#i thought it was like ‘you as a grown adult are acting like a scandalized child that just found out their parents fuck sometimes’

[libidinous-weeb]

i…i thought it was about making fun of adults because they sound like inexperienced teenagers who are shocked and aghast at even the mention of sex. i didn’t know ya’ll were actually on god pressed about what a literal child thinks about doin the nasty??

as someone very pro dark content (obviously) these 25+ year old pro shippers’ obsession with wacking ‘puriteens’ is weird to me. the term puriteen in general is weird to me

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Hot And Cold (Lucifer x fallen!Angel!Reader)

CW: Wax play, Ice play, Ice put inside the body, Oral, It's just smut, don't put ice cubes up your whooha, only use body safe wax for wax play Rating: Adult Summary: Lucifer treats his newly fallen love to a picnic and on a whim decides to expand her pleasurable horizons using the ice from the champagne bucket and the wax from the candles.

A follow up to Praise Be Thy Tongue

It was scandalous, laying on a blanket with your ashen wings spread out behind you. The blond haired man holding your thighs over his shoulders worked his forked tongue between your folds, earning gasp after gasp from your lips. The acts you were partaking in should be done in the privacy of a bedchamber, not in the manor gardens, but that didn’t stop him.

Since the day you had fallen for the King of Hell, rather literally, he had set to work taking his time teaching you the pleasures of the body. Though he had yet to take you in the last few weeks, there had been no shortage of moments of pleasure shared. 

“Lucifer,” you gasped as he devoured you, a man starved as if he hadn’t feasted on your core this very morning. The second orgasm ran through you as he eagerly drank from you, rutting his hips against the ground. Feathers came dangerously close to the candles scattered around, putting your wings in danger of lighting up. 

“Do you want to experience something now?” Lucifer asked, tongue running over his lips as he finally dragged his face from your core. 

“What?” You struggled to catch your breath as he looked at you, eyes full of fiery desire. 

“Do you trust me?” Lucifer asked instead, reaching for the bucket of melting ice that had once housed the bottle of champagne, now empty, laying discarded on the blanket. 

“Trust you enough to give everything up without a second thought,” you whispered, twitching the wings that had grown darker by the day. No longer were they the bright white symbolism of your purity. They, like you, were tainted by your pure love for the devil himself. 

“I want to show you something, do something with you.” Lucifer pulled a wet cube of ice out of the bucket and held it over your body.

Cold drops of water fell from his fingers, splashing on the expanse of naked flesh below. A shudder ran through you at the cold. You watched Lucifer, muscles flexing in his shirtless state as he popped the ice cube in his mouth. It was sinful, the way he rolled it around with his tongue. 

Be brought his face down, lips blowing cold air over your already pebbled nipple. A gasp of air filled your lungs as he ran an icy cold tongue over your nipple. The cold was bitter, biting and felt oh so good on the sensitive nub. Cold lips kissed their way down your body, leaving a frozen trail that had you arching your back for him, legs falling open wider. 

He greedily licked a frozen strip up your slit, collecting your hot slick on his ice chilled tongue. Prideful eyes watched as you reacted to each sensation, colored by the cold. You were oh so beautifully responsive. 

The ice rattled in the bucket as he fished another out, rising up over your body again to place a chilled kiss on your lips. Greedily, you deepened it, pulling him to you with arms around his shoulders. 

He only gave you the deep kiss you sought when he brought the ice cube to your nipple, swallowing your gasp easily. Around and around, he swirled the melting ice along your skin, kissing his way down your neck as gooseflesh erupted over you. 

“The cold feels good, doesn’t it?” Lucifer asked, as the ice ran down your stomach. 

“Yes,” you whined, unsure as the cube’s biting cold ran over your folds. “Luci.” 

“Shh,” he whispered, kissing your cold clit as he pushed the cube inside your opening. The first was joined by a second and a third. Each ran over your clit before joining the others inside your body. A fourth and a fifth made you shiver with the uncomfortable, cold, wet sensation. “It can get better.” 

“Why inside?” Your legs twitched, shivering with the cold as he added a few more cubes. 

“For me, later.” Lucifer said simply, caressing his length through his pants for a moment as he grabbed one of the tall tapered candles that sat around you. “You’ll tell me if you want me to stop, right?” 

You smiled, even through the cold. Lucifer was always one to push you, to show you more, to teach you more, but he was also always one to check in with you and ensure you were alright. 

“Of course,” you whispered as he held the candle high. 

“Good girl,” he said, “That’s my angel.” 

The candle tipped, sending hot wax falling through the air. It handed on the swell of your breast in a harsh contrast to the icy cold. You gasped again, moaning at the heat of it. He poured more, dripping wax over your frozen nipples, causing a delicious pain to spread through them. 

You were not actually being burned, but the cold from the ice made it feel dangerous like you were. He coated each of your nipples as you panted, watching him stroke himself, first through the pants and then pulling his thick cock free. 

Precum dripped from his tip, running down his head and dripping onto your thigh as he dripped wax down the underside of your breast, onto your stomach and mound. 

“Fuck,” Lucifer whispered, watching your hips twitch, wanting. The blanket under you was soaked with icewater. “You look so good like this.” 

“Luci,” you whimpered, want dominating your mind.

“My personal altar to worship at.” He slotted himself between your legs, letting his own wings unfurl. Six magnificent white and red pairs, each larger than the last as they went up his back spread wide, unafraid of the candles. They twitched as he sank into your hole, pushing through the slight resistance from the water washing your slick away.

A shiver ran up his back as your icy walls surrounded him, enveloping his burning cock. He moaned as the head of his cock pushed the hardly there remnants of the ice cubes back, forcing them deeper.

“You’re so cold, wrapped all around me.” Lucifer shuddered again as he thrust deeper into you. “So cold around me.” 

“Feels good,” you moaned, unsure if you were asking him or making a statement of yourself. 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Lucifer thrust into you again and again, slowly fucking you harder as watched the way the wax flaked and broke off your breasts as they moved. You were beautiful. You were perfect. You were his. 

His to have. His to hold. His to corrupt. 

“L-luci,” you moaned his name again and again as he fucked quicker, head of his cock nudging your cervix each time. “I can’t-” 

“You can,” he promised, leaning down to run his tongue over whatever wax free skin he could find, regretting covering your nipples now that he can’t put them in his mouth. “My sweet angel, you can.” 

Fingers tangled into feathers as you reached up, clinging to your lover as he fucked into you. Each thrust took you closer and closer. This was wrong. It was perverted. It was magically right because it was with him. 

You came, throwing your head back as he fucked into you again and again. The waves of clutching contractions around his cock tried to pull him deeper. Arms flexed as you tried to still him, wanting to ride out the orgasm, but he would not be stopped. 

Thrust after thrust pounded into your sensitive hole, not giving you a chance to catch your breath. “Fuck,” he whispered again and again, “So tight. Ice makes you so fuckin tight.” 

“Luci,” you whimpered, “I can’t anymore.” 

“Shh, you can. Just a little bit more.” he kissed you, pulling your legs up allowing him to sink deeper into you. “I’m going to cum.” 

“I’m so cold.” He flexed his wings, sending puffs of air out around you, pushing his cock deeper into you with each powerful flex of his wings. “Please, Lucifer. Inside, warm me up.” 

He came with a swelling twitch and a deep groan, fingers digging into your legs. His pace turned wild, desperate to push every bit of his seed as far back into your cervix as he could. Each rope of semen was followed by another as he thrust again and again, moaning your name.

Only when he was spent did he collapse on top of you, his hot body warming your ice cold skin. Wings draped down his side, covering yours easily. His cock, softening, twitched inside you as he placed soft kisses on your neck. 

“I told you it would be a picnic to remember,” Lucifer teased, rolling off of you. He gathered you to his chest, holding you as if you were not covered in flaking wax and gooseflesh. You went easily, as if his pants were not still tangled around his ankles. 

“I love you,” you whispered into the devil’s chest. 

“A terrible decision, really.” Lucifer answered, voice teasing. “I love you too, a much wiser decision on my part.” 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

[ofallthingsnasty]

Okay, okay - I have to elaborate on the whole ‘your fave discovers you spank yourself’ thoughts because I’ve been rotating them in my mind for the last few days. It’s just too perfect… So. Some little thoughts.

tw: spanking, dubious consent & bad dom/sub dynamics for Crocodile and Doflamingo (Buggy is okay though), gn reader characters: Buggy, Crocodile, Doflamingo word count: 1.2k

I feel like Buggy is the type to catch you in the act. Probably doesn’t even know what he’s looking at for a hot second - and then he simply gapes and promptly walks out of the room again, not believing his eyes. It’s not that it’s that scandalous or that he’s a prude (he very much isn’t, we all know that) - he just really didn’t expect to walk in on you doing that. Pretty much everything else would have been okay, maybe even met with a stupid, saucy comment. But you giving yourself a thorough spanking with his wooden hairbrush out of all things is just something that never crossed his mind, and it leaves the clown entirely speechless. You’re probably just as mortified as him - but the worst thing about it all is that he simply won’t talk about it with you for days. No, the moment you see your boyfriend afterwards, he turns as red as his nose, sputters and flees the other way.

It’s not really mature, it’s really, really silly - but it’s Buggy in a nutshell. At least him avoiding you quickly turns your embarrassment into irritation, which certainly is one way to deal with those feelings. You simply want to talk it out instead of playing cat and mouse as a grown-ass adults and even though you should probably feel ashamed a little bit (or should you? Is this really worse than knowing that Buggy has blown himself at least once?), you soon find yourself grabbing him by the scruff of his neck to finally address it. It’s then that he confesses - stammering, sweating, avoiding eye contact entirely - that he hasn’t been able to get the mental image of you punishing yourself out of his head, hell, that he’s been fucking his fists to it (but you didn’t hear that part, is that clear!?)- Well, that explains a lot of his odd behavior. Caught somewhere between relief, embarrassment and that familiar flicker of heat in your belly, it’s now your turn to stutter as you answer. Tell him you don’t even need some corny roleplay to go along with it (or do, he’ll be giddy with excitement either way) and he’ll happily but shakily provide. Tell him to go all out and use you as a stress relief and when he really, really needs it and he’ll do just that. Whatever it is you seek, you’ll get it from him - but don’t forget, Buggy isn't someone who only gives, he’s curious about taking, too. So humor him and treat him just as he does you and you’ll both be happy with this little discovery.

Crocodile is nothing if not attentive. Gray eyes notice the way you shift while you sit yourself down, rake over the hand that you put on your still-hot skin to soothe any remaining stings, and register that you’re wearing briefs instead of shorter options when all he’s ever known you in are more risque pieces. A sports injury, a strain, any other harmless bruise that could have you in pain for a little bit, his brain comes up with a dozen answers to the question as to why your ass is tender - that you’ve doled out a generous punishment on yourself the night before is nothing that crosses his mind. He’s more than willing to let it slide, to let you escape into the night with a sore ass and him none the wiser but when you refuse to let him dress you down fully - that’s when he gets suspicious. Crocodile doesn’t like it when others are in on something he isn’t, and it’s even worse when that ‘other’ is you, his most prized possession. So he’ll demand an answer - and when you sputter and fidget underneath his watchful gaze, he’s not above asking you to strip in that tone you know very well, the one that doesn’t leave any room for discussions; just like the two of you agreed on when you started this relationship. And once he spots the reason (or more like reasons, because there are multiple of them almost splattered across your ass) for your out of line behavior- he has his answer. The revelation certainly raises an eyebrow. Or two. But most importantly, it begs the question: why didn’t you just tell him, ask him to implement it into the already existing dynamic? The more he thinks about it, the more he comes to the conclusion that this has been nothing but an incredibly big case of misbehavior on your part. He’s almost disappointed in you, little old always-so-good-for-him you, who never as much as blinks without his permission. Maybe there are remnants of brattiness in that thick head of yours, he muses. Remnants he’ll have to carefully scrape out, it seems. No matter; he’ll have to punish you now, anyways - because you harmed what’s his without his permission and he’ll have to show you just how unpleasant a thorough spanking can be. Your measly little hairbrush might leave you sore - his belt will leave you bloody and crying.  

Doflamingo, however, is the one to spot the marks on you. That man has no sense for privacy or personal space - try as you might, he’ll barge in after you’ve taken a shower, straight up rips your underwear apart, gives you a wedgie just to get to the globes of your ass or grabs a full hand of your fat and laughs as you wince- There are a million ways for him to literally stick his nose where it doesn’t belong and they all end up with you beyond embarrassed and him laughing something awful at the revelation that his little favorite has a hang for masochism. My, why didn’t you tell him? He could have given you the beating of your life by now, if only he had known what desires you harbor. It’s cute to him, cute and hilarious and utterly tantalizing. The discovery makes his hands itch - the moment you fess up to your little ‘self made’ escapades, you’ll find the world spinning and you propped up rather uncomfortably right over his lap, his right hand already raised to deliver a just punishment. Doflamingo isn’t a man to ask for permission - you admitting that you like getting spanked is enough consent to him - and he isn’t afraid of rushing into things, either. You’ll get the most unorthodox, breathtaking punishment of your life right then and there, without any count, any broken rules or sobbing about anything you’ve done wrong. He just beats your ass as if it’s the most entertaining thing in the world, laughs like a maniac and all you can do is flail underneath him, never knowing when he’ll stop. If you were able to look at his face, you’d see nothing but unbridled joy, almost boyish amusement as he brings his palm down again and again, with varying degrees of intensity and strength. He loves surprises, loves entertainment more than anything - and you providing him with such a gift delights him, shows him just how perfect you are. You might be wailing and sobbing, begging him to stop, to give you a break - but he’s lost in those little sounds and jerks coming from you, in his imagination that is running wild with pictures of you spanking yourself while he didn't know all this time. How rotten you truly are, deep down to the core… He’ll make sure that your interior matches your exterior, don’t worry about it.

[onegianthotmess]

“Oh, Great Thorn Fairy, forgive me for the sin I’ve committed this previous night…”

“Snappy, you’re a grown man. You can have sex if you w-”

“I’ve committed a carnal sin. The sexual act should not be done until marriage. How can I be an example to my grandson when I…”

Peaches sighed and rolled her eyes as Baul continued to mutter to himself, still processing what happened the previous night. While neither him nor Peaches could really remember what all had happened thanks to the influence of the alcohol they both drank the night before, one thing remained quite clear; they’d apparently shared a passionate night together.

After years of not having contact and being changed by marriage, children, loss, and the arrival of grandchildren that were basically the lights of their lives, both former soldiers had changed in many ways. When they finally met up again in the world Pesches had escaped to start over, it felt like they’d met completely different people until they got comfortable around each other again and started bantering like they used to, only with less jabs at each other.

It felt nice, with all the reminiscing and telling each other about their lives after the war and such. And apparently they had more in common than they thought. Both Peaches and Baul were widows, they both loved watching over and reading to their grandchildren when they were little, they both preferred coffee to tea, and they both enjoyed chess and cards.

And apparently they still had a lot of sexual tension that neither of them saw or took care of until they both got white girl shwasted, to put it nicely. And now, here they were; in Peaches’s bedroom, both sitting naked in bed, and processing what had happened last night. Well, Baul was, at least.

Peaches sighed as she got up and yoinked Baul’s button up shirt from the floor, “Oh, quit your worrying, Baul. We’re both adults who can make drunk decisions once in a while. So don’t get your croco-panties in a twist, sweetie.”

“We had intercourse outside of marriage,” Baul enunciated. “How are you so calm about this?”

“Because both times and I have changed,” Peaches replied as she finished buttoning up the large shirt on her before turning to the man who was still sat in the bed. “A-And I wouldn’t say that I…didn’t like it. But if you didn’t like it, I suppose…”

“I didn’t say that,” Baul murmured quietly. “I’m just…miffed that I didn’t lead up to it…properly is all.”

“Oh, so you wanted it, Snappy?” Peaches asked teasingly, scooting closer to the taller fae. “And you wanted to court me? Is that right?”

“We-Well, I…I, uh-hm,” Baul sputtered out as he tried to explain himself, much to the shorter woman’s amusement.

