look away. Instead, you reached up and took his hand in yours, bringing it to your lips for a gentle kiss. Thomas smiled at the gesture, his thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin as he looked down at you with a hunger that made your heart race.

"Come here," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you."

You stood up, stepping closer to Thomas as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you flush against him. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the evidence of your earlier efforts still slick against your thighs. The combined scent of him and of yourself left you heady, intoxicated by the smell of raw, unbridled sexuality.

His mouth found yours again, his lips claiming yours in a bruising kiss that left you breathless and trembling in his arms.

"I always wanted you to do things to me, on this big desk of yours," you giggled nervously  , your eyes sparkling with mischief.

Thomas's grin deepened, his hands roaming your body with a possessiveness that made you shiver.

"Then what are you waiting for, Love?" He murmured, his voice low and seductive.

You didn't need any more encouragement than that. Within seconds, you had pulled your underwear down your legs and climbed up onto the desk, positioning yourself so that your ass was right at the edge.

"So fucking perfect ," Thomas growled, his eyes burning with desire as he took in the sight of you spread out before him, ready and willing.

You felt a rush of heat flood your body, the thought of being so exposed heightening your arousal to new heights.

Thomas reached out, his hands tracing the curve of your waist before moving up to cup your breasts. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending pulses of pleasure straight to your core.

You moaned softly, arching your back and pressing yourself into his touch.

Thomas' mouth found yours again, his lips silencing your cries as his fingers continued to tease your nipples.

"You like that, Love?" Thomas asked, his voice low and sultry.

"Yes," you gasped, your breath hitching as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. "Please, Thomas."

Thomas grinned at the plea, his fingers leaving your breasts to trace a path down your stomach and towards the apex of your thighs.

"God, you're so fucking wet for me," Thomas groaned against your mouth, his fingers brushing through your folds before delving deep within you.

You gasped, your back arching off the desk as Thomas began to thrust his fingers in and out of you. Each stroke hit a spot deep within you, driving you wild with pleasure.

"Please Love, let me cum inside you ," Thomas groaned, his breath hot against your ear.

"No , I- I can't," you gasped, feeling the familiar fluttering deep within your belly.

"Please ," Thomas begged as, finally, he aligned himself with your wetness and thrust into you with one swift push, but you knew that if you let Thomas cum inside of you, there was a chance you could end up pregnant. And with your life the way it was, the last thing you needed right now was a child.

You shook your head, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps as your husband bottomed out inside of you.

God, he felt amazing. But you knew that this was as far as you could go.\

"I am sorry," you whispered, your breath hitching as Thomas began to thrust his hips against yours, driving himself in deep and hard. "I-I can't. I'm sorry."

But Thomas seemed to understand.

"It's alright, Love," he murmured, brushing a stray curl from your face with a tender hand. "I'll just make a mess instead," he chuckled in between groans as he continued to thrust in and out of you.

Your nails dug into the desk, your breath coming in ragged gasps as Thomas's hips snapped against yours, his cock hitting that delicious spot inside of you.

"Fuck, yes," you gasped, your pelvis bucking to meet his thrusts. "Harder."

Thomas growled at the demand and obliged, his cock pounding into you with bruising force. You cried out, throwing your head back and bracing yourself against the onslaught of pleasure.

Thomas's thrusts became erratic, his breaths coming in short panting gasps.

"Fuck, I'm close Love," he groaned, his fingers digging into the skin of your hips.

You nodded frantically, feeling your own pleasure coiling deep within you. "Yes, yes," you gasped, your body trembling with anticipation as your own orgasm built within you.

Your nails dug into the surface of the desk even harder now as Thomas continued to drive into you with an almost brutal force. Each thrust sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through your body, your breasts bouncing in time with each stroke.

"Yes, Tommy! Oh god , I'm gonna cum!" You screamed as your orgasm tore through your body like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and trembling beneath him.

Thomas's thrusts became erratic as he too, found his release, his hot seed filling the air around you as he pulled out and used his hand to finish the job.

You collapsed back onto the desk, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. Thomas leaned over you, his arms braced on either side of your head as he caught his own breath.

"Fuck, Love," he groaned before, suddenly, you were being interrupted by one of the maids.

The sound of a knock on the door broke through your haze of pleasure, and Thomas quickly pulled away from you with an annoyed expression on his face. You each gathered your clothes and Thomas barked, not bothering to conceal his irritation at being interrupted in the middle of such an intimate moment.

The maid, a young girl with mousy brown hair and a pinched expression on her face, looked at the ground as she spoke, knowing exactly what you had been doing, 

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but there's a matter that needs your immediate attention."

Thomas sighed heavily and rubbed his temples with his fingers. he asked, his voice clipped and impatient.

"It's the new shipment of whiskey, sir," the maid replied nervously. "The delivery driver says it was damaged during transport, and he refuses to hand it over until you inspect it yourself."

The maid's statement caught Tommy by surprise. "Y/N, go upstairs!" he ordered you in a way he had not spoken to you before.

"Excuse me?" you asked, annoyed with the way Thomas had spoken to you. You were still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm and, frankly, the last thing you wanted was him to snap at you like this. It was unlike him. 

Thomas let out a long-suffering sigh. "I am sorry Y/N. I shouldn't have spoken to you like this, but I need you to go upstairs and stay there. Please," he added as an afterthought, his voice softening.

"Fine ," you muttered, annoyance tingeing your voice as you slid off the desk and started to pull your panties back on, pulling them up beneath your dress. 

You couldn't help but feel irritated at the interruption, even more so at the tone Thomas had used with you. 

But you shook it off, reminding yourself that Thomas wasn't like that. He cared for you deeply, and you cared for him just as much. Maybe he was just having a stressful day.

When you arrived in the bedroom you shared with Tommy now however, you couldn't help but wonder what was really going on. A whiskey delivery at 10 o'clock seemed absurd and, with that in mind, you pulled aside the curtains and peaked out of the window .

Tommy was already standing outside, talking to a somewhat scary looking truck driver. But something was off. Tommy looked tense, his shoulders rigid and his expression stern.

The driver seemed to be making wild gestures, his hands waving around erratically as he spoke. And then, you saw it when the stranger opened one of the boxes on the back of his truck.

Inside there was no whiskey however, but instead, you saw something black, something that looked like rifles. A lot of rifles.  Your mind raced as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. Was this some kind of arms deal? And if so, why would Thomas be involved in something like that?

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[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

girl on fire 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as cheating, neglect, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: neglected, you find comfort in another home.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, Loki

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself

“Chardonnay, simple but classic. Versatile,” Jonathan declares as he uncorks the bottle, “a fine match for this delectable looking salmon.” 

He’s plated the meal nicely and set the patio table for the dinner. It isn’t the one you planned but better than the one you’d been about to resign yourself too. He pours you a healthy glass and you can’t help but admire his profile. He’s younger and fairer, but does he ever remind you of your husband. It’s like a cruel joke. 

He fills his own glass and sits, his elbow close to yours as he leans it on the arm rest. He reaches for his wine and raises it, awaiting your cheers. You cling the crystal and try not to show how flustered his gaze makes you. You were prepared for your unloving husband but not an intent neighbour. 

“Thanks, this is all very nice,” you smile. How long since you did that? Genuinely. “You really didn’t have to humour me.” 

“Humour you? Not at all. I have to confess, it’s rather lonely. Hattie’s great fun when she’s not in pain but I’m afraid she’s been rather lethargic with all the sedation.” 

“She is? I didn’t think she’d had her surgery yet,” you perk up and take a cautious sip. The chardonnay is oaky and bold. It must be expensive. 

“Not as yet, no, she’s due soon,” he explains as he slices into the flaky salmon, “but I’m afraid she is not handling the pain.” He hums before he tastes the fish. He tastes it very deliberately, “that is perfectly cooked. You must have training, yes?” 

You laugh, not meaning too, but it’s a compliment you don’t expect. 

“Oh no, no, I... I worked at the deli in a grocery store, a long time ago, but I wouldn’t call it culinary school.” 

“Very long ago? You don’t seem that old,” he says, “not that I’m guessing your age. I am aware it’s rather uncourteous to mention it to a woman so I suppose I’ve already said too much.” 

“Thirty-three.” 

“Spry,” he comments with a grin. “I enjoyed thirty-three. And thirty-four. It was all rather merry until forty.” 

“Now I know I have a lot to look forward to,” you kid and take a more generous mouthful, “this wine...” 

