#inflection point my first love!!!

[lovelyhan]

1. Inflection Point (I finally chose. She's just so deeply special to me. I also think that was the first work of yours I read so, there's sentimentality there.)

2. Promise Ring (I don't want to talk about it. You're never allowed to write for Dino again /hj.)

3. Mirage (Mirage Wonwoo will always be famous to me.)

4. Haox (I love suffering so.)

5. Rush Hour (It's enemies to lovers of sorts and it's Hao. It also appeals to the exhibitionist in me. RJ geared content tbh.)

Honourable mention to Favorite Poison and Again and Again though.

THE EXHIBITIONIST INMEJRIFKEE and im not gonna lie i didnt expect you to actually pull up a list of ur top 5 kai fics 😭😭😭😭 ure too good for me,, what did i do to deserve someone like you,,,

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。take my time (i’ll spend it all on you) | gojo satoru

wc: 1.6k

summary: gojo sees you in lingerie for the first time. 

contains: f!reader, suggestive almost nsfw (they make out… maybe a bit steamy), 18+ just in case, reader is in lingerie, shy feelings!! gojo down bad!!

a/n: i hc that the first time gojo sees you in lingerie, it’s like seeing you walk down the aisle—he’s a bit sappy like that! i also think that he’d love seeing his lover in pink! idk! it’s just the vibes! (col reader would look cute in pink too i think hehe complements the personality!); takes place later on, around col #4 (wip)

collection masterlist: conversations on love 3.5b. —will i ever bring you peace? <- you are here -> +04b (extra). if you're ready (let me) + 04. these traces of love, they outline you

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There are few things in life that have earned Gojo’s double take: 

A sign for a newly-opened gelato shop with ‘exclusive flavors for the first 30 customers!’ written in fine print; Megumi, back in middle school, being confessed to with a sweetly handcrafted box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day; a small cut, right at the tip of his nose from that time you sparred with him and he let you get too close (or so he says). 

And now you. 

In something pink—

—that if he backtracks just a bit, steps one foot behind the other to glance again at the space left open by the bedroom door, and squints—

He’s certain, 200% sure. 

It’s lingerie. 

He blinks once, twice, rubs at his eyes even as his mind attempts to catch up to whatever it is–you–he just saw. This must be what wires feel when they short circuit. 

You know he’s home, right? You have to, you just told him to rinse the dishes after snacking.

And he was in the middle of doing that—walking across your apartment from couch to kitchen, stopping only to do a double take at the sight of pink in his periphery, at you, once he looked again, clearly. 

Or were you doing this on purpose? Did you want him to see you? 

He gulps, warmth spreading from the tips of his ears down to his neck, lingering. 

There’s only one way to find out, really. 

He walks down the hallway leading to the bedroom, keeping his footsteps light so as to not startle you.

If he’s being honest right now, his mind is full to the point of feeling empty—too many thoughts swirling around the fact that behind this very door, he’s about to find you in pink lingerie. 

And when he takes a deep breath, fingertips pushing on wood very slightly as he calls out, “Bab—“

“S’toru!” you squeal from the other side, panicked as you instantly push it back closed.

So you didn’t do it on purpose. 

“Sorry, give me a minute!” you call out, and he can hear your footsteps from the other side, frantically walking around for what he can assume is you looking for something to cover yourself with. 

But he doesn’t want that. 

Not when he already has the visual of you, pretty in what he suspects is pink lace.

Not when the way you said ‘S’toru’ sounded so much like ‘‘Toru’, your ‘‘Toru’, the way you usually say it pressed against bed sheets, under him, expression blissed out from—

Do you have any idea what that does to him? 

“Are you wearing lingerie?” 

You freeze. Gojo can tell from the other side of the door, and you think, damn it, because he isn’t supposed to know you bought a set, much less see you in it. Not yet. 

You could try to lie, but Gojo always sees through you, through every change in inflection, the way your eyebrow twitches before speaking. 

“Can I come in?” he asks softly, almost hesitantly. 

How can you possibly resist him when he speaks to you like this? Asking permission as if this space you live in isn’t as much his?

You sigh, flustered at being caught this way, “Can you close your eyes first?” 

He follows, laying one hand over his eyes for good measure before knocking on the door. You open it slowly, wood creaking as he steps inside. 

You feel a little naked right now despite how he isn’t even looking your way, opting to face the side opposite from where you’re standing. It’s on purpose, you know, he can tell where you are—Six Eyes and all. 

There’s a smile that he’s hiding, biting his lower lip to stop it from showing. His toes are wiggling from the excitement coursing through him.

You know Gojo will like you in anything; in fact, he’s made it very clear that he prefers you in nothing—but still. Your stomach feels queasy and you can’t get rid of how nervous you’re feeling. 

And you guess, it’s really just because this was meant to be a surprise for him—the design you’ve chosen, how it looks on your body, how it looks to him, especially. You’d ordered the lingerie set months in advance to leave a lot of time for returns, whether it turned out ill-fitting or just unflattering.

You didn’t expect him to catch a glimpse of it now, months before his birthday, before you were even ready. 

“I’m waiting…” he teases, voice sing-song in that way he usually does to annoy you. It always makes you smile though, and it’s an odd form of comforting with how it dulls your jitters right now, just a little bit.

“Okay, you can look.” 

As soon as he turns, you squeeze your eyes shut, hands on your sides as you fiddle with your fingernails. Seeing, knowing his reaction in real time is still nervewracking, regardless of every reassurance you tell yourself—because, what if this is the off-chance that you’re wrong, and he doesn’t like it? 

Or worse: what if he has to pretend he likes it?

You frown a bit—it doesn’t help at all that Gojo isn’t saying anything.

But—

How can he, when there are no words, no adjectives, no possible descriptions to articulate what he’s seeing—what he’s feeling?

If he didn’t die then, in every instance he’s brushed with death: by Toji’s hands, locked up inside that box, in that final moment with Sukuna, nearly halved—

He thinks he might have just died right now. 

Because this? You? In lingerie as pink as all he’s feeling��his cheeks, his nose, flushing down his neck, maybe even his chest if it were exposed. 

It’s heaven. 

You’re a sight. 

While Gojo has certainly seen you in much less, and done with you things much more than just stand with you like this, he’s never seen you in lingerie.

And you’re so pretty. Sexy. All his, he can’t believe it.   

He’s noticing all the little details on it–on you–its shade, almost salmon with a bit of baby pink; its material: sheer net as the base for everything—it’s practically see-through save for the delicate floral lace running across the bra cups and panty front.

The set itself is nice, sure, but he knows he only likes it this much because it’s on you. And he knows he’ll always like anything on you. 

The heat in his stomach is building, spreading, to the single part of him that—

“Is it that bad?” you scrunch your nose, eyes still closed. He looks at you confused, before he realizes: he hasn’t said anything.

He chuckles and you open your eyes, pouting. 

And God, he wishes you didn’t do that. That look on your face—what it does to him.

“I ordered it in advance for your birthday,” you start, pout deepening as you ramble on, “it was supposed to be a surprise, but if you don’t like it, I can still–” 

That’s enough. 

He can’t believe that you actually think he doesn’t like it. 

Gojo steps into your space, close enough to grab you by the waist as his other hand reaches up to slot itself in the area between your ear and your jawline, tilting your head up slightly as he leans in to kiss you. 

It’s rushed at first, almost desperate—hungry, the way he releases his breath only to take you in; your lips, soft in the way he knows them to be, his hand on your waist squeezing. Your fingertips trail to his cheek, almost cupping as his kisses turn deeper, more languid, lips moving against yours slowly, savoring. 

Gojo is a fast learner, and he shows it best in the way he kisses you, as if he’s memorized every way to build that familiar heat within you. You lay your other hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his t-shirt as he pulls you closer. 

You bite his lip and suck, just a little bit, the way he likes it, and he moans, lowly, vibrations rippling through your mouth as he holds you steady. He’s hard already; you can feel it pressing against your lower belly. 

And you realize, as a small laugh tears itself away from you, how ridiculous it was for you to even worry. 

You break the kiss, leaning your forehead against his as you keep your noses touching. It’s impossible to tell how Gojo looks, but you have a hunch with how he’s breathing so heavily; the skies in his eyes must be darker, almost gray, turned on by desire—the same one settling deep in your stomach, aching, needy. 

“It’s perfect,” he whispers, lips grazing yours. He traces hearts by your shoulder, something born out of the many times you’ve lain in bed together, playing with the strap of your bra before pulling, a short snap! as he lets go. 

“You like it?” you whisper back, a lilt in your tone, teasing. Your fingers come up to trace his lips and he holds them in place, nipping. 

“Mhm,” he grins, smoothing his hand over the lace details on your bra, his thumb rubbing, “so pretty.” 

He leans in again, a small peck, before asking, “Does this mean I can get my gift now?” 

You laugh, hitting his chest, “It’s not your birthday yet!” 

“Yeah, but what is time anyway?” 

And you know, with the way he’s trailing kisses down your neck, licking and sucking—you’re going to have to find another thing to surprise him with on his birthday. 

.

Later that evening, with your head lying right on his chest, you remember. 

“Oh yeah, the set also came with one of those belt things. Garter, I think? But I wasn’t sure if you’d be into–” 

You’ve never seen Gojo get up from bed faster.

thank you notes: for that anon that asked about whether col reader wears lingerie! + @stellamancer @soumies @crysugu for validating me that pink is in fact col reader's colour ᰔ i also just luv u guys 🥺

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[usedpidemo]

Girlfriend experience (Twice Tzuyu)

“I need your help.” 

You’re typing up your next application letter when you’re suddenly interrupted by Tzuyu’s familiar voice. “Sure, what’s up?”

There’s no way you’re turning down a request from Tzuyu. 

She pauses for a moment, contemplating her next words carefully, knowing regardless of the outcome, everything will never be the same. 

Then, she speaks.

“Can you be my boyfriend for a day?”

—————

You don’t take it seriously. For one, you know damn well you don’t deserve to breathe the same air as Chou Tzuyu, let alone earn the coveted title of ‘boyfriend.’ It’s already a privilege to share rooms with her in college, how much more to be her personal tutor. Sure, she loves to mess around with you every now and then, but even by her standards, this is one joke too out there to make.

“Okay Tzu, very funny, but come to me when you actually need help with something,” you tell her, chuckling, unable to hide your toothy smile before returning to your computer screen. 

You overlook the intent behind her stare. 

“I’m serious. I really need someone to pose as my boyfriend for a day,” she replies, to the point. Another thing about living with Tzuyu is that she’s always straightforward. There’s no beating around the bush with her; everything she says is the truth. So why aren’t you taking her plea with a little more genuine concern?

“Yeah. Me. Your boyfriend. As if that’s gonna convince anyone,” you reply, typing away at your keyboard, unfazed by her statement. You still don’t buy it.

“Yes. I believe you can be my boyfriend.”

You laugh again. More sarcastic than amused this time. “Real cute, Tzu.” You face your roommate with an unamused grimace. “Now what do you want from me?”

“Do I need to slap you to prove I’m not lying?” Tzuyu returns your mockery with a contemptuous glare of her own.

Still under the impression that she’s toying with you, you playfully challenge her. “Sure. I don’t think you’re being serious—”

A thunderous echo ripples between the space between you and Tzuyu, immediately closing the gap. Everything happens in an instant. You’re sent swerving back, along with your swivel chair. A bright sore blot forms on your cheek, the pain not registering right away. A little more applied force on that hit and she would have dashed your head against the wall. 

“Oh—damn.” You groan, pressing a palm on the reddened area, flush with blood, as if a bump had formed from the sharp impact. “All right, I believe you now.”

She’s shaking her head, her expression intense, humorless. “Now will you hear me out?”

“Yes!” you shout at her, inflection teetering on screaming, nodding your head in agreement.

“Great. Go fix up your face first, then I’ll explain everything,” she says before turning away and walking out the front door, leaving you on your own to fix yourself.

—————

Tzuyu doesn’t even come back to the apartment by the time you clean up yourself. It’s late in the evening when she bursts in, bringing a few pairs of freshly bought expensive outfits. It’s part of the package living with one of the richest women in your college. Her entire wardrobe is fitted with nothing but designer clothing, jewelry costing up to the hundreds of thousands, and tailor made outfits designed to fit only her and her alone. Her casual attire could be your Sunday best. Her pajamas could be your everyday wear. It’s as if her entire personality is to be a model—and if she were, she’d be the face of every brand and on the front cover of every fashion magazine in existence.

“I know this sounds outrageous, but I want you to be my boyfriend even for a day,” she repeats herself, the idea still too incomprehensible for your brain. You could listen to it again and again. For anyone, the thought is nothing but an impossible fantasy, but for Tzuyu to personally pick you, even if it's only make-believe, is something special. 

You have more questions than answers. “Yeah, but why? Why do you want a boyfriend for a day?”

“I’m visiting my parents for the weekend. Well, I’m forced to.” 

In contrast to her extravagant lifestyle, she’s sharing takeout chicken with you. More often than not, you eat the same food, with Tzuyu often deferring to you for choices. Usually fast food, it’s actually her preference.

“Okay, so what does this have to do with having a boyfriend?”

She takes a sip of her sake. “They expect me to have one by the time I graduate.”

“Okay and? What happens if you don’t?”

“Arranged marriage. I promised my parents that I would find a boyfriend by the time I turn 25. It’s how I got to be independent, how I got into college”  —she faces you, her lovely eyes twinkling— “and how I met you.”

Observing Tzuyu, you notice a few details. The most obvious being that she’s pretty, even when chomping on a chicken leg’s bone. The second is her worried gaze. This is something that’s clearly been bothering her for a while. She has deferred to you countless times for multiple academic projects ranging from research to exams, each request building more and more trust, to the point where you’ve become her closest confidant, in addition to being her roommate. Unlike before, this is not a test with a defined system and something easily manipulated and planned for, and you can’t really prepare any better either.

On your end, she pays generously; you’re only applying for an internship because your course demands it. You could start your business with the money earned from helping her. But her payroll will eventually stop.

“Listen. We might never see each other again when we graduate in a few months, and I’m sure you’re tired of me asking for your help when you could be doing more,” she says, tone gloomy, nervous. “But this is more you being the only guy I can trust—this is my freedom on the line. Even if I mostly hated my time here, it’s still better than whatever life they want for me.”

You don’t question her reasoning, even if that last bit sounds hyperbolic. Surely it can’t be that bad. You and Tzuyu have a lot more in common than you realize: you don’t like the college grind, you’re both admittedly reclusive, and you’ll miss each other’s presence when the time comes.

“Couldn't you try getting someone as a stand-in? I’m not even in the top 100 most handsome guys in the student body. It’ll never fly.”

She chuckles, showing flashes of positive energy for the first time in a while. “Nope. They’d fumble the script so bad it wouldn’t be worth the shot. I’d figure since you’re like one of twelve people I constantly talk to, I could trust you to be a convincing enough boyfriend.”

“Does it have to be a boyfriend? Why not a girl?”

“I wish. I’d love to bring Sana along, and she’d be such a joy for them, but boomer parents, am I right?”

You both share a hearty laugh. 

“Anyway,” Tzuyu puts away her plate, having finished her share of dinner to present you three shopping bags full of newly bought clothes. “These are all yours, just wear the one you like the most to our date. Plus I don’t think I ever bought you new clothes?”

“Nope, nope you haven’t.” You shake your head, remembering that your current computer setup, PS5, Lego collection, and closet full of jackets and joggers that’s been collecting dust in the corner of your room were all paid under Tzuyu’s name. 