After a moment, Peaches laughed and kissed Baul to shut him up. After pulling away, the woman revealed her sharp teeth as she grinned, “Just take me to dinner already, old man.”

“Where—ahem—Where would I even take you, Peaches?” Baul asked after he processed when the woman beside him had said.

“Take me to Briar Valley or ask Divian if she knows any restaurants that we’d like,” Peaches replied with a sigh. “If I’m being honest, I miss the strangeness of Twisted-Wonderland.”

“All…Alright, then,” Beaul murmured as Peaches got up and moved towards the door. “Where are you going without any undergarments?!”

“I’m going to the kitchen of my house to make breakfast?” Peaches replied with a playful yet sarcastic smile. “My son isn’t here, nor is my granddaughter, so I could walk around buck-ass naked if I wanted to. But, I’m not sure of I closed the blinds last night, so I put on a shirt at least so the neighbors wouldn’t see everything I have a to offer.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Baul sighed, punching the bridge of his nose.

“And you fucked this ridiculous ass, didn’t you, Snappy?” Peaches laughed, putting a hand on her hip as she looked back at Baul, who quickly flushed at the woman’s blunt and, in his opinion, incredibly scandalous reply. “Now I’m gonna go close the blinds and start making breakfast. You can borrow a shirt from my closet since I have a few oversized ones of my own. And remember that no one else is here, so you don’t have to get fully dressed, Baul.”

And as Peaches left, Baul began to seriously question his tastes in women. It wasn’t until he heard Peaches’s high pitched squeal while he was pulling on a shirt that was long enough to cover his underwear and as she babbled out something about a spider in the corner and for him to come and kill it that Baul thought that maybe his tastes, while questionable, weren’t the worst.

But still very, very questionable-

And that brings an end to Shiptober 2024! I hope all of you enjoyed my posts this month and I look forward to next year!

Shiptober Taglist: @heartsparkart01, @astxrims

Let me know if you want to be a part of the Shiptober Taglist!!!

[yanderecrazysie]

Roleplay with Shigure

DAY 3 OF KINKTOBER

Kink: Roleplay

Pairing: Shigure Sohma x Reader

WARNINGS: NSFW, teacher x student roleplay, yandere themes

Note: Shigure’s canonically creepy about high school girls so welp- these are both adults just roleplaying a student and teacher, don’t worry.

“Come out and show me what you’re wearing.”

You’re nervous about whether you looked okay or not. You’ve never dressed in anything like this, having not grown up in a country where school uniforms were common. 

The blue pleated skirt is way too short. The button-down white shirt is sheer and you can clearly see your nipples poking through it.

But it passes the test- you look like a schoolgirl, ready to go off to high school for a day of learning. You’ll learn something alright.

You give yourself one last look-over in the mirror before deciding you look as good as you can in this getup. You hesitantly push open the bathroom door and step out.

Shigure’s eyes grow to the size of saucers immediately. There’s a moment of silence and you feel a spark of desire pass between the both of you. His excitement is contagious and you feel your body preparing to get absolutely railed by your boyfriend.

Shigure sits up suddenly, adjusting his tie and talking in a stern voice, “Miss (L/n), are you aware of why I held you back after class?”

For a second, you’re confused. Shigure’s just sitting there on your shared bed, dressed in a full suit, and it feels strange when you’re used to lingerie or nothing. But then realization strikes you and you quickly put on your best acting skills.

“No, sir!” You put on a slight “dumb girl” voice and you watch in satisfaction as your boyfriend shivers at the word “sir”, knowing you’ve successfully hit on another of his kinks.

“Your performance in school has really suffered. Your grades are abysmal. If you don’t get into shape, you’ll end up failing this class.”

Your eyes widen, “My parents will kill me if I fail! Is there anything I can do to get some… extra credit?” Your voice took on a slight sultry tone.

Shigure plays with his tie a little. You wonder if that’s because he was pretending to think or if he was just too used to wearing kimonos. “Well, Miss (L/n), I can think of a few ways.”

“Let me see if I can guess,” You coo, stepping closer to him. 

You fiddle with the top button of your shirt before unbuttoning it and moving on to the next. You slowly undo each of the buttons on your shirt, making sure you pull the top open more and more with each one. 

You can tell he’s growing impatient, so you pretend to struggle with the last button, biting back a smile at the way he shifts in place, his trousers straining to contain his growing erection.

In the blink of an eye, he grabs your hips and pulls you into a kiss. You’re surprised, but remind yourself to keep in character. The moment he pulls away, you say in a scandalized voice, “Sir!”

“Be a good student and bend over my desk,” Shigure pants.

For a moment, you try to figure out where his desk would be, but he quickly guides you over to the bed. You bend over the mattress and feel the breeze on your backside when he flipps your skirt up. 

Shigure’s fingers press against your clothed heat and you can hear the smirk in his voice as he says, “What a naughty student, so wet for me already.”

He hooks a finger around the waistband of your panties, dragging it slowly down your legs. Impatiently, you try to help, but he smacks your hand away and scolds you with a “Bad girl.”

As soon as the panties are off, you prepare yourself for the upcoming fuck of your lifetime. Sure enough, Shigure was pushing into you, stretching you apart with a hiss of pleasure. 

He gives you a long moment to adjust, idly stroking your hair and telling you what a good student you are. Then, his hips draw back and snap against yours, starting a quick and even pace.

He coos sweet nothings into your ear, losing the stern teacher persona for a moment to have an intimate moment with you.

But his possessive thoughts formed into words, as they always did. Sweet nothings turned to “you’re mine, only mine” and “no one else can have you like this, only me”. 

Your stomach twists a little as the words invade your ears, but you try to focus on the pleasure. Maybe you’d regret that later, when he didn’t let you change out of your cum-stained skirt.

Or go home.

[freekassthing]

college is so weird.

I'm 17, almost an adult (legally, anyhow) but it still feels weird. I don't feel 17. I don't even feel 16. I feel 15 still. Maybe even younger, probably. In college, everyone is so grown. In highschool everyone was grown too, but it's worse here. People are dating and talking about kissing and stuff and like getting into relationships, and I feel awkward. Not even just plain awkward, but like kind of scandalized sort of?

It's so weird that I am, to me, because I'm such a stupid, weird contradiction. I'm not innocent- I've been exposed to adult stuff since i was 6, 7, 9, 10...but I still type out things like 'adult stuff' because I'm just that bit too squeamish to actually type out the word 'sex'. I have a bedtime and that bedtime is like 9:00. I have a babyface. Chubby cheeks and big brown eyes and a rounded button nose and I'm short and stout and

I think it's worse because I'm queer. That's really what this whole thing is about. Kind of. It was supposed to be like one of those profound poetic vent comic posts you see all over social media but that's exhausting and I've kind of already lost the plot. Something about purity and innocence and perfection. I scroll endlessly and shamelessly through tumblr post after tumblr post about kink after kink. I'm sorry I ignored the mdni warnings, really. I only lurk, never talk, rarely follow. Only if it's something that really sticks my interest.

My mind is pure, innocent to an extent, I guess. I can conjure up fantasy after fantasy of horrific, sexual, depraved acts happening to me, but I get legitimately nervous, almost kind of queasy, at the thought of kissing someone, much less having actual normal vanilla well-adjusted sex. Or not. I think if anyone were to come on to me I wouldn't believe them. I probably shouldn't be saying this online. Predators and whatnot. I'm 17, so I should know better. And I do, because I don't give my name or my face or anything other than an age, but even that is a point within the rant itself, so it's useful information.

I never had queer elders. I still don't. My home country is very Christian. Even those who accept homosexuality, transness, any of it, do so with an asterisk. I think it messed me up a little (a lottle). I know being queer isn't dirty. It isn't a disease that can be caught and passed down. It just is. But I can't help but feel tainted somehow. I denied my parents so many things. The fun prom experience, the teenage rebellion, the talk about crushes on boys I know, all of that. Instead they got fun conversations like 'i think i have autism' and 'i like girls' and the occasional crack about questioning my gender.

I was going somewhere with this. I forgot- left it for too many days ://

[fxirybun]

ur words are so true!

my problem is u know when u think u sus of something but u dont know if u mind just playing a trick in u and u like nahh cause it is kinda pointless to fret abt shit that isnt affecting u but i do think things on social media has got into the minds of some ppl and they kinda let it affect them to the point u kinda just have to laugh at some of the stuff that goes on and how ingrained ppl have become into whos doing or saying what thats wrong online.

yet at the same time they do end up taking the fun out of things for some people like whenu take hate trains for certain idols ive seen so many normalise it and act like bullying is an ok thing to do and someones reply to my comment gave me the ick bc they thought it did the idol some good. i just think online spaces have got worse over time instead of improving it for those who partake in everything to do with the internet. we r definitely in some weird times bruh cause even when idols try to do things for their audiences or fans it seem like no one hardly enjoying it anymore and everythings just about overdoing it on the negativity, that id rather not look at any of it but so much is online its hard not too? we dont have no kpop stores to go to for latest things or merch in general in my area its mad how so much nowadays is based entirely on the online realm.

some of its cool ngl i enjoy some things but the drama i dont care about lol. im done getting emotional abt shit these days but thats why the k in kpop stands for kids cause kids seem to be running these online spaces or grown adults who act like kids when they come online. its like everything is just pilkng up in terms of trying to neutrally enjoy what u want to enjoy and theres ppl who want to tear it apart and make dramas scandals and controversies 24/7. i do think readings are also useful though because some of it seems to be accurate and true but its also one of those things u should still take with a grain of salt cause ppl or armies i should say be mad obsessed with bts fs lmao

yeah i get what you mean about how socmed is getting these recent years. you saw the impact of cybercrime (idk what's the right word but let me use my knowledge from the major i take '_') , especially in how cyber defamation , cyberbullying , and drama seem to dominate the conversations. it must've been frustrating for you because whilst you're aware that not everything needs to be taken seriously , it’s hard to completely avoid it when so much of kpop content and its culture exists online.

it feels like you're questioning whether it's worth getting emotionally involved in these cyberspaces anymore , notably when what was once fun or lighthearted now seems overshadowed by negativity. you've also seen how people take things to extremes , like justifying harmful behaviors towards idols or stirring up drama , and how it creates an environment where enjoying something purely feels harder. that loss of casual enjoyment , as you put it , is real , and it’s understandable why you’d want to distance yourself from it.

the fact that everything is online now , including the access to merch or updates makes it even more complicated (?). it seems to me that you can't fully disengage without missing out on things you enjoy , but you're also aware that a lot of the drama or obsession , like you mentioned with bts or other kpop groups , feels more like an unnecessary layer that takes away from what should be enjoyable.

i can also see how you're grounding yourself well enough about not to get swept up in every lil thing especially in readings. it's like you're finding ways to stay connected to what you love whilst filtering out the noise. maybe perhaps that's the key for you ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ )嗯 ? figuring out what brings you joy in this cyberspace whilst learning how to let the unnecessary drama roll off your back.

you've seen the absurdity of some behaviors online and all i could say is to laugh at it and keep your distance from the toxicity if it feels like you're mind is being clouded by it. don't let your happiness be ruined by what's going on online (◞‸◟ )

[javascribbles]

Allow me to ramble for a sec while I get to the point I'm going to try and make. This is going to be a very VERY long rant.

I have an issue with being perceived, and that problem has only grown in recent months. I hate opening up to anyone because it puts me in a vulnerable position of having revealed very personal things. I don't want anyone to know how much I am struggling, especially because so much of the reason why ties back to my parents, and since my life has been so isolated, the only people I know are through my parents.

The good daughter in me cringes at the very thought of ruining their images, especially when they still have so much power over my life. They've gotten nothing but compliments on their parenting, imagine the scandal it would be when people find out how exactly they got their kids to be so well-behaved.

Maybe it's unfair to jump to the conclusion that people would treat me differently when I open up. I know exactly what people see when they look at me; a shy girl who is polite and smiles with a sparkle in her eye when you look at her, but is often struggling to keep her smile up when no one is looking. I do this to myself by pretending to be okay. Then again, if I were to act the way I feel, I'd get into a lot of trouble. Call it self-preservation.

The one time I opened up to anyone, it was to the mother of a childhood friend of mine I hadn't seen in years. Our families have a good history together, so I felt very comfortable around her. She and I sat on the porch of her house early one morning, and she sipped on tea and talked to me about the past, about how she and her husband had been surprised and devastated when my parents decided to pull me and my siblings out of school. I was the oldest and I was in Grade 4 at the time.

Looking back on it, I think they could sense that the ship my family was on was sinking. She talked about how they had wanted to help, which made me wonder if my parents were in a financial crisis back then and couldn't afford tuition fees, but were too stubborn and proud to ask for help. I don't know the real story though. She then reminded me that her daughter (my childhood friend) would love for me to fly over and visit her. I was nearly crying internally as I said that flying terrified me. Flying was out of the option for me, but I wasn't going to tell her it was because I was crippled with anxiety every time I so much as stepped out of my home.

That reminded me again of how everyone in my life assumed I was just like other young adults. A person I briefly worked with, who was German and a mother herself, admitted that she found it hard to understand where I was coming from because my life was so different from what she was used to seeing. Her daughter had moved out of the house when she was 16. I choked down my shock and ruefully thought about how the first time I stepped out of the house alone was when I was 19 or 20. I'm 22 now, and I've never gone out on my own for anything but work reasons, and the last time I worked out of home was two and a half years ago...

My life- or the lack of life- makes it so that trying to talk about anything personal is a massive trauma dump, which is... Frustrating. I just want people to understand me, but even online friends I was close with didn't seem to get how bad it was. Sometimes they would ask me "Hey, I'm in your city, want to meet up?" or joke about showing up at my house which triggered me so badly I would block them out of sheer terror.

My parents have been no help when it comes to opening up, as you can imagine. When I was a teenager my father could sense a lot of things were wrong, but he never offered to listen and at least try to understand. He would threaten my siblings and me with punishment if he found that we were keeping anything from him.

I finally caved when I was about 19 and wrote an extensive letter talking about how I was struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts, and he would read it and call me naive and childlike. Those were his exact words. Some years later I would realize he still hadn't changed because when I yet again happened to mention that I was struggling with depression he would laugh in my face and call it nonsense, and that I was not depressed. He has done this consistently, ever since the first letter I wrote when I was 12.

Well, they can't say I never tried.

people love telling me not to isolate myself when I’m having a crisis- reach out, don’t hide, etc- and while that’s a lovely sentiment, a lot of people don’t seem to understand what it entails in practice? like they truly don’t seem to have considered that me being open during my mental health crisis will mean them actually Seeing and Hearing small parts of that crisis.

“don’t hide yourself” seems to come with a secret caveat of “but don’t be unpalatable either”. often my openness leads not to support but to an ethics debate about whether it was condemnable of me to let my struggle be slightly visible. interesting. when i wear short sleeves or make casual mention of the long-term aftermath of my self injury, it’s somehow perceived as me saying “self injury is awesome! i think the whole world should do it!” instead of being perceived as me living exactly as i always have, just hiding a little less, bringing you into my world a tiny bit, like you asked. healed scars are the only ones i allow to be seen, i cover up healing injuries and i don’t talk about methods or anything overly specific or sensational. i openly discuss harm reduction measures & therapeutic strategies. but somehow ppl still disapprove of the snippets they see when i reach out.

if you want people to reach out during crisis you have to accept that theres no way for a person to make themselves palatable while theyre showing you their severe mental illness lmao. they’re not going to provide you constant caveats while sharing their feelings like “ive been having trouble coping so i fell back on self injury. but i don’t condone it! YOU shouldn’t do it and I condemn myself for having done it btw! I will never forgive myself for this expression of mental illness, i’m so sorry I revealed it to you.”

this post might be a vent I can’t rly tell. open to conversation if anyone has any similar experiences 👍

[icyowl]

Proximity

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x reader (single bed trope)

Request: none

Synopsis: Gojo saves your life, there’s only one bed, the sexual tension is real

A/N: Hi! Things get kinda spicy in this, nothing too graphic, some nibbling, suggestive positions. Let me know what you think!

------------

   Gojo’s voice was strong in both mirth and sarcasm when he opened the door numbered 413. “Oh, there’s only one bed, whatever will we do?”