“Ah, yes, I’m a bit of an enthusiast. Hattie only had cooking sherry when I moved in. I had to stock up for my stay though I admit I’ve found it rather glum to drink alone. I opened a single bottle of merlot and couldn’t finish.” 

“Mm, I... think I know what you mean,” you admit bittersweetly. 

“Yes, I’ve not seen the husband yet. Elusive? He must be busy.” 

“All the time. Eleven years... well, the flame gets dimmer,” you swirl the chardonnay and watch the golden cyclone, “I’m sure you don’t care. I’m boring. Tell me about you,” you put the glass down and pick up your fork, “when you’re not caring for elderly women, what do you get up to? It must be something exciting. Does your wife miss you?” 

“So many questions, I’m afraid I might disappoint,” he mulls his response as he chews. “I can’t help but repeat myself. Absolutely delicious.” 

“You’re not answering,” you goad. Your heart is fluttering. You can’t help it. He just seems so sophisticated. 

“I manage several hotels for a luxury chain. Though I am looking into slowing down. I’ve invested in the brand so I have a cushion. I tire of all this running around,” he says forlornly, “I didn’t realise it until I arrived here. Hattie, bless her, she’s helped me realise how much I’ve missed out on,” he shifts and sits straighter, “so to your point, no, I’ve not a wife to miss me.” 

You laugh, “I’m sorry. I’m so nosy. It’s just... this place, well, we have gossips but it’s always the same stories.” 

“I’m flattered, truly. I’m truly not very exciting.” 

“Look who you’re talking to,” you scoff. 

“I’d counter and say I find you rather interesting,” he insists, “I wonder how any man could keep away from you.” 

“Oh, you really know what to say,” you giggle. 

“The truth is always the best policy,” he winks, “a woman who cooks like this, she must be something special.” 

Your cheeks burn and bulb and you smile even deeper. There’s an edge to your delight. The nagging voice in the back of your head; he isn’t your husband, though not for your own negligence. You wish he was Loki. You have yearned for your husband to look at you, to speak to you like this.  

It’s fine. It’s nothing. He knows you’re married. It’s only dinner. You’re not going to do anything.  

❤️‍🔥

“I’ve some sorbet in the freezer, would you like some dessert?” Jonathan asks as you empty your glass. The third. Like everything else, he is generous with the bottle. 

“I’d love dessert,” you preen and set the glass down, cupping your chin in your hand as you lean in to marvel at him. You angle your foot to touch his leg, “but I’m not in the mood for sorbet.” 

He tilts his head and his blue eyes flash. He takes a breath and you sense his reluctance. Oh no. Why did you do that? Why did you say that? It’s the wine. 

“Ah,” he reaches to touch your knee, squeezing, “I am entirely flattered but... you are married.” 

“Oh god,” you pull back and cover your face, “please, forget that happened. I’m drunk.” 

“It’s rather fine. It is a rather strong vintage,” he removes his hand, “please do not be embarrassed.” 

“How can I not be?” You whine. 

“Truly, I... I would. I cannot say I invited you in without the whim and yet... you are married.” 

“I know,” you whimper. 

“And I wouldn’t want to put you in such a compromised position.” 

You nod and gulp, hiding still behind your fingers, “I’m so sorry.” 

“Please, I should be. I’ve been... misleading. I must admit I would leap at the chance and yet I find it difficult knowing that it would be only a fleeting deceit.” 

“Ugh, please, I’ll go,” you sit up and grip the edge of the table, about to stand. He catches your arm, and holds you there. 

“Darling, you are one of the most immaculate woman I’ve met. That man, whoever he is, is a fool. I’ve not met him and even I know it,” he trails his hand down your arm and takes yours, raising it to kiss your knuckles, “please, know I do not reject you out of repulsion, only out of consideration. I wouldn’t dare put you in that position.” 

“I...” the touch of his lips makes you tingle. You tear your hand away and get to your feet, “I have to go.” 

“Darling--” 

“No, you’re so sweet,” your voice quavers, “but I can’t... I can’t hear lies from another man. I understand, okay? Please, just forget this all.” 

You clamour around his seat and across the deck. You take the two steps to even ground and wobble to the gate. You leave it open as you barrel through and across the street. You slow as you approach your house, the moonlight high above its peak. You stop short as Loki’s car sits in the driveway. 

What timing he has. 

[sad-soup-and-chaos]

My monthly drabble.

My current favourite Sukuna Mafia boss AU. but with a tragic swing.

18+

Mention of violence, sexual assault, death, suicide. Long. Pain no comfort. Not proof-read.

IF ONLY...

The holiday season was a dreaded time of the year for Sukuna. The business went well, of course, with so many clients seeking easy pleasure and their high. But it also meant that people were unnecessarily cheerful and self-centered. As always he was suddenly short on men and had to deal with some of the clients himself.

The worst, the longest week of the year. He felt so genuinely exhausted. In such a need of rest and relief.. but the thought of any usual hooker he used to go to made his stomach churn with disgust. He was done with cheap people for the week.

He stood in front of his HQ smoking like some hobo, not the most dangerous boss of the most infamous yakuza family. "What a dreadful weather" he thought watching the grey sky, dump cold seeping into his bones, making him shiver.

He needed to think of something. Something less distasteful.. more sophisticated. To feed his empty soul and ease his irritation. His eyes fell on an early XX century poster of a geisha advertising some beer in an antique shop across the street.

A geisha. Now that didn't sound half as bad as it usually would. They were classy, beautiful, artistic. They had strict etiquette and didn't mingle with their clients.

Perfect.

His hand reached for his phone and he googled locations offering geisha services. He groaned. Some looked like cheap imitations, he would probably end up drugged with an old ugly hooker... some looked too flashy for his taste.

And then.. he came across a site of a teahouse in the outskirts of the city. The site was minimalistic. A few photographs of the place looking almost ancient. No pictures of the girls. No flashy advertisements of their skills.. Just the address. But something about it felt strangely authentic and mysterious. Tsk.. too intriguing to pass by.

He checked the route and a few moments later he was driving his overpriced sports car towards the location. In less than half an hour he parked outside the teahouse.

A sign above the old heavy door Tamatori hime

The jewel-taking princess, the famous lady Tamatori who stole a precious pearl from a sea dragon. What a name.

He pushed against the heavy wooden doors and came inside the comforting warmth welcoming him in. He was met with an unexpected sight. Wooden walls with calligraphy and ink and an old elegant woman in a kimono sitting behind a low table. "Welcome, traveller" her voice was calm and almost soothing.

"A tea for one.." he muttered, his voice lacking his usual sharpness "and a companion for the evening"

The old woman hummed. "You won't find what you seek in any rooms here." she said calmly. "But you might.. if you enter the Pearl garden behind the house."

"That is.. if our jewel will accept" she added, her voice slightly thoughtful. Then she lowered her eyes, took a brush, placed a piece of handmade paper on the table and put the brush into the ink on her table.

Sukuna felt confused and slightly irritated. He had the money to buy the whole house, the garden, all the staff with their families together. "And what is the difference between the ones in the house and garden?"

"The women in the house.. will not satiate your hunger and fill your emptiness" the old woman said without lifting her eyes at him. The brush masterfully leaving ink on the paper.

Her words. Her audacity. The way she didn't even look at him yet dared to say those words.. It made him all even more irritated. But the old woman drew with such elegance he didn't have the heart to burst out yet.

"And how do you know, that the one in the garden will satisfy me?" he scoffed

"I don't." she said making him scowl even more "I am here simply to welcome the travellers who decide to enter our establishment. And help them choose one of the rooms" she said the black ink slowly forming a kanji for pearl. "And you, traveller, should go to the Pearl garden" she said softly.

"You make an empty assumption, woman" he scoffed hardly keeping his temper in check. "What happens if i don't follow your advice?" he almost hissed.

And then to his genuine surprise he heard a giggle from behind the wall on his left. Such a pleasant sound, so light.. but so strangely mocking. Was it a coincidence? His eyes darted to the left only to see an ink drawing of a small traditional teahouse over a pond with a garden beside it.

"It is not advice. It is a mere suggestion. It is your choice whether to follow it" the old woman said and took out a small wooden stamp.

"I know a mockery when i hear it. But I doubt you will tell me who it is.." he said coldly referring to that melodic giggle "Then let me hear another suggestion of yours. WHY.. would i enjoy the company of your jewel?"

"Shinju" the old woman said. Her voice still calm and unaffected by the spite in his voice. Was she referring to the name of the person behind the wooden wall.. Shinju.. a pearl. Or was she simply referring to the legend of lady Tamatori after which the house was named?