—————

“You never told me they were still living in Taiwan,” you say to Tzuyu, watching the ground from your airplane seat, which happens to be next to the wing. You’ve never been on a flight before—until now. Something you should have admitted, but your pride got in the way. “I thought you said they owned property here!”

Tzuyu blushes in shame. “Did I?” she questions herself, before suddenly recalling, “Oh yeah! I lived here when I was in fourth grade. It was only one year though. I loved my schooling here; they didn’t.”

None of what she said fully registers in your brain. What does occupy your head is the idea of plummeting 30,000 feet from the air. Even with all the safety measures, your mind races with a hundred scenarios ending in your sudden and tragic demise. 

As the plane begins to move before eventually ascending, you can’t stare away as outside scenery turns into vague blurs sweeping by. In just a few moments, you’re so far high that you can only see clouds. It sends your brain into overdrive. Meanwhile, Tzuyu’s completely relaxed, having placed a sleep mask for the 15 hour flight to come. She doesn’t have to see at your worst, repeatedly cursing over the sound of music playing through her earphones. At least you’re comfortably secluded in first class, where each pair of passengers occupy their own private cabin for sleeping, eating, and even showering. No one can hear you scream.

The staff can’t come fast enough, even if closing the blinds is the simplest thing you can do. 

—————

On arrival, Tzuyu’s surprises keep coming in droves. A personalized driver and car awaits at the airport’s exit, carrying all your luggage by himself. He’s got his own expensive suit, opening the rear passenger doors on your behalf.

“Welcome home, Miss Chou. And this companion of yours is?”

“My boyfriend,” she warmly tells the driver, eliciting a curious look from him towards you. You’re not doing anything wrong—yet—but you can tell by his expression that you’re not giving off a good first impression. “I’m taking him to meet my parents.”

“Of course. Where shall I drive you? Shall I take you directly to them today?”

“No. I’d like to spend the rest of the day at my own place.”

“Certainly. Penthouse it is.”

After a leisurely half-hour drive through the city, the car pulls up in front of a high-rise building. The front entrance alone can be its own five-star luxury hotel and resort. Tzuyu says only millionaires are able to buy and own flats here, which makes her ownership of the penthouse even more absurd. Only now you’re witnessing the fullest extent of her wealth after seeing brief flashes throughout college.

Her lavish penthouse welcomes you from the moment you step off the elevator. Despite being away for years, the place looks as good as new, well-maintained in her absence. Every single room is twice the size of your whole apartment back home, with countless amenities and utilities dedicated to a certain purpose. There’s up to five bedrooms, each decked with their own king-size mattress and as many bathrooms to accommodate up to four guests at a time. The whole setup is topped up by a background of the city skyline seen through floor wide glass windows.

You don’t really have any words to say at this point. You’re just soaking it all in, filled with wonder and awe.

“All this and you still chose to live in a regular ass dorm,” you comment, pressing one of the piano keys, its sound echoing all over the massive place. “You’ve got to be fucking shitting me.”

“Didn’t really have a choice,” she says, pacing in and out of the rooms, her voice reverberating throughout the living room. “I had to get close to someone, and having my own place was not gonna help whatsoever.”

“Christ—” you mutter to yourself, still taken aback at how fucking expensive Tzuyu lives. Someone of her kind shouldn’t be pretending to act like everyone else—struggling to get by and having to grind their ass off. She doesn’t need anything beyond a high school diploma and some common sense; she should be enjoying herself, living a larger than life lifestyle that others will be jealous of.  

Still, this shouldn’t be stressing her out. Despite her numerous rebuttals, she could have easily placed someone else in your shoes right now, someone more capable to face her seemingly stringent family. 

You can only draw it up to rich people problems, something you’ll likely never experience in your lifetime.

“Would you like to go out for dinner later? Or would you like for us to just have delivery instead?” Tzuyu asks, approaching you with an endearing smile and an enticing offer: on her hand are a dangling pair of keys with a prancing horse etched on them. 

She has you under her spell, if everything else wasn’t convincing enough.

“Name me a nice place to eat and I’ll think about it.”

—————

You end up staying out way later than intended. 

It’s a miracle her car doesn’t have a single dent by the time you return to the condominium. In the time you’ve spent with Tzuyu, you’ve grown more comfortable with the girlfriend role given to you. You don’t even wait for the valet driver to open her side of the door; the act comes naturally. She steps out of the vehicle, one leg peeking through her dress, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. She reaches out her hand for you to take, and it feels like a habit you’ve been doing for years.

You’ve gotten your fair share of jealous looks over the past few hours. Even now, bystanders in the front lobby are making a scene out of you being together. All of them are asking the same question: how does someone like you have a woman like Chou Tzuyu by your side.

Deep down, you recognize it’s an act, a part of the show. Tzuyu knows this too. She sells her parts like she’s selling her beauty: naturally well. On the other hand, you are showing tiny cracks on your face, only crumbling after you disappear from everyone’s view behind that elevator.

“So, are you ready for tomorrow?” she asks you, friendly and soft as ever.

You sigh, unable to find it in you to answer. Even as you open your mouth, you lack the conviction to give off a confident response, and it shows in your word choice. “Maybe.”

Tzuyu furrows an eyebrow, frowning. “What’s up?”

You can’t even look at her as you talk, only finding some semblance of relief watching the city from your view. Lovely, just like Tzuyu. “What if this doesn’t work,” you tell her, tone low, evidently anxious. What if—”

“Don’t overthink it,” she turns you toward her, brushing a hand up and down your shoulder. For a moment, you see her eyes gleam with the night life’s reflection. “Even if it all goes horribly wrong, the blame completely falls on me. Remember that.”

“I might never see you again. Hell, you might never go back,” you reply, your doubts not quelled in the slightest. Neither of you care that you’ve got your hands on each other, unwilling to let go.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” she says, unfazed by your pessimism. “At least I made up for everything you’ve done for me, including this.”

“Really? As if you haven’t been doing that since I first helped you—”

Tzuyu laughs, her cheeks flush in embarrassment. “I got nothing better to spend it on. Might as well do it on someone who actually deserves it.”

You’re not sure whether to feel elated or flattered by that statement. Your rosy cheeks say the former. Perhaps this is a consequence of spending way too much time with her, or that you’ve been putting plenty of investment in your role. Either way, you’re better off spending the remainder of your night not overthinking about it. It’s been a long day. 

“I’m going to bed. It’s getting late, and you said we’re getting picked up early tomorrow.” 

“Right. I completely forgot, too. I guess we must have been having too much fun together, huh?”

Neither of you even bring up the fact that you were holding each other close the entire time, bordering on romance. It’s probably for the best.

—————

“Hey.”

Tzuyu’s feathery voice brings your attention back to reality. For most of the ride, you’ve been mindlessly staring out the window. From passing cars to idle trees, from long stretches of highway to winding mountain roads. Chatter inside the vehicle passes through your ears like radio static. Thoughts racing in your mind comprise numerous outcomes and what-ifs, none of which you’re able to see the ending. Never mind the fact that she’s looking her most divine, her most prim, perfectly suited for such a special occasion. The less you think about what’s ahead, the better.

She doesn’t make it any easier, especially when she’s leaning forward with her seatbelt, her warm expressions invoking sweet innocence and genuine concern. Her fingers are twiddling with yours, gripped to the leather seats, trying to get as much of your interest. “You all right?”

You swallow down a nonexistent lump in your throat. “I’m fine. What is it?”

“My parents are asking what your favorite food is so they can prepare it for you.” 

“Tell them I like beef,” is your immediate response before looking out the window again. She doesn’t press you any further, thankfully leaving you with your thoughts for the rest of the drive.

The car eventually stops in front of a large gate. Not a sign of security in sight, except for a pair of cameras positioned on both ends. After a brief scan, the entryway opens of its own accord. You’ve left the city so far behind, you might as well be high above the sky. 

A couple more miles of driving till you finally reach your destination: a large mansion with a fountain statue in front of the entrance. A dozen expensive cars are parked right outside, all covered in sheets for safety. None of these details are surprising considering you’ve previously seen Tzuyu’s wealth firsthand. You’re starting to believe the rumors about her being the heiress of some business empire are true.

The driver needlessly announces that you’ve arrived before he steps out to open the passenger doors—Tzuyu first, then yours.

To think you’d end up getting involved in family affairs straight out of a soap opera.

Tzuyu looks you in the eye, reaching out her hand with a reassuring nod. No words, just shared confidence and a slither of hope between you both. Despite the initial hesitation, you hold her and together, you enter the unknown.

Inside, more lavish decor greets you everywhere. Stuff that’s more alienating than welcoming. It’s a daunting presence being here that you end up forgetting to remove your shoes before entering, despite the butler’s admonishment. Tzuyu ends up snapping you back, and you quickly swap your footwear for theirs before advancing. Mercifully, there’s only two pairs of eyes in the room watching, but one is observing you through a harsh gaze.

The servant leads you out to a garden where you finally get a glimpse at Tzuyu’s parents for the first time. Also laid out on the lawn is a large table with different kinds of food being prepared by other butlers. Unsurprisingly, she runs ahead to greet them, leaving you on your own to introduce yourself to them.

“Welcome home, Tzu,” says both Papa Chou and Mama Chou to their daughter while she runs to her father, throwing a huge bear hug. She gives her mother a similarly loving embrace after.

Meanwhile, you’re taking little steps down the stairs to the garden, continually reminding yourself not to fuck up. 

“Oh! Right—” Tzuyu looks in your direction, notices your plodding pace. She’s pointing you out to her parents like you’re the most important person in the room. “That—that’s my boyfriend over there.”

At this point, you can easily fold a dozen different ways. Piss your pants, shit on them, run away like a spotted convict. You know as much about her family as anyone else in your position; the information given to you is incredibly scarce and vague at best. But you’re bound to Tzuyu’s hand like a string to a yarn. Your only saving grace is the hope that this event is a quick dine and drive and not some grandiose festivity.

It doesn’t help that the entire time you’ve spent with Tzuyu, not a single minute was spent on acting like her boyfriend.

All eyes fall upon you. It should have been a familiar feeling, something you can easily adjust to, but it isn’t. This is different. It’s not the same as being around friends and no-name strangers. Family judgment lingers on, especially after you’re through. Every little move counts.

Bowing to her parents, you pull your attempt at a friendly smile, falling somewhere between the line of goofy and awkward. “Great to meet you, Papa and Mama Chou.”

Your ‘girlfriend’ looks at you with a heightened sense of pride, convincing enough to be sincere. She’s hard carrying you in the acting department. Smiling more softly, she adds, “Shall we eat?”

—————

You and Tzuyu are seated opposite her parents on the large table, with a scrumptious feast filling in the space between. Food is eaten in small increments, with most of the lunch spent on lengthy conversation. It’s more of an interrogation and less of a friendly scene. 

“So—how did you meet?” asks Papa Chou, tone as typical of a protective father, cold, calculated, and stern. 

“He was my roommate when I got into university,” Tzuyu replies, constantly shooting quick glances at you, eating your share leisurely. Both of you agreed that unless asked, she’d take on the role of your mouthpiece.  You’re nodding; you’d say the same thing—and it’s one of the few things that’s true. “It was a chance encounter.”

“A roommate? As in—you moved into a dorm?” 

“Not exactly a dorm, but an apartment close to campus. The dorms were too small to fit all my stuff in.”

“You should have just moved into the dorms,” he says, aggressively munching his meal between sentences. “How can you sleep peacefully at night knowing he’s just right next door?”

“All right, let’s not offend our guest here.” Mama Chou interjects, trying to change the course of the conversation. You’d immediately refute him if your mouth isn’t filled with food at the moment. She faces you, asking, “So, how long have you been dating?”

Now you’re swallowing hard, caught off-guard by the surprise question aimed at you. Tzuyu’s hands are tied; she’s watching, but she won’t be saving you.

“About three years,” you say, staring back at your ‘girlfriend,’ looking for a lifeline by simply staring at her. You’re in love; no you’re not. “Some of our schedules overlapped too, so we helped each other out.”

“Yeah,” adds Tzuyu, nodding in agreement. “Without his help, I wouldn’t have passed some of my classes. If nothing else, he’s been nothing but kind and gracious to me.”

“That’s great to hear.” Mama Chou smiles; she’s clearly the friendlier and more approachable of the two parents so far. “I’m glad our daughter has a friend she can trust in college. But do you not have other friends too?”

“I’ve made a few friends besides him too.” Tzuyu interjects, stepping in right as you’re about to continue speaking. She presents a photo of her social circle at a restaurant, consisting entirely of the women she’s close with, including a fellow Taiwanese student. You met most of them because of her. “I hang out with the girls more than him, so don’t worry.”

“They’re all pretty.” Mama Chou looks at the picture with delight. On the other hand, Papa Chou remains stone faced and unimpressed. She’s pointing her finger at the girl to her daughter’s right. “Especially her.”

“Oh, her? That’s Sana from Japan. She’s my best friend actually,” replies Tzuyu, grinning toothily recalling her. “And the two behind her are Japanese too—Momo and Mina.”

“So it’s a multinational university? That’s cute.” 

“We’re still few and far between,” she corrects, putting away her phone. “It’s just that we happened to enter university at the same time, and we’re all foreigners, so we bonded through our shared experience living far from home. We’ll be graduating together in a few months.”

Her mother continues to nod concurrently, turning her attention away from her daughter to you again. “So what happens after you graduate? What are your plans?”

Initially, you hesitate, reaching a crossroads. You can follow the broad outline given by Tzuyu: something about opening a restaurant franchise, following her family’s footsteps in running a business empire, or say it as it is.

“I—don’t really know to be honest,” you tell her, glancing at Tzuyu, and she blinks rapidly, her smile wobbling. To everyone else, she looks calm otherwise. “I’m focusing on my studies right now, and I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.”

“What course are you taking?” 

“Mechanical Engineering. I want to work with cars and all that.”

“So you like cars, hm?” Papa Chou interrupts, leaning his head forward with intrigue. “Tell me—you watch F1? You better be!”

“Absolutely!” You’re staring at him, taking control over the conversation, growing comfortable with your newfound position.

“What’s your team? You better not say Red Bull or Ferrari.”

“McLaren.”

“Driver?”

“Lando.”

He laughs—heartily. He’s offering his hand for you to shake, which you do. You’re then tugged forward by the harsh tug of his grip, much to the amusement of everyone else. “I think we’re gonna get along just fine.” 

Before you know it, you’re being pulled aside and dragged away from Tzuyu and her mom, leading you to the other side of the mansion.

—————

“Good God,” you say, your jaw agape, blown away at what Papa Chou is presenting you: an orange McLaren F1 tucked away inside an enormous garage filled with other luxury cars. “This—this is my dream car.”

“Handsome, right?” He’s leaning by the door, grinning like a child. “It’s got a thousand miles on it too. Wifey doesn’t really like it, though. Says it takes up too much space in the garage.”

“Shit—sorry for my language—how’d you end up buying this?” you ask, swinging open the opposite butterfly door, admiring the interior. “There’s just no way this is real—”

“It’s as real as real gets.” He cuts you off, chuckling at your utter disbelief. “I bought it off some English comedian, then I had it restored and repainted. Says he’s crashed it a few times. Maybe he has, as you kids say, skill issue.”

“So—why are you showing me this?” you ask, turning to him as you’re both seated on opposing passenger sides.

“I was going to give this away to the one who was supposed to marry her,” he says, holding his side of the steering wheel. “But she wanted to live away from us. Very far away.”

You raise your eyebrows, curious.

“Tzuyu is a good person. She’s kind, compassionate and looks after those she’s close with. But she’s also blunt and to the point,” he continues, facing you mid-conversation. “If she feels that something is wrong, she won’t hesitate to call it out. She doesn’t care whether you’re friend or family. She trusts her intuition first above everything. So for her to have a boyfriend only means one thing: she really has full confidence in that person.