   Because of course there was. As if the colossal mishap just hours earlier wasn’t enough to sour your mood, now you had to deal with Gojo’s personality in a space that frankly wasn’t big enough for half of his ego. Under normal circumstances, the idea of sharing a bed with Gojo would have had you reacting in a more substantial manner, but you’d hardly had the strength to make it to the room, let alone enough to waste it worrying over the sleeping arrangements. The room could have been rotten, the bed infested, and you’d still take it with gratitude.

   It wasn’t, however. Gojo must have paid handsomely for accommodations as nice as this on such short notice. The room was petite but outfitted with a couch at the foot of the bed and even a small fireplace.

   “You can sleep on the bed, Gojo. I’ll take the couch.” You said. The couch didn’t even look that bad anyway, but certainly too small for the likes of him. It was only right he got the bed with a stature like his.

   “Need I remind you of the hole in your chest?”

   “No, no need. I can feel it plenty well.” You replied too casually. The truth was, every minor twist or bend made the burning ache flare to a raging pain. Had the opioids and blood loss not taken away most of your strength, you were confident the woozy and unsteady feelings would only be worse. After everything Gojo had already done for you? You weren’t about to tell him any of it.

   “My reputation as a Gojo would be tarnished if I let a lady have anything but the bed.” He argued while helping himself to the snack tray on the end table near the couch. Considering how quickly he left you stranded at the softly closing door behind you, you thought you did a decent job at hiding the fact your knees almost buckled under the weight of your swiftly sagging near-carcass.

   “It’s really not that big of a deal, Gojo, the couch is plenty nice. You’re just too tall for it.” Bed, couch, floor, ceiling, for Christ’s sake it didn’t matter. All you wanted to do was get off your weak feet and finally get some rest. Sleep would be far better than dealing with the pain of both your various wounds and demonizing thoughts; after what you’d done (maybe, rather, what you failed to do) you wanted to kiss consciousness goodbye before the mental enemies took hold.

   “You’re absolutely right. That’s why we’ll both be using the bed.”

   Now that pushed back the rising exhaustion. “What? No.”

   “What, afraid you won’t be able to control yourself?” He smiled around a bite of chocolate. “How scandalous.”

   “No!”

   “So you’re afraid I won’t be able to keep my composure?”

   “Also no–”

   “Then what’s the problem? We’re both grown adults, we can share a bed without acting like a couple of teenagers… that is, unless you want to.”

   Of course, he had to play this like a game of flirt; of course, he had to give you that mischievous smile; and of course, he had to be so infuriating with that blasé attitude. You’d almost died just a couple of hours ago and here he was, so completely relaxed that not even sharing a bed with someone was worth a second thought. You huffed at his antics and promptly doubled over the pain it caused. “Stop saying things like that!” You gritted out. After the day you had, Gojo’s Gojoness was not helping your condition. In fact, it was maybe Gojo’s fault that your stress and annoyance had spiked enough to pull the last reserves of strength from your disheveled body. In its absence, nausea and weakness had the opportunity to gain a foothold in you. Perhaps it was because he had such a handle on cursed energy and could assess your condition in real-time, or perhaps it was to be expected after so much time spent around one another. Regardless, it surprised you just how quickly he knew to close the gap and steady you before you hit the ground.

   You did what you could to mitigate the dizziness. It helped to feel the hard floor beneath your shoes and the steady touch of his hand on your back while he offered the other for you to take hold of.

   “You need rest,” Gojo spoke softly. He had no right to sound so sincere.

   “Yeah, and I promise you sleep will be just as good on the couch as it’ll be on the bed. If you help me over there like a reputable Gojo would, then I swear I’ll promptly go to sleep without being any more of a burden. Sound good?”

   The longer the silence bore on, the more you realized your poor choice of words. It sounded so depressing and now Gojo had plenty of ammo to scrutinize you even more than before. He wasn’t an idiot; you could blame it on the awesome medication the medics gave you earlier, but he knew better… a lot better.

   “You think you’re a burden?”

   “Jesus – Gojo, can I just go to sleep?”

   As carefully as he could Gojo lifted your hunching shoulders until you would look at him directly. Really it was impressive how emotive he was despite the blindfold. You could tell how genuine he was when he spoke. “I need to be close to you in case the wound opens up. I’m not like Ieri, I can’t heal anyone besides myself.”

   Your resolve swayed. “You can’t just check on me a couple times throughout the night?”

   “Well, one, if the wound or a broken rib causes bleeding in your lungs, then in a matter of minutes I’d be too late. Two, you underestimate how hard I can sleep.”

   You glared right into that stupid eye cover. “Fine, fine! I’m so tired I couldn’t care less how I sleep.”

   “Alright! I hope you don’t mind – I tend to starfish.”

   You regretted this already. Thankfully though, Gojo was slow and steady as he carefully led you to the bed. Sitting proved to be a challenge with the skin getting pulled in new and uncomfortable directions and the large height discrepancy between the two of you proved awkward at best. A few winces and hisses later and you were soundly deposited on the bed while Gojo made for the bathroom. The man was kind enough to offer to get you a toothbrush, toothpaste, whatever you needed to feel at least a modicum of comfort. It was arguably even nice… that is until his hands began pulling the hem of his shirt up and the beginnings of his torso were on display.

   “Wh-what are you doing?”

   “It’s warm. I don’t intend to sweat through the sheets tonight.”

   You tried to make your next word at least try to sound normal. “Oh.”

   “Besides, this shirt’s covered in a fair amount of your blood.” He said far too frankly before looking over to find you fidgeting, restless, eyes carefully looking at the sheets, the floor, your bandaged hand, anywhere but at him. Gojo smirked and stopped his undressing with the shirt still caught up in his arms. It was practiced, casual, a devil’s sort of grin. “Does this make you uncomfortable?”

   “No!” You snapped all too quickly. “You can sleep with however many clothes you want.”

   Step step step step step. Gojo stopped right in front of you and still, you refused to look at him. Pride? Perhaps. Nerves? Absolutely. Maybe he’d show you mercy if he saw how unamused you were with him. Your hopes fell away when warm, soft fingers neatly found their way under your chin and pulled your eyes up until you had no choice but to look past his exposed upper body and into his covered eyes. It felt like the blindfold wasn’t even there. When Gojo spoke it was sweet… sickly sweet.

   “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me without a shirt on.”

   You all but yanked your face from his soft hold. “That was an accident!”

   “You looked at me for a lot longer then, too.”

   “I thought you were gone!”

   “Then what were you doing in my room?”

   “Principle Yaga needed a report you forgot to drop off, that wasn’t my fault.”

   Gojo scrutinized you–at least, that’s what it felt like. You wouldn’t look at his face long enough to find out. After a long second or two, he seemed satisfied with whatever it was he saw and left for the bathroom. Now that the human-sized headache had gone and given you some peace and privacy, you had plenty of time to feel every ache and twinge and cut and bruise making itself at home in your skin. People always said the soreness would get worse before it got better and you dreaded what it would feel like in the coming days. Then you had to remember: your condition would have been worse – much worse – had Gojo not made it in time. True to form, he really did come from nowhere, but at that point in the battle you were too incapacitated to feel either gratitude or shame.

   You vaguely heard the shower turn on in the bathroom.

   Fantastic. Knowing him, he’d come out naked with a simple ‘ready for bed?’ or something just as stupid. Godforsaken megalomaniac. Who even ends up that way?

   Who even cared. Nothing would change him and you weren’t going to use what minimal energy you had left to worry about it. You weren’t going to dissect the thoughts of your own inadequacy, you weren’t going to worry about being a burden to anyone, especially Gojo, and you most certainly weren’t going to think about how concerned Gojo looked when he found you, how relieved you felt to see him, how quickly he rushed to you, how he used his own jacket to try and stem the blood flowing so easily from the wound in your chest. How he said your name and how he lifted your hair from your face to see you better and how he told you everything was going to be alright and that he’d take care of it from here.

   No, no more thinking. You were going to sleep.

   That is if your body could find a way to loosen. The shaking hadn’t stopped since your rescue several hours earlier, and after being used constantly for so long, the muscle aches had made their way into your bones until it felt like your body forgot how to relax. There was no way you were still worried for your life — Gojo was literally on the other side of the wall. You were alive, and fine, and safe. Certainly this hotel room was far less dangerous than the battlefield you were pulled from. So why couldn’t you keep from glancing at the darkest parts of the room, scanning again and again and again for the foe you knew wasn’t there? Why couldn’t you find it in yourself to relax even as you carefully forced yourself to lay flat and ready for sleep? How could you be so tired and groggy yet so far away from any real feeling of being on the precipice of unconsciousness? Why did this night have to continue not going the way you wished it had?

   The shock of light from the bathroom lasted only a moment before Gojo flipped the switch and joined you in the dim room. Again you wouldn’t look at him. Honestly, you were afraid he really would be naked. Though, with a body like that, you’d strut around in the nude too.

   “Man, America did something right when it came to beds – so squishy!”

   You were all but catapulted off the bed when Gojo crash-landed on the mattress in a mess of chaotic energy and enormous limbs. Such vigorous jostling sent terrible pain lighting up your system and it was all you could do to keep the shout behind your tense jaw.

   “Sorry,” Gojo said as he leaned into your line of sight. “You okay?”

   Now you had little choice but to look at him in his entirety. He made it impossible not to with his apparent lack of personal space. Several things became very apparent in the short moment it took you to register the state of the man on top of you.

   Shirt: off.

   Sweatpants: on.

   Blindfold: off.

   There was very little of your vision that wasn’t occupied by his overwhelming eyes or obvious muscles. You wanted to turn over but then your palms and fingers would no doubt touch his bare skin – his physique – and so you held them in each other against your tight chest and all but turned your head to the side to look at the sheets.

   “Oh my, you’ve suddenly gone flush. Are you coming down with a fever?”

   You tore yourself away from him, tired of his antics. It was a bad move. Spears of pain dug deeply into your chest and were powerful enough to render breathing all but impossible. A sucking sort of wheeze was all you could produce while you sat up to try and make it easier but getting air was a futile endeavor. You tried again yet still the spasms in your chest rendered the effort mute. Just as panic began to rise, you coughed in an attempt to kickstart some kind of breathing and it seemed to do the trick. The discomfort moved from terrible to excruciating and you could only groan and fist the sheets as some kind of outlet.

   Gojo appeared at your shoulder and gently supported you while you tried to calm your erratic heartbeat. If only you had the strength to push his infuriating face clear off the bed and onto the floor.

   “Please,” you managed through a sad wheeze, all remaining fight and spunk gone. What Gojo heard was the small sound of someone too tired and weak to put any bite to her words. Someone who’d given up entirely. “Can you just leave me alone?”

   You sat in surprise when he actually got up from the bed and went back to the bathroom. Had he actually listened to you? Given his propensity for trickery, it didn’t seem possible. In his absence came a cool breeze that sent your chilled body ever closer to a constant and pronounced shiver. The sink in the bathroom turned on while you took the time to try and relax the tense soreness in your chest and wounds. Jesus fuck it hurt now that the adrenaline had vanished. Damn it, you couldn’t even go to bed properly without Gojo’s insufferable teasing! The water in your eyes had just begun to burn hot when a glass of water was thrust in your line of sight. Your hand shook terribly and you feared you’d drop it until Gojo helped bring it to your lips. He didn’t seem satisfied when you thought you were done; you went to pull away only for his other hand to weave into the hair at the back of your head and tip the glass until you had to swallow the rest lest you spill it down your shirt. After you finished it he went back to fill it up again and place it on the bedside table.

   “Now riddle me this: why are you so embarrassed about what happened tonight?”

   “What, you want me to talk about being a burden, or how I was supposed to show you and everyone that I could take care of high-level curses on my own? Or the general stress that comes from – I don’t know – almost dying? How you had to stop whatever disaster you were preventing to help someone who was supposed to do this for a living? How about the ridicule and backlash I’ll face when I get back to the school, from both the principal and the elders? Go ahead and take your pick, Gojo.”

   “Firstly,” he said, squatting low to force your downturned eyes to look at him, “if fighting curses were easy, everyone would do it. But they don’t. You did what you could in the time you had with the available tools. Those curses were no cakewalk – at least, for anyone besides me–”

   Your eyes couldn’t roll any farther.

   “But,” he continued, “you kept them away from people. Those kids and their families get to live long, peaceful lives because of you.”

   “Gojo,” you started.

   “Secondly, after tonight, I think it's time to drop the formalities.”

   The blood loss was making you stupid. “Huh?”

   “I saved your life, I carried you out of there and got you the help you needed. I dropped Infinity and got your blood all over me so I could hold you and don’t think I forgot how you clung to me.”

   “I was barely conscious, how could I have clung to you?”

   “All of that to say you can drop the walls and treat me like a friend. I’m at least that, aren’t I?”

   You didn’t reply. Frankly, you may have zoned out halfway through the sentence. He picked up on the hazy look and stood. “The medics cleaned you up and helped you change into fresh clothes; do you want to keep that on or change?” He sang the next part. “I could help.”

   “‘M good.”

   The bed creaked behind you under his weight. You thought he’d finally gone to bed only for his arms to slip under your own and make themselves comfortable against your stomach so he could pull you back to the bed covers. The pain roared under the neat bandages but Gojo (Satoru) was steady and careful in supporting your weight until you could relax against the mattress.

   “Lift your hips.” He said.

   “Why?”

   “You’re on top of the covers.”

   “Seriously?”

   You looked over your shoulder at him to find a pout staring back at you. “Let me tuck you in.”

   “Gojo–”

   “Satoru–”

   “I don’t care–”

   “You’ve been shaking since you regained consciousness, and don’t think I missed how cold your skin is. You need to stay warm tonight after what happened.”

   You groaned and cursed and griped but nonetheless eventually gathered the strength to push your hips off the bed. The pain made you dizzy and you could only hold the position for a moment but thankfully it was enough for him to get the covers from under you and lift them up to your chin. Almost as soon as they settled over you the chill began to lessen and for a change you thanked Gojo’s incessant prodding. Your eyes closed without any conscious command. Yes, the day had been pretty terrible, yes, you were still scared, but now you could take comfort in the fact that you were finally warm and safe. The strongest was literally right next to you. Sure, you could worry about sharing a bed with someone as overwhelming and attractive as him, with his ice-colored eyes and bare upper body, but for a change you thanked the exhaustion because it pushed away all the typical things you’d worry over. Inhale. Exhale. Decompress. Disassociate. Drift far away.

   Satoru’s weight closed in on your side and an arm and a leg made themselves at home across your body. The fact he was above the covers and you below didn’t make the situation any better. His warm, minty exhale invaded your space and your eyes opened against their wishes. “What are you doing?”

   “Going to bed.”

   “Gojo–”

   “Satoru–”

   “You don’t need to hold me, I’m fine–”

   “You're shaking.”

   “It’s cold.”

   “It’s blazing.”

   “It’s literally snowing.” You weren’t lying: fat flakes poured onto the ground outside and allowed a faint gray light into the room despite it being the middle of the night.

   “Not under the covers. Look, after what happened, there’s a chance you could go into shock – the blood loss and damage is one thing, but a near-death experience, especially someone’s first, is not exactly a walk in the park. Your cursed energy has been wavering for hours and you nearly collapsed not twenty minutes ago.”

   You moved to sit up. “Look, I’m not–”

   Damn you and your mortal body. A wave of nausea nearly sent you teetering off the bed onto the floor and the sudden shifts brought the pain of your various injuries to the surface. One of your hands shot up to hold your head on your shoulders while the other gripped onto the bandages of your torso like your organs might spill out. Your eyes opened to try and get your bearings through the spinning only for you to be greeted with black shapes drifting around your eyes. You’d have fallen unceremoniously off the side of the bed had his hands not guided you back into the pillows.

   “I have to look you over.” He said gently, quietly. Frankly, you were too out of it to register or care that the covers were being pushed down to your legs, nor that he was moving to support himself over top of you. But now that the blood was steadily moving back to your head, you were beginning to feel much more alert. Certainly conscious enough to understand what he was doing. His fingers winding through your own and pressing your intertwined hands into the bedsheets next to your head was what put your pulse into overdrive.