"Because, she is the crown jewel of this place. And if she accepts you.. and you don't enjoy it.. It only means you are too dead inside already. And no one else would be able to change that" the old woman said leaving him completely speechless. She then proceeded to put the stamp into red ink and pressed it onto the paper before her.

He was so shocked, so utterly confused. How dared she? How dared they?! Didn't they want his money? Weren't they afraid.. that the only words that escaped his lips sounded weak and defensive "I am not dead inside" he muttered despite himself.

The same giggle rang through the wooden wall mocking him. Mocking his words. Mocking his reaction.

"Then why are you here on this dreadful night if not to warm up your soul?" the old woman asked calmly. She took the handmade paper with the calligraphy in her hands and gently blew over the ink.

He blinked. He felt so confused, so utterly taken aback by all that was happening that he found himself muttering "What is that supposed to mean?" his eyes shifting between the old woman in front of him and the cursed wooden wall. "I am here for the company of a beautiful woman. Nothing more and nothing less. Stop making assumptions!"

The same cheerful giggle "It is not a brothel, kakka.. it is a teahouse" the cheerful voice so sweet so sultry so.. mysterious and intriguing.. It made his heart flutter despite the utter irritation he was feeling.

"We have no oiran. We have tea. The brothel is right behind you, across the street" the voice from behind the wall added.

This voice. This sweetness. Its melody. The slightly mocking tone. So infuriating yet so intriguing. He was Ryomen Sukuna, the yakuza boss notorious for his bad temper and his cruelty. Yet despite himself.. "I do not need a cheap woman. I need a woman worthy of my time!" he squeezed out

"But are you worthy of hers?" the voice asked and giggled.

He stood dumbfounded. His hands trembling with powerless rage. He closed his eyes. No need to burst in front of some useless women.

And just when his eyes closed.. he heard a sound so familiar, yet distant. A thud of a folding fan being closed. Then a series of shonji doors opened somewhere to the right. And the heavy entrance wooden door opened behind him bringing in a whirlwind of sharp cold and snowflakes.

His eyes opened instantly, a cold unpleasant shiver running down his body.

The old woman before him straightened herself and held the paper with the calligraphy of a single word for him. Shinju. Pearl. He was given a choice. He was pushed into choosing between the unknown mystery of the Pearl garden behind the teahouse.. and the exit.

Sukuna had a deep scowl on his face. But he didn't hesitate. He grabbed the cursed piece of paper and marched through the open shoji door to the right of him. He was so determined he didn't even hear the soft steps of the old woman behind him who went to close the wooden doors.

Sukuna simply walked along the endless corridor, the maze of shoji doors opening and closing behind him. The alluring mocking giggle still ringing in his head pushing him further, taunting him, playing with his exhausted mind. He didn't even notice that the shoji doors behind him kept closing, cutting him off from the exit.

The maze suddenly ended in a courtyard with a karesansui garden looking haunting in the winter cold. His eyes darted around not seeing anything of importance. He turned around to go back to finally ask questions, to demand.. But then the last shoji door closed before his nose leaving him alone in the empty garden. He groaned and kicked the shoji.. and looked around again. And then to his surprise he saw a round Chinese moon gate to another part of the garden with nothing but the darkness beneath it.

Without much choice he walked to the gate and stepped through. The second he did.. the stone toro lanterns suddenly lit all over the place suddenly revealing a neat stone path and the garden it led through. His legs moved on their own, his eyes hungrily drinking in the peaceful landscape until they stopped on a small teahouse over a pond. The same one from the ink drawing he had seen on the wall of the house making him suddenly pause his confident stride.

And there.. on the side of the lake stood a stone pagoda-like pavilion with a stone table and a woman sitting on one of the stone stools. She was wearing traditional attire with a luscious fur collar. A small stone stove beside her with a pot of boiling water.

He was so shocked by the sight staring at it, completely srill. A stray snowflake hit his cheek reminding him of the horrible weather outside. Waking him up from his daze.

He started walking to the pavilion his eyes never leaving the woman. The closer he came.. the less confident his stride became, until it came to a halt yet again. He stood a few steps away struck by her beauty. She looked so delicate and pure. Was he really worthy of her time? He started to doubt it.

"Good evening, traveller" her voice greeted him like a gentle melody caressing his soul. "Would you entertain me with a game of Go?" she asked so softly. Her calm eyes looked at him. And for once, or rather for the second time this very evening he felt no judgement coming from them.. but also no fear.

Sukuna would have spoken if he could find his voice. But he was almost afraid to hear how it would sound. So he silently nodded and sat on a stone stool opposite to her. He realised, this game of Go should be the test by which the woman would decide if she accepted him as her client. But at this moment he just knew that for the first time in his life he would fail, he would lose pathetically, too captivated by her beauty, by her aura.. by everything she was.

"Please, have some tea, traveller. The weather is rather unpleasant tonight" she offered and put a simple clay cup before him, then poured a herbal tea that was simmering on the stone stove beside her. His eyes darted to her gloved hands despite his better judgement.

They sat in silence for a few moments. All of his confidence, his arrogance gone for good. He blinked trying to move.. to speak.. to do something. Yet all he could muster was a nod. His hand reached for the cup and he made a sip. The herbal tea slightly bitter, yet refreshing and strangely fitting for the cold night. He put the cup down and silently placed a marble on the stone board between them.

Her delicate hand reached for a marble of her own.. but naturally it slipped from her glothed hand. She softly clicked her tongue and took the glove off, then placed her marble as well. His eyes darted to her hand. It was too delicate for such cold weather. What a strange thought.

They kept playing for some time in complete silence. "Can you tell me your name?" at least her name.. His voice came out strangely gruff and almost shaky.

"You already know it" she answered softly.

"What?" he muttered his eyes darting away trying to understand what she meant. And then he remembered the calligraphy, the name uttered by the old woman.

Shinju. The pearl stolen by lady Tamatori, the jewel kept in the secret garden behind the teahouse. "You are Shinju" his eyes lifted to her face.

She softly nodded placing another marble on the table. Her hand. It looked so pale now. She must be cold in this horrible weather.

He felt an urge to take this delicate cold hand and warm it in his own big warm hands. An urge to touch her and make sure she was warm. But she was a geisha. Someone he shouldn't touch. He gritted his teeth, his eyebrows coming together. Instead he put a marble of his own. Its click too loud in the silence of the winter garden.

To touch the hands, to warm them. But was he even worthy of her time? He was losing pathetically, and by an embarrassingly big margin. But even not this.. Was he, the Ryomen Sukuna, the coldhearted criminal whose hands were covered in blood and violence, was he even worthy to sit in the presence of this pure beauty? He had to remind himself for the mptieth time that she was a geisha, he shouldn't be even considering such acts.

Her hand put another marble on the stone table. It was so pale, it looked almost translucent. Before he could stop himself his hand grabbed hers almost rudely. Her eyes lifted in small surprise. Her hand was so cold, almost as if he was touching a corpse. He blinked.

And then he reacted. His coat was down in no time and wrapped over her. He scooped her in his arms and carried her quickly along the strong path and into the teahouse over the pond.

Her eyes were slightly wide and never leaving his face.. while he was looking straight forward. He knew the consequences of touching a geisha. He was ready to pay any fine. To pay thrice, ten times the price. To be forbidden from every teahouse around Japan.. But he wasn't ready to see her reaction.

He somehow slid the shoji door and stepped inside. He quickly slid it closed to cut off the cold air. And then he lowered to his knees not to spoil the clean tatami floors. He swallowed and lowered her gaze to her still not quite ready to see her face.

He maybe had thought that she would go mad, scream, scold him, or even slap him. But instead she giggled and opened her folding fan. "Welcome to my home, traveller". He sat there completely dumbfounded. Shouldn't he.. Shouldn't he be chasen away? Shouldn't he be forbidden from this place? His thoughts ran a thousand miles per hour.. yet his head felt completely empty with how utterly shocked he was. He finally realised that not the game of Go was her test.

But then.. she kneeled beside him and started to unlace his shoes. "You.." he tried to speak

"Mmm?" she hummed

"You don't need to do that" he finally squeezed out.

"I don't need to.. but I want to." she answered with a small smile. It wasn't mocking or condescending. It was a calm peaceful smile. She took off his shoe and then moved to the other one. He stared in complete dibelief. Staring silently at her like a complete idiot.

"You see.. there is a secret behind the Moon gates of the garden" she said "The girls inside the house are geishas. But I am not." That meant that she was not bound by the etiquette of the geisha. And she indeed did what she wanted.