“I think you’re a good guy, and I thank you for helping her. But I don’t want my daughter to come home with a broken heart. I would tell you to leave her alone, but I don’t think she would want me to say that. So, I only want you to promise me this one thing.”

“And that is?”

“Make her feel she’s not alone.”

You blink. Again. A few times for good measure. There’s a lot to comprehend and digest, even when it’s been simplified to a simple promise. You’re not sure whether you can agree to that. It may be a straightforward command, but it’s one with a lot of weight borne on its shoulders.

“Promise me that you won’t leave her alone when you go back. Believe me when I say I haven’t seen her face shine that bright in years. I want to see my daughter smiling like that again when she comes home in the future. So I know she’s in good hands. Make sure she does not regret her decision.”

You look away, hesitant, uncertain whether this is still all for show or a genuine reminder. Now you realize how deeply connected you are to Tzuyu. You don’t remember life before meeting her, and you can’t imagine a life after her.

“I will.”

It isn’t the answer you want to give. You’re still trying to fully grasp everything. However, it is the answer that he wants to hear.

—————

After lunch, you and Tzuyu are left to your own devices. Your private talk with her father is played off as a fun discussion about his love for cars, completely disregarding the actual content of your conversation. Probably for the best; such an occasion demands a positive vibe overall. You spend the afternoon exploring their gigantic mansion, amazed by the vastness of the place over the grandiose material taking most of the space. If not for the presence of a butler at every corner, you can easily get lost for days.

“How long did you live here till you moved out?” you ask Tzuyu, examining a childhood photo of her with her family, including someone you haven’t met—her brother.

“Lived here during my teens. Was homeschooled throughout my primary years. Moved out when I was sixteen entering senior high.” She notices you taking a hold of her family picture, particularly noting her brother. “He’s also studying abroad, too. Not as far away as me, but still far from home.”

“Does he know?” You turn to Tzuyu, lifting an eyebrow.

“Of course he does,” she says, facing you with that trademark gummy smile. “He thinks you’re cute, if you’re wondering.”

“No, no. I meant—”

“Oh—sorry I misunderstood,” she replies, laughing, blushing with embarrassment. “But he was the one who convinced me to move out. He told me if I don't experience everything for myself, then I’m not living.”

You agree. You’re worlds apart, from completely different backgrounds, different upbringings. And yet, you’ve been brought together by some divine intervention, finding common ground to stand on. 

“So—what did my dad tell you in private?” she asks, her eyes wandering back to the photo, lasering in on her father.

You pause, reluctant to reveal the truth, even if she’ll most likely believe you. “Not much. Just showed me his car collection.”

She grins. Innocent as it may look, she knows that’s not the full truth. “He told you something about me, didn’t he?”

Your heart is racing. For how dependent she is on you, she can be rather intelligent and clever. 

“He definitely told you something. I just know.”

Tzuyu looks around and finds no one in sight. After double checking, she takes you by the wrist, dragging you along. She moves quickly, even through her heels. She takes you up the stairs and into an unexplored room, releasing you forward without care once inside. While you’re staggering and struggling to stay planted on your feet, she shuts the door behind you both and locks it.

There are no cameras in the room to catch you, and the blinds are completely closed off. It’s just you two again. 

“That’s quiet enough.” Tzuyu steadily approaches you with a new demeanor—a straight, serious attitude reminiscent of her father. “I shouldn’t have to ask twice. What did my dad tell you?”

You were going to explain everything without the extra theatrics anyway, but admittedly you’re now feeling more secure to admit in private. Their security cameras can catch strange sights, but not sounds. Hell, maybe the little stunt she pulled could be more suspicious than anything else.

“He told me to look after you. Make you feel not alone,” you say, unable to look her directly in the eye, your gaze wandering left and right. “He also said that you’re in good hands because of me.”

Tzuyu remains silent, only staring right at you as she draws ever closer. She doesn’t know exactly how to react or what to say in light of your confession. You can tell the moment the wind in her sails has been knocked out: when you said love.

“How did he come to that conclusion?” she asks, the gap between you only breaths apart.

“He said that you trust your intuition more than anything,” you reply, tone low but straight, mustering the strength to meet her halfway. “And that you haven’t been smiling like that for so long.”

She furrows her eyebrow, taken aback by the last statement. “Really? He did not—”

“He really did. I’m just telling you everything as I heard it,” you say, grinning through your teeth, laughing. There goes the little tension between you.

“Can he not—” Tzuyu cracks, strutting around you, toward the lone king-sized bed similar to the one in her penthouse. “He literally calls me all the time. Hell, he was calling me the night before our flight. Don’t believe him.”

“I won’t,” you reply, still chuckling. 

Your gaze wanders down her baby blue dress, perfectly fit and tailored for her light frame. The lengthy skirt flows around her legs like water. As is her long hair, a mixture of black and brunette. You don’t have to state the obvious, but you still feel the need to say it: Tzuyu is incredibly pretty. She’s been hearing that from everyone from the moment she was born. No amount of repetition can truly describe how attractive she looks, like this one occasion was designed specifically for her.

“So—he says I trust my intuition more than anything,” she mutters, glancing around the room. The bedroom belongs to none other than Tzuyu herself. It’s the place she grew up in, and she feels nostalgia being inside it after being gone for so long. Her hands brush along the edge of the mattress, deep in thought. “I never really thought of it like that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t really know, to be honest. But he’s right about one thing,” she says, turning around to face you. She’s taking a good look at you from the neck down, and for the first time in your life, you’re dressed like someone worthy of a person like her. “I do love you.”

Before you even have a second to react, everything goes off. She catches your lips with hers. It’s instantaneous. 

Her hands take hold of your body, still unsure of what to do. You know exactly what to do, though, and that’s to give in. You don’t give it a second thought. You yield to her touch and melt into her passionate kiss, pressing deeper and exploring her shapely figure in return. You’re pulling on each other’s clothes and skin, unwilling to let go. 

You can taste the pent-up need on each other’s lips. 

Yeah, you love her too, actually. 

You love her dress too—not only because baby blue perfectly suits Tzuyu like butter on bread, but also because it leaves her back exposed to your touch. She hums, whines into your lips, sucking on air between hungry kisses, taken by surprise of this new sensation. In response, she’s tugging on your dress coat, pushing it off your shoulders and down to the floor. 

“How long have you wanted to tell me that?” you mutter, breaking off the kiss, hot air pressed against her mouth. 

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” she replies, grinning through her sweet lips. 

“I never said I love you though. Like at all.”

“But I can tell by the way you’re kissing me.”

“Doesn’t mean anything. I’ve seen Sana kiss you like this.”

“And? Does that bother you?”

Her grin is turning into a wicked smirk. Slowly but surely.

“Not at all. I’ve been telling you right from the start: it should have been her, not me.”

She shakes her head. “You want me to hurt Dahyun’s feelings by bringing Sana along? You heartless fuck.”

A new can of worms has just been opened up. None of which was ever in the equation till now. You regret stopping such an intimate moment for this conversation.

“It’s either that or you lose me forever,” she says, breaking the brief gap of silence. “And what could hurt you more?”

Nothing. The answer is nothing, but you don’t want to directly admit it. You need Tzuyu. 

So you end up kissing her again, and she graciously returns the love twofold. She needs you just as much. You’re both meant for each other, and this is the sign.

You push her onto the bed, maintaining the connection as you continue to explore each other’s clothed bodies. In any other situation, all your clothes would be scattered everywhere, and even in her childhood home, you’re both more than willing to make the move. It’s dangerous, yes, but that’s what makes it fun and exciting. After all, she said it herself;  if she wasn’t trying, she wasn’t living. 

“Wait.” Tzuyu mumbles against your mouth, gently pushing you off. You’re halfway through pulling the zipper on her back when she suddenly snaps the link in half. You take the hint and clamber off. 

Seeing Tzuyu flat on her back in bed, looking at you with lust-filled eyes, is a sight a thousand pictures worth taking. Your fingers are anxiously waiting, trembling in anticipation on the corner of your pants, ready to flip at the drop of her word. But then—

“Let’s not. I mean, I don’t wanna say it, but this is just a little too fast for my liking,” she says, glancing around her bedroom. It would certainly be a strange feeling to get fucked in her childhood room, among other things. “Plus you know—”

She’s pointing to the locked door behind you. While you both hear nothing at the moment, you never know who’s right around the corner. 

Wistfully, you sigh in despair. She sits up and pats you on the head. 

“Sorry. I want it as much as you do, but not here. I almost let my thoughts get the best of me,” she says regretfully.

“I understand,” you reply, defeated and crestfallen, despite her efforts to comfort you. 

Turning your head back, you find Tzuyu slipping a hand between her dress, fishing for the panties from her legs. She pushes them past her heels and places them beside her on the bed. 

Aware of the consequences of what’s about to happen, she looks at you with an inviting smile.

—————

“Oh—oh fuck—” whines Tzuyu, her thighs spread wide between your hungry, ravenous tongue. She’s lying flat on the floor, giving you full access to her cunt, but with one condition: that her bed is not to be messed with in any capacity. Of course you took her up on that offer without hesitation; it’s the easiest thing in the world to avoid when the space between the door and the mattress is just as long as the steps between the back garden and the mansion. 

And as much as you want to tear through her dress and feel her pale, creamy skin, you still have to meet people looking as fresh as you possibly can. You’re telling yourself this will be a quick affair, an appetizer for what’s to come later in the night.

Except your brain says otherwise.

Your tongue flickers against Tzuyu’s aching core in bursts. Slamming her eyes shut, she whines and whimpers. Her nails dig into the carpet floor, nerves trembling and convulsing with each flat lick and press on her wet cunt. It’s evident in how violent her body reacts that she’s new to this feeling, something she’ll have to get used to. 

Meanwhile, you’re having a feast. You’re lapping away at her dripping pussy, taking every little drop of slick into your mouth, and she’s so generously soaked. Despite her reluctance, you’re pulling her creamy thighs against your face, wanting her to suffocate you—to utterly ruin you. Even at her most vulnerable, she’s still as careful and dainty as ever. A good girl, like her father says. 

You wonder how he’ll look at both of you after this.

“Mm—please, I don’t wanna hurt you—” she mewls, making an effort to resist your push despite the constant surge of pleasure coursing through her body. Her lashes flutter as she struggles to open her eyes.

“I can take it—just give in—” you tell her, your voice muffled into her skin as you hungrily continue to eat her out. “You taste so fucking good.”

Tzuyu eventually folds. Gives in to ecstasy and lets herself go. You’re forcing these deep, whiny bursts from her mouth as you drag your tongue on her clit, satisfying her most sensitive spots. Her cries echo throughout the room, past the large doors. It’s a dangerous place to be caught in, but you’re so close to drawing everything out from her. You don’t regret a single moment. As much as you want to pull out and replace it with your fingers, she tastes too good for your greedy mouth to share. You’re going to drink her for all her worth.

Her voice cracks with every flick you give; her breaths grow frantic. At this point, the pleasure is becoming too much to bear; she can only grip the carpet tile and brace for impact. She’s quivering as your fingers join your tongue in parting her cunt to be taken and used. It sounds sympathetic when she moans a high-pitched cry, declaring, “Gonna cum—fuck!”

It doesn’t deter you in the slightest. Hell, it only encourages you more.

Except you don’t get the pleasure of replying or gloating, because she cums. Hard.

You do, however, earn the gratification of laying your tongue flat on her cunt when her body locks, before violently crashing. Torrential waves of slick gush all over your needy, thirsty tongue. You lap it up—every last drop, even as it spills onto the carpet floor, drenching your face and the area around her crotch. Her moans come out in waning hoarse bursts, trying to keep your little secret as hidden as possible. In reality, it was obvious to anyone with a functioning ear and a respectable distance away. The locked door was a nonfactor.

Despite your reluctance, you slowly pull away from her heavenly core, licking your messy lips clean, saving the remains with your fingers. 

Still, the desire remains. You’re leaving soft kisses down her thighs, watching Tzuyu depleted of strength as the fallout from her orgasm persists. Unable to find the strength to regain her composure, her eyes remain glued shut, her jaw slack, her breaths heavy. Her arms find solace in each other, folded and held close to her stomach, as if in utter pain, when it’s really just your tongue. “Oh God—”

“How does it feel, Tzu?” you say before kissing her smooth skin.

She struggles to breathe, let alone utter a single word. By the way her lips curl into a satisfied smile, you can conclude that she enjoyed every moment. Rolling over to her side, even in this flushed, broken state, her profile looks so beautiful. To think she wakes up like this every single day. 

Suddenly, you hear a loud knock on the door, followed by a prompt call. “Miss Tzuyu—your parents are looking for you.”

The blunt voice instantly springs Tzuyu back to life, immediately ignoring the crash from her climax. “Shit,” she sharply mutters, looking over to the bed where she thinks her panties lie, but are actually in the pocket of your suit jacket. “Do you think they—”

You fire back a mischievous glare, complete with matching playful face. 

This was her idea after all; you were just following along.

—————

Waiting by the same vehicle you arrived in, you’re about to be driven back to her penthouse. The sun setting has begun setting down, and you both have a few days in Taiwan before flying back home. Tzuyu’s with her parents at the front door, giving them one last hug and kiss goodbye.

It’s only a brief exchange. She quickly rejoins you with a quick peck on the cheek. Looking past her are the waves of her family wishing you safe travels.

“What did they say? Where’s the driver?” You ask Tzuyu, curious about the lack of a butler.

Smirking, she jingles a pair of keys in her hand like it's her personalized bell. “We’re not taking this car back.”

“Then what is our car then?”

She presses a button, and your attention is immediately diverted by the roar of a powerful engine. A familiar two-door coupe pulls up directly in front of the entrance.

You face Tzuyu, then to her dad, who simply motions his hand out to the car. She hands over the keys before walking ahead, swinging open one of the butterfly doors. “It’s already rush hour, so unless you wanna be late for our dinner date—”

You immediately rush past her and into the driver’s seat, revving up the engine. “Okay. Get in.”

—————

As the Chou property quickly disappears from the rearview mirror, you glance at Tzuyu, realizing something seems off. 

There’s no emotional goodbye, no formality—just a brief exchange and then you’re sent off, just like that.

“There’s no dinner date right?” you ask her, your attention primarily focused on the winding, curving road ahead. Even with your brief experience behind the wheel of a fast car, this older one in particular requires more skill and direct input. “Surely you didn’t book one on the same day as—”

Tzuyu doesn’t respond, only leaning back on the passenger seat. A cursory glance reveals the curl of her lips as she seemingly falls asleep.

“You’re quite naughty, you know that?” you comment, nudging her elbow, eliciting a laugh out of her. “What happened to the so-called ‘princess’ of the Chou family?”

“You know why I even bothered to come home, right?” she replies, opening her eyes and staring directly into you. “I don’t miss it that much.”

You can only chuckle in response. 

“And yes—we don’t have a dinner date if you’re wondering,” she adds, her cheeky grin shifting into a coy, taunting smirk. “Really smart of you to realize that I wanted to leave before we are forced to stay overnight, or even worse.”

“I’ve spent better days in worse.”

She lowers her eyebrows. “Seriously—” she says, before immediately hesitating, thinking of another way to prove her point, when suddenly, “You should be thankful they didn’t notice the panties in your pocket.”

“And you should be thankful they didn’t notice the screams coming from the bedroom,” you retort.

“I was trying to hold back, dipshit.”