   “Look me over? I’ll be okay, you don’t have to–”

   One of his legs settled between your own. “I won’t undress you if that’s what you’re thinking.”

   “I–well you–can’t–”

   “I don’t need to–”

   “What?!” You said an octave higher than you wanted. Your free hand went up to try and push him off you.

   “Just hold still, you’re pulling your stitches.”

   “I got patched up; they said I was fine!”

   “Was being the keyword. Plus, do you really trust those goons? The dizzy spells could mean they missed a punctured organ. Listen, it won’t even hurt, it’ll just take a second–”

   “Please!”

   The struggling came to a rapid halt when Gojo felt your whole body tighten and you wrenched your hand from his grip so strongly that he knew it must have hurt. He observed the cursed energy rippling off you and wavering in the air in time with the quivering thuds of your heart. It wasn’t from the wounds or the pain, either. This was an emotional kind of turmoil.

   “You’re really nervous about this, aren’t you?”

   “Well I–you…” the honesty crept in on you like a whisper. You didn’t have to speak the truth, yet you did anyway. It was an automatic kind of choice and whether Gojo was an influencing factor or not wasn’t something you wanted to think about. “I’m not nervous, it’s just… vulnerable.” Shame and a good deal of self-pity made you try to become even smaller under your large friend’s lumbering body. “I know. Get it over with; go ahead and laugh.”

   The silence that took over the room was telling. You couldn’t, wouldn’t look at those electric eyes of his. So taught and bound up was your body that when he dropped his forehead against your own, your flesh was too tight to tense any further. All you could do was try and process the intimate contact over the incoherent screams in your head and the rapid squeezing of your heart. He didn't move from the embrace even while he spoke. “I need to make sure you’re okay. I’m just gonna look for internal bleeding, nothing else.”

   Jesus Christ, he was close. Satoru Gojo was all your senses could take in right now. His smell, his touch, the white of his eyelashes. There wasn’t a single cell of yours that wasn’t focused on him. It was enviable, how formidable his very presence was. The touch of his bangs to your eyelashes must have been a hidden and previously undisclosed superpower because as long as they were there, tickling your eyes in the slightest way, you couldn’t solidify a single thought. You didn’t know you nuzzled up into his forehead, but he knew. He felt it in the way your energy wound around him like ropes around a captive.

   “Okay.” You managed. He was looking at you, you could feel it without even knowing it, but you refused to do the same. As if you needed to feel any more exposed. Gojo’s eyes finally moved on from yours and down to the steadily healing stab wound in your ribcage just under your breast. Your skin gave a small jolt when his hand moved to press on the skin there like it helped him get a better idea of your condition where it was obstructed by the numerous wraps. His eyes focused intently right on the spot where the worst wound was. When he found you, it had been covered by your clothing. There was no way for him to know where to look at the bandages covering the entirety of your torso unless he really could see through it all.

   The blues of his eyes swirled as he got to work. Past the clothing, flesh, and sinew. Past all barriers and deep into the tissue there. He observed everything down to the way your cells tried diligently to put you back together. Frankly, he was thankful for the little workers. Very thankful. When he found you, your cursed energy was weak enough to literally be taken away with the breeze; it was so weak he had a hard time finding you. You were as cold as the frost settling on your body, your lips a sickening blue-gray, and there was more color in the reddening snow than there was in your skin. Maybe that was true – maybe you had given more blood to the ground than you kept for yourself.

Broken. Bloody. Unresponsive. You were limp enough when he pulled you from the white powder to consider you dead, but the faint undulations of your heartbeat could be picked up in your cursed energy and you possessed the miraculous strength to cling to his jacket -- he could still feel the exact spot on his stomach where your fingers feebly grabbed -- and you held on even when he placed you on the gurney.

It was cruel how easily your blood seeped into his clothes. Now that he could do nothing but watch the healers try to bring you back, an omnipotent fury poured into his skin. BOOM! Crash! A fully grown oak tree got blasted in half when his cursed energy needed a rapid outlet for the rising anger. He couldn't help it. . . and he loathed himself for it.

   “What, you got x-ray vision?” Your minor bickering brought him back to you. He knew after today he’d never take your quips for granted. He almost never got them back.

   “Mmm, something like that.”

   A pause ensued before you found more small talk. Anything was better than the silence. “What can you see, exactly?”

   “I read cursed energy – physical and psychological well-being, internal processes happening in the body, stuff like that. By reading the subtle changes I can piece together a picture of how your body is feeling and operating. Pulse, blood pressure, the healing of injuries, airflow, tension in the muscles, equilibrium, things like that. Think of it kind of like… aura reading, if you’re into that sort of thing.”

   “And it's on all the time?”

   “24/7, 365.”

   “That must wear you out.”

   “Why do you think I wear the glasses and the blindfold? It’s not perfect, but every little bit helps. Truthfully I can’t even remember the days when I was ‘normal’. This is all I've known.”

   Gojo picked up on your frown, but he didn’t want you to be sad. He’d had enough of your misfortune for one night. What he said next was coming from a spot in his chest that hurt. “I’m sorry I was late. There was a meeting–of course–and it was only there that I found out what they’d sent you to do, and where they shipped you off to. It took a few jumps–and a bit of searching even after I arrived. Once I found all the cursed energy, I knew I was in the right place.”

   “You came all the way from Tokyo?”

   “I knew they had you in over your head as soon as they told me about the mission. I think they gave me the run-around on purpose!” Gojo added humorously. Neither of you wanted to face the alternative… that it might have been intentional. It wasn’t hard to understand that Gojo had some enemies in high places, people who might go to incredible lengths to gain leverage on him. You had little to offer all things considered and your absence wouldn’t do much to affect the bigger picture. So, if it was intentional, then why? Why send you on what may have been a suicide mission?

   You paused again, thinking hard about what to say to him. What could you say that properly conveyed everything you wanted to? He didn’t have to work so hard to find you. Sure, he certainly wasn’t evil enough to leave you to die, he wasn’t that cruel, but you saw him not only when he got to you, but even now – pale skin, more so than usual, and a little darkness around the eyes on an otherwise pristine landscape. How much energy did it take to teleport across the world? How long did he search the area? It wasn’t like the people back home gave him much to work with. They may have narrowed it down to an entire state at best. Then he had to battle the curses. Sure it was probably a cakewalk for him, but he had to keep you alive until he got you to some medics. Even after you were safe, he stayed. He could have been in his own bed back at the school right now, but he had stayed because you were too weak for him to safely teleport back home. How easily he could have let the medics do their thing and take care of you from there. He didn’t, though. He bickered with the healers when they jostled you too much, he stood patiently aside until you were done, in the dark and cold, and organized this room for both of you. The only thing you could think to say seemed so minimal and trite. “Thank you. For trying so hard to find me.”

   Gojo (Satoru) rolled a bit of your hair in and amongst his slender fingers. His grin was small but very much genuine. “The blood loss is making you sappier than usual, I think it's time you get some sleep.”

   “Finally.”

   You didn’t dare move when he splayed over top of you to reach for the clock on the nightstand and turn the face around so no one could see it. You were left with nothing but the weight of Satoru’s body and the gentle huff of his breath into the air between you. To your surprise there was no quip or joke; he wordlessly moved to his side of the bed and moved the covers back over both of you to settle down for the night. You didn’t see how he decided to sleep facing you nor how his hand came to rest just skimming your arm. Both of you finally felt the last reserves of stress disappear.

   A dull, hollow, repetitive thud, thud, thud, thud came down from the floor above you. You’d have thought something was wrong with the building itself had some very pitching moans not followed soon after.

   You nearly blanched.

   Gojo chimed in far too casually. “Someone had a less eventful day than us. Reverse cowgirl, if I had to guess.”

   “Gojo!”

   “Satoru.”

   You barked a moan of frustration. So fierce was the spike of anger that you nearly slammed your hands over your eyes. If you could push hard enough on your skull then maybe it would collapse and finally grant you some reprieve.

   “What?” Satoru said, somehow not at all irritated. “It’s just sex. We won’t catch anything from here.”

   “That’s not what I care about! They’re in a hotel and making enough noise to wake up the people down the street. Who’s like that?”

   “Why are you so flustered?”

   “I’m not!”

   “You forget I can see your heartbeat. Very flustered.”

   “Why do you care so much?” You replied.

   “Is it because I’m here?” Gojo — Satoru — continued.

   A tiny stumble made its way into your dry throat. “No. Why would you think that?”

   Instantly, like water, he was on you, over you, invading your head and body and everything else you tried to barricade. His desire was aggressive, he caged you in and without care lowered himself until your bodies were barely separate entities anymore and his nose touched the side of yours. “I see everything,” Satoru said with a sinister air. “I’ve been nice, I’ve given you time to admit the truth yourself but you still deny it even after today.”

   Closer. Somehow he got even closer.

   “I’ve not once mentioned the way your body temperature rises when I get close enough.”

   His leg slipped so easily between your own.

   “Or how your vocal cords shake ever so slightly when I make you upset.”

   His voice moved until it was hot in your ear.

   “Not even when you flinch as if I’ve burned you when we touch.”

   A warm hand pitched the back of your neck, keeping you from turning away.

   “You can lie to me all you want… but your body betrays you.”

   Crystalline eyes rose to pin down your gaze. He thumbed your bottom lip. Caught up in the currents of emotions ricocheting between and through the both of you, you did nothing but balk and flounder like a schoolgirl. He was your only anchor, the one way you could stay afloat, the one thing you trusted when everything else felt so uncontrollable.

   You hardly heard your own voice. “I don’t know what to do.”

   His eyes flicked down to your mouth before he wrangled them back up.

   “Do you want me to stop?”

   You should stop – you needed to.

   You shook your head. No.

   Satoru’s lips descended strongly. Hungry, needy, searching, yet controlled. His lithe body hunkered down closer to cover yours, his back hunching to compensate for the height difference. So as not to overwhelm you, Satoru was already lifting his lips, but not before gently tugging on one of yours. Such a move made you wriggle; something, anything to release the feeling quickly cresting within you. One of your hands rose into the minute space between your bodies to somehow stem the intensity mounting under both parties’ muscles. The hand Satoru had behind your head moved to hold him up while the other snatched up the one of yours that dared to put space between your bodies. He brought it tenderly to his face. You could do nothing but watch the fascinating creature close his eyes to savor the smell of your skin and the touch of it on his nose before his lips kissed the pulse on the inside. Just hours before, he almost lost the pulse pushing so gently back against his mouth. When his eyes opened again they were very different from seconds ago. The brightness turned darker and his pupils had grown substantially.

   “Your body. It’s scared, scared of what to do or what will happen.” Satoru easily discerned from the brisk tempo of the blood in your wrist. It assaulted his senses. He needed to get you to relax – it was keying him up and a tiny bit of him was getting nervous at what you were doing to him. Mostly, though, he was simply addicted to your presence and your closeness. The more you pushed back the desire bleeding from you, the more he wanted to assure you it was okay. “Haven’t I proved after today that I won’t hurt you? That I want you?”

   The tiny sound you let escape made his other hand fist the sheets. The one holding your wrist released its grip only to move up and invade the space between your fingers, weaving deftly, carefully, to push it back into the sheets next to your head. He did the same thing just minutes before, but this time the atmosphere had changed entirely. Without your pesky hands to keep him from you, now he could zero in on the soft eyes looking back at him, and on the sweet spot at your throat. Such a space was too much to pass up and he nestled his head into the side of your neck. He couldn’t help his wet tongue leaving the hot confines of his mouth and laving at the vein. Satoru was pleased when your body shivered strongly under his expert touch.

   “I almost lost it when they told me where they sent you to – you have no idea how quickly I left.” His voice was intense in your ear. “Not because I needed to find you but because if I didn’t leave I would have hurt someone. Your cursed energy was so weak tonight, you lost so much blood. I’ve lost others but why is it that when it comes to you, it means so much more – god, you smell good,” he broke off, distracted, “and why do I want to help you train so I don’t have to worry so much about you? Why would I pick on how the nurses treated you tonight, even when they were helping you? And why did I never want to leave you alone with those damn elders?”

   The hand that he wasn’t pinning to the bed lifted to the warm skin of his abdominals. They flexed involuntarily at your touch. This time, you didn’t do it to create distance. This time, you did it to meet his passion with some of your own. His next words were gruff, rushed: “That’s it, feel me, don’t be shy.” Then his mouth latched onto your throat. Some kind of whimper made its way out of your mouth and the sound sent Satoru into overdrive. First one, then the other, he raised your arms until they rested on his shoulders; immediately they found their way up his neck and into the fine hair at the back.

   Now that Satoru was satisfied with the fingers gripping at his hairline, he could start to get to work. Slowly, softly, carefully so as not to startle you, his hand made its way under your shirt. God was your skin warm to the touch.

   “Satoru.” You breathed out desperately. The effect of your voice speaking his name had him nipping at a tender spot just under your jaw. Higher, higher, his hand slid over your waist, taking its sweet time to acclimate to the feel of your flesh. Just as he grazed the fresh bandages enclosing your ribcage you jolted away from his touch and did your best to subdue a quiet yelp of discomfort.

   The trance you had him under faded somewhat. His lips lifted from your jawline, his hand retreated from under your shirt, and when you met his eyes, the familiar brightness had returned.

   “I’m sorry.” You spoke, trying to catch your breath.

   “Don’t be sorry.” Satoru quietly replied. It wasn’t fair how composed he looked while you laid there, frazzled and a bit disheveled. “You okay?” He asked on the back of a brisk exhale.

   “Mhmm, just sore.”

   Satoru took the time to check in on your physical state. Dilated pupils, elevated heart rate, increased endorphin levels, all the usual signs of romantic attraction and the intensity from before. Beyond the adrenaline, however, your energy was nearly nonexistent. Your body did what it could to use its last reserves of energy to keep up with his ministrations. It wasn’t fair to you. You needed rest and here he was stringing you out on dopamine and serotonin. He’d hurt you just now too.

   The kiss on your forehead was surprising, given the intensity just moments before. “You need to sleep.”

   “Are you saying that to me or you?” You said cheekily. It made him smile to see you in good spirits.

   “Don’t toy with me. I can lay down right here and crush you.”

   More reluctantly than he’d like, he separated from you and resumed the previous position of laying at your side. The mark he’d managed to inflict on your neck had begun to darken and he almost told you but decided to keep it to himself. He saw your heart rate steadily normalize and the occasional fidget ebbed to stillness. Your eyes remained looking at the ceiling, but he didn’t mind. The silence was calm, peaceful, and minutes passed, thankfully without any more noise from the neighbors upstairs. Satoru’s eyes could still be seen in your periphery so you knew he hadn’t gone to sleep yet. He seemed perfectly content to brush his fingers along the curve of your shoulder, but you were ready to combust. His glowing gaze taking you in made it impossible to sleep.

   Finally, you relented. “Can I ask you something personal?”

   “Yes, it is natural.”

   “What?”

   “Nothing.”

   You didn’t stop to think about what he might have been referring to. “Do your eyes ever bother you?”

   “How do you mean?” Satoru replied, propping his head up in his palm.

   “Do they get tired or overwhelmed? Do you hate them sometimes? What they can do?” You could only imagine what it must be like to confine your vision behind glasses or cloth because the sheer influx of information would be impossible to manage otherwise. If you had to guess, what he told you earlier was only a shadow of the full extent of his powers. You’d heard from numerous people just what that gaze was capable of, what it had done both to enemies but also to their wielder.

   “I found you with them, didn’t I?” He replied after a short pause.

   Imagine sensing more than you could ever hope to process. The feedback he’s had to acclimate to every second of every day is not something you or I should ever wish to discover. That was what Nanami had once said to you.

   You floundered around for the right words. “I’ve heard that… sometimes they can kind of…”

   “Make me insane?”

   Then there was that. The paradigm shift he experienced any time he got serious. You’d seen some of it in action over the years: a blatant disregard for self-preservation, flashes of psychosis, the sheer lack of emotion normally present in him. It conflicted severely with the carefree jokester laying next to you right now. He spoke so calmly, even though his words made you worry. “Is that why you’re nervous?” Satoru said with a voice that was far too normal. Like he’d been told as such before.