She then placed her hand on his elbow as if to help him stand up. "You seem exhausted, traveller. And what is a better thing for an exhausted traveller than a warm bath?" she smiled. He swallowed heat rising to his cheeks. He was.. He was so many things. So opposite to her. And here she was holding his elbow in this manner.. He rose himself and nodded silently, now towering over her small form. "Please, follow me then" she bowed her head slightly

"Is there a name, you would like me to use, traveller?" she asked as she led him along the corridor.

"Sukuna" he squeezed out quietly not quite trusting his own voice.

"Sukuna." she repeated as if trying it on her tongue. His name sounding so so gentle all of a sudden. They entered the bathroom. Warm fragrant fog, a big wooden round soaking tub with a small fireplace below it. She turned to him "Would you like me to help you undress, Sukuna-sama?"

His heart went to his throat. He was unable to react for a whole minute and then slowly nodded.

She smiled softly. Not mocking. Not judging. A small genuine peaceful smile almost as if it was her pleasure to take care of him. She approached him and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her movements attentive almost too careful not to touch him in any way. Almost reverent. But most importantly.. unflinching in the face of his impressive height, his big muscular form, his scars and tattoos.

It was so strange. They all flinched. The escorts, his fake girlfriends, gold-diggers, even the expensive professional hookers would flinch eventually. But not her. She removed his shirt. Unbuckled his belt. His pants dropped onto the floor so now he was left only with his socks.. and his boxers on.

"May I?" she asked softly "Or would you prefer to do it yourself?"

To his dismay he answered before he could stop himself "You may" And gods, his face never felt so hot.

She bowed her head politely and lowered to remove his socks. Then went behind him to give him at least some sort of privacy. Her hands gently tugged on the hem of his boxers. Then she very carefully slid them down.

He forgot how to breathe turning a new unexpected shade of red. And quickly, maybe a way too quickly stepped into the wooden soaking tub, sat down, allowing the water to cover his body.

"Would you like some tea and snacks? Or maybe liquor, Sukuna-sama?" she asked

Sukuna-sama. "Both" he blurted out before his thoughts went astray at the sound of his name paired with this honorifics coming from her sweet mouth in that voice of hers. "Tea and sake"

She bowed her head politely and left the bathroom. She returned soon. Sat two cups for him and a small plate of snacks on a wooden tray and.. put it onto water allowing it to float towards him. "And do you like music, Sukuna-sama?"

"Music?"

"Yes. To be more precise, guqin music. I am not very good with shamisen. But I could play you the guqin if you would like that.. of course." she said

"Yeah.. I'd like to hear it"

"Thank you" she smiled.. Grateful for being able to play for him. He wanted to stop her. He didn't deserve it. Her gratefulness, her care, he wasn't worthy of her time and effort. But she was already gone from the bathroom.

A few moments later she settled on the floor, a black old instrument in front of her. Her long fingers lowered to the strings and a melody started flowing through the warm fog of the bathroom. A gentle whisper of the times and memories that were so familiar but had never happened. The melody wrapped around him, so melancholic making his cold heart ache with unknown yearning, with a longing he had never felt before.

After a long long time he had lost track of the melody softly died out leaving him strangely disappointed. "Would you like me to help you wash, Sukuna-sama?" her gentle voice asked

His eyes went wide open. How many times would this woman render him speechless? Before he could dwell into it he simply nodded.

She went behind him. And held his head gently so she could pour water over his hair without allowing it into his eyes. He tried not to move too much feeling strangely restless. She added the shampoo and started carefully washing his hair allowing him to get used to the feeling of her fingers between his locks. And then started massaging his scalp. His body froze and then slowly eased into the feeling. The feeling of being cared for. Maybe for the first time in his life.

She then washed the shampoo away and continued to wash his body. Every muscle. Every crook, every crevice. Constantly asking him if she could, if he felt fine. So considerate and respectful. He forgot his stress, forgot his troubles, forgot the world outside this small warm bathroom. The world outside of her hands.

It was late night or rather a very early morning when she finished. Washing him. Applying oils to his skin. Feeding him. Helping him in and out of clothes. She was helping him one last time. Buttoning his shirt up. He felt a strange tightness in his chest. Watching most non-chalantly her every move, as if trying to memorize it forever.

An hour later he was in his penthouse. And went straight to the bed falling asleep the second his head touched the pillow. He hadn't slept so well for gods know how many years. And woke up the next morning.

"Make me a reservation in Tamatori-hime establishment" he said gruffly to Uraume upon entering his office. He already missed her touch, missed her very presence.

"Tamatori hime? Wasn't it that brothel that burnt in a fire 10 years ago?" Toji mused. Sukuna's heart stopped beating at these words.

"Tsk, it was a teahouse with geisha!" Gojo rolled his eyes.

"Oi, same shit" Toji groaned

"No it isn't! You are such a brut. Sometimes I wonder how you even a Zenin" Gojo huffed

Sukuna was deaf to their bickering. The words repeating in his head *the house that burnt ten years ago*. But he had been in that house *the day before*

"Uraume, make me a reservation" Sukuna repeated.

"Boss? You are pale" Geto hummed. His men suddenly stopped bickering and turned to look at Sukuna. "I will check"

"Oh" Geto muttered "Now I remember, it has become an urban legend"

A what?

"Yes, I do remember too" Uraume hummed deep in thought. "They had this geisha who wouldn't accept every client"

Yes. It was her. Shinju. Their crown jewel. His.. pearl. But why did his men speak in Past tense? He had been with her a day before. Sukuna felt a strange uneasiness creep into his body.

"And one day she refused some big yakuza boss" as the words kept reaching him the air kept getting incredibly stuffy. "He called his men.."

"Or.. I now remember"

Sukuna couldn't even discern the voices of his men anymore, feeling his own pulse drumming loudly in his head. A plitting headache beginning to rise in his head. For the first time in his life Sukuna felt sick and dizzy. "They returned and raped every single woman. And the geisha in question slit her own throat. They then burnt the whole place down to cover the evidence"

"Yeah, but some say, the Teahouse appears every year on the date of its demise and allows customers to enter"

"boss? BOSS?!" He didn't hear them anymore. He was in a daze. Slowly sliding onto the floor. His eyes unseeing. A beautiful face in his head.

If only he..

If only he could..

If only he could.. do what?..

"Mmm? You look.. sad?.. Don't worry, Sukuna-sama. We will see each other very soon." the sweet voice rang in his head before the darkness slowly filled his vision and his consciousness slipped away.

[sinful-lanterns]

oh man Garofano in that collab art... i am down bad ASTRONOMICALLY for her i need her so bad omg. i just want to kneel at her feet and eat her out while running my hands along her thighs :(((( i just know she would look so beautiful sitting in that outfit looking down at me, gently petting my head and praising me kkshdksbfkadjakqbdjajdja mommy...

CW: Mommy kink

MORE PUSSY EATING 🍽️

Nnngh Garofano is so soft and comforting when you go down on her. Giving off loads of MILF energy while she runs her fingers across your face and coos at how good of a girl you are for eating mommy’s pussy so well. Oh to have her soft, milky thighs clamping around the sides of your head, trapping you under mommy Garofano’s hold as you have no choice but to dart out your tongue and taste what a mature and sophisticated woman is supposed to be like.

Aaaaah call me a pussy connoisseur, because I’m sampling Garofano’s pussy like it’s a fine aged wine <3

[gremlingottoosilly]

does...does König sext??? like I'm sure he would be the type to ask for nudes but does he send anything back?? god I am so afraid of the answer 🫣

"I send you my cock, please respond" (NSFW ahead, MDNI) Honestly, if not for his social anxiety, Konig would go absolutely feral on his old man sexting type of behavior. Man can't flirt to save his life and also doesn't want to learn - it's a good thing that Mrs.Konig loves him enough, poor girl would be freaking devastated if she'd have to deal with his flirting for the first few stages of their relationships. Good thing she was kidnapped, right? Konig is willing to beg for nudes, he needs some jerking-off material that wouldn't make him feel guilty. He is the type of gut to watch porn for the plot and get mad if there is a cat that doesn't get belly scratches in the whole movie, and he is often too distracted by dumb plot points to actually enjoy wanking his dick. Photos are much, much easier for him to use - your photos, specifically. This man would ask you for too many things, like costumes, special poses, and basically everything - you may think that a simple pantie shot would be enough, but his tastes grow more and more sophisticated (read - perverted) with every month of your relationships. He especially enjoys seeing you in some form of self-bondage - even the collar and some cuffs are doing that for him. let's pray Horangi won't find his secret folder... He would be more shy about sending nudes back, he doesn't really believe that you enjoy looking at him as much as he is looking at you - but he really tries to believe that anyway.