“That was you holding back?” You laugh hard at her half-hearted attempt of an excuse, seeing as you have a front row seat at how she crumbled. “Then what about when I fucking ate you out and you were cumming all over me? What was that?”

“You’re no better; what about those mumbles I hear at night, huh?” she says, tone hostile, altering her voice to mock yours as she continues, “Why do I sometimes hear my name in your room, huh? ‘Fuck—Tzuyu—you’re so tight Tzuyu—I’m gonna cum Tzuyu—’ Huh? What was that? You degenerate.”

“It’s none of your business, Tzuyu.”

“Maybe dad was right—I should have just had my own apartment!”

The car accelerates, its roar the loudest thing for miles. You’re blitzing through the freeway, speed cameras and fines be damned. Had conversation happened minutes earlier, when you were climbing down the mountains, neither of you would be talking right now.

“You don’t believe that.”

“You’re right—I don’t!” Tzuyu shouts before looking away. She doesn’t care anymore.

You stop twisting the knife, refocusing your priority on not intentionally driving the car into a lamppost this late into your journey. 

So when you finally arrive at her apartment complex, neither of you hop out immediately. There’s a valet waiting in the wings to take over, but you’re not letting the world move on until you come to some form of compromise. 

“Fine. I’m sorry Tzu. I just thought you didn’t like your parents that much—”

“I don’t,” she interjects, facing you again, her features cold and stern. Again, much like her father. “I’m just glad we got all that behind us without any issues.”

“And what about the whole ‘you heard me jerking off to you’ thing?”

“Still gross. If you weren’t helping me in my studies, I wouldn’t have asked for your help had I known sooner. Pervert.”

“Ouch.” 

It’s more of a mock than a devastating admission to your character.

“Too late for that, though, sadly,” she says, sighing, both half-joking and half-serious. “Look, let’s just get this over with and pretend after that this never happened.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes! I’m so tired, I just wanna lie down and forget about all this.”

Neither of you realize you can be heard by the waiting valet driver. He doesn’t seem to mind, though.

“Are we really just gonna gloss over this issue—”

“It’s a non-issue. We didn’t get caught, you’re just being a dude. I know. I’ve been with worse guys. Now let’s go.”

—————

Despite her request, it's not as easy as it sounds. The touching, the kissing, the passion—it’s as real as real gets. 

The same can be said about Tzuyu; behind the callousness and seeming apathy is a pent-up need and genuine desire.

You both emerge from the elevator already on each other’s bodies, wrestling for control, your suit jacket already on the metal floor. Her nails leave sharp, scathing marks on your skin, measuring you up. She’s loosening up the buttons on your shirt as you pin her against a wall, then lead her into one of the five bedrooms. As much as you want to break loose, she has you bound by the neck, making sure your lips never leave hers. 

“So this is why you don’t want to hurt me,” you mutter, breath hot against hers, pressing a finger on your freshly clawed neck. 

“Sorry,” Is all that she can say, and in your eyes, that’s more than enough.

“First kiss, first sex, and first argument all in one day. We’re really moving fast as a couple, huh?”

Tzuyu giggles. “I guess we’re a match made in heaven after all.”

Soon you’re back to making out, fueled by the need for each other’s lips. Despite your bodies crashing onto the bed, you’re still madly kissing each other. Running down the last of your buttons, she pops your shirt open in half, which you slip off. Pulling her back to your level, you kiss down her chin and suck on her neck, releasing a soft, airy whine from her delicate lips. She tilts her head up, opening more of her porcelain skin for the taking. 

Every part of Tzuyu tastes perfect.

Meanwhile, your hands take lease of her back, roaming the exposed parts of her dress. Dabbling with the fabric, you finally pull on the zipper, the garment loosening, freeing, the feeling liberating. For the most part, Tzuyu has always been conservative, even in her most formal outfits. A slit in her dress for a leg at best. Beneath lies some white lace and matching panties, her crop top revealing more tummy than you’ve ever anticipated. 

You’re getting more than what you’ve bargained for, and her figure is so mouthwatering.

With the top half of her dress bundled on her waist, you throw her back down on the mattress, biting on her collarbones. She’s panting, breaths frantic, her hands wrapped around your back, her muscles jolting with every little kiss. Raising a leg close to your hip, she’s softly muttering sweet nothings, whispering, eventually revealing what’s really on her mind. ‘I want you’— she mumbles, her dainty tone making your pulse race, tilting her head to the side to let you conquer more of her lithe body, which you happily do.

It’s been a long day. You could honestly stay in this position forever—your limbs twisting and tangling in a messy harmony, your bodies pressed together, finding solace and comfort in each other’s warmth. 

Tzuyu squirms beneath, lightly pushing you away. Taking the hint, you relent. Lo and behold, half her neck and collarbones are swollen red, your handiwork. While she gathers much needed air for her lungs, you use this brief moment of respite to slip the remainder of her dress down her slender legs before tossing the garment aside to be forgotten. Your trousers end up joining them on the floor shortly after.

Even in this vulnerable state, Tzuyu looks so breathtakingly beautiful. Her perfect side is always on display, no matter what angle.

“Tell me what you want baby,” you whisper on her skin, leaving soft, more delicate kisses on them. Knowing how fragile she is, you’re making sure you don’t flatten her whenever you go down on her.

“I just want you,” she whines, her eyes slammed shut and body writhing, even without any contact. She’s already trembling at the mere thought of you. 

“Be more specific, Tzu,” you command her gently. Sliding down your boxers, your aching cock can finally breathe from its constraints. You press a finger on her panties, and even through them, you can tell she’s soaked. Still, as much as you want to undo them, you want her to do the honors. “Tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want your cock,” she replies, tossing and turning left and right. So wanton, so desperate. She slides down her panties for access, prompting you to hover above her. “Give it to me. I’ve wanted you to fuck me me for so long.”

“How long?” You toy with her, positioning your cock directly between her entrance, the tip lining against her dripping slit. 

“Since earlier,” she whines, feeling the tease, the slow burn, the knife being twisted in her gut. She can’t do anything about it. “Please—just put it in, already.”

The smirk on your lips can’t grow any wider. “I don’t believe you. How long have you really wanted this?”

Tzuyu moans, moans, and moans, much to your delight. Despite her efforts to suppress herself, she inevitably folds. “I don’t care—just fuck me already, will you? I’ve touched myself listening to you. Is that what you wanna hear? I don’t care anymore—just—stick that thing inside me already!”

You didn’t think she would spill the beans this easily. Her wantonness and impatience—it speaks volumes. It’s arousing, makes your ears perk in excitement. A win is a win, after all.

Grabbing her waist, you slide your cock into her entrance—painstakingly slow, slowly setting yourself on fire. Even the slightest flex and push against your shaft could break you in half. Holding your breath, every moment growing more tense as she envelops you in her suffocating warmth. It doesn’t help that her legs clench around your hips, binding you with her for good.

There’s only one way this could end.

“Oh fuck—” you groan, slamming your eyes shut as your cock buries deep in her sopping cunt. An echoed cry rips through the vast room, a fine blend between your voices. She feels so good, so tight, so invitingly hot. Finding some semblance of control proves to be a challenge as her pussy convulses around your cock. The look in her eyes when they flutter open, her jaw slack, her brows shifting, the moan escaping her lips—it’s better than anything your imagination can project.

You draw your hips back, against the constricting hold Tzuyu has on you—both physically and mentally. Her hands are all over you—gripped on your nape, on your skull, roaming your back. She’s holding on you so tight; she needs you more than oxygen right now. 

Slowly but surely, you push back in, pumping her cunt in deliberate, purpose filled strokes. She moans, reduced to merely a string of profanity-laced bursts. Pressing your temple against hers, you admire how undeniably pretty she looks, even when you have her pinned like this. It goes without saying that Tzuyu is an absolute beauty, a goddess made human, and how fortunate you are to sully and defile her. 

It’s the perfect sight for sore eyes, an idyllic escape from the fiery sensation in your stomach.

“So—so gorgeous, Tzu—” you mutter, leaving a chaste peck on the tip of her nose, your moans going back and forth, perfectly paced with your hips rocking against hers. You’ve never felt this uniform, this perfect together. “So fucking wet—and tight—”

She’s far too engrossed in pleasure to move, let alone say a word. You can feel the kick from her thighs, their coil around your waist, demanding more. Faster. Harder. Without the need to vocalize them. As comfortable as you are, your primal instincts are encouraging you, pushing you to take her the way she should be used. 

“I’m gonna fuck you hard now,” you tell her as courtesy, moving through with the deed regardless of her response. She nods. Whether it’s from the persistent quake of the bed or a voluntary act, it doesn’t matter. You’re only focused on drawing out the most ecstasy in fucking her.

The fuse has already been lit the moment you first entered her; you’re just accelerating the countdown.

“Yes—fucking—oh my fucking—” you groan, the piston of your hips moving quicker and quicker with each thrust. The way her pussy quivers and flexes around your cock is so devastating, it’s burning through your skin. Your mind is in utter disarray, unable to fully comprehend the tightness consuming you. It’s going to pull you further and further down without a way to escape. You can only drag Tzuyu down too.

You’re crushing her, smothering her in your desperate attempt to stay in control. She’s doing everything in her power to shatter you, and it’s messing you up. She continues to moan in broken, jumbled tones, pulling you close to her with each pump, meeting halfway in a rhythm that hits the spot. 

“Just like that—just like that—mm—” Tzuyu keens. How she can make even the littlest words sound so saccharine and sincere is beyond you. The way she takes your relentless pounding is a feat worth admiring. It’s the least of your concerns right now, especially when she continues to lead you further to your collapse. “Almost there—just keep fucking me.”

As if you had any other thought or option. That, or pulling down the strap of her skimpy crop top, exposing a breast, watching it ripple. 

Her hair tangled around your waist, you keep fucking away. Stopping is the last thing you’d ever want to do, especially since you’re close too. The friction between your skin and hers is growing too unbearable, and yet the satisfying ripple of flesh slapping flesh supersedes that. There’s nothing sinful in what you’re doing, only something right.

“Please baby—never stop—stretching me out like this—” she mewls, her nails digging deep into your back, tilting your face and leading you into a passionate kiss. “Cumming for you—oh shit—”

Tzuyu clenches, kissing into you harder as her body comes undone from head to toe. Every nerve, every muscle going limp as she cums. She moans directly into your skin, freezing, her legs and arms coiled around your body as a wave of her slick spills all around your hard cock, landing on the sheets.  

It’s the perfect time to get dragged by her wave of pleasure. You weren’t going to last any longer at this rate. “Tzu—” is the only thing that you manage to utter, before it completely falls apart. 

Against the last of your resolve, your grip gradually loosens. Straining your hips, you thrust forward a handful of times, each one more and more agonizing till you finally reach the boiling point. Your cock throbs violently as you pump deep in her pussy, even as her legs collapse on the bed, because anything else would be a disservice to her unspoken demand. You’re groaning raspily against her ear, holding onto her even though she can’t move. 

You fill her. Releasing every pent-up need and tension, your bodies go numb together. Her cunt squeezes every last drop of cum out of you. Tzuyu won’t settle for less. You’re repeating her name as your orgasm persists, the agony of blasting streak after streak seemingly unending. Your hips continue to fuck the cum deep into her pussy, gradually slowling by the second until you come to a full stop.

In the end, the only thing that remains are your labored breaths. 

You clamp down on her collarbone before your consciousness eventually drifts away. This is the position you end up in for the rest of the night: you slumped over Tzuyu, arms wrapped over each other, drenched in sweat and sex. 

At least she has the warmest blanket to cover her from the cold.

—————

As morning comes, you’ve spent more time inside Tzuyu than anywhere else—as it should be. 

“You sure you don’t wanna go anywhere?” she asks, showing you her phone with a picture of a hot spring, one of many in the country. “We could use it before going back.”

“I’m good,” you say, looking up at Tzuyu, her lithe figure leisurely bouncing on your lap, eliciting these soft, airy moans out of you between thrusts. You’ve been mindlessly admiring her perfect body, your hands roaming at her waist, to her chest, then her ass, finally back to her waist again. “Maybe if you want, just go yourself. I just wanna sleep.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy” she replies, tilting her head down to meet you eye-to-eye. “After what we’ve done, you just wanna sit back? You’re really a pervert, you know that?”

“Still calling me that? After I fucked your brains out?”

“Just because you fucked me so well doesn’t change anything before that, pervert.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you!”

Tzuyu places the phone on the end table before brushing your hair. She has this contemptuous look, her frustration bubbling to the surface. If she were any less patient, she could probably end you in an instant—

Except you both laugh, breaking the so-called tense silence.

“Yeah, I guess I’m also tired too,” she remarks, finding purchase of your face, then your chest. She stops grinding on you to lay on your head instead. “We could spend the whole day here, just ordering delivery. I wouldn’t mind.”

As entertaining of an idea as it sounds, the initial proposition gradually sinks in. You imagine the scene: a hot spring. Being one with nature. Some much needed relief for your muscles. More importantly, another excuse to see Tzuyu naked, even though she’s in nothing but a short robe right now. 

Better yet, there’s a shower you can take her in, but she’s worn you out to the point of hardly moving.

“Tzu?” you mumble, caressing her covered back, cuddling her.

“Yeah?”

“I changed my mind. Let’s go to the hot springs.”

Even without looking, you can feel her annoyance. You can already envision the scorn on her features. She realizes she has made a huge mistake. 

This is only the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

“You’re the worst boyfriend.”

“Worst? I thought we were just pretending.”

“I hate you.”

“I love you too.” 

—————

(A/N: Was thoroughly surprised Tzuyu was the third Twice member to get her solo! Came out of nowhere, fun little title track. Giving me early Sunmi/2nd gen vibes. Didn't really think much of her but the styling for the promos really caught me by the throat. Also shoutout to ddeun for writing and posting an earlier fic with a similar premise and concept as this one (OC x idol meeting the parents), especially as it features best girl Yena. Thank you for reading!)

[perpetual-stories]

Eight Strategies for Improving Dialogue in Your Writing

Well, hi! Oh my… wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted! I’ve been very busy and I am genuinely sorry to all my followers, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this account, but here is one final post for the year!

Hopefully next year I become consistent with it again!

Let’s begin!

One of the best ways to help a reader connect with your writing is by crafting excellent dialogue. Use these tips to learn how to write dialogue that showcases character development, defines your characters’ voices, and hooks readers.

Why Use Dialogue?

Good dialogue performs all sorts of functions in fiction writing. It defines your characters’ voices, establishes their speech patterns, exposes the inner emotions, and showcases their character development. Beyond mere characterization, effective dialogue can also establish the setting and time period of your story and reveal information in a way that doesn’t feel overly expository.

Authors use lines of dialogue to reveal a character’s personality and express their point of view. For instance, an archetypal football coach might speak in short, terse sentences peppered with exclamation points and quotations from famous war generals. By contrast, a nebbish lover with a broken heart might drone on endlessly to his therapist or best friend, speaking in run-on sentences that circle around his true motivations. When an author can reveal character traits through dialogue, it cuts down on exposition and makes a story flow briskly.

Eight Writing Tips for Improving Dialogue

The first time you write dialogue, you may find it quite difficult to replicate the patterns of normal speech. This can be compounded by the concurrent challenges of finding your own voice and telling a great story overall. Even bestselling authors can get stuck on how a particular character says a particular line of dialogue. With practice and hard work, however, lackluster dialogue can be elevated to great dialogue.

Here are some strategies for improving the dialogue in your own work:

Mimic the voices of people in your own life. Perhaps you’ve created a physician character with the same vocal inflections as your mother. Perhaps your hero soldier talks just like your old volleyball coach. If you want to ensure that your dialogue sounds the way real people speak, there’s no better resource than the real life people in your everyday world.