   You couldn’t let him believe it, not for a second, not when he’d done so much to find and save you. The way his touch had never once been rough even when his anger made him nearly feral. It was your turn to face him and pin him down with your eyes. The move was unexpected and Satoru couldn’t stop the slight surprise on his face. His heart did something funny, too.

   “I’m not scared of you.” You said confidently. Satoru couldn’t pick up one ounce of hesitation in your entire body. “You saved me.”

   You paused, then, “I’m glad we had to share a bed.”

   Satoru didn’t move an inch even when you curled into his chest and came to rest your heavy head right under his chin. For all his eyes could do, they hadn’t predicted this. If they had then maybe he wouldn’t be sitting there like a robot while you finally closed your eyes and got the rest he so desperately wanted you to have. Like so many other nights, he probably wouldn’t get as lucky to catch up on his sleep. As his hand lifted to caress the back of your head and his lips nestled into your hairline for a comforting kiss, he thought maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. Not as long as you were with him under the same set of sheets when the sun came up.

[musical-shit-show]

could have danced all night

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader Inspiration: Prompts #2 (“apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”) #14 (“when i’m not with you, it’s almost like…i can’t breathe.”) and #41 (“i may or may not have left some…marks.”) Warnings: sexual references, kissing, meddling siblings, fluffy fluff Word Count: 3,733 Author’s Note: This is my first request! Big shout out to @acmbooksandfilm​ for sending this in, I had a lot of fun writing it. Also, apologies on it taking a bit to get out, writing has gotten difficult as my real adult job has slowly turned my brain to mush. But, if you would still like to send in a request, feel free! My DMs and Askbox is always open, even though it may take a little longer to complete requests. And as always, check out my Masterlist, About Me page, and Prompt Lists. Thanks for all the love on my other one shots and enjoy!

“Colin, enough,” Benedict huffed as he threw on his shiny black tailcoat, “Surely you have better things to do than pester me about my love life.” Anthony, Benedict, and Colin often crossed paths when getting ready for the numerous events of the season, and now the younger Bridgerton brother was doing everything to get on his elder sibling’s last nerve.

“I’m merely pointing out the obvious, Benedict,” Colin said smugly, straightening his cravat as he looked at himself in the mirror. He couldn’t help but flash a mischievous smile at his reflection, “Practically everyone in the ton knows about you two, what’s the harm in proposing?”

“What on God’s green earth are you two talking about?” Anthony strode into the room, closing the door in the likely event that Colin said something inappropriate and scandalized one of their younger sisters or, heaven forbid, their mother.

Benedict couldn’t help but flush. Yes, he was close enough with his brothers to discuss all matters surrounding women, but it felt wrong for him to talk about you. Especially when your relationship wasn’t meant to be any sort of relationship whatsoever.

It had started out innocently enough; you had been close with his younger sister Eloise and Penelope Featherington for years, acting as surrogate older sister on account of you being several years older than them. You were also friendly with Daphne and Simon Bassett, and often had tea with the pair when they weren’t off performing their duties as the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.

In truth, you knew Benedict the least out of the Bridgertons who had or were close to coming of age, and was shocked when he requested to have his name written on your dance card at the first ball of the season. When it came time to dance, you had expected Benedict to act shy at first; but after some coaxing from you, he won you over almost instantly with his wit and humor.

He only asked to dance with you once more at that particular event, not wanting to be improper. However, it was clear from the way the two of you looked at each other that there was a spark.

“No one,” Benedict said, almost too quickly, “Our brother is just sticking his nose into affairs that aren’t his own, as usual.” Anthony rolled his eyes, thoroughly unamused by his younger siblings’ bickering. The three of them strode down the stairs of their home and seized a carriage so that the conversation could continue in private.

“So…” Colin drawled, “It is an affair, then?”

“You know that’s not what I meant at all.”

“A slip of the tongue, perhaps? You know, brother, you must choose your words more carefully—"

“Mark my words, Colin Bridgerton; I will kill you in this very carriage if—”

“Will the two of you, please,” Anthony huffed, feeling a migraine coming on, “Benedict, is this about who I think it is about…?” Colin nodded fervently, but Benedict remained stone-faced. He hated keeping things from his family, especially his brothers. But he couldn’t risk tarnishing your name, not after what had transpired between you two.

It wasn’t meant to happen. When Benedict had snuck off one night to another one of Sir Granville’s soirées, he was shocked to see you there, wearing a tightly-laced corset, undergarments, and practically nothing else. As soon as you saw him, your eyes widened to the size of your mother’s best teacup saucers. Without thinking, you grabbed him and pulled him into the nearest empty room.

“Benedict, wha—what are you doing here?!” he remembered you asking him, utterly flustered. His eyes drifted to the sheer robe draped over your shoulders, the fabric floating gently with your every movement.

“I could very well ask you the same question!” he attempted to whisper, now distracted by how your corset pushed up your bosom considerably, “How do you even know about these, um, parties?” For a moment, you hesitated, unsure of what to say as Benedict’s pale blue eyes bore into yours.

You sighed, resigning to come clean, “Genevieve—Madame Delacroix—she told me about them. I confided in her about my father’s money troubles,” you felt the tears start to well up, but could not bear to cry in front of Benedict in the state you found yourself in, “I barely have any money for a dowry to find a suitable husband, and Genevieve and Sir Granville are familiar so…I work when I can and just make the guests feel comfortable—you know, offer them drinks, tobacco, the like—but I provide nothing more than hospitality.”

You felt that you needed to make that distinction to Benedict. Though you suspected that any chance with him was gone now that he had discovered your secret, you wanted to at least maintain part of your reputation, “Granville is generous enough and I could not be more grateful,” you continued, pulling the nearly translucent robe tightly around your body, “And these parties are so secretive that I thought, perhaps, I could scrounge enough money together before the end of the season before I was discovered. Clearly not.”

You couldn’t help but laugh dryly, but Benedict stared at you, his expression earnest, “You need not worry about that,” he breathed, “I won’t tell a soul.” You absentmindedly bit your bottom lip, chewing nervously on a bit of broken skin. Could he really be trusted? Yes, you had crossed paths over the last few weeks, exchanging pleasantries and the occasional flirtatious glance, but would Benedict be able to keep your secret?

“Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied coyly, deciding that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, “Perhaps I will be able to repay you one day.” A sly smile spread across Benedict’s face, his eyes flickering to the locked door. Though the party was continuing on the other side, you two had remained virtually undisturbed.

Feeling bold, he traced his fingers over your collarbone, instantly sending a chill down your spine, “Perhaps…you could repay me now?” he posited, trying his best not to sound like a complete and utter rake, “Only if you wish to, of course.” Despite your best efforts, you could feel a palpable spark that had been building between the two of you over the past few weeks. And you had grown tired of restraining your impulses any longer.

Gently, you placed a soft kiss on his lips. Your eyes fluttered shut and Benedict cupped your face with his hand, his grip surprisingly tender. His free arm wrapped around your body smoothly, pulling you flush against him. You frantically thought through the consequences of someone discovering you with a Bridgerton, but you were too preoccupied with removing Benedict’s clothing to pay much mind…

“Benedict!” Anthony snapped his younger brother out of his reverie as the carriage slowed to a stop, “Would you get your head out of the clouds and tell me what’s going on?” Benedict stared at him, utterly panic stricken. He had kept your secret for nearly a month now, and during that time the two of you had gotten even closer, both in the eyes of the ton and after nightfall in your bedchamber.

Benedict’s mind almost drifted to the night he had shared with you only hours before, but focused on the task at hand, “You needn’t worry your pretty little head, brother,” he said coolly, “I have it all under control.” Anthony looked as if he were going to be sick, and Colin smiled with devilish glee. The three brothers clamored out of the carriage and made their way into the bustling ballroom, more of their family trailing close behind.

Benedict could hear Eloise whine as Lady Bridgerton attempted to smooth down her hair, and he felt a small pang of guilt for not coming to his sister’s aid against their mother’s incessant prodding. But now, he had more pressing matters at hand; namely, what in the hell he was going to say to you now that his brothers were onto him.

He spotted you from across the hall, his heart fluttering with every step he took in your direction. He noticed that you were wearing an intricately laced shawl that was tied tightly across your chest, completely covering your collarbone and much of your breast. Benedict felt himself frown slightly, then immediately scold himself for being improper at a society function; surely, you need not show your bosom to the entire ton in order to draw the eye of him and a number of other suitors.

You were conversing with Penelope and Lady Featherington when he finally approached you, eyes wide with fear, “Hello,” he said politely, giving a slight nod to Penelope and her mother, “Is there a spot open for my name on your card?” You quirked an eyebrow, giving him a smirk as you removed the card from your wrist.

“Why of course, Mr. Bridgerton,” you replied in an equally cordial manner. Heaven forbid Portia Featherington get a whiff of your affair; you’d be certain your name would be splashed across Lady Whistledown’s pamphlet before you’d wake the next morning, “In fact, you are the first gentleman to ask, so you may have the first dance. If you are not otherwise engaged, that is.” He shook his head and his eyes gleamed as he returned your card to your delicately gloved hand.

Despite his anxiety being astronomically high, Benedict was delighted that he was able to dance with you so early in the evening. He always thought of you as a fluid dancer, light on your feet as the two of you would glide across the ballroom. He often found himself not being able to take his eyes off you, the lively music and judgmental crowd fading away the moment he embraced you.

More importantly, he wanted to speak to you about the precarious situation you found yourselves in. It was only a matter of time until either Anthony or Colin pried the truth out of him, and he wouldn’t let the news spread across all of London society, besmirching your good name. He cared about you too much to allow such a wretched thing to happen.  

A few moments later, all of the couples were signaled that the first dance was to begin. Benedict shot a glance to Colin, who had been talking Anthony’s ear off since they arrived. Now, the two of them were staring him down, whispering like schoolboys. He refrained from scoffing and instead took your hand gently, pulling you into his tall frame as the music began.

You instantly noticed the nervous and almost pained expression splashed across Benedict’s face, and you furrowed your brow in worry. However, you decided your best course of action was to try and alleviate the tension he must’ve been feeling, “I see you haven’t taken a liking to my shawl,” you remarked, a sly smile dancing on your lips, “I will have to tell my sister she has dreadful taste.”

Benedict ripped his eyes from his brothers’ stares and produced a small chuckle at your teasing. He realized he’d much rather converse with you than worry about what Anthony and Colin were up to, “No, it’s uh—it is, quite lovely,” he countered, lowering his voice, “Though I would prefer to see more of you, of course.” You raised an eyebrow, impressed by his boldness.

“I believe you saw plenty last night, Mr. Bridgerton,” you posited, weaponizing his own name against him, “In fact, I suppose you could blame yourself for my more…conservative attire, wouldn’t you agree?”

Benedict couldn’t help but flush, but cleared his throat to attempt to keep up with your rather scandalous banter, “Yes, well…I suppose…” he stuttered, “I may or may not have left some…marks.” He spun you, watching as your dress moved gracefully around your body and fluttered behind you as you gripped his arm once more.

You searched the panicked expression on his face. Surely, he only knew you were teasing, so why did he look like he was on the brink of sickness? “Benedict, why are you acting so strange?” you asked, attempting to keep the mood light while searching for information, “You’re not falling in love with me, are you?”

Benedict swallowed, attempting to maintain his composure. Besides the looming threat of every affluent family in Mayfair uncovering your secret, he was also painfully aware of how nervous you had been making him over the past weeks. The way your smile lit up every room, the way your eyes sparkled playfully, the way your laugh made his heart do a somersault.

“It’s just as well,” you continued, not waiting for him to answer your rhetorical question, “I overheard Colin and Pen whispering earlier, and Simon and Daphne as well. Apparently, all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He sighed, a little relieved that you had caught onto his family’s shenanigans before he worried you unnecessarily. He couldn’t help but appreciate your perceptive nature.

“Believe me, Colin and Daphne may be my siblings, but they are not my friends right now,” he joked nervously, only half-kidding, “And Anthony is on dangerously thin ice. It appears my family can’t help but get involved in matters that do not concern them.” You giggled, causing Benedict’s heart to swell. He was growing more infatuated with you by the second.

“I wish my family cared half as much as yours does,” you say, a twinge of sadness in your voice, “They are all so wonderful, and I’m sure they are just being protective.” Benedict nodded, heartened by the kindness and understanding you were showing to his siblings. You already got along quite well with Eloise and Daphne, and you were always courteous to his mother while still being able to hold your own when conversing with Anthony or Colin.

As the dance came to an end, Benedict had begun to realize his affection for you. Not just physically; yes, your first encounter at Sir Granville’s had brought you two together faster than he had ever expected. It was reckless, intimate, and completely wonderful, but getting to know you, without dozens of uppity members of high society leering at your every move, was more valuable than any nights you had spent together.

And he decided in that moment, as your hand released from his and you both bowed respectfully, that he could not bear to spend one more day without you by his side. But he could not profess his love in front of God and everyone, least of all his family; he quickly surmised that he must wait until a moment presented itself.

You were quickly whisked away by your mother, unable to even say a proper thank you and goodbye. But as your eyes met his blue ones, you couldn’t help but notice how they were sparkling in the candlelight, and you felt a twinge of melancholy. You cared for Benedict, but feared it was only a matter of time before your affair ended and he was married to another disgustingly wealthy aristocrat. You gave him a fleeting smile before getting dragged to the other side of the ballroom.

As you turned away from him, Benedict felt two hands grasping each of his arms, one hand belonging to each of his meddling brothers, “I knew it!” Colin whisper-yelled as he and Anthony pulled their love-struck sibling into a secluded corner of the lavish hall, “You know, you really aren’t fooling anyone, Ben.”

“How do you mean?” Benedict asked nervously in one last ditch effort to conceal the truth. He shouldn’t have bothered; his brothers had seen how smitten he was with you, and soon the entire ton would be abuzz with salacious gossip if he did not make his move that very evening.

“Benedict,” Anthony chided sternly, clapping him on the shoulder, “Please, do not deny it any longer. You’re clearly bewitched.” The eldest Bridgerton child could not help but smirk; it was almost entertaining to see his usually guarded brother so obviously in love.

Benedict sighed, defeated, “Alright,” he whispered, his face flush with embarrassment, “I apologize for thinking I could ever keep a secret from you two.” Colin smirked proudly, feeling as if he were London’s greatest detective, “I’ll tell you everything if you want, but for the love of Christ, it cannot be here.” He gestured to the room, which was growing more crowded with preening mamas, hunting for the slightest whiff of a scandal.

While Benedict and his brothers searched for a private room for him to regale your escapades, your night flew by, and hours later you found yourself chatting with Daphne and Simon on the gorgeously decorated outdoor terrace. The night was perfectly temperate, and although the noise had died down significantly as many guests had departed for the evening, your head was still swimming in thought. Specifically, you were overwhelmed by the thought of Benedict.

He was quite kind to you, and a very smart, charming gentleman, but you felt your heart lurch as you recalled the intimate nights you had shared over the last few weeks. Men of Benedict’s status would not wed a tainted woman, no matter how much you wished he would. It was only a matter of time before Lady Whistledown revealed your transgressions, and you would be marked as an undesirable to the entire upper echelon of society.

You shuddered at the thought. “Chilly, dear?” Daphne asked sweetly, noticing the unsettled look on your face, “I would think you’d be more protected from the elements with that beautiful shawl on.” Your heart jumped to your throat before you could cover for yourself; Benedict had appeared on the terrace, looking absolutely petrified. Simon and Daphne exchanged glances.

“Darling,” Simon said, turning to his wife, “It is quite crisp out here, don’t you think? Perhaps we should—”

“Go inside to warm up?” Daphne finished his sentence, that unmistakably mischievous glint in her eye that all Bridgerton children possessed, “Why yes, I think that is a fantastic idea, Simon.” She hooked her arm under her husband’s, and the two of them bid you and Benedict adieu, much to your dismay. You were certain he had been found out by his family and was here to end your affair before word reached the rest of the ton.

Still, you managed to smile politely. Simon was right, there was a slight chill that pervaded the terrace, mostly due to the lack of company that had populated the space only hours before, “Hello, Benedict,” you mutter, shifting your weight from one heeled foot to the other, “Will you be departing soon or—?”