[nartml]

To Pimp a Butterfly and 1989: a rant

Listen here, three things about me are that I'm a) white as snow, b) Greek, c) still a minor.

What does this mean? It means that I obviously wasn't raised with hip-hop, and I got into Kendrick Lamar's music pretty late.

As in, early this year.

I've known of him for some time, and the moment I found out he had a Pulitzer prize at some point in late-ish 2023, I decided I had to sit my ass down and pull out Spotify.

Now, as an avid reader of both fanfiction (ao3 raised me) and books [I feel the immense need to clarify that I don't associate myself with mainstream booktok. Capitalism's consumerism has overrun that shit and all I see are the same 20 books being recycled and recommended (a substantial amount of those are Colleen Hoover and her variants). Tropes and spice* are officially the defining factors of whether a book is worth it (*your porn addiction ain't cute) and quantity is heavily prioritized at the expense of quality. Also, diversity who?], I was, for a lack of a better word, hyped.

A Pulitzer prize is nothing to scoff at in general, more so in music, more so in hip-hop.

(Edit: Upon quick reflection, I realize that putting emphasis on hip-hop can come across as coded.

I am in no way, shape, or form trying to undermine hip-hop or say that it's somehow less 'sophisticated' than, for example, classical music. I'm very aware of the amount of skill and technique one needs to write a masterful hip-hop album, and I'm not doubting that there are hip-hop artists out there who are also incredibly deserving of such a prize. I meant it in the sense that I've unfortunately never heard of another hip-hop artist who won a Pulitzer before, which is quite telling.)

That's some huge shit, and I'd be a fool not to be intrigued.

Admittedly, I didn't get on that immediately. For a while I procrastinated, because I wasn't in the mood to hyper-fixate on anything new just yet.

Which of course meant I ended up forgetting about it for a few months, because of course I did.

But then I came across a TikTok that talked about how it was insane that '1989' won the Grammy when To Pimp a Butterfly was right there.

Now, a fourth thing about me is that I don't fuck with Taylor Swift.

And a fifth thing about me is that I'm not baseless in anything that I do, say or feel, and that includes annoyance.

Her immature understanding of activism and feminism leaves a bad taste in my mouth. The way she built up her fan base around this portrayal of her as a relatable girl's girl, her refusal to accept criticism, and always making a victim out of herself (even now when she's in her thirties and is a fucking billionaire) while never using her position of power and privilege for good are all reasons that serve to fuel my dispassionate dislike.

And before any Swifties get on my ass, no, I don't think that "But she's a singer! Why are you expecting so much out of her, she isn't even qualified to speak on XYZ—" is a good enough excuse.

She has always been rich, and now she's a billionaire. There are no ethical billionaires, and that includes her.

Fame is influence is power. Uncle Ben said it all: With great power comes great responsibility.

And let me tell you, I don't see her owning up to that responsibility, especially after all that talk about how she supports women, supports the LGBTQ community, and supports the BLM movement. Has she ever actually put her abundant money where her mouth is?

I've never seen her speak about anything that doesn't immediately concern her.

Don't get me wrong. She's not the only celebrity like this out there. I'm sure there are worse cases. I know it for a fact.

To wrap this segment up before I get even more sidetracked, I'll outright state that I don't hate her, because hating her would by definition mean that I, in some way, actually care about her, and that just sounds exhausting.

Best way to describe me is indifferent, leaning towards distasteful.

She's annoying.

And that's how I feel about both her as a person and her as an artist.

I'm not denying her talent, nor her impact on the industry, nor the fact that she does have good songs that even I like.

A select few, of course, but still.

Apart from those...what? Ten songs? I have never, ever been able to listen to any other song of her's all the way through.

I get bored. They do nothing for me. They sound empty. Hollow. Plastic. Repetitive.

Her lyrics, that are praised by fans for being deep and complex, sound pretty surface level to me.

Not all of them. But I'm a sucker for analysis. A literature nerd. Greek is my native language. I can tell when something's deep and when something wants to be deep.

(Not necessarily including Folklore and Evermore in that category. Her storytelling ability is actually great.)

Her music largely sounds like it wants to be deep.

Most recent example being her latest release, The Tortured Poets Department.

Anyway, back to Kendrick.

My initial plan was to listen to 'DAMN.' first, because that's what he won the Pulitzer for in the first place.

There was a change of plans after that TikTok.

I decided to compare the opening tacks.

I put on Welcome to New York, and predictably, I felt nothing.

The rhythm is dance-y, I suppose. But there's nothing substantial about it. There's nothing exciting about it.

The lyrics are juvenile, and I get it, it's a pop song and she was in her twenties.

Nobody is expecting Shakespeare (no matter how much you scream or kick your feet, the only reason Shakespeare couldn't write Taylor Swift is because he's in another league entirely) or Odysseus Elytis. Nobody is expecting mind-blowing lyricism.

But it's the opening track to an apparently Grammy-worthy album. The very least I'd expect from it would be some additional levels of artistry.

Am I being harsh? Probably. Do I care? No.

Disappointed but unsurprised, I put on Wesley's Theory.

I ascended within the first minute.

Don't get it twisted, I barely understood shit.

Not only am I white, I am also entirely removed from America and its culture as a whole. I don't know what's going on there in y'all's daily lives.

And this was baby's first proper introduction to hip-hop as a whole.

My untrained, white-ass ear barely caught two references. I got what the gist of the song was about, and that's about it.

I had to look up analyses of the track to fully grasp what Kendrick was on about, and even then, there was obviously still a disconnect.

And I expected all of that.

I didn't expect to get hooked on that song within the first listen.

I swear to fuck, the beat is addictive. I swear to fuck, even when I was fighting to understand what the lyrics were referencing, I was having the time of my life.

Even I, an amateur in every sense of the word, could tell that there was depth and there was quality and there was intentional meaning in every line of that song.

It didn't matter that I couldn't understand it. It mattered that I knew it was there. Not because someone told me that was the case. But because it was audible.

I listened to the next track. And the one after that. And the one after that. I had listened to all of the tracks, before I knew it.

And the evident permeance of quality, of substance, carried on throughout the whole album.

It had exactly the type of lyricism I'd expect a Grammy-worthy album to have. It had exactly the amount of artistry I expected a Grammy-worthy album to have.

Even better, it had all the ingredients I expected a timeless album to have.

The poetry Taylor Swift fans insist hides in her discography, I found in plain sight within Kendrick Lamar's.

After meticulously reading the lyrics, I watched video essay after video essay, searched for analysis after analysis on this album, each time understanding the meanings behind it a little better.

Needless to say that the Grammy's are rigged and I love Kendrick Lamar.

Hip-hop is gorgeous.

[take-it-on-the-run]

Fox Mulder Playlist

"You're my one in five billion."

Fox Mulder Masterlist | The X-Files Masterlist | Main Page Masterlist

A/N: Could also be interpreted as 'Being in Love With Fox Mulder'. You guys, I don't think you can understand the amount of yearning I feel for this man. He's already shot up to number two on my list™ and is probably going to get promoted to #1 if I write for him. I'm going to throw up because I love him so much.

Fox On The Run // Sweet

Fox on the run; you scream and everybody comes a-running; take a run and hide yourself away

Spooky // Dusty Springfield

You always keep me guessing; I never seem to know what you are thinking

Psycho Killer // Talking Heads

I can't seem to face up to the facts; I'm tense and nervous and I can't relax

Light My Fire // The Doors

The time to hesitate is through; no time to wallow in the mire

The Killing Moon // Echo & the Bunnymen

Fate; up against your will; through the thick and thin

Pretty Girls Make Graves // The Smiths

I could have been wild and I could have been free; but nature played this trick on me

The Adults Are Talking // The Strokes

They've been saying you're sophisticated; they've been complaining overeducated; you are saying all the words I'm dreaming

Fade Into You // Mazzy Star

I wanna hold the hand inside you; I wanna take the breath that's true

Vampire Empire // Big Thief

I see you there, rejecting all your earthly power; protecting and dissecting 'til you've emptied every hour

Lover, You Should've Come Over // Jeff Buckley

Too young to hold on; and too old to just break free and run

Cherry // Lana Del Rey

Love; I said real love; is like feelin' no fear

No. 1 Party Anthem // Arctic Monkeys

The look of love, the rush of blood; the "She's with me" is the Gallic shrug

The Night We Met // Lord Huron

I am not the only traveler; who has not repaid his debt; I've been searching for a trail to follow again; take me back to the night we met

Sailor Song // Gigi Perez

Oh, won't you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?; And when you get a taste, can you tell me what's my flavor?; I don't believe in God, but I believe that you're my savior

Everlong - Acoustic Version // Foo Fighters

And I wonder; when I sing along with you; if everything could ever feel this real forever; if anything could ever be this good again

[cynic-spirit]

The Black Sweater

Yn walked into the club, the warm glow of the interior contrasting with the cold outside. She wore Bucky’s black turtleneck sweater, which enveloped her in a cozy, relaxed way, the soft fabric emphasizing her delicate frame. Her skirt, paired with stockings and boots, created a chic, sophisticated look. The brooch Bucky had gifted her gleamed on the sweater, adding a touch of elegance.