Mix dialogue with narration. Long runs of dialogue can dislodge a reader from the action of a scene. As your characters talk, interpolate some descriptions of their physical postures or other activity taking place in the room. This mimics the real-world experience of listening to someone speaking while simultaneously taking in visual and olfactory stimuli.

Give your main character a secret. Sometimes a line of dialogue is most notable for what it withholds. Even if your audience doesn’t realize it, you can build dynamic three-dimensionality by having your character withhold a key bit of information from their speech. For instance, you may draft a scene in which a museum curator speaks to an artist about how she wants her work displayed—but what the curator isn’t saying out loud is that she’s in love with the artist. You can use that secret to embed layers of tension into the character’s spoken phrases.

Use a layperson character to clarify technical language. When you need dialogue to convey technical information in approachable terms, split the conversation between two people. Have one character be an expert and one character be uninformed. The expert character can speak at a technical level, and the uninformed one can stop them, asking questions for clarification. Your readers will appreciate it.

Use authentic shorthand. Does your character call a gun a “piece” or a “Glock”? Whatever it is, be authentic and consistent in how your characters speak. If they all sound the same, your dialogue needs another pass.

Look to great examples of dialogue for inspiration. If you're looking for a dialogue example in the realm of novels or short stories, consider reading the great books written by Mark Twain, Judy Blume, or Toni Morrison. Within the world of screenwriting, Aaron Sorkin is renowned for his use of dialogue.

Ensure that you’re punctuating your dialogue properly. Remember that question marks and exclamation points go inside quotation marks. Enclose dialogue in double quotation marks and use single quotation marks when a character quotes another character within their dialogue. Knowing how to punctuate dialogue properly can ensure that your reader stays immersed in the story.

Use dialogue tags that are evocative. Repeating the word “said” over and over can make for dull writing and miss out on opportunities for added expressiveness. Consider replacing the word “said” with a more descriptive verb.

[avenoirzm]

understanding the kennedy

✎ sadly, leon isn’t the most optimal guy to enjoy the time with cause he is the bluntest man out there, but your time spent together and your adventures in the process of survival prove just how cuddly and sweet he can be… in an elevator, preferably with his hands on your body.

cw: fingering, leon being an ass, tit play, dirty talk bc auugh i love his voice, mentions of gore? kinda, fem! reader, idk if i should add anything else bc my mind is not minding, MDNI

You’re about to throw up, no kidding. Your dubious gaze flies between Leon and Ashley, bouncing between two blonde heads. Okay, so how did you end up in this situation? Let’s recap. First things first, you’re an agent with an orderly and strict life under the rules of the government. Being good at your job is what pockets so much trouble plus fresh green dough, which you deserve to earn to the bitter end.

Let’s proceed to the second reason. When the President’s daughter suddenly disappears and an anonymous tip comes in that she’s been sighted in a village in Spain you’ve never heard of, the President himself appeals to two names he can rely on with his very life.

You and Leon Scott Kennedy.

As crystal clear as it is that you’ve heard his name before, pretty much every ear in this business you’re in has heard of this man at least at one point in time. Funny thing is that this may be exactly where things get tricky. People only know a name, Leon, but nothing about the personality or the story behind his name. You’re very much aligned with this category of people. Yes, and in the middle of the mission, not to mention how crucial it is, you don’t exactly expect to playhouse with Leon Kennedy, granted. Still, it’s not entirely flattering that the man projects himself to you with nothing more than a short nod. He certainly doesn’t like to talk, albeit occasionally overhearing him talking to himself, or cracking one liner to infected villagers that make the skin chapped and dry in winter, paints a much different picture of Leon in your mind.

He schemes on his own and rarely consults your point of view when he takes the matter elsewhere, which naturally leaves you feeling inferior to him. The sour grimace on your face is always preceded by a wisecrack, conveying the image of a self-righteous and, conversely, insecure man. Is this what the infamous Kennedy is like?

“Psst, amp up your game, agent.” A laconic tone, a haughty flow to his voice, as if to say, ‘I know best around here, and you don’t.’

In a riot you never expected to stumble upon, the villagers clogged with armaments composed of pitchforks, axes and hacksaws, your life is miraculously salvaged by an anonymous clarion call of a bell. Now you are looting a random house in the village for Leon’s ridiculous reasons, or rather he’s the only one doing the looting because there is no way you would ever touch anything of these ailing locals.

“Hunnigan warned that the sooner the better, herring brain.”

“Herring brain?” His back is turned to you so you can’t quite see what sort of emoticon is hanging on his face. But the inflection is the same. Sarcastic as hell. He jams his elbow into the glass of the vitrine and it’s not hard to discern whether he’s pivoting to protect his prissy face or to prove to you how pinched his frown is. Definitely the former one even though his face is too pretty to harm.

Putting a grenade in his gear as if it will be enough to slaughter the entire village because it certainly won’t be enough, he tosses another curt retort back at you, not that you weren’t born yesterday.

“Oh, nice.” It’s woven with acrimony and malcontent. Seriously, where does his assertiveness stem from?

“We need to get to the mill straight away.” You try again. Nothing that can’t be solved with a little more civility, right? It’s worth a try.

The soles of his boots crunch on the chunks of broken glass as he trudges forward in front of you. Okay, Mr. Vanity. All humor aside, his gaze is unnerving, as if there are vines tied around your ankles holding you in place, so much so that you can do nothing but loiter in his presence, bunglingly.

It’s as though for a moment you forgot about his joke, mainly about playing bingo and his usual goofy mentality, how dare you be demeaned in front of him, seriously this guy is nonentity, for his sheer size, he has a giant head full of cheesy jokes and an enormous high forehead that he tries to cover with a fringe of his hair. Ugh, lame alert. But… He’s still handsome, let’s face it. Could be the work of charm that these drone men so rarely acquire.

Still, don’t give him the time of day on this one, not after seeing how obnoxious he’s proven to be.

You roll your eyes, undeterred, your steps already dragging you forward, and you make your way down the stairs to exit this ramshackle excuse for a house that smells of dung and blood in equal measure.

If only you could get out of the seconds, you’re in now, as you got out of that moment. It’s not that simplistic, it transpires.

“Hey Leon, there’s some armor. Bet you could use it like a bulletproof vest.” Well, Ashley is a cute girl and denial can be deemed as a blind existence, or deafness, whatever. But when she starts to fill up your patience drop by drop, as it has been the case ever since you reached the Salazar Castle, she gradually grows more and more friendly with... Leon, not with you. The president’s daughter’s words are clear and concise, one hundred percent of flirtation. It’s fine, you don’t care. But usually speaking to you as if you are not the part of this mission, or sometimes outwardly ignoring you, is an aspect you don’t understand.

“Little old fashioned for my taste,” Leon quips in the world’s blandest tone. Damn.

It’s a wonder what happened to the girlhood chumminess. Maybe Leon and Ashley are more apt to form a closer friendship, or perhaps you’re the low-key of the group, or else Leon alone spotting Ashley in the church fostered a stronger bond of trust between the two of them, when you went your separate ways and found out that Leon had gutted a lake monster or something. Absurd as fuck. To your credit, you weren’t a fat lot of good, a few diary fragments of your findings were the remains of a scientist who had scribbled on a piece of paper about a brand new virus, the plagas. Anyway, back to the shit you’re in. It’s pretty obvious that there’s nothing too serious damage of emotions here, in fact Leon is so thick that he turns Ashley down time and time again, not in a rude way, never in a crude way, but just with his inane and arid jokes.

“Too bad. I think you’d look pretty dashing,” Ashley’s chirping, but it’s no good. She gets no reaction. You think this is the signal for the end of their conversation, and you just follow the two of them into the moonlit room, keeping silent. I mean, why join in, since watching this awkward thing going on between the two of them is frankly like a cutscene in a sit-com. You know, Leon sucks at the whole flirting thing, you figure it out, so all that bravado, all that stoicism, it’s all a veneer. Insecure, yet cute.

The romp with Luis is a very specific narrative. It’s short and abrupt, so sudden that it’s unreasonably all tied to him. The only thing you know is that Luis has the medicine to treat the poisoning of Leon and Ashley by the parasite that was probably written on the pieces of scrap paper you found and... that’s it. It’s obvious that you’re his ticket out of here, and that he’s telling you how he no longer works for Los Illuminados as a way out of this clusterfuck while ogling your boobs is extra hassle.

He‘s a completely alternative man to the intangible and abstract man Leon is, flirting is Luis’ breakfast, lunch, appetizer and, of course, his dinner. Like the water, he has to drink so he can exist. Like his cigarettes, you can say.

One small maneuver could stop him, you could even tell Leon that you won’t go along with his scheme to trust this guy (he somehow doesn’t like the attitude), put a bullet in his head and take his life on the spot. But it’s the inner attention whore fairy in you that permits Luis to flirt like there’s no tomorrow simply because you like the limelight. That and he’s pretty cute, his hair looks great, you can work with that.

Basically, it’s a peculiar combo. There’s nothing stopping Luis. Even when you’re underground, literally underground, and you’re trying to get back up, there’s not a single thing stopping him from alternating between you and Leon, sometimes putting a few bullets in the infected villagers in between, and watching you and Leon do most of the work. Two hot agents wrestling their way out of the mess, what can he say? It’s hot. If Leon asks him to participate and assist, he just shrugs and says, “Hey, I’m the brains. You’re the brawn and the señorita is the vision.” A walking paragon of bisexualism.

But what impression did this little oversight strike in Leon’s eyes? Just one word, bleakness. The others are sourness, everything about unpleasantness.

Trusting someone, especially someone he didn’t necessarily know, to get things fixed was beginning to become a habit of Leon’s. Yes, he wants to help everyone whenever he can and that’s where all the shit hits the fan for him. He is, notably, reluctant to put his trust in someone (formerly!) working for a corporation that has razed a young rookie full of dreams and wrecked several lives in one simple night. Call it a survival instinct or whatnot. Besides, it’s quite asinine for Luis to act so laid back or to think he has that luxury in the midst of so much grime and squalor. The flirting game doesn’t cease, and Leon’s pestering you as well, blatantly flaunting around with a flamboyant of a flirt would suggest that you’re neglecting your expertise and don’t give a damn about the mission.

That’s exactly what bothers him, never for any other reason. Yeah, right? Uh, or... How an agent of your reserve falling for Luis’ tricks and snubbing Leon might (it is a certainty) be playing a small part in his aggravation.

“Really? I didn’t take you had such a low standard,” he says so casually in the elevator that’s now hauling you upstairs, in a rare moment when you can have some privacy, and you wonder if he’s never spoken or at least ever bothered to talk to you.

“What is that supposed to mean?” You quirk an eyebrow and watch as he cocks his gun, giving it a quick once-over, an idle thing he almost always does, but one that makes your skin prickle with welcoming tingles. What the fuck is going on? Intensifying gun kink moment, perhaps.

“WhAt is thAt suPpoSed to mEan?” He emulates your intonation effortlessly. Hey, come on, your voice isn’t that squeaky.

It would be a challenge for him not to miss the wintry glower on your face, he’s observant and to tell the truth, watching your face makes him feel good, at times. At times is the key ingredient. For after all, he had made that mistake once before, of falling into the maw of the sweet trap of the woman he had known overnight in Raccoon City and in whom he had tormented his heart. Except things are, otherwise, he’s not a rookie anymore and he even finds these traps interesting. Or rather, he likes you.

“You need to watch your mouth, asshole.” Your voice lectures him with a sharp vibrato.

“Huh?” Quite the sport that he is. What, was he guarding his stone-like reticence in order to torture you for hours on end? Or has he gotten over the familiarization period and is suddenly expecting you to click like best pals? Reading men is the toughest exercise in the world, everyone knows for a fact that they don’t use their brains, but reading Leon is much more demanding. It’s a lot of strain and it’s the kind of maltreatment that can cripple a person both physically and cognitively. It takes a lot to tune in to the energy of the likes of Luis, a verse of assertive words for a few more ambitious words and, well, he’s a good warm-blooded friend now. Then Leon? It is very very shaky to figure out what to do to stay on his good side.

“Whatever.” Your voice echoes with finality and your follow-up answer is disrupted by the juddering of the elevator accompanied by a beeping sound. Lights flicker and breaths are held in short gasps, as these things often don’t augur well. Then darkness blankets the space like the teasing gloom of a sky before the copious rain patters fall on the soil.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” His peevish voice is more sizzling, smooth like butter. So caressing against your skin, now you can give people with vocal kink their due. If it weren’t for his absurd jokes, you would fall to your knees thoughtlessly and su—

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Better tune your ears.”

“Wh-What?”

“Come on, are you daydreaming in the middle of a mission? Man, looks like you’re not as polished as the president thought you were.”

He points a flashlight directly at your face, before a clicking sound, an endeavor to render you legally blind.

“Stop it,” you hiss in rebuke to which he reciprocates with a ragged snort. There is something staggering about the fact that the man who didn’t say a word to you last night is surprisingly toying with you like a schoolboy. So much so that there can be no other conceivable answer to the vermouth tint of your cheeks. The grin on his face provides a unique glimpse of his crooked teeth. Or his soft jawline. Up close, he’s full of his flaws, but he looks cute, you can’t lie. And you can’t just imagine being dissuaded by someone so full of little foibles. Especially on duty, in a malfunctioning elevator.

“Shy, or am I living things in my head?”

“The latter and for the first, dream on, buddy.”

“Oh, well. I shouldn’t be dreaming much then.”

None of these rejoinders are smooth, they’re frankly lame, painfully corny. Except that you have an infinite penchant for pretty-faced men and their languishing eyes, namely Leon.

Which is why in the darkness you can’t visualize how his hand is tucked into your pants. The sound of his fingers curling inside you is the root catalyst for the darling mantle on your cheeks, and the pilgrimage is the secondary motivator. Alongside his drenched and glove clad hand, his other hand is under your shirt, cupping your right tit, which is sticking out of your bra, with gusto.

“Tsk tsk, how long have we been on post, hm? For how many hours?”

He bombards you with queries as if you have the breath to center on his inquiry. How blunt. Leon jeers when he sees your eyes blinking disproportionately at his. You’re a dumb blur, wet and yes, only for him. Not for Luis, not for anyone else. It’s just a finger dipping in and out of you and the second he sticks a second one in, you adopt a piquant pout, your lips pursed, eyes glazing over. Too pretty a spectrum for Leon.

“Let me answer that for you, sweetheart, it’s been about 7 hours and you’re getting fingered by someone you barely know.” His scratchy drawl tickles your ears like a freshly scabbed wound scratching vigorously like he’s the only thing that will soothe the pain inside you.

“That’s what all your bitterness was for? To get me and keep me for yourself?” His questions almost never conclude, fingers pumping and scissoring the daylights out of you.

“Ashley walks out ‘cause you only want me for yourself. To be all yours?” In return, a protracted, keening whine rolls out of your mouth, your lips bruised from his previous kisses, his teeth. Ouch, so utterly ignominious. When this is over, you will definitely remember this moment and break your sleep. His swelling hubris just like the twitching dick inside his pants gives Leon a feeling of entitlement and conceit. At least he looks more appealing in that way.

“Wish I could understand your blabbering, beautiful,” he jests, his thumb darting over your puffy clit, rushed but attentive as he knows you’re inching close. The face buried in your bosom, his lashes and hair delicately brushing over your skin, shrinks the knot in your belly, warmth flutters. Leon’s urge is stirred by the tight grip of your lovely cunt squeezing the fingers inside of you that are ebbing and flowing incessantly. A harsh and crass mark, a tiny imprint his teeth leaves on your neck, faint, purple, the kind you will carry with you tonight, on this mission and for a time being as it appears.