“Erm, yes,” he answered a bit too quickly, and you raised an eyebrow. His strange behavior all night was another indicator that ending things was clearly as difficult for him to initiate as it would be for you to accept, “But first, I, well, I need to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you weeks ago.”

You felt a lump in your throat almost instantaneously. ‘Here it comes,’ you thought, more distressed than you hoped you would be. Benedict took your gloved hand, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. If it were not slightly improper, you would almost find it comforting; his touch always seemed to soothe you, ever since your first night together.

“I never expected to…for us to become so close in such a short period of time,” he began, wondering at what point in this silly speech he would make a royal ass out of himself. Though he had gained a little brotherly insight from Anthony and Colin, he still felt as though he could vomit at any second, “And, well, truth be told, I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together.”

You smiled, pleased by his kind words, “Truthfully, I have felt the same,” you remarked, “But it’s quite alright, Ben, I understand—”

“You do?” he cut you off again, a bead of sweat forming on his brow, “Am I really so obvious about my affection for you?” You stared at him, confused. Was this not him ending whatever…relationship the two of you shared? Now you felt like the fool.

“Affection?” you repeated, your mouth twitching, “I thought you did not want to see me anymore.” Benedict’s eyes widened, and he couldn’t help but laugh dryly. You had mistaken his jittery behavior as a bad omen, when that could not be further from reality.

He shook his head, and you felt the pace of your heartbeat quicken, “My dear, I think there’s been a slight misunderstanding,” he joked, clearing his throat, “I know that our relationship has been a secret for some time, but I cannot hide how I feel for you any longer. You are kind, and witty, and strong, and incredibly adventurous, and when our dance came to an end earlier this evening, I…I felt like there was a part of me missing as soon as you left. I…when I’m not with you, it’s almost like…I can’t breathe.”

Your breath hitched in the back of your throat, taken aback by his doting and earnest words. “And it would be my honor,” he smiled, his gaze intense and impassioned, “If I could ask for your hand.” Your eyes sparkled back at his, and you nodded silently, attempting to conceal a squeal of girlish glee. You two were still, unfortunately, in public.

“Yes,” you exhaled, feeling foolish from your assumptions about Benedict only minutes before, “I would be equally honored to be your wife, Benedict Bridgerton.” You snuck him a quick kiss on his cheek, causing him to flush for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “I see our friends were right after all, weren’t they?”

“Yes, yes they were, and I doubt I will ever hear the end of it from Anthony and Colin,” Benedict mused, smiling sweetly as the corners of his eyes crinkled happily, “I’ll see to a proper visit first thing tomorrow morning, I promise.” He studied you, doing all he could to absorb the joyous look etched upon your radiant face. You smirked, turning in the direction of your family’s carriage.

“I shall hold you to that,” you said, pulling him towards the exit, “But don’t think this night is over, Mr. Bridgerton. I’m not done with you quite yet.”

-----------

I hope you enjoyed reading! As always I would love to hear any comments or feedback! Like/comment/reblog, all that good stuff :)

[saintobio]

ahhh I really loved this chapter and it’s time for gojo to finally suffer lol

okayy, this is gonna be long, I’m sorry but I sent this ask on your main for last chapter and i just wanna further say that I have no type of empathy towards sera because at this point she’s displaying fan behavior towards mc, you’re a grown woman acting like mc is at fault for the circumstances YOU were born into jeez

like these two lines are just so disrespectful and distasteful of her:

Sera had to pull away and roll her eyes. “Here we go again.” Truth was, she had no time for this. “I’ve heard about your mother leaving over and over. It’s getting old. Move on.”

“Seriously, if he hated his mother so much then why couldn’t he just forget about her? There were more problems to face in life. Sera already had baggage on her own and carrying Satoru’s along with hers was asking for too much. He was a grown adult. Instead of burdening her with his own problems, he should know that there were boundaries that shouldn’t be crossed.”

how are you gonna wanna be with someone but you don’t wanna be bothered by the shit that they went through in their life. it just does not make any sense, if gojo is someone she wants to marry, in a world where they’d be allowed to, marriage is about compromise and coming together as one, flaws and all, it’s not just about his money and status 🤡 like tf do you mean move on?? mayhaps she fell on her head as a baby because most people would know that’s not something you can just move on from...not only did his mom leave but he essentially became a punching bag to his father. take several seats my girl

it’s like she only wants to have the benefits of his money and that is exactly why I applaud gojo for saying this and not taking it back:

“Don’t fuck with me,” he snapped, chest rising and falling deeply. “You’re not valuable enough to ruin my life.”

the way that I squealed after reading it bc I had a feeling it was him saying it to her after you posted the sneak peaks lol

Back to sera, suddenly she’s too good to eat fried fish? like humble yourself, do you think gojo will be here forever? especially with the way his guilt is starting to catch up? watch him leave and if that happens, i’ll be happy because frankly she doesn’t even deserve to be with him. it’s always that same cycle of: “It was unfair how others had the privilege to be raised in a rich household while she was punished with jobless parents who did nothing but watch their eldest child work her ass off every single day. See, this was the difference between you and her. You didn’t experience this much hardship in life for you to complain about not winning Satoru’s heart.” and “You needed to know your place, and if passing out from crying was how you would wake up to your senses, then it was good enough that it happened. You have not even experienced half the suffering that Sera had to endure in her life.”

now imagine the guilt she’d feel if mc dies from her condition (which hopefully she doesn’t ofc) the audacity of her to do this every single time is ridiculous...sera how does it feel knowing that mc lives rent free in your mind? 🤡 just like gojo is a grown adult, so are you, like we get it, you’re poor and you want a better life but all you ever do is compare yourself to mc, stop acting like a child. and if anything, the burdens of your life maybe would’ve been better if you idk, took yourself, your siblings and mother away from the situation your father created due to his gambling addiction, idk just a thought unless that’s not possible at the moment ig

Furthermore this part:

What would only make the situation problematic was how his father would possibly strip him off of his rights to be the next CEO because of the amount of scandal that it could put the company through. Sera used to understand that Satoru had to make sacrifices to achieve his ideal life, but his indecisiveness and more so his recklessness was making her frustrated.

this is exactly why i’m starting to believe that she doesn’t even fully love him anymore and just wants the stability he creates because his lifestyle is a stark contrast to her messed up one. I wonder if she would’ve still wanted to be with him if gojo didn’t even have the option of becoming the next CEO, or would she just toss him to the side hoping to find someone else that fulfills her selfish expectations. i’m happy that gojo is making it clear that he doesn’t want to have a baby with her rn (or ever ?) and knowing that he wants one with mc instead is making her want to be pregnant out of spite so that she could possibly baby trap him. and yk, I wouldn’t put that past her at all, she’s giving me the energy of someone who will either spill out their business to the media as her last resort or fake a pregnancy just to show her dominance over gojo.

aside from speaking about that clown, yess for the reversal of roles I’m excited to see what gojo ends up doing to win her and her heart back, if she even allows that to happen, bc he has a lot of work to do... it’s time for him to feel her coldness and i’m here for!! loved the toji crumbs as well and yayy, she’s starting to go after her dreams!

I have two question that maybe you could answer as long as there are no spoilers, did mc’s family not question why she was staying at their mansion instead of at the penthouse with gojo? and since they have the same condition, was it also the circumstances of stress that ultimately led to her mom’s death?

anyways, I hope you have a good rest of your day and as usual pls get lots of rest and water! also would I be able to be the 🦢 anon?

sera’s fan behavior 😭😭😭 this whole rant abt her is lowkey what i would feel to if i was a reader (seeing as i react negatively to rashta in re, so i can now see how it feels like to see sera in ur perspective lmao) she rly thinks she’s too good to eat fried fish now 😹

as for ur questions, 1) they did question, but knowing yn she made up excuses saying that she just wanted to stay with them for a week bc she misses them and gojo’s too busy 2) no her mom was loved deeply by her dad so there was no stress, the reason for her death was simply heart failure. thanks so much for taking the time to write all of these for us to read <33

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, chapter 1

Novel decided to do Adrienette April on a whim. Each post until the end of April (or such is the plan) will have 3 prompts in it.

She also discovered she’s very rusty. Bear with me here. XD

Next>>

1. AU

Marinette had thought she’d grown used to Chloe’s bullying, having to had endure it since they were little. However, with high school came a new name that became a regular part of Chloe’s vocabulary, alongside “hot” and “sexy” and “dreamboat”.

“And Marinette would never catch the eye of someone so perfect.”

Honestly, Marinette had thought she was over it, but on a particularly bad day, she’d snapped back at Chloe.

“Well, clearly he isn’t that perfect if he fawns over someone whose only redeeming quality is pretending to be pretty.”

That had led to a fire alarm getting pulled and Marinette left to blame for it. Anyone who tried to come to her defense was shut down, and Marinette had been suspended.

Which had started an all-out war.

After being stuck at home, wrongfully, for three solid days, Marinette had snapped. She’d decided that if Chloe was going to build a bonfire and poor on the gasoline that she would be there with a match. By senior year, Marinette’s record had taken a hit for it but Chloe’s reputation was in the toilet.

Marinette would take what she could get.

However, she supposed she hadn’t fully thought out the consequences. As much as she played with fire, she should have realized she’d get burned sooner or later.

And she did. Third degree.

We regret to inform you your application has been denied.

Those were words she grew tired of seeing yet came back from every school she applied to. With that in mind, she’d called up her girl friends to tell them what had happened.

“Hey, Marinette,” Alya had said upon seeing the letters. “Don’t get me wrong, I feel really bad for you. But… I did warn you—”

“I get it,” Marinette had surrendered, knowing that Alya was completely right. “You tried to warm me of the consequences, and now I’m paying for them.”

The girls had slipped into a moment of silence before Alix spoke up. “Hey, I can ask Max if he can do a little digging so you at least know why, yeah?”

Marinette had raised a brow but agreed. “Only if he’s not busy with his own college stuff.”

“Oh please, he’s too smart for college. He started up some robotics company in his free time and is already making bank on it.”

It took a week for Max to come back with a full report. Marinette had to give him props for working fast as he did.

“Hacking into the system was the first thing I could think of,” he’d explained. “In the side notes, there was mention of your attendance record and suspensions.”

“They were all wrongful suspensions,” Alix had countered.

“Doesn’t matter to the school,” Max had said with a shrug. “But even then, I thought there had to be more to this than just attendance. There were other students who had the same notes yet were accepted. So I shifted focus to digging up background on all the directors of the school. After hacking a few emails, I discovered Audrey Bourgeois happens to know a lot of directors or administration members in all the fashion schools of France. Considering the contents of most of those emails, it has become clear that Marinette was wrongfully barred from every school she’d applied to. And that there’s nothing that can be done about it because we only discovered such scandal through highly illegal means.”

“So…” Alya had begun, turning her attention to Marinette. “Where does that leave you, M?”

Marinette’s lips had pursed in thought. It was funny how things turned out, because despite her anger, she somehow had been peace with what she was faced with. “I think that the last place I want to be is in an industry full of liars and people who use their words to manipulate anyone they damn well please.”

That was how she ended up working full-time in her parents’ bakery. They never said a word about it, but she knew they were disappointed. Of course they weren’t mad about her still being here and working in the bakery with them, and she knew her parents still loved her more than anything.

But she knew that with as many dreams as she had and had shared with them, they were disappointed on her surrendering it all.

“Sorry, Maman, Papa,” she whispered into the empty kitchen as she plopped the baguettes she formed onto a baking tray. “Just give me a little time to figure things out. Seems like lofty dreams are a lot easier to crush than I realized.”

 2. Rebellion

A son can only bear the world of their parent’s expectations for so long. He wasn’t Atlas, but after a few years of acting like him, Adrien decided to dump the globe. To hell if it broke. He’d smirk in satisfaction at his father’s disappointment.

At the very least, the fact he no longer had the weight of the world of his shoulders made the far-too-common disappointment lecture easier to bear.

His strategic rebellion had started harmless enough. At sixteen with a rapidly growing forced modeling career, he’d given his father an ultimatum: he gets to grow out his hair, or it all goes. It had been shocking the amount of power the razor in his hand had given him. It was the perfect harmless threat. His father had been furious, throwing a fit about Adrien acting like a child, but after being gaslit for so long, Adrien had finally come to realize the abusive techniques for what they were. And he wasn’t going to roll over and take it any longer.

That day had ended with Adrien being grounded but ultimately the victor of their stand-off.

After that, he’d begun ditching certain events. He’d always liked fencing, so he never ditched those lessons, but attendance for his home-school lessons, mandarin lessons, and piano lessons had all been decided on a whim. His father had hardly been pleased by this, but to Adrien, that was the point. The lectures soon washed into one another so much that Adrien could practically recite the words that roll off his father’s tongue verbatim. He’d come to realize they were strategically meant to hurt. To humiliate. And as such, he’d stopped taking them personally.

Then came the fun part.

He got earrings. Honestly, Adrien hadn’t really cared for the piercings one way or another. In one way, there were a hassle, and caring for new piercings was a pain in the butt. However, they had been worth it to see his dad so royally pissed off.

Then came the ditching of certain photoshoots. There was a reason Adrien had held off on this one for so long: he cared about the people running the shoot. There was no reason they needed to be collateral in this battle between him and his father. After all, they were just employees doing their job; Adrien didn’t want them to suffer for his rebellion. With that in mind, Adrien had planned out his absences of these photoshoots. Again, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into his mess, so he had always organized a replacement model. Shoot would always go on, just not as planned.

And that was enough to drive his father mad.

It always put a smile on Adrien’s face.

The last touch was an unexpected one. He hadn’t even thought about going this far. Yet, a friend of his not only put the idea in his head, but gave him the art to go with it.

“Is that a tattoo?”

Oh, how he wished he would have taken a picture of his father’s face. The large black cat surrounded in a green, wispy smoke that wrapped around his forearm was truly a work of art. He’d had to think carefully about this decision, but in the end, he quite liked it.

“Yeah. I’m eighteen; I can ink myself if I want to. Why? Is that a problem?”

Adrien might be wearing a cat on his arm, but the grin on his lips was downright wolfish.

Eventually, it all had come to a head and blew up in his face. Adrien couldn’t say he’d been surprised. In fact, he had been fully expecting it. He’d already found an apartment to rent and had begun sneaking most of his important things over there before his father could kick him out. So when Adrien found himself kicked to the curb as soon as he was handed his general education certificate, Adrien had been prepared.

But mostly, he was free.

What a joyous day it was.

However, now that he was free, he knew he needed a job. Not because he needed the money, per se, but because it was time he started acting like the average adult. He never got to go to school, so now, it was time to pick up a mundane, first job that everyone hated but would “serve him well later in life”. Mostly, it would just be something normal.

The easy places to apply were food shops and retail stores. He’d work one for a while before deciding what his next life step would be. Chloe had been quick to offer him a job at her father’s hotel, but Adrien was vehemently against the idea. Over the span of his rebellion, Chloe’s behavior and attitude towards him had grown notably worse, and he had a feeling cutting ties with her would be his next step in life.

In the end, he’d scored a job he definitely was underqualified for. He’d applied partly out of spite and partly because ‘why not?’ He’d heard about this bakery enough times from Chloe to know the “cruel bitch who did nothing but mercilessly harass her” lived here, and that was enough to pique Adrien’s curiosity. At a bakery as popular as that, though, he hadn’t been sure he’d get a call. And when he did, he knew he would do everything he could to present himself as a reliable and respectable man eager to work, but he never thought he’d end up hitting it off with the owner.

Which somehow ended up with him agreeing to work at Tom and Sabine’s Patisserie.

Going into that job, he swore to himself he would do what he could to prove himself worthy. He knew there had to have been better applicants, so Adrien didn’t want to disappoint the very kind owners who dared give him a chance. Soon, his days were spent working hard while covered in flour and surrounded by bread all day. Well, bread and all the sharp and hot objects in your average kitchen.

He just didn’t think that would include a wicked sharp and smoking hot young lady that happened to be his bosses’ daughter.

 3. Game Night

“Mama, Papa, please go. You two hardly ever get out of the house.”