Her hair was styled in her signature French twist, with a few strands left loose, framing her face in a soft, alluring manner. Her red lips, bold and striking, made a statement that contrasted with the muted tones of her outfit. Her glasses, always a part of her refined look, caught the light as she scanned the room for Bucky.

As she moved through the crowd, even those with their significant others couldn’t help but turn their heads. Yn’s presence was magnetic, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice the sudden shift in the room’s attention. He watched as the other men in the club glanced up, their conversations faltering momentarily. Some even nudged their partners, pointing subtly at Yn, their expressions a mix of admiration and surprise.

Bucky’s lips curled into a proud smile as he observed Yn from his vantage point. Her ability to capture the attention of everyone around her, even while simply searching for him, never failed to amaze him.

When Yn finally reached Bucky, she greeted him with a warm kiss, the kind that made time feel suspended. As she pulled back, Bucky’s eyes sparkled with genuine admiration.

“That sweater has never looked so good,” he said, his voice filled with affection.

Yn chuckled softly, a light blush warming her cheeks. “You put me on a high horse, Bucky,” she teased, her eyes dancing with amusement.

Bucky’s grin widened, clearly delighted by her response. “Only because you deserve to be there, doll,” he replied, his tone earnest and filled with pride.

As Yn tried to maneuver around, she stumbled slightly and fell into Bucky’s lap. Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said quickly, trying to push herself up. “I kind of lost balance.”

But Bucky’s arms were already reaching out, pulling her back down gently. “Nope, this is your seat,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“Bucky, I cannot sit in your lap all night,” Yn protested, her voice a mixture of amusement and discomfort.

“Yes, you can,” he replied, pulling her closer and tightening his grip around her waist. “Like this.”

“What will others think?” she asked, glancing around nervously.

“If anyone has a problem with me having my woman sit on my lap,” Bucky said matter-of-factly, “I’ll get them beaten and thrown out.”

“And what about your friends when they come?” Yn asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Believe me, doll, they give me a hard time, but they’re more whipped than me for their girls,” Bucky said with a chuckle. “I saw Steve drying clothes in the washer the other day. Now stop arguing and get comfortable.”

He nuzzled her neck and cheek, his affection evident in every touch.

Yn’s lips curled into a playful smile as she leaned in and pulled Bucky into a deep, lingering kiss.

“Well then, if I’m sitting in your lap, I might as well do this,” she murmured against his lips.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with delight as he responded, “Oh, doll, you are amazing.” His hands cupped her face, pulling her closer as he kissed her back with equal fervor.

The kiss was tender yet passionate, a perfect reflection of their deep connection. Yn’s red lips tasted of warmth and intimacy, and Bucky savored every moment, feeling his heart swell with love and contentment. The rest of the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in their own private paradise.

[sammylbir]

Day 3: Talentswap (Celeste x Sayaka)

"Here's your tea, miss.", the waiter told the customer, as he placed a cup of dark red tea onto the table. Looking up from her magazine, the customer took a look at the liquid, her right eye fully focused on the elegant cup and nice shape, along with the fluid in the cup itself. With a smile, she adjusted her eye patch and turned to the waiter gently.

"Thank you.", she told him. "I love Roiboos tea."

The waiter nodded and then walked off, as the girl began to grab the handle and blow off some of the steam.

Her appearance was unique to say the least. A neat white suit with dark red accents contained a slim woman with wide shoulders and blue hair, along a pair of white gloves. Her eyes had a soft touch and yet the eagle-eyed viewer would notice that said eye contained something like a storm.

If she saw guilt in you, the storm would ravage. If not, it would rest. Calm, like the sea.

This was Sayaka Maizono, a famous detective and one who struck fear in the hearts of any criminal that she crossed paths with. Known in the underworld as The Demon Detective due to her ruthless and cold pursuit of crime, most tried to avoid her. Lest they'd face the punishment for their crimes.

But right now, Sayaka was off-duty. It was a sunny day in Bristol and she had decided to drink some hot beverage, in order to relax and to start the day off with a smile. After all, being a detective was no easy feat and she always appreciated whenever she was able to take a day off.

She took a sniff off the tea.

"Mhm....Roiboos...", she said to herself happily. "I wonder if it tastes as good, as the one in Groningen? Only one way to find out."

She grabbed the handle and took a sip of it, smiling happily and humming in delight.

"Delicious?"

Sayaka stopped and turned her attention to one of the other tables. A woman was sitting there, roughly around her age and smiling sweetly at her nearby. Her appearance was interesting to say the least.

Black hair with two massive pigtails, a black jacket with a chess-pattern. Her eyes and lips were as red as roses and her skin was uncharacteristically white and her jawline was rather angular, which contrasted with her rather feminine appearance.

Sayaka nodded and smiled sweetly.

"It is.", she answered content. "I like the temperature. It's not hot enough to burn my tongue yet not cold enough to taste gross."

"Indeed. The Cafe here is known for their exquisite tea. Especially if you add some milk to it."

"You can add milk to tea?", Sayaka asked surprised and rhe stranger nodded elegantly.

"Indeed. There are so many variations, on how one can drink tea. Whether it'd be with candy sticks, sugar cubes or milk. The variations are endless."

"I see... I didn't know that.", Sayaka replied and smiled. "Are you a tea expert by any chance?"

"Well....thank you for the compliment.", Celeste replied and then shook her head. "But my actual ability belies in something more sophisticated."

"Oh really? Like being a skilled actress?", Sayaka asked, to which the stranger tilted her head.

"An actress? Moi?"

"Yes. That's a very convincing french accent if I've ever heard one before.", the detective explained and smiled.

"Convincing? Why of course. I am french after all. The name is Celestia Ludenberg. But you can call me Celeste.", Celeste introduced herself and Sayaka smiled warmly.

"A pretty name. And i am-"

"Sayaka Maizono.", Celeste replied and smirked. "You are quite the celebrity after all."

"Celebrity?", Sayaka asked, as her cheeks reddened while giggling along. "You're such a charmer. I'm just a detective."

"A detective that brought a corrupt Dutch politician to justice.", Celeste answered with a smirk. Sayaka giggled.

"It seems my reputation precedes me. You are a fan of me or what?", she teased, hoping to get some reaction from Celeste. But the latter played it cool.

"Well I have been interested in your career. You seem pretty smart, you know. And I respect smart people. And....."

She smirked.

"... test them."

"Test, you say? With what?", Sayaka asked curiously and eyed the faux french-woman

carefully.

Her accent was almost convincing. Almost. But Sayaka could tell that it was forced.

After all, no french person would pronounce their last name in an english way.

Celeste grinned and took something out from behind. And it was a chessboard. One that seemed very antique and made out of wood, the figures all being in proper place. Rook, knight, pawn, the full package.

"Chess, huh.", Sayaka realised and smiled. "So this is your forte?"

"Oui. I'm a very skilled chess player and am passionate for the sport. And I always appreciate a good battle of wits, so....Care for a game?"

"Hmm...", Sayaka mumbled to herself and eyed the girl for a brief moment, before getting up and smiling. "Sure. On the condition that I get to play as black."

"That can be arranged.", Celeste replied with a smirk and then Sayaka sat down, while the chess player grabbed the pawn with a swift motion and placed it forward.

What followed next, was a fierce yet silent battle. Celeste went immediately on the offensive and Sayaka lost most of her pawns at first and yet she kept up and studied her opponent. Her mentor always taught her to remain calm and composed and to always wait and see.

Which is why Sayaka took her time, before taking out her opponent's pawns, going on the offense. With a sweet smile, both contestants swapped pieces with one another, until....

"Hm.", Celeste noted, as Sayaka took out her last pawn. Only one pawn and king each remained, a clear draw. "So.....a draw. Interesting."