A seal that is almost bruising, hard enough to draw blood and so irascible because it can’t draw blood, a brand that quickly grows purple, a sting that is the right match for the pinch it leaves on your nipple. A brand that says you are Leon’s, for a fleeting while. It’s absurd that it’s been so long since the last time someone fingered you that you can’t remember cumming. Guys just suck at this shit. And you never dreamed that you would just melt and cum in the fingers of a trite man like Leon. The sight of you paralyzed in rapture is so captivating that his craving to lick and devour you is eclipsed by the sudden illumination of the elevator lights. Pulling out his two fingers, he finally succumbs to his instinct to taste you and allots them close to your lips.

In a very non-sanitary, even grossly insensitive method, his fingers are swabbed thoroughly, as if your tongue were a gauze pad when he pushes them inside your parted lips. He’s spectating you in a blissful trance, and if he were to claim that he didn’t put his fingers in place of his cock gliding between your lips, he’d be the world’s biggest fibbing bastard, and he’s not the world’s biggest fibbing bastard—mind you. Only at the last second does he catch your hand sliding down his hip, grabbing it by your wrist.

“Ah, ah, not so fast.” He winces in pain and the longing to impale himself inside you eats him up, but he has some principles, and he doesn’t want to break them. So, he wipes his fingers on your shirt once they’re out of your mouth knowing it’ll leave a big ass stain. For real? Well, ew.

“H-hey, why the hell?” Your outburst is both about the dick he’s detraining from you and his juvenile antics. He just shrugs his shoulders and hitches up your jeans, notwithstanding that your panties are still damp and caked in juices.

“Sorry, but I’m keeping myself back for the right time. Maybe we can finish it in a hotel after the op, yeah? That’s if we survive.” Oh, but really? Did he really cockblock you?

“Don’t tell me virgin or something?” You just can’t let him go easily.

“Don’t tell me you’re a total loser cumming on a virgin’s fingers.” Message received. He can’t just let it go without a stupid quip.

He reaches down under your shirt and grabs your utility belt lying pointlessly on the floor and your holster. On his knees, like a man designed to minister to you. What can you say? He knows he’s a fucking pain in the ass and he looks hot, that’s for sure. He fastens the belt around your hips, not too tight, certainly not too loose, snaps the holster back to its original place on your thigh, and adjusts the straps with a fair dollop of precision.

“There you go, agent. Ready for action and about to kick some serious cultist ass.” He pushes himself to his feet and strolls out of the elevator, as if his fingers, which minutes ago had been rearranging your pussy walls, had never been inside you. When he opens the elevator door, the gray eyes that await you greet you with a look as if they know everything, as the man waves the inoculum tube in his hand.

“Finally, eh? You should have paged me, Leon.” Luis says flippantly, while Leon looks at him with a dismissive dazzle and your insistence on biting your fingernails out of abject embarrassment is the solitary subject on your mind. Never ever again. (Lies!) It’s not like you’re here to shoot a porn video, right?

[wareagleofthemountain]

Here’s a compilation of all my behind the scenes HCs that I imagine Thranduil and his queen shared in their domestic lives

Being that they often stayed up late working on paperwork, battle strategies, and other royal duties, Thranduil and his wife had a mental cookbook of DIY recipes. This came from the countless times they’ve whipped up a last minute dish made from leftovers at 2 AM. Including desserts and, as a law, they feed each other a spoonful of whipped cream whenever one of them takes the container out.

Thranduil’s wife loves to tease him for having a “Doriath accent” whenever he speaks in Elvish. Which he of course passes on to Legolas. Sometimes, when he’s pronounced a word particularly heavy in his Doriath inflection, she’ll chuckle and repeat it back to him just as he said it so he can’t deny his accent as he always does. But, for all her teasing, she thinks his speech is adorable.

Thranduil has a slightly lopsided smirk due to the burn scars on the right side of his face. Even with his masking spell, the right half of his lip droops down when he smiles.

Thranduil’s wife always takes care when approaching him on his blind side, touching his shoulder and gently brushing her body against his side to make him known of her presence before she speaks lest she startle him.

Thranduil wears low cut v-necks at his wife’s request. She loved to brush her fingers over his collarbone whenever she passed him as a sign of affection so he made it a point to keep that area accessible to her.

No personal space for the queen. Although she had her own throne, Thranduil much preferred to hold her in his lap with his chin atop her head during meetings.

Every night before bed and every morning before breakfast, Thranduil rests his head in his wife’s lap and holds her free hand as the other works healing salve into his scars. She’s the only one, besides his healers when he’d first been burned, that he allows himself to drop his protective shield around. He was fearful at first that she may be put off by what she saw, but she only loved that part of him fiercely and shamelessly.

Thranduil’s elk and the queen are very close. He often follows her around whenever she goes for a walk, and he’ll still try to follow her even when Thranduil is trying to ride him in a different direction. The king will have to tug on his reigns and put in a good deal of effort to get his mount on a different path.

The white gems were a just because gift for his wife, as Thranduil was so thankful to be married to her that he often surprised her with gifts.

When meetings become long and dull without any important topics being discussed, Thranduil and his wife will entertain themselves by passing a paper back and forth. The rest assume that they are just taking notes, but really they’re drawing. Someone starts on the picture and they pass it around, adding on to it until the meeting is over. The end result is always interesting and Thranduil has a locked drawer in his office where he keeps them.

The queen and baby Legolas often drop by the king’s throne room and bring him flowers they’ve picked while out on a walk.

The night Thranduil was crowned king, before his official ceremony, his wife and son crowned him in their bedchamber after everyone had finished getting dressed. They didn’t have a silken red carpet so the queen rolled out a long red bath towel. They didn’t have a royal scepter so toddler Legolas fetched a branch he’d brought inside. But they did have the crown, so Thranduil took a knee before his wife and she said, “by the power vested in me by Prince Legolas Greenleaf of the woodland realm, I name you king Thranduil Oropherion. Leader, protector, and defender of our land.” She placed the crown atop his head, Legolas tapped his shoulders with the stick, and Thranduil tackle hugged them both. He’d never felt more like a king than in that moment, and he always considered this his true right to rule.

The king and queen dislike being apart longer than absolutely necessary, and never tire of each other’s company. The queen considers their marriage as having an eternal sleepover with her best friend. Which is accurate as I think they have been close since childhood.

They made a game of hiding one of Legolas’s stuffed toys in various places around the palace. Once it’s found, it’s the other’s turn to hide it.

They can’t sleep unless they’re cuddling.

Whenever someone new moves into their kingdom, Thranduil and his wife make them a welcome gift basket filled with local plants and foods, as well as a few household staples.

The couple are good friends with Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian. However, the Queen and Celebrian are on another level. They’re practically sisters and declare a “no boys allowed” hang out session whenever they visit. They just wanna drink wine, try on dresses, and plot to take over the world (but you didn’t hear that from me).

When they were pregnant, the ladies took turns hosting vacation weekends at their estates.

Thranduil gets rather possessive of his wife when around human men, keeping his arm wrapped around her at all times and glaring if someone stares at her a moment too long. It’s not that he doesn’t trust her, it’s just that he knows human males aren’t as well mannered as elven men. Plus they tend to stare more and he hates that. Same for dwarves.

They rarely ever argue as the couple has always made it a point in their relationship to be open with one another. There is truly nothing that can’t be discussed between them.

The first time the queen saw how terrifying and brutal Thranduil could be in a battle, she was actually quite scared and it took him a few days to ease her back into feeling comfortable around him.

Whenever they go out for a ride in winter, Thranduil always seats her on the saddle in front of him and hides her in his cloak with her back pressed against his warm chest.

He’s definitely the type to shamelessly check out his wife from atop his throne as she walks by. They also playfully flirt with one another whenever they can.

Thranduil loves to nuzzle his face into the crook of her neck from behind, his arms wrapped around her waist.

Sad, but the Queen’s body had been so brutalized by orcs that there was not enough of it to bring back for a proper burial, so Thranduil ordered the statue be built in place of a grave. On his worst nights, when he’s absolutely sure no one is around and fails to drink himself to sleep, he’ll curl up on the forest floor at the foot of the statue for some sort of comfort in order to close his eyes. He also sometimes pays it a visit just to plant more flowers and tell it about his day or how much Legolas has grown. Obviously he knows it’s an inanimate object, but he misses her so much.

He and the Queen have an inside joke involving Elros. Thranduil had hired the guard himself without the presence of his wife, so it wasn’t until the next day that Elros encountered the Queen while standing watch at Thranduil’s side during a public audience. The Queen was never one for formality so she was easily mistaken by him as a commoner due to her simple attire. When she’d attempted to step out onto the stage beside her husband as he spoke, Elros drew his blade and told her that she was standing too close to the king. Now, sometimes when she’s standing near Thranduil, she’ll take a few steps back and say “wouldn’t want to stand too close to his Majesty” with a wink. It makes Thranduil grin in amusement and Elros blush terribly.

Thranduil is constantly holding his wife’s hand.

During holidays, the queen sees to decorating the palace herself and always comes up with at least one fun craft for her and Thranduil to try each season.

[headspace-hotel]

I've been able to neither read nor write stories in a long time. Poetry too, for the most part. I guess what I mean is that the art of the written word has become a stranger to me.

I hate what poetry classes did to my writing. Yes, the Wikipedia poems, but they are easier because they're not my own words, and I have gotten so many comments on those saying they are powerful pieces of art, but for me personally they're a way of hiding from the awfulness of trying to assemble my own words into poetry.

I hate the poems I wrote in poetry classes. I hate the version of me I showed others in those classes. I hate the way poetry classes taught me to draw from my own experiences and thoughts for poetry. I hate everything I learned about how to interpret poetry, the eye with which I learned to read poetry, and the vocabulary I learned to talk about poetry, and ultimately, I hate "literary" poetry.

"Literary," by the way, is the category of art that has more meaning, value and legitimacy than the "other" category, which is not "literary." A "literary" poem is published in special, fancy "literary" magazines and almost invariably written by a person with a MFA or PhD in poetry.

You could say that the distinguishing feature of "literary" art is its overwhelming sense of legitimacy. A "literary" poem is a poem in the same way that a nonprofit organization is charitable, that a CEO is rich, or that an SAT score demonstrates your academic prowess. It is a poem completely immune to the possibility that someone will think it sucks. It expects to be absorbed, analyzed, studied, and discoursed upon because something feels "official" about whatever designates it as Good Art.

Literary poems are not only written by and for a special subset of people that have been formally taught to read and interpret poetry, they are written exclusively for audiences that will automatically assume they are Good Art; beautiful, meaningful, and worth interpreting. Because of this, most literary poems are literal incomprehensible nonsense.

Just take this one:

Say I climb the ladder of wheat/and at the top there is a faucet dripping beads of water/but the water takes a year to turn into an eagle/and the sky's forty-three shades of gray pierce/the first inflection of my heart, the point where the signals/throw grass into the river. Say the river sags/and the horizon sucks the lance out of the ghost's hands/like the moment of being born, the point where a shadow's/tongue slides through the faultline./Grace. Sunlight, cherries.

(it continues like this)

And conceptually, I love art as collaboration between the creator and viewer, where abstract, indeterminate and murky things are forced to take shape through the participation of the viewer as they interpret and associate things that stand out to them in the work! The "aliveness" of art in the abyss between what the artist attempts to communicate and what the viewer feels is the coolest thing to me!

But this philosophy of art is incompatible with the idea that there is an elite category of art that is worthy of interpretation, analysis, and reverence. I can fuck around with this random word generator and get something that is roughly as meaningful as the above. I don't mean that as demeaning to the poem, I mean that I feel demeaned by the poem, because its linguistic play and experimentation is something that everybody can do, that everyone should try doing, but this poem has been designated as something exceptionally meaningful and worthy and its writer teaches writing at the University of Chicago. You can click through that website for hours and not find a single soul without a MFA or above in poetry or creative writing.

For me, the world of "literary" writing was like a room with a splatter of vomit across the floor that no one else would acknowledge. The ability to formally study poetry in college was a privilege, but I was constantly aware of privilege, and the thing about privilege is the more you have, the less you think about it. What of the ability to pursue a PhD in poetry? What small fraction of people could expend so much time and money on something that didn't really have a career associated with it? And of that fraction, which fraction would be seen as "good enough" to publish poetry books and to teach? With poetry this indeterminate, how were the "good" poets selected at all?

Literary writing excludes poor people, and the existence of published literary poets who are immigrants or minorities doesn't negate this. Increasingly, published writing in general excludes poor people. A LOT of popular authors graduated from very elite schools!

But literary poetry I hate especially, because it puffs itself up on unlocking the universe and human experience and pain, as if insight into those things is a seldom-appearing gift instead of something many people have, except they don't have the time and money to train themselves into expressing it in a way that appears Literary.

The "literary" vs. "non-literary" paradigm had an inescapable rottenness to it. I couldn't stop thinking about the luminous conversations I'd had with people who lacked the formal training to express ideas in a "literary" manner, but still showed me something vital about the universe.

I've been bitching about literary poetry for like two years now, and really, I just hate what studying all that shit has done to my own writing style. It's so frustrating that the joy and playfulness won't come back.

[kisses4kaia]

phone sex with tash.. yeah…… (ps. dedicated to my fav ever @hvneybuckin love you aiden💕)

you knew from the moment she breathed “hey, baby.”

your eyebrows furrowed, but you stayed quiet. “hi, tash. how ‘s your day?” she hummed. “fine, i wish i could have seen you, though. practice was as practice always is. art asked about you?” there was a sigh—slight, sultry, and quiet—but you caught it.

“yeah? how is he?” you sit back onto your bed, clicking your bedside lamp off and crossing your free arm over your sweater-clothed chest. “he’s okay. he and patrick have been arguing for a little bit, though.” you nodded to yourself, although tashi couldn’t see you. “they’ll get over it. they’re best friends, they always do,”

you seem to be able to sense her agreement through the phone, and you tell her a little bit about your day.

“and you know, it was so funny. i saw a poster of you in the hallway—from the adidas campaign, you remember—and i was just thinking ‘i need her inside of me.’ which, of course, is preposterous considering… you know—“

“don’t be so naïve. i’ve been inside of you, you know that.” you’re so grateful you decided to give her a phone call tonight rather than a facetime because your eyes are wide and your cheeks burn at the memory of tashi fucking her strap into you. “i do…” your voice is much higher than you would’ve wished, but it made tashi chuckle on the other end of the line.

at this point, your hand was already snaking down your torso, teasing the hem of your boy shorts. “you want me inside of you, do you?” she goads, and you can feel the humiliation setting in. “mhm,” you squeak meekly, and she sighs. “well, it’s too bad i’m not there to help you.” tashi speaks the words like it’s hopeless and impossible and you whine, fingers beginning to push past the elastic of your shorts. “n-no, i can… imagine,” your pitchy whine pulls a groan from your lady. “imagine? good girl, baby. such a problem solver,”

the praise sets your core ablaze and your pointer and middle finger lazily begin to circle around your clit, sliding up and down your slick slit. “do you remember the last time i touched you?” she pinged, voice ringing with a sort of early satisfaction, like this was her goal from the very start.

“n-no… not really. sorry, tashi,”

you absolutely remembered, in vivid detail how and where she touched you last, but you could do with the inflection of her voice upon reminiscing with you. “oh? do you need me to refresh your memory?”

you whined, nodding before remembering that she couldn’t see you. “mhm, please.”

she hummed. “well, i fucked you with my tongue first, you remember that?” you whined, growing more and more slick against your fingers as she spoke. “and then i had you suck on my cock, had you wrap your pretty little tongue around my dick—got it all fucking nice and wet and messy, didn’t you?” her tone was spitting, making you moan so fucking pathetically, she laughed.