Marinette watched her maman put a hand over the mouthpiece of her phone while her papa turned to her. “But I’ll be busy that night. We have a massive order scheduled for the next day.”

“I can handle that,” Marinette quickly countered with a grin. “You know I’m a night owl, anyway. I’ll get it done, and you two can go enjoy game night with your friends.”

Her parents spared each other a glance. “Are you sure about that, Marinette?” Maman asked.

“Positive. Papa already talks to the bread too much, so he really should talk to people for a change. And while you have to deal with people all day, I know you want more than to just have short conversations filled with small talk. So please, go out and have a social life for once.”

With one last look, her parents relented. With a smile, her mother took her hand off the phone. “We’ll be there.”

Papa turned to her with a grin. “I was going to spend that time teaching Adrien how to handle those orders. I can leave teaching him in your hands, right?”

Her grin fell. Adrien Agreste. What the hell a washed-out model was doing working at her parents’ bakery was beyond her. Admittedly, over the last month she’d been working with him, the most she’d say is that maybe he wasn’t too bad a guy. Papa certainly sung his praises. But that still didn’t answer the question of why he was working here of all places. After all, he was Chloe’s friend and suspected lover.

“Don’t think I don’t see that look on your face, Marinette,” her maman chastised. She’d hung up and set her phone down already, fully giving her attention to her daughter. “No matter your personal feelings, you really should give him a chance.”

“He’s a good kid,” Papa said. “Maybe a little rough around the edges, but I can tell he really does want to learn and do his best.”

Marinette sighed. This wasn’t the first time this talk had happened. She remembered having a talk with her parents after his first interview. There were a few other people who were far more qualified for the job, but Papa said he liked Adrien’s personality and spirit the best. So in the end, all Marinette’s objections had fallen upon deaf ears.

She sighed. “Fine. I’ll give him a chance.”

With a smile that made Marinette loath to disappoint him, her papa patted her head affectionately. “Thank you, Marinette. I think you’d like him if you got to know him.”

Not likely. “I’ll do my best, Papa.”

“Really, Marinette,” her maman warned. “Unless you have a valid reason, you need to put aside your feelings for the sake of the bakery running smoothly. Can you manage that?”

Appropriately chastised, Marinette bowed her head in embarrassment. Maman brought up a good point: Marinette shouldn’t let her anger towards Adrien affect the bakery. Her parents didn’t deserve that. “Yes, Maman. I’m sorry.”

With a smile, her maman came up and wrapped her in a hug. “Thank you, Marinette.”

Marinette hugged her back. “No, thank you, Maman and Papa, for everything. I won’t let you down.”

Papa wrapped his arms around both her and Maman. “Thank you, sweetheart. We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[spellboundspook]

My Dumb ass doing Andy’s apple farm Incorrect Quote cos why not

The new incorrect Quote Generator found by @makerofmadness but i only did Felix and Melody :)

--

Felix: Two brooooos! Melody: Chillin' in a hot tub! Felix: Five feet apart 'cause we're not gay! Melody: Felix: Melody: *tearing up* Felix: Babe, c'mon... Melody: AND HERE YOU REALLY HAD ME THINKING WE HAD SOMETHING. Felix: Babe...

--

Melody: Remember what I told you. Felix: Don’t be a cunt.

--

Felix: What is your favourite mythical story? Melody: The Story Of My Will To Live. Felix: I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before.

--

Felix: Ugh, crushes are so dumb. Melody: I know. Whenever I’m near the person I like I just start acting stupid. Felix: But you’re always acting stupid? Melody: ... Melody: Yeah, don’t think about that too hard.

--

Felix: What? I'm not aggressive! Melody: Last Tuesday, you wacked me with a pair of crocs and stole my chocolate chips? Felix: Survival of the fittest, bitch.

--

Melody: *walks to cabinet, removes oreo box, takes half a sleeve, throws empty box out* Hi! Felix: Hey- what are you doing-? Melody, shoving an oreo into their mouth: I am saving space :D

--

Felix: What goes up but never comes down? Melody: The amount of stress you're bringing this family.

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Felix: I am a responsible adult! Melody: *raises brow* Felix: I am an adult.

--

Felix: Watcha doin? Melody: Stealing my neighbour’s cat. Felix: Scandalous. Felix: Can I help?

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Felix: When life gives you lemonades, make lemons! Life will be all like "whaAttT?" Melody: Life lessons that schools can't teach you.

--

Felix: Melody! Have you no dignity? Melody: Of course not! How long have we known eachother?

--

Melody: Oooh, a train! Felix: We’re in a train station, Melody.

--

Felix: Hey, you want a tarot reading? Melody: Those are Pokemon cards. Felix: You got a magikarp. Melody: ... Felix: It means 'fuck you'.

--

Felix: I have a problem. Melody: If it's harder than 2+2, I can't help.

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Felix, ordering coffee: I’d like a light roast. Melody: You're kinda ugly.

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Melody: You’re jealous. Felix: Jealous? Melody: That’s why you were being so negative about this. Felix: That’s absurd. I’m always negative.

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Melody: Could you be anymore annoying? Felix: Yes.

--

Felix, admiring a sleeping Melody: You’re so cute. Melody, sleepily: I could beat your ass. Felix, lovingly: I know.

--

Felix: Fellas, I gotta know for science. Is the opposite of red green or blue? Melody: Technically a mix of green and blue? Felix: So blurple. Melody: That's implying you're mixing blue and purple. Felix: Would you rather have fucking bleen? MOTHERFUCKING GRUE? Melody: You were confusing before but now I'm scared.

--

Felix: I’ve been sleeping so little the past few nights that when I go to the alarm app, I click on the “power nap” button. I don’t set up alarms, I set up timers, Melody.

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Melody: You spent all our money on THIS?? Felix, putting tiny raincoats on ducklings: They live outside. They need this.

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Melody: When I met you I thought you were a real bitch. Felix: What changed your mind? Melody: Oh, I still think you’re a bitch, I’ve just grown to like that about you.

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Melody: You’ve got to learn to love yourself. Felix: But don't you hate yourself. Melody: Yeah, but this is about you. Stay focused

--

Felix: Here are two pictures. one of them is your room, and the other is the garbage dump. Melody: *points at a picture* That one is the dump. Felix: tHEY'RE BOTH YOUR ROOM!

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Felix: We all have our demons. Felix, grabbing Melody: This one’s mine.

--

*Felix and Melody playing minecraft* Felix: Oh no, oh no, oh no- Melody: What’s wrong? Felix: I did a thing. Melody: You regret the thing you dID- Felix: *screams* Melody: What the fuck did you do- *sees mass of aggravated Piglin* Damn it- Felix: *screams again*

--

Felix: I can't believe you've done this..... Melody: I'm sorry I didn't know-! Felix, on the verge of tears: YOU CAN'T JUST BUY ME A GIFT OUT OF NOWHERE NOW I FEEL LIKE A HUGE ASSHOLE!

--

Felix: Why does my arm shake and turn bright red when I’m eating dirt? Melody: Melody: Why are you eating dirt? Felix: Did I ask you if I should eat dirt? No, so answer my question.

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Melody: Dammit, you ruin everything! Felix: You're welcome.

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Melody: The greatest trick the devil ever pulled was changing their name to Felix.

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Felix: Italics. Felix: Yeah, Italians.

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Melody: What are you eating? Felix: You wouldn't like it, it's really salty. Melody: I like you, don't I?

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Felix, looking at their reflection: Now, that's rubbish. Who's that supposed to be? Melody: Well, that's you. Felix: Me?! Is that what I look like? Melody: You don't know? Felix: Busy day.

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Melody: What’s the dumbest thing you believed as a child? Felix: That naptime was a punishment.

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Felix: Melody, is that legal? Melody: When there's no cops around, anything's legal!

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Felix: :) Melody: >:( Felix: Turn that frown upside down! Melody: ):< Felix: Not sure what I was expecting...

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Felix: Why aren’t you sleeping? Melody: I’m to busy plotting your murder to sleep, Felix. Felix: Melody: ...The nightmares. Felix: *wrapping their arms around Melody* Awwww, sweetie-

--

Felix: Why's it called an oven when you of in the cold food and you of out hot eat the food? Melody: ...What???

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Felix: *sees someone doing something stupid* Felix: What an idiot. Felix: *realizes it's Melody* Felix: Wait, that's MY idiot!

bye tumblr that is all

*fuck goes to sleep cos its 12:10 and their sleepy*

[biaswreckme]

turn back time | ot7

Summary: "5-year-old Jungkook or 5 Jungkooks?"

Pairing: none

Members: Jungkook, Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon, Jimin, Taehyung

Length: 1.7k words

Genre: fluff, fantasy, crack, magic!au maybe?

Rating: PG-13

Project: @btscreatorscorner 's June workshop with the theme BTS

Triggers/Warnings: unexplained magic, age regression/de-aging

You can also read this on: AO3

A/N: A huge thanks to @birbdae for beta-reading it ♥ and to @casuallyimagining for making this lobely banner ♥

“5-year-old Jungkook vs 5 Jungkooks?”

Looking back on it now, it had seemed an innocent enough question. They were starting to get questions like these in their V Live, so it didn’t really come as a surprise when someone asked in their group stream during the promotion of Be Essential. After it ended, they all decided to stay at the dorms and spend some time together, just enjoying some rare free time. They laughed about the questions and talked more about the insane idea of having five of a member or a baby version of them, imagining what it would be like. They could never imagine what was about to come.

--

Namjoon was a naturally early riser these days, so he was already awake that fatidic morning. The covers were warm and the comfort of the bed kept him from getting up immediately, choosing instead to pick up the book he left on his bedside table. But he had to put it down immediately when he heard some noise coming from the kitchen and guessed Yoongi was already up making some coffee, and he would wait until the smell permeated the place. His idea of staying in bed was cut short, however, by the unfamiliar scream that sounded through the apartment.

He did not hesitate and ran out of the bedroom, finding Yoongi and Seokjin opening the door to Jungkook’s door. And there, in the middle of the bed, sat a tiny person almost drowning in a baggy black t-shirt. A tiny person that looked exactly like a much younger maknae, from what Namjoon had seen in pictures before.

“J… Jungkook?”

The small boy’s lower lip trembled and came into a pout, his doe eyes filling with unshed tears.

“H-hyung?” He said and his arms reached for the leader, his small fingers opening and closing in a grabbing motion.

Namjoon sat on the bed and picked the boy up, the black t-shirt too big on the maknae’s new - old? - mini body.

“What on…” Jin started, shocked, but Jungkook interrupted.

“I had a dream… there was a voice and a strange laugh, Jin-hyung.” He paused to sniffle, his pouting lips trembling again as he tried not to cry.

“What did the voice say? Kook? Do you remember? I know it’s scary, but we’re here.” Yoongi sat on the other side of the bed, making some space as the other members who were awakened by the scream gathered on the threshold, worry painted across their faces.

“The… the voice said you chose 5-year-old so that’s what you would get? And something about a d-day I th-think? But what if… if it lied?”

And Namjoon remembered the Vlive, that question that had been going around for them to choose 5 of a member of the 5-year-old version, but they had been asked that question before and nothing had happened. This had to be a dream right, he was still fast asleep in his bed? And so Namjoon sat up, letting Jungkook snuggle into Yoongi’s arms and tried pinching himself hard on the arm, exclaiming in pain.

“Namjoon?”

“I thought I might still be asleep. How does this just happen? That’s not real life.” He said exasperated while moving his arms, trying to get a grasp of the situation.

The door opened again, this time Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok entering the room, Jimin still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“What is… What happened? Who is that?” Hoseok asked, with shock on his face.

“Ok, but let’s not scare Jungkook even more, please,” Jin pleaded, tilting his head in the direction of the maknae who looked even more about to cry.

“I’m sorry, Jungkookie,” Namjoon said, sitting down again. “I’m just trying to understand what is happening. So apparently you remember everything, right? You’re not a child child on the inside?”

“I’m still me, just… Jiminie sized.”

They all laughed, except for Jimin, whose natural reaction was to slap Jungkook’s arm, but he held himself back; Junkook was too small for that kind of playing at the moment.

Taehyung still could barely believe the situation, his eyes wide in shock as he spoke. “We should have some breakfast and discuss what to do. We had some choreo practice today but that was it… and Jungkook needs clothes, right?”

It was decided that after cooking breakfast, Seokjin and Hoseok would go shopping for clothes for the tiny member, heavily disguised with the help of one of the managers; they decided to tell the least number of people possible so as not to spread out what had happened while they hoped it would not last long.

And so while the two members went out, Namjoon was planning the rest of the day, considering the best and most logical options. “It’s too risky to go to the studio to practice. We know the routine well at this point… maybe we can do it in the living room? Push back the sofas and open up the space. I don’t want to risk going out and Dispatch creating a scandal about one of us having fathered a secret child or something.”

Namjoon was serious, already going to one of the sofas to move it. With some help they managed to clear out what was needed and create a decent space in their dorm living room so they could practice. Mostly, they not-so-secretly wanted to see mini Jungkook doing their routines, and he wouldn’t need much space for that.

As soon as Seokjin and Hoseok got back with some clothes - maybe they went a little overboard, but everything was so cute and seeing grown Jungkook’s style in mini Jungkook was exciting. The child looked stylish with an all-black ensemble very similar to what he wore on a day to day basis. And so they decided to start with Dynamite, their latest single out and the one they needed to perform the most.

They all watched as the small boy’s face was furrowed in concentration, a clear imitation of the expression the 23-year-old man sported when focusing solely on the practice. The members all watched as the tiny maknae started the song, his small limbs moving to the rhythm and choreography perfectly, proving he was still the adult Jungkook on the inside. It was, however, a much more adorable sight. They were supposed to be rehearsing together, however, it was much more fun watching Jungkook doing it; they attempted once and the tiny member’s legs were not big nor fast enough to get him to the positions in the formations, so they opted for just watching.

Hoseok played Mic Drop next and demanded Jungkook do the version with the full dance break, and he couldn’t stop himself from clapping and giggling loudly watching Jungkook do everything. At one point after a couple of songs the young boy complained and they gave him a break, giving him some tiny sized snacks. While they were out, Seokjin also got the maknae some coloring books, and while at first the youngest member pouted and said he was not really a child, as he started drinking some juice, his small fingers went for the coloring pencils and one of the books, mindlessly starting to color. No one said anything so as not to disturb the peaceful image, letting the boy just be for a while, resting, no adult or idol pressures on his shoulders.

The rest of the day went by smoothly, with one of the members every once in a while trying to get Jungkook to do just one more dance routine for them - and he indulged his hyungs. They could feel the tension starting to spike up again around dinner time, when they were all eating together and in silence, which was not usual, all thinking about the same thing.

It was Jimin who broke the silence first, worried about Jungkook. “So, what is going to happen tonight? Will he go back to being himself?”

“And what if he doesn’t?” Taehyung complemented, looking fondly at the youngest, missing his friend.

“The voice…” Jungkook started, pausing to have a sip of water, taking down big gulps. “The voice said one day… I should be back, right?”

Namjoon was quick to answer, “We’ll worry about it if it doesn’t happen.” But they all knew their leader well enough to know he was already thinking of a fall-back plan in case it did not. Yoongi could see the lines of stress almost permanently marked on Namjoon’s forehead at the end of the day, worrying for the mental health of his oldest friend. “We’ll get through it together, like we always do.”

All members nodded, and Yoongi patted his friend on the back reassuringly. And for as much as Jungkook claimed that on the inside he was the 23-year-old man, as the day progressed, he started acting more and more like a 5-year-old, which did not go unnoticed by Namjoon and Seokjin, their eyes meeting whenever Jungkook said or did something, not really wanting to imagine what would happen if this not end tonight.

But apparently whatever - or whomever - had put this sort of spell on the maknae told the truth. They put Jungkook to sleep on his bed surrounded by pillows to make him more comfortable with the big space. They talked and decided the best course of action would be for Jungkook to sleep without clothes, because if he woke up swimming in his own clothes before, what would happen if his body got bigger in such tiny clothes? They decided not to risk it and warmed him up enough with the covers. And when he woke up, the world did not seem as small as the day before; his limbs and torso were the right size, fitting into his own clothes and definitely taller than Jimin again - what a relief.