"Yeah.... you're quite good.", Sayaka admitted sheepishly. "I really shouldn't have given up my knight this early..."

"And i should have noticed the trap you laid for my queen.", Celeste replied and giggled. "I had fun nevertheless though. You are a skilled and smart woman Sayaka."

"Thank you. I can say the same about you as well, Celeste.", Sayaka said and smiled. "How about we have some dinner later? So we can get to know each other more. My treat."

"Of course.", Celeste answered and returned a charming smile. "Just tell me when and I shall come."

So, the two agreed on a time and they eventually went separate ways, neither of them leaving each other's heads.

Sayaka wanted to learn more about the woman, who pretended to be french.

And Celeste wanted to learn more about the demon detective and the rumors.

What both knew in the end though, was that this was going to be the beginning of something.... wonderful.

The End

[nyaagolor]

Evanatsu Week Day 2: Roses / Tea

A happier one this time :) I am still behind, unfortunately. Short preview below and the rest under the readmore like before

Eva, admittedly, didn’t care much for tea. Drinking out of the dainty cups on Rokkenjima, surrounded by the bustle of servants and the gentle chime of silverware, Eva felt like a child again, all sculpted posture and delicate hands. It was much the same here, even in the change of scenery. Golden roses, perpetually in bloom and blanketing the arbor in a rich floral scent, covered the grounds like it were alive– some sparkling, monochrome plain only disrupted by the small gazebo where the women tended to have their parties. Eva hardly ever bothered to attend. 

Tea was sophisticated, lady-like, dainty in a way that made her stomach turn in a deep-seated repugnance. Coffee was much more to her tastes– but if she had to guess, the woman sitting at the opposite end of the table didn’t have a tenth of the palate needed to appreciate something quite so strong and snappy. Glancing across the arbor, Eva couldn’t help but smile to herself. Natsuhi, as it seemed, needed cream and sugar to stomach even the insipid teas that Ronove prepared. She was careful not to make noise when she stirred, applying her own attempts at elegance to something so childish. It was cute, Eva thought, like a little girl parading about in her mother’s heels. 

Admittedly, it was a mostly silent affair. They sat there for a while in the stillness, Eva swirling her coffee and trying to follow Natsuhi’s gaze. She stared out at the roses with a faraway look in her eyes, sipping her tea with enough ambivalence towards Eva’s presence beside her that she had to wonder why Natsuhi invited her here at all. As if noticing her staring, Natushi looked up at her, eyes wide. Within moments she was fidgeting with the cup, dragging her finger around the lip as though lost in thought. 

“Nee-san,” she finally said, “Thank you for joining me here.”

Eva hid her expression by taking a sip of coffee, letting the aromatics and bitter taste drown whatever she might have said. Natsuhi, words hanging awkwardly in the silence, continued. 

“I know you don’t like tea, so I was worried you wouldn’t come, but…” she turned away this time, staring at her reflection in her cup, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to be in your company every once in a while.”

Eva licked the crema off her lips, unable to stifle a retort. “So being in my company on most occasions is unpleasant?”

Natsuhi immediately turned red. “That is not what I said!” she stammered. Eva just grinned at her, watching as Natushi’s indignation sputtered out into nothing, turning her face away like Eva couldn’t read her expression like a book. 

“I just… wanted to get to know you a little better, that’s all.” She paused for a moment, her gaze flitting back to the rose garden. “Since I never got the chance to.”

Eva felt the words fall away in an instant, any of the usual teasing drying to nothing on her tongue. Chances. They had gotten their chances, squandered every one. Eva had thought about it, sitting on the top of that high-rise when Ange was at St. Lucia. She had every chance to quit, every chance to be a good mother, every chance to just leave before 1986 had even happened. 

To say that they only needed chances brought an immediate and familiar scowl to Eva’s face. She and Natsuhi had passed each other in the hallway a hundred times, ignored each other’s tear-stained faces when they were still little girls who liked to act like they weren’t. They had stepped on each other to grasp at illusions above them and blame the other for their empty hands. They were given every opportunity to be what the other needed, to find some camaraderie against the idiot man-kings who lorded over the island. The only chances they ever seemed to take were to hurt each other, to take the burden off Kinzo’s shoulders and tear each other apart like dogs in his stead. They had chances, and they had time. If nothing else, that was the one thing they had been granted their entire lives. She had asked Beatrice about it, not longer after they had arrived at the Golden Land. In a thousand fragments, Eva had the chance to put the gun back on the table– to never pick it up in the first place. In a thousand fragments, she never did. 

Natsuhi went back to stirring her tea, silently shifting herself to turn away from Eva. She wasn’t dumb enough to miss the flicker of Eva’s expression, just how Eva did not fail to notice exactly what the change in posture meant. How naive, then, to think that a chance was what they needed when they had already had so many. How stupid, to walk so far down a trail of fate and still think there was a chance to try something else. How futile, how worthless, how pathetic, to try. 

… And for all of that, it was Eva who couldn’t meet her gaze. 

Natsuhi was the one who invited her out here, who remembered what she liked, who opened herself to ridicule and made a new chance herself. Perhaps caring enough to try wasn’t ever the problem. 

“What kind of tea are you drinking?” Eva finally said. Natsuhi choked on her own response, wincing and quickly wiping her face as she snapped out of her thoughts. 

“W– huh? This?” She sniffled, trying to clear her throat. “It’s black tea. It has rosehips.”

“Can I have some?” 

Natsuhi seemed taken aback by the question, watching Eva glance over at the teapot in the center of the table. “O- of course,” she said, moving to sit next to her to prepare her a cup. 

“I haven’t tried many teas,” Eva admitted as Natushi set up the saucers and spoons, “but you always seem to be drinking it. You’ll have to show me some of your collection another time.”

Natushi froze, her gaze fixed on Eva. At times like this, it was a little hard for Eva to imagine why they had fought so often– Natushi was easy to read, her emotions as intense and fleeting as a little girl’s. Eva felt vaguely like she was looking at a puppy she had just kicked. Even now, Natsuhi’s lips were parted in surprise, her eyes wide in shock and sparkling with barely concealed delight. 

“The cup is overflowing,” Eva pointed out, and Natushi quickly leapt back with a yelp, her knees hitting the table and making their drinkware rattle. The tea was still overflowing in the cup, silently spilling over the edges of the saucer and making a slight amber puddle on the table, filtering out slowly. Eva could see their warped reflections in the glassy surface, Natsuhi flitting about like a startled maidservant while Eva watched the both of them.  

Another meeting. Another conversation. Another excuse to be in your company. Another chance to know you. A million possibilities in a catbox of our own creation.

Perhaps another cup of tea wouldn’t be so bad.

[konstantynowitz]

Things Riddle era characters have probably said at one point — based on quotes from Netflix’s ‘New Girl’

Lyle Lupin: Monty doesn’t have a day plan. I once found a note that he wrote to himself that said, “Put on pants”.

Walburga Black (to the Knights of Walpurgis): If any of you messes with me, I’m gonna kick your testicles right off your body. Clean off. You’ll look like Ken dolls down there!

Monty Potter: I’m not convinced I know how to read, I’ve just memorized a lot of words.

Orion Black (and his sophisticated ass): Look at that font! What is this? Amateur hour? At least use Palatino!

Euphemia Fawley (to Monty and Orion when they are causing an early morning ruckus): Saturday is a day for sleeping, and damn it, you will not take that away from me!

Abraxas Malfoy (to Tom Riddle): I got your text. When you’re going through a ‘Taylor Swift-like range of emotions,’ I should come over, right?

Radolphus Lestrange (attempting to flirt with Tasoula): I’m the squirrel and you’re my nut. Winter is coming, and I’m gonna store you in my cheek girl.

Monty Potter (to Orion after not having seen him for a couple hours): Blast from the past, how’s that ass?

Orion Arcturus Black being utterly confused about what his friend just said to him: …What in Merlin’s name did you just say to me?

Sergei Dolohov: I can’t believe I’m the sober one. That’s actually never happened before in my life.

Nicholas Mulciber (to Cassandra Selwyn): Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? No, a summer’s day is not a bitch!

Cygnus Black: I like getting older. I feel like I’m finally aging into my personality.

Alphard Black (to Tom Riddle after he scared a first year): I might as well call you ‘Bridge to Terabithia’ because you make children cry!

Sergei Dolohov: I’m pretty sure I’m having a heart attack and I haven’t arranged for anyone to clear my internet history. I wasn’t building a bomb, I was just curious.

Nott sr (to Tasoula Shafiq): You could have an emotional connection to a shoe on the side of the rode.