“yeah, then i bent you over your shiny little vanity in your daddy paid for, made you watch your pretty face as i sunk deep, deep into you, remember? remember how many times i made you cum around this cock? you were fucking dripping onto the hardwood by the end of it, you little cockslut. all for me, right?”

“yes,” your fingers were pumping in and out of you so fast, the sounds were audible to tashi on the other end of the call. “yes, what?” her voice was mean, demanding, and nearly tear-jerking.

“yes, daddy,” the sex in your voice drew a deep groan from tashi, and it pushed you over the edge. “ngh—fuck! i’m coming, please, please please please, i need it—!” you didn’t know if you were talking to yourself or to her but her never-ending praise into your ear through the phone speaker kept you in convulsions.

coming down from your high, you drew your fingers out from your panties and thanked tashi, all before bidding her goodnight and virtual x’s and o’s.

1 Video Attachment from tashi🤍

the notification was unexpected, as you had just ended the call, but you decided to tap on it anyway.

your mouth went fucking dry as you watched tashi’s golden-complexioned hand stroke up and down the same, big, deep blue, strap-on she’d fucked you with last time she was in town. the video ended with a flash up to her face, coy smile playing on her lips.

tashi🤍

You’re the best girl for me. Love you baby❤️

[heartofroses112]

Our Own Choices First Draft — Fox and Bly confronting Cody

Bly and Fox shared one last, long look before Bly activated the panel. The doors slid open on near silent tracks. There, across the room, standing by the thick transparisteel window and gazing out into the ever-changing space outside of their ship, stood the Commander. Cody. His helmet was off, nowhere to be seen in the large room.

The way he held himself, arms clasped behind his back and stance strong, was so obviously Cody. Bly didn’t know how he had never seen it before. Well, he had seen it. He’d just thought it impossible. Fox had found reports, had heard it directly from the slimeball Emperor himself of Cody’s death. But here he was, standing before them, fighting alongside them and their brothers for fourteen long years without so much as a hint to his identity.

Bly and Fox made their way across the room, footsteps muffled but just loud enough as to give their movement away. Bly rubbed his arms, wishing for the warmth of his armor. Space was cold. But the plastoid was constricting. It wouldn’t allow him to drag Cody into the bone-crushing hug he had been yearning for since the dramatic asshole had whipped off his helmet and insulted Palpatine in so many colorful ways that he must have spent years coming up with them.

Bly stepped up to Cody’s left side, staring out into space along with him. Fox stopped on Cody’s right, and for several long moments, the three of them stood in silence.

Finally, Bly could not take anymore. “Why?” he said.

“There’re a dozen answers to that question. All depends on what you’re asking.”

Bly choked on a laugh. He’d forgotten how snarky Cody chose to be when it was just their batch. And Rex, but, well, he was practically a part of their batch at this point. He had been, at least. “You know exactly what I’m asking.”

“Then you know my answer.”

“Cody.” Fox cut in, sharp and straight to the point. Out of the corner of his eye, Bly watched the full-body shudder that wracked through Cody. Bly ignored the tight pang in his chest at the hidden motion. “We thought you were dead.”

“And so did I.”

Bly frowned. “We’ve been here for the past two years at least. That’s plenty of time when you could’ve told us. Hell, what about your own men from the 212th? They’ve been here since the beginning, and they’ve been mourning their commander this whole time.”

“Until I arrived on that planet and saw your faces, I was convinced you were both dead.” Cody still hadn’t looked at them. “After the Order went out… I looked for you. But Rex was killed when they turned on Tano. Wolffe was confirmed MIA almost immediately. Fox, you, you were always at the Chancellor’s side, I couldn’t risk that you would ever join me.”

His voice was flat and without any inflection. “So that left you, Bly. But a week later, all I found were reports that you ate your blaster.”

Fox sucked in a breath.

“And I thought about… I thought that maybe… I wondered if you made the only right choice left.” His whispered words should have died at their ears. Instead, they ricocheted around the cold, steel room. “Bly, you were the one I wanted to see most. Because you…” Cody sighed, eyes falling shut even as his head tilted backward. “You were the only one who could understand.”

“Understand what?” Bly thought he knew. There was really only one thing Cody could have meant by that. But how could Bly have never known before now?

Cody’s eyes opened, gaze locked on the rivets along the outer wall. “You loved your general. And I lov—” He cut himself off, tearing his eyes away to instead stare at the ground. “I love—” He tried again.

“Oh, Cody.” Bly’s heart was in his throat, breaking into pieces for the pain that was still so clearly etched across his brother’s face. There was a reason Cody wore his helmet more than the rest of them; he’d never been able to hide his true feelings when he was just so damn expressive. It’s how Wolffe had known if he had pushed Cody too far when they were still just cadets. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Rex told me to wait,” he said simply. “He thought it would be funny if you all saw me and… If you guessed. It wasn’t hard, apparently.” He loosed a breath from between his teeth. “Course, then the Order went out.”

“Cody, I’m so sorry.” Again, Cody shuddered at the sound of his name. Bly longed to drag his brother into his arms. But Cody wasn’t ready for that yet, not after so many years with no more contact than the mission required.

“It can’t be changed.”

“Doesn’t mean it hurts any less,” Fox murmured, stepping slightly closer to Cody. “And you’ve kept this inside for so long.”

“Why wouldn’t you tell us?” Bly asked, suddenly so full of rage at the self-imposed exile his brother placed himself in. “We’ve been here for years now, Cody. And it’s not just us. What about everyone from the 212th? They’ve been mourning their commander, their brother for so long and you’ve just been here the whole kriffing time?”

“I will not expect you to understand my actions.”

“Damnit, Codes, we want to talk to you, not the karking Commander! We’ve been around him enough.” Fox glowered at the side of Cody’s head. But Cody still didn’t look at either of them.

“He’s all that’s left.” Cody’s voice was devoid of emotion. He returned to looking out the viewport, the light of distant stars reflecting on his face. “Cody died the day he shot down his General and felt no remorse.”

“It was the chips,” Fox tried.

“I was still the one to follow the Order. And then my brothers were dying around me, and my batchmates were gone, and there was no one left to understand how I felt, and there was so much riding on my fucking shoulders. So, you do not get to come in here and lecture me. There is nothing else I have wanted more than to look at my brothers without a karking helmet between us, to actually be with them and not just be the karking Commander!”

Cody’s chest heaved, his fists clenched tight against his thighs. Fox and Bly exchanged a look, the same expression of worry and hurt flashing between them. Cody turned and paced several steps away from them. “You have no idea,” he started, voice low and tightly controlled, “how hard it has been this past decade, to see you, my closest brothers, and not be able to lessen your grief, to not hold you close and feel safe.”

“No one is making you do this.” Bly felt as if he were pleading, begging a brother to step back, step off the ledge.

Cody sighed, eyes still squeezed shut. “I know. But… I don’t deserve… I can’t… How can I be happy, Bly, when I killed him? I love, I loved, I loved him, and he loved me too. How can I ever forgive myself when the last thought he probably ever had was of how the men he trusted with his life were now the ones taking it?”

Bly stared at his brother. He had so much pent-up… self-hatred. Disgust with himself. Loathing of his actions that had not been his own actions at all. There was a distinct prickling at the back of Bly’s eyes as he watched Cody desperately try to hold the pieces of himself together.

“Cody.” Fox took a step toward Cody.

Cody’s shoulders shook. “Stop,” he bit out.

“Cody,” Fox said again.

Cody turned his head away, eyes still shut. His scar, the scar that was oh so distinctive, the scar that marked him as Cody, the scar Bly had searched for in vain on every brother he met, caught the faint light from above. “Stop it.”

“Let yourself be you again, Cody,” Bly said, closing the distance between them. The pair of them were once more in reach of their lost brother. “Doing this… hiding yourself away in repentance, it’s only letting Palpatine win.”

Cody flinched, but still, he didn’t look at them.

Fox pushed on. “I didn’t know your General well. None of us did, there… there wasn’t time. But I know he fought for our individuality, our sense of self that so much of the Republic tried to wash away. You’ve always been Cody, our Cody. But you never seemed so much like yourself, so confident in who you were and what you fought for, than after you joined Kenobi.”

“He’s dead now,” Cody whispered with a tremble in his voice.

“So, carry on his legacy.” Bly searched his brother’s face, familiar lines that meant upset and anger and stress, tightness in his jaw that meant stubbornness and fear. “Cody, won’t you look at us?”

“The helmet’s gone, Cody,” Fox murmured. “Let us see you. Look at us, please.”

Perhaps it was the ‘please.’ Fox never said it before, not unless the world was ending, or a brother was dying. Slowly, so slowly, Cody turned his head, entire body still trembling. His eyes slid open, and then it seemed as if he couldn’t get enough, gaze flickering between Bly and Fox and never staying still for more than a moment.

“Won’t it be so much more powerful,” Fox said, “when Palpatine is brought down by Cody and Fox and Bly, not just the Commander and his nameless clones?”

“Kenobi and… and Aayla.” Bly stopped, suddenly unable to speak beyond the burning in his throat. He dragged in a breath and continued. “They loved us, Cody. They loved us for who we are. Don’t erase that. Live as Cody, and do it for him. Do it for us, for all the brothers you have rescued. Please, we… we need you. We need Cody far more than we have ever needed the Commander.”

Cody heaved a broken sob, teeth tight against the sound in an attempt to keep it inside. He looked at the wall again, hands clenched around the edges of his armor. Bly fell silent, just watching his brother. If Cody was to come back to them… it would have to be on his own terms. Cajoling and pushing had never worked to make Cody see sense. He always was too stubborn for his own good.

“The Commander is all I know anymore.”

Bly’s heart threatened to break in two. His vision grew blurry. He blinked, hard.

Fox looked similarly affected. But he swallowed. Then he raised his chin and stared Cody down. “If that’s true, if… if you don’t know how to be Cody anymore, then why did you reveal yourself to Palpatine? Why now, after so many years of hiding your face?”

Cody looked at Fox, brow furrowed. “He was threatening you,” Cody said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Fox froze in place. “He scares the shit out of you, Fox, and nothing does that. No one is allowed to do that.” Cody shrugged, eyes still dancing over Fox’s face. “I thought I’d give him a new target to hate.”

Fox still wasn’t moving. Cody sighed and looked away, fingers still digging into his armor. “I… I should go. There’s a lot to do, now that I’ve karked everything up and—”

“Cody,” Fox breathed. “Oh, Cody, Cody, Cody.” He reached out, hands shaking as he brushed the side of Cody’s plastoid-covered arms. Cody stiffened but did not move as Fox dragged him in, crushing him against his chest. Fox was still repeating Cody’s name, burying his face against Cody’s hair, hands tight around his back.

Cody gasped, eyes wide and body trembling like a leaf in a storm. He crumbled into Fox’s hold, pressing his face against Fox’s neck as they clung to each other. “Cody, Cody, my Cody,” Fox continued to whisper like a prayer.

Bly surged forward, sweeping both his brothers into his arms. Bly and Fox squeezed Cody between them, hard plastoid hampering them only slightly. Bly’s forehead rest against the back of Cody’s neck, and his skin felt hot and feverish, a sign of the long, long years without a touch of comfort and love.

Bly couldn’t hold back the tears that trickled down his cheeks, melting down Cody’s neck and into the blacks under his armor. Cody continued to tremble, hands clutching desperately at Fox even as he pressed back into Bly.

“We’re here, Cody. We’re here, we’re here,” Bly murmured. “We have you. Let go, Cody, we have you.”

And so, Cody let go, the grief and anger and hatred that had been building up for over a decade with no outlet finally pouring from him in devastating waves. Cody did not cry, of that Bly was sure. But he trembled and shook and shattered beneath their hands, dry sobs and broken apologies, apologies that Bly meant to return but just could not find the words.

Bly had failed Cody for years, had failed him the day Bly had faked his death and ran from the Empire. But he would not fail him any longer. Cody would never feel alone again, would never feel the same lack of choice and want. Bly would make sure of it. Fox would as well, and the remainder of the 212th, and the 501st, and every brother in between.

For the first time in many, many years, Bly thought of the Jedi, of his Jedi, with only solid resolve. I promise, Aayla. And General Kenobi, if you can hear me. I won’t let him down. I’ll keep him safe. And we’ll avenge you. Palpatine will suffer for all he’s done, to you and to Cody and to everyone else. But for now, Bly kept his batchmates close and held them as if nothing else in the galaxy mattered. Nothing else ever would.

pt 1 | pt 2

[myusuchaa]

ikemen villains: my recs and route/suitor rankings ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ

disclaimer: these are my opinions based on the current released routes in both ENG and JP. i tend to love dark psych thrillers, lots of angst and pining, great banter between characters/lively convos, and a captivating plot, so that's what influences my ranks~ will update with future releases

figured I’d post my thoughts here!! in case anyone is a bit newer to ikevil and is curious OR if anyone has similar interests as me I’d love to squeal about them with you!! ♡

₊˚ପ⊹ROUTE RANKINGS

rank is based on: written flow, plot, descriptive language and emotional pull, uniqueness

1. Elbert

2. Alfons

3. Roger

4. Ellis

5. William

6. Liam

7. Harrison

₊˚ପ⊹SUITOR RANKINGS

rank is based on: how much I fell for them, their likability, personality traits, inner monologues from his side stories, overall character story, their interactions with others

1. Elbert

2. Alfons

3. Ellis

4. Liam

5. Roger

6. Harrison

7. William

₊˚ପ⊹ROUTE RELEASE TIMELINE

Beginning trio (JP/ENG): William, Liam, Harrison

Aug. 1st (JP/ENG): Elbert

Nov. 14th (JP): Alfons

Mar. 19th (JP): Ellis

Jul. 23rd (JP): Roger

my thoughts & recs on each suitor's route (no spoilers)

William: such an interesting take on love. maybe because of his curse but his route is up there with feeling the most historical, period-piece fantasy like (along with elbie and roger imo). he's a very unique LI i honestly felt like his route would do well as a 3 episode anime OVA ヾ( ˃ᴗ˂ )◞ i recommend him if you like a more undefined approach to love, contractual partnership, mature and refined guys and not-so-innocent MC's

Liam: a precious bb ahh, and his VA is so amazing at emotional inflections! liam really shines in being attentive to kate and to the other crown members, i loved how he treated her in his route. i recommend if you don't mind self-deprecating guys, if you like drama and whirlwind romance, and if you enjoy a relationship built on assurance.

Harrison: the best soft opening to ikevil imo. quite a tame route with very real world problems as opposed to dark fantasy. if anyone stays true to his self, it's harry! he has some funny one liners too lol. i recommend him if you like intelligent sarcastic LIs, you like noir crime vibes, and if you don't want a heavy read.