--

The event had been mentioned again in private jokes and shared looks, but they never found out the reason as to why it had happened. Until, that is, Jungkook was on V Live again, eating his salad and chatting with ARMY, going through the comments on the chat when the seemingly innocent question slipped from his lips before he could stop himself from reading it.

“5-year-old Tae or 5 Taes?”

Oh no.

Fin

[thetaekookcloset]

QB anon here! I might have been a bit unclear in my previous message so I just wan to clarify that I do not accuse them of queerbaiting as of right now. I said I'm not 100% sure if they are a thing because obviously, we do not know until either one of them outright says it out loud. And there are some things that make it confusing to determine their relationship status, even when I clearly see the adoring looks, they change and all the couple-like things that they do. My train of thought was more so in the IF they ever straight out deny everything taekook that I would be highly disappointed with their behaviour because I do think that it crosses the line, so to say, especially considering how much attention it gets and how aware of it they clearly are (JK mentioning on his live that he monitors stuff and he was clearly aware of people freaking out about his deleted IG photos and the speculation surrounding it). Although you are right that there are also a lot of subtle little things. But you also make a good point that no one else expect them has the right to determine what's the appropriate level of touchiness between two people whether or not they are romantically involved or just close friends, fair enough. Also true that friendships between queer people can look different that between straight people. And I do agree that if I had to put my eggs in one basket I would lean towards the one that says they’re not straight. Which would make the possible baiting just even more offensive and I would not want to think that they would actually do that. But again, what do I know, this is all just speculation. I guess why I even wrote to you in the first place was do to the fact that you answered the previous anon that you wouldn’t feel like you were led on, because I do feel like I would definitely feel led on, if they ever came out denying everything. But like you said, everyone is obviously entitled to their own feelings and opinions. :)

Re BigHit or any of the members denying or addressing any of the ships you are right, there hasn’t been any. And I wouldn’t expect them to make a press release about it either haha. But actually now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen any interviews where the subject has even been brought up, so it must be on the list of questions that journalists are not allowed to ask them. Or I guess much of any questions that are more personal. Generally speaking, I feel like the perfect images they build for these k-pop idols is a bigger risk for them rather than a selling point in the long run. Look what happened with Tae and his Paris trip, lots of people were freaking out about his ”behaviour” when he is in fact a full grown adult that can do as he damn well pleases. And when if fact he didn't even do anything scandalous lol, seemed like he had a blast!

Hi and welcome back!  Thanks for clarifying and adding to the discussion, I appreciate getting the chance to better understand your thoughts!

As far as the latter part of your ask regarding interviews and and lack of any addressing of intra-group dating rumors and that sort of thing, I agree.  I’m pretty sure it’s just a topic that no one is allowed to touch on in any capacity.  And I also personally agree about the concept that their squeaky “clean” images probably do more harm than good, at least beyond a certain point.  As you say, Taehyung received tons of criticism for engaging in perfectly normal behavior because huge chunks of this fandom believe the members are, like, saving themselves for marriage with ARMY or something.

Fortunately that sort of thing does seem to blow over quickly, but still, it’s just a ridiculous scenario in my opinion, and one that could be avoided if idols were allowed to act like people.  They’re doing fine obviously, but it sure is exhausting for the rest of us lol.

Anyway thank you again, I appreciate hearing from you!

[hualianff]

Thinking about XL who used to be an heir to one of the fastest-growing technology companies in the world, “Xianle Tech.” When his family’s business was still thriving, XL attended a lot of charity events to meet with clients and cultivate important connections he would have to uphold as future CEO.

Everything seemed to be going according to plan, XL developing a respectable name for himself as he began business school. Once he graduated, XL shadowed his father at work, learning the ropes of how to run a successful company that competed with the best in the world.

However, the success was never meant to last.

Only three years down the road, XianLe Tech suffered a major setback when reports spread that their new product line caused harmful explosions after little use. After paying millions in indemnification for the damage customers experienced, another scandal revealed XianLe Tech had been profiting off of unpaid labor.

Within one month, the world XL had grown up to know crumbled all around him. And he could do nothing about it. All the “friends” XL had disappeared within a blink of an eye. No one wanted to be associated with the family who had resorted to dirty practices for their advantage, which is incredibly ironic considering the business industry is all about networking and using others as stepping stones to achieve selfish goals.

Nevertheless, XL understood that it had been wrong, that he and his parents were wrong to disregard the roots of their manufacturing process. XL wasn’t aware of his privilege up until now, but he sure as hell would learn how to combat this systematic inequity, somehow salvaging what he had left along the way.

XL becomes a social worker who is a Youtuber on the side, educating his viewers about class injustices, homelessness, poverty, and the same exploitation of lower-class resources that led to XianLe Tech’s downfall. He also incites them to engage in random acts of kindness whenever they can. He doesn’t have a huge subscriber following, doesn’t make money off of his videos. XL is just glad that some people watch his videos. He hopes he can make a positive impact on their lives, no matter how small.

After all, XL is a firm believer that despite the world being a scary and lonely place, having at least one person let you know you are cared for is enough to make a difference–is enough to save a life.

***

“I am sorry, but we cannot serve you at this moment.”

“But we talked on the phone a few hours ago. I have a reservation,” XL says calmly. He holds up his phone with the confirmation page pulled up. The waiter doesn’t even glance at the screen, sniffing as if XL is nothing but a nuisance.

“Still, we don’t serve people like you,” he says, eyeing XL’s outfit with distaste.

Ah, so it was an appearance issue. XL quickly looks around at the seated guests, catching sight of wrists adorned with miraculous jewels and pricey wristwatches, bodies clothed with expensive fabrics no doubt imported from overseas. The same aura of practiced prestige and sophistication lingers in the air.

XL doesn’t even have to glance down at his ripped jeans, cream-colored sweater, and flimsy white jacket to know he sticks out like a sore thumb. He internally sighs, slightly regretting taking SQX up on their recommendation to try out The Red Thread. If XL knew he would’ve been barred from in-dining eating, he would not have placed a reservation in the first place.

But XL doesn’t want to give up just yet. He still has a lot to learn about class discrimination and prejudices; if XL were to walk away now with his tail between his legs, it would be giving power to those who claimed superiority and unjust treatment in the first place. Instead of allowing this waiter to brush him to the side like a pest, XL stands his ground, adjusting his beige handbag on his shoulder.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean. Could you please elaborate?” XL asks in a breezy tone. A sense of amusement bubbles in his gut when the waiter looks visibly annoyed.

“Sir, we don’t mean to be unaccommodating. However, there are standards in place that were set by the CEO himself. We are simply abiding by his standards,” the waiter says, presenting the matter like he had no choice but to turn XL away.

“Is it a money problem? Because I assure you I can pay for my meal, if that’s what you’re worried about,” XL tries again. The waiter narrows his eyes, making XL gulp nervously. He unconsciously twists the hair not pulled back in his half-bun.

A few more waiters gather around them, ready to jump in if things get too heated.

“Oh, I’m certain the former heir to XianLe Tech can afford our service,” the main waiter sneers unkindly. XL’s breath catches in his throat upon being recognized. The probing eyes suffocate him, probably taking into account how renowned he was years ago and thinking how far he has fallen to come to a Michelin-starred restaurant dressed like this.

XL feels himself losing steam.

“But we are asking you to leave. It’s up to you whether or not force will be necessary.”

“It’s not right to refuse service when there is no valid reason in doing so,” XL says, more desperate this time.

“You do not pass the dress code,” another waiter pipes up. “You are not fit to be here.”

The main waiter now walks towards XL, a grim expression on his face.

“Wait, I’d like to speak to your manager, if they’re here–”

“I am the manager. Don’t make things harder for yourself,” the manager replies brusquely. He stands tall in front of XL, an intimidation tactic used to make XL back down. XL’s face heats up as he realizes he’s caught the attention of other customers as well. He’s like a trapped animal being told to scram in the presence of merciless predators.

It’s not a nice feeling, not at all.

Humiliation seeps into XL’s bones. It’s been a while since he was last scrutinized by the general public, and while this is only a handful of elite gathered in a medium-sized building, the burden weighing down on XL feels like that of the weight of the world. He needs to escape. He needs to breathe. Because only then can XL continue saving himself.

Right as XL decides it might be time to let the reins go, he hears the whooshing sound of the doors opening. He doesn’t turn to see who has entered, but the surrounding staff who were observing the exchange go deathly silent. Their faces automatically mold into a mask of obedience, posture tightening up.

***

He is one of the oldest orphans in the orphanage. His age alone makes him fit for this task, and if he does it right, he can earn money as well as the good graces of his caretakers. He can do it.

He must. He must survive.

But there are so many people. So many plates and tables and silverware. Everyone is so tall, so big, so important. It’s been three hours, and his feet have developed blisters. The bruises from a couple days ago still throb. When he smells all the rich aromas coming from the kitchen, from the plates he carries upon both hands, his stomach growls.

He feels light-headed. Too many people, he thinks. Too much talking and boisterous laughter. He wants to leave but he can’t. He won’t be paid until the end of the night, after clean-up.

He continues to work.

And then it happens. It’s too fast. He wasn’t looking where he was going, just staring at the floor as he rushed to the kitchen. But he has bumped into another person, and judging by the clothes he wears and his pleasant scent, this person is very important.

He can only stare at the mess he’s made. There are gasps of shock and horror around him. He can’t breathe. He wants to disappear. To die, just freaking die already. He will never make it out if he can’t even complete mundane work like this.

As he’s ushered into the kitchens by the older male, he prepares for the yelling, and possibly the hits. They never come. Instead, he’s cleaned up by the older male, who asks a couple questions.

He answers them willingly.

“What is your name?”

“It’s nice to meet you, Xiao Hong-er. I’m Xie Lian, you can call me gege, okay?”

“Everyone makes mistakes, Xiao Hong-er. But they will never define you. As long as you remain true to yourself, you can achieve anything you set your heart to. Do you understand?”

“I believe in you.”

When gege left through the kitchen doors, back to the adult world, back to being important, another older male walks in. The other male frowns, then says one word.

“Fired.”

***

“What is going on here?” An authoritative voice demands, sending powerful vibrations through the air. The hairs on the back of XL’s neck stand up as the new person comes up from behind him. This must be an important figure.

The manager answers that a customer–who isn’t even dressed according to the standards–has been causing trouble. Already beyond mortified at the turn of events but refusing to let it show, XL slowly meets the newcomer’s eyes as he is acknowledged.

The man is tall, at least a head taller than XL. He’s broader too, dressed to the nines just like the other waiters and customers in the restaurant. His skin is hauntingly pale, slivers of ink peeking out from underneath the dress shirt he wears, top three buttons open. XL does not allow his gaze to waver as he instantly labels this guy one of the most handsome men he’s laid eyes upon, and it makes his heart stutter.

XL shoves down these uncalled for thoughts and refrains from giving any of his emotions away.

The most peculiar thing is the eyepatch settled upon the other man’s right eye. XL makes it a point not to stare too much. The eye left uncovered regards XL with interest. XL feels shivers run down his spine at that, steeling himself for the harsh words that will be directed towards him once more.

So XL finally bows his head and lowers his eyes.

“Never mind. I was just leaving. Sorry to be a disturbance.”

An awkward silence follows. The staff doesn’t say anything, but their faces are victorious at the prospect that XL has finally caved in. On the other hand, the taller man’s eye widens, and he only regards XL for ten more seconds before anger becomes noticeable in his gaze.

XL feels his stomach drop.

He goes to make his exit, except a large hand on his shoulder prevents him from turning around. XL looks at the taller man with confusion. The eye-patched man says only one word, expression solemn.

“Stay.”

As XL processes this with raised eyebrows, the taller man now glares holes into the manager who had spoken in the first place. With a click of his tongue, loud and clear, all the staff rushes back to their places, getting back to work. This includes the manager, who ducks his head to avoid the hostile energy of who XL now assumes is his boss.

“Sir?” XL addresses quietly as all the eyes that were once staring at him go back to their own business. The taller man now fully turns to face XL, hand slipping off XL’s shoulder.

“Sorry about that. I didn’t realize such standards were put into place since my departure. I’ll ensure there are consequences for the staff that has disrespected you tonight,” he says firmly, never breaking eye contact. This makes XL’s skin crawl, makes him feel alive. The other man holds his hand out, seemingly shrinking himself to fit XL’s comfort. “I’m the owner of this establishment, by the way. You can call me San Lang.”

XL is utterly speechless for a second, automatically taking SL’s hand and shaking while simultaneously admiring his undeniable attractiveness.

“M-many thanks, San Lang. I didn’t mean to cause such a commotion...” XL feels himself blush as he takes note that their hands have been intertwined for an absurd amount of time considering they’re strangers.

“I tried telling them I had a reservation, but they wouldn’t seat me—“

“They rejected your reservation?” SL questions sharply, dropping XL’s hand and curling his own into a fist.

XL bites his lip, nodding. He can practically feel the waves of irritation rolling off of the owner. “But I suppose I didn’t realize how high-scale this restaurant is. I mean, I’ve heard many great things about the food...”

When SL doesn’t say anything, the corner of his lips turned downwards, XL quickly backtracks in panic, realizing what he said must’ve been offensive.

“I’m sure your restaurant still holds true to its reputation, haha! I suppose...maybe I should’ve thought to dress more formally so this wouldn’t have happened,” XL says.

However, SL is already shaking his head. When he speaks, his voice is hushed, words tumbling out in a smooth baritone voice that XL could listen to for hours.

“No. None of this is your fault. Please don’t take whatever my staff has said to heart. They are the ones mistaken and they will be held accountable. Forgive me for disappointing you...?” He trails off.

“Xie Lian,” XL offers helpfully, offering a small smile.

“Xie Lian...” SL says slowly, as if testing the name out and decidedly liking the way it sounds. He whispers something else under his breath that XL can’t quite make out. XL chuckles at that, now wondering how old SL is. He doesn’t look any older than XL himself, perhaps even younger. Just the mere fact that SL is this young and so successful, XL is the one in awe.

They stand at the entrance of the restaurant in a brief silence, just staring at each other. XL assumes it’s time for him to take his leave. His reservation doesn’t matter much anymore, not like he wanted to dine and be served by the same people who looked down on him because of his underdressed self.

But before he can, once again, announce his exit, SL steps a little closer, a curious look in his eye.

“Say, Xie Lian, seeing as this was such a disservice for your night, would you be interested in going somewhere else? I know a few places that have just as delicious food,” SL offers, tilting his head innocently. His long hair is tied into a low ponytail, but his side bangs fall gracefully across his face.

“Wouldn’t that be showing me your competition?” XL asks good-naturedly. SL smirks at that.

“Competition doesn’t matter when the food in question is high quality,” he answers, holding his hands up while shrugging. “You came here for a satisfactory meal, and I’m saying I know a place or two that will be just as pleasing. If you’re up to try it, just say the word,” SL continues casually, arms now crossed in a way that makes the fabric of his long-sleeved dress shirt bulge.

XL is flattered by such an offer. He looks one last time at the inside dining room, the fancy tablecloths and expensive-looking candles, and the lavishly dressed customers who sit with their backs rod-straight, fingers pointing here and there.

It’s honestly a no-brainer. XL allows himself to smile graciously, nodding. “I would greatly appreciate it. I’m merely looking for dinner. Anywhere is fine.”

SL returns the smile, one eye crinkling at the corner. He seems relieved at XL’s response, and promptly goes to grab his coat that he had thrown at a waiter upon entering.

XL’s eyes widen at the bold, maple-red long coat SL puts on, accentuating board shoulders and his slim figure. XL puts aside his self-conscious thoughts of his ratty, second-hand clothes. SL gestures for XL to walk out the doors first, typing away at his phone, most likely making a last-minute call for a reservation.

XL thinks that for once in his life, luck seems to be on his side. What could’ve been a night of total humiliation and shame turned into a nice meal with a new friend. XL pushes the doors open with a newfound sense of happiness, completely missing the way HC makes a neck-slicing motion at the staff on his way out.

(HC)

(How To Piss Off Your Boss)