Tasoula Shafiq (pointing at Avery and Mulciber): Good luck with these two, because if they get really hungry, all bets are off.

Monty Potter (talking about Minerva McGonagall): I’m pretty sure they call her ‘The Fish’ because she’s tough but fair, like a lot of fish I’ve met.

Alphard Black: I am not a successful adult. I don’t eat vegetables and/or take care of myself.

Etienne Rosier: Old people freak me out. With their hands and legs. They’re like the people version of pleated plants.

Orion Black (to Monty Potter): Are you cooking a frittata in a saucepan — what is this prison?

Nicholas Mulciber: There’s nothing like the feeling of a fire, fresh-baked cookies, and the sweet, sweet taste of crack in your lungs.

Druella Rosier (sending her first s*xt under the guidance of Dolohov): Because once you see my body, you will go brain-dead and have memory loss. Send. Oh, no! Autocorrect changed ‘body’ to ‘meat bar.’

*Dolohov face palms*

+Bonus

*Euphemia admitting she has feelings for Monty*

Monty Potter: You like me for my personality?

Euphemia Fawley: I was surprised too.

[fueledbysano]

Okay, this is old, but I just saw your perfume post about tr boys, and I loved it so much! I am a perfume enthusiast and just from that post, I can tell you have emasculate taste. Can I request one of what tr girls would wear? I also just want some women perfume recs lmaooo

what fragrances I think tokyo revengers girls would wear

hello, nonnie 🖤 I love going back to old works so thank you for sending this! while making the boys' version, I actually also thought about doing one for the girls but it slipped my mind since then so thanks for bringing it back! I'd love to do it, here we go!

♱ ft. Hina Tachibana, Yuzuha Shiba, Akane Inui, Senju Akashi

♱ an: these are always really fun to make.

boys' version

Hina - Decorte Kimono Yui, Jo Malone Mimosa & Cardamom

I'm giving her two scents because I really pin her as the type of girl who has a signature scent plus a rotation of perfumes for different outfits. For her usual everyday fragrance in school, I believe that Hina would love Kimono Yui by Decorte. It's floral and citrus-y in scent, and I like how none of which overpower the other which makes it more appealing. It's flirty and fun, not an over bearing fragrance... This scent feels like having lemon pastries at a rose garden. This scent is perfect as it is, and is good for layering with richer floral-based scents too! She loves how cute the bottle looks too and I can see her owning the other scents from the line.

Jo Malone is actually a favorite in Japan as well. I like to hc that Takemichi lined up with crowds of people at the store opening to get her a bottle. He thought they all smelled the same and ended up just taking which one sounded cuter and Hina ended up loving it anyways. She wears this scents on their dates. It's such a good warm, soft, spicy floral, and a little powdery scent. this scent feels like collecting laundry from the yard on a summer.

Yuzuha - L'interdit Rouge Givenchy

this is the scent of a boss babe. she is canonically an it girl with fan girls and I thought this scent is her signature. you get something spicy, fresh, and the stronger notes like ginger on first spray, and then it becomes really creamy and sweet because of the jasmine notes over time. this feels like dressing up for the night at a five star restaurant or hotel. I own the l'interdit Intense which is the goth sister of the l'interdit scents and it's safe to say that this is the sexiest scent in the line.

miss shiba became Hakkai's manager in the future which means she knows her fashion and her scents, and I think she would also really love the Good Girl perfume line, anything from Xerjoff and Jean Paul Gaultier— perfume of sophisticated and powerful boss babes like her 💋

Akane - Replica "By the fireplace" by Maison Margiela

look, the burning house incident didn't even occur to me when I came up with this, I swear on my life. burnt jokes aside, this scent smells like going for a walk to a bookstore in autumn, and you're eating s'mores. it settles into a warm, sweet, woody vanilla... it's very cozy and warm, and smoky too. ( alright maybe there was an implication of the roasted joke in that last one ) I have a travel-sized bottle of this which was gifted by a friend from Japan and I wear it on colder days.

Senju - Replica "Springtime in a Park" by Maison Margiela

senju is another maison margiela girlie. I believe this is one of the more underrated scents from the Replica line. It's floral in a way so light, airy, and fresh. It reminds me of walking down a field and picking up the scent of fresh and dewy flowers in the breeze. those kind of random whiffs of scents that suddenly take you back to when you were younger, but never identify where it was coming from. I think she's not really big on fragrances and sticks on a signature scent like this! I am not big on floral scents but this is the few I like. I sprayed it on my wrist at an outlet shop.

[corvidclub]

in light of discourse of potential drag in s3 here's the iwtv guys' relationship to drag/crossdressing

Lestat: He does it. We've already seen him do it. He thinks it's fun :). his taste level and makeup skills are...not all the way there. I imagine his drag aesthetic without Louis' supervision is either 5yo girl at a princess tea party or hot mall slut. Regardless, he's having fun that doesn't involve inhuman violence so good for him ig. Knows very little about modern drag culture apart from what his gay tour interns tell him and the occasional bar visit. He is blocked by several drag race queens bc he keeps sliding into their dms with critiques and/or flirtations based on whatever episode he happened to catch a glimpse of.

Louis: Knows the most about contemporary drag culture by far out of anyone on the cast. Was on the ground floor observing the ballroom scene develop. Thinks rupaul's drag race ruined real drag culture (but has seen every episode). Is absolutely vicious in his criticisms of the queens and def ate some baby queens back in the day. Internally thinks he would slay drag race but whenever someone suggests he actually do drag he always comes up with some excuse like 'I can't shave bc I'm a vampire' or 'I can't find a drag mother I'll eat them'. In reality he is just afraid of getting similar criticisms and would like to keep his ego intact. If he were to do drag though his aesthetic would be very sleek and sophisticated a lot of 80s powersuits/powerdresses (executive realness is his fav category), slinky jewel tone gowns, big hats, fur coats, some tasteful bdsm elements. While his style is fairly modern I imagine he's quite old-fashioned about certain elements of drag like: NO body hair! NO boy nipples! FEMALE ILLUSION ONLY! I think he'd get really into the interiority of his drag persona as well...Lestat is like "Je suis Lisette :) it is like my name but I'm a girl :)" Louis on the other hand is looking in the mirror face beat like.. "who is Celine Emerald VanMichaels DuPree? does she dream? what does she dream of? what am I trying to embody when I become her?" tdlr: he is very annoying.

Armand: Doesn't really have much interest in drag tbh sure he'll drink a glass of AB on drag race nights with loustat and bitch about fabric with the best of them but it's not something he'd really do on his own. If he felt he had to crossdress for whatever reason he'd do it but wouldn't feel that strongly about it positively or negatively. I imagine some elements of women's clothing would bring him back to the renaissance since men were very much gowned-up back then which could be good or bad depending on the day he's having. I imagine his past painting skills would transfer so he'd be weirdly very good at drag makeup like he and Lestat would follow the same tutorial on youtube and Armand would come out looking like Plastique Tiara while Lestat looks crazy. He wore eyeliner casually in Paris and I could see him having fun with eye makeup under certain circumstances. However, I don't think the idea of having a drag persona would appeal to him bc 1. repressed femininity and enforced masculinity wasn't really a significant part of his human life unlike loustat and 2. a performance is only worth it for Armand if someone actually fully believes it otherwise it's Just Acting and that's Lestat's thing not his. He loves typical drag queen camp movies though like Mommie Dearest, Showgirls, What Ever Happened to Baby Jane, etc. are some of his faves. Louis thinks those films are bad/weird (he's more of a Steel Magnolias queen) but Daniel and Lestat watch with him.

Daniel: He did drag/crossdressed for special occasions back when he was younger like halloween and pride events/protests. He'd do one of those stories where the reporter becomes part of the community they're writing about and he'd do drag for like a week just for the story ofc. He has a Frank n' Furter costume that he's owned since 1976 and worn to at least a decade's worth of Rocky Horror screenings. Also a playboy bunny look which he tries to claim he wore as some sort of feminist commentary but was really about showing off his twunk body to various substance users. He probably sees these past antics as him 'being secure in his masculinity' rather than expressing femininity which is.... kinda true but also not. He's a huge fan of John Waters and Divine. Like Louis he also believes that rpdr ruined drag culture but actually doesn't watch it except for clips of untucked fights (he would like dragula though). He thinks the most important thing for a drag queen to be is funny and shocking to straight people rather than to serve looks, in fact, he prefers queens who are a bit busted or purposely strange looking. This makes going to drag shows with him and Louis very entertaining because they are guaranteed to have exact opposite opinions and fight about it.