Elbert: i mean he is my oshi for a reason! every time i read his route i fall more in deep love.. the localization team did an amazing job w the translation. i think his POV stories are the best. they add so much to his qualities and i feel really boosts his story. i recommend his route if you love yearning, emotional understanding, tragedy, dark psych thrillers, and slow (but dramatic) burn stories

Alfons: i used to hate him with a passion... until i loved him. his route truly is the definition of "fuck around and find out" keeping you on your toes. i loved the depth he has and how dubious they made him. i recommend his route if you like word/roleplay, morally grey characters, if you like having to guess at things without ever being told the answer, and a "we shouldn't be doing this but.." kinda feeling

Ellis: this man had me doing mental gymnastics to understand his true motives and i looooved that. visuals are also top tier. what i noticed is his route really focuses on his time with kate and has a bit more of a mundane (as mundane can be in ikevil) plot compared to other routes. this let his interactions with kate shine. i recommend ellis if you like hidden duality in a suitor, puppy boys that will do anything for you, a love that feels like a warm blanket, and you're ok with no real character growth (conditional love)

Roger: honestly i put off his route cus i wasn't interested at first but by the third chapter i was like WOW this is a breath of fresh air. the writers showed UP for part 2, i love the new plot points introduced, and his interactions with kate are sooo good. i loved his letters too! i ended up finding him extremely supporting and with a slight gap moe which kept me interested. i recommend this route if you like stories that are plot AND character driven, back and forth banter between MC and LI, and a shojou traditional charismatic love!

[00127am]

qian kun & gn! reader about summer heat, sharing a bed, non-sexual intimacy, roommates who are “just friends,” lowercase intended word count 2K words

JULY 26 87 degrees 📀 小雨天气 by 苡慧, 嘿人李逵, 十七草

“it’s hot”

your words are just short of a half-hearted groan, slipping through the abrupt ruffle of the sheets as you (poorly attempt) to desperately kick off the comforter from the expanse of your legs. it only takes a second before you're arching your back in the fashion of a cat, stretching out your limbs in search of the only untouched portion of the mattress, toes straining and muscles tight. and when you do find it, relishing in the cold relief of the unexplored fabric, it's a feeling nothing if not short lived, stifled by the heat of your roommate's breath fanning against the side of your neck and the brush of his knuckles against the bare skin of your stomach.

"you’ve said that,”

his reply is spoken in a low, quiet inflection. one barely above a whisper, and yet with the lack of distance, one which deceivingly sounds much louder. kun's words are partnered with the motion of his legs as he attempts to shift to something akin to what you assume to be a more comfortable position--knees knocking against your own and hand retracting from your torso as if he was scalded. cheeks burnt a rosy red, rivaling the heat of summer as he pushes his hair back upon his head with an impassive undertaking.

“i’ll keep saying it,”

he huffs and despite the darkness of the room, you know he's shooting you an incredulous expression. “that won’t make it any less hot,”

“you know what would make it less hot,” you words are acute--directed at him with a acumated accuracy--as you angle your head upwards, slightly grazing his chin as you narrow your eyes at the shadowed frame of his silhouette.

it takes him a moment to find the words, to compose himself enough to muster an actual answer other than an audible gulp. an embarrassingly loud response doubling as a last ditch effort to relieve the sudden dryness in his mouth. “what?”

“if you got out of my bed,”

the noise that leaves kun's mouth can be likened more to a whine than anything else, the hand previously laying upon his forehead falling to rest upon his eyes. “it’s too hot in my room,”

you raise a brow, lips parted and tongue lifted against the sharpened point of canines. your words are drawled, consumed by a sarcasm otherwise suffocated by the casual tone of affection. “so your solution is to sleep in a twin sized bed with your roommate?”

kun's quick to jump to his own defense, parting his fingers and snapping his gaze towards your own. an undertaking which he ultimately, immediately regrets within the first fraction of a second, seeing far too much of those pretty eyes of yours for his voice to remain steady. it takes all his effort (and a calculated cough from the back of his throat) to beholden any shred of faux apathy--lips pursed before reluctantly curving into the beginnings of his softly enunciated consonants. “the couch is uncomfortable,”

a noise that can only ever be interpreted as disbelief is quick to leave your ajar mouth. “more uncomfortable than sleeping on top of me?”

he hesitates, swallowing quickly only to part his lips in the swift beginnings of a further explanation. one that begins only to end with the tensing of his jaw, before repeating the process three times over until your roommate is positively confident that any and all arguments are utterly incomprehensible and inconclusive. he intends to think up some witty remark, something to have you grinning and pushing back on his shoulder (he loves that habit of yours, though ten would argue that kun seems to love everything about you... ) but the only clever rebuttal he summons is:

“… yeah?”

you laugh and for the moment, for the split second in time which his ears ring from the airy, tired expression of your continued amusement at his own expense--he's holding nothing but a puffed up pride from his not-so-witty, very-much-not-so-clever response. (speaking of ears ringing, he might have tinnitus. is it possible to contract it from long term exposure to a roommate who sends him into something just short of cardiac arrest?)

"you don't sound very confident," your tone is a whisper away from mockery, flashing him that crooked and right leaning smile that hes found to be burned into his memory (so burned in fact that even the sher recollection of it makes him feel as if he has been set alight, pun intended). he only hums in return, a reply that spells out defeat in every way but overt words.

and for a few moments, with the lull in your usual back and forth, you're met with nothing but the steady inhale and exhale of your counterpart and the accompanying song of cicadas which thrums through the open windows. it's within this intermission that you find yourself growing ever warmer. though you can't be too sure if it was from the humid heat of july or the ever decreasing distance between you and your roommate--however, you find it safest to assume the former (despite all signs pointing to the latter).

the comfortable silence between the two of you is interrupted only by the shift of your frame, flipping over to face him with a sluggish roll of your shoulders. you're much closer than before, albeit there's more of you on the bed now then off of it, and you tense--body pressed gingerly against his own in a far from subtle affection that has kun about to drop dead on the spot. it's a touch which lingers, as if you're testing the waters, waiting for the inevitable, brash jerk of his stature that never seems to come. "i don't mind it,"

"me? or the heat?"

your answer follows instantly, like you were expecting the question. a reply made with no hesitation, almost as if there was no thought behind it at all. "the heat,"

"and me?" you've known kun long enough to be familiar with the slight tremble in the inflection of his voice, the way his tone darts upwards at the end of his sentences and the nervous swallow between each word. all things present here, all found within two measly syllables--spoken with such an unbridled anticipation that you nearly kiss him tell him then and there (perhaps you're getting overheated, a twin bed is much, much too small).

"honest answer? or a funny one?"

kun pauses, tongue caught between puffy lips as he considers his options. his eyes roll over the details of the ceiling, carefully selecting his vocabulary and drawing out his response for fear of all the wrong words spilling out. words that detail just exactly how much you've occupied his every waking thought, that express in every detail how he's thinking of you right now (a series of sentiments that are in no shape or form anything that just a roommate would feel). "funny, then honest,"

you shrug, shoulders brushing against his own as you offer him a seemingly disinterested countenance--one disrupted only by the slightest, upwards tug at the corner of your lips. "you're tolerable,"

he scoffs, thrusting an accusatory finger in your direction. one that begins with a high velocity only to falter backwards, much to close to nearly poking out your eye. the proximity is unprecedented, intimate, and he finds himself struggling to adjust to it (though he'd like too, get used to it that is--a thought that has the tip of his ears painted a charming shade of crimson). "if i'm tolerable, i can't imagine what ten is to you,"

you laugh and once more, kun finds himself attempting to commit it to memory. there's something different about it here, perhaps the closeness, perhaps the muddied humidity of the weather thats drenched itself over your sickeningly sweet, songbird intonation. or perhaps it's the way he can feel your chest shake with the vibrado of your entertainment or the details of your face (the way your eyelashes stick to your cheek, the crease of your brow, and the soft crescents that tug at the corner of your eyes). "do you really want to know?"

your tone is playful, question poised in between the beginnings of your snickering. a reception originated from the soft snarl on your roommate's lips and the ever-obvious widening of his eyes. an expression all too familiar in the confines of conversation about ten lee. the same ten lee who is a little too sweet on you for kun's liking and whom you seem to favor more than anyone else in your apartment's social circle. the same ten lee who knows this fact drives kun up the wall (and then some) and who uses this to his utter advantage (and amusement).

"no, no, don't tell me," kun corrects (though his dismissal sounds as if it's a hair away from begging) with the click of his tongue and a lazy flick of his wrist, waving off your taunt with no more than a dissatisfied huff, "i don't want to hear it,"

you quirk a brow, tongue pressing against the inside of your cheek (another habit that kun is endeared too, one that makes his head spin and his knees feel weak). "afraid it's something good?"

his answer is immediate, an earnest confession made with no equivocation but only the barest bones of irritation (one garnered from the thought of your affection being directed at the cat-like blonde rather than himself ... completely normal for roommates, right?). "yes,"

in every depiction of how this conversation was going to go, you certainly never expected a straightforward, blunt answer from kun. or at least, not one that made your stomach plummet to your knees and your heart beat five times too fast. you might be suffering from a rapidly onset case of heat exhaustion, maybe sun poisoning? one look at his expression--eyes half lidded and brows furrowed to sit upon the slender bridge of his nose--says otherwise.

perhaps it's his own searing honesty (one that makes you feel much hotter than the weather does) or the soft, ardent tone of his reply but you find yourself posing him another question--one framed around a quieter, more tender lilt. "well do you want your honest answer?"

"as long as it's better than ten's,"

in any other scenario, you would jump at the chance to tease him. to hold his schoolboy-esque jealously over his head in a light-hearted triumph. to bring it up in any and every further conversation, only for the sake of pricking at his pride and to earn nothing but taunting grins and laughter from yourself. but when you try, when the words lay on the tip of your tongue ready to be spat out with a dizzying purr, you find yourself unable to find them. or say them. or anything with the way he's looking at you. an expression that screams impatience and an adoration that goes straight to your head--dizzying you to a degree of nausea (or butterflies fluttering against the walls of your stomach, the more likely yet less inclined explanation).

"i think you're my favorite,"

kun blinks slowly at you, tilting his head on his shoulder to get a better look, to determine if you were teasing (an outcome he dreads more than honesty). there's a smile toying at the edges of his lips, pulling up into a softened, tired grin. black eyelashes fawn against his cheeks, strands of platinum blonde falling before his eyes as he speaks. "your favorite what? roommate? because you only have on--"

"everything,"

you think you can pinpoint the exact moment when his breathe catches in his throat, a short-lived, choked sputter of a response that drags both him and you into an underlying, all consuming silence. one interwoven with the trill of the cicadas and the trembling, spontaneous steps of the curtains, locked in an undying trot with the july breeze.

"it's hot,"

you huff. "i've been saying that,"

he shifts, dropping his hand from his face to rest upon yours. it's a movement made with no indecision, no pause or procrastination. a gentle, delicate endearment emphasized by the threading of his fingers between your own. kun's words are quiet, a clarifying correction that only serves to worsen the flustered state of his countenance. "i feel hot,"

"yeah," you return, squeezing his hand against your own, "me too,"

taglist. @evilsailorsenshi @firstdonutllamafarm @222brainrot @scinclaitnoir @yangasm thank you for all your support and love! ♡

🗯️ if there are ever two things i am absolutely obsessed over and crushed by, it's kun and summer. the latter of which everyone on this account is about to be made painfully aware of with the 10+ timestamp works in progress in my drafts that are all summer centered. i'm so endeared to kun, i am just so fond of him (·•᷄∩•᷅ ) so i hope that (and the sweetness of the mundane) was conveyed well here. this was also supposed to be no more than a couple hundred words ... but it's practically a short form (ง ͠ಥ_ಥ)ง i got a little overtaken by it ...

🧾 © 00127am 2024

[lovelyhan]

kai… my love, my most beloved and precious kai.. imagine inflection point cheol pulling you into the locker room after his teammates leave to warm up so that he can fuck you against his locker because he says it brings him good luck before a game.. and while you’re watching him play, hannie notices that a little bit of cheols cum is dropping down your thigh so he pulls you into the bathroom of your private seating area and he fucks cheols cum back inside of you and then stuffs you with his cum as well.. and when cheol greets you after the game with sloppy kisses cause he needs to fuck the adrenaline of winning out he notices you’re full of more cum then he left you with and he gets all pouty because you and hannie went to fuck instead of watching him play (and maybe he decides to be mean to the both of you that night with rough sex that leaves you and hannie completely dumb and sore…)

(love from inflection points #1 fan)

SC & JH — 02:55

you're insane. you're crazy. why would you leave this here? have you thought about my wellbeing??????

warnings: established poly, mlm undertones, smut (MINORS DNI)

a request for the inflection point series!

even when you dated him the first time, you were well aware that choi seungcheol is nothing short of insane.

but for your multimillionaire athlete of a boyfriend to purposely stay behind when all his teammates were headed to the field for a reason like this?

honestly? you completely expected it.

"this pretty pussy's just what i needed, baby," seungcheol rasps into your ear as he drives his aching cock into you with ruthless precision. "my little good luck charm."

you respond with a moan muffled into the palm of your clammy hand as your boyfriend pounds you into the cool metal of the lockers. unfortunately for you, this isn't the first time seungcheol was shameless enough to lie to his team—saying that he needed to have a word with you first before catching up for pre-game warm-ups.

of course, none of the other boys bought their captain's lie. you could've sworn you heard mingyu bet on how long seungcheol is going to take this time with wonwoo, but that's besides the point, really.

"remember when you used to kiss me for good luck before my games back in high school?" he chuckles, mouthing at the curve of your neck.

"t-this...this isn't just kissing, cheol," you mewl when he sucks at the skin above your thrumming pulse, arching your back against the vertical surface behind you as seungcheol paws at your tits through an old jersey of his that you repurposed into a crop top. "hurry up! hannie's already waiting for me, you horny idiot!"

your walls squeeze around his length like a vice—your juices squelching with each pass into your tight cunt. neither of you have enough time to fool around whenever seungcheol gets in the mood for a quickie in the locker rooms, so it's a good thing your boyfriend knows you well enough to make you come in record time.

his cock slams into you even harder when he crushes his mouth back onto yours—swallowing your lovely little moans as heavy balls slap against your mound. your skirt's more than ruffled at this point, but you can't bring yourself to care when he fucks you so good.

"you're squeezing so tight around me, sweetheart," he sighs against your lips—eyes glazed with equal parts lust and adoration as he hooks both of your thighs across his elbows. "you can pretend all you want how much you're in a hurry, but your cunt's telling me another story. my baby wants me to take my sweet time stuffing her full, huh?"

his blatant display of strength is so fucking hot, the pleasure he's giving you merely intensifies. seungcheol smirks when he feels your pussy flutter around his length—loving the way your eyes nearly roll to the back of your skull as he wrecks you in the name of good fortune.

"y-your cock's too big, cheolie," you mewl, biting your bottom lip to keep your moans from spilling out.

"too big? but weren't you the little minx who insisted that she could take me and jeonghan in her tiny pussy at the same time?" he taunts, quoting something you blurted out in a fucked out delirium sometime ago. "suddenly can't take it when i'm splitting you open anymore? what happened to all that spunk, baby?"

"quit stalling and just come inside me, jerk!"

seungcheol heaves another condescending laugh before pressing a firm kiss on your lips.

"gonna fill you up and you'll go sit right next to han during my game with your pussy dripping with my cum. make sure you don't waste a single drop, okay beautiful?"

you're far from your own release but it's the last thing on your mind when you're working on a time limit. nonetheless, you still preen at the feeling seungcheol twitch inside you before his thick cum gushes into your cunt in white hot spurts. you love it when he claims you like this—painting you in colors only he can mix together.

your athlete boyfriend does the honors of helping you put your underwear back on—making sure to pull the cotton taut against your ruined cunt to make you feel just how much he came inside you. the bastard even pats your pussy over the fabric with a sleazy smile.

"don't waste a drop, alright?"

"there you are."

jeonghan's relieved tone makes you a little guilty when he welcomes you to the private viewing deck he rented out in the stadium. while you typically enjoyed being surrounded by the defeating cheers of other onlookers in the stands, it's nice to have your own private space after what seungcheol just put you through.

"the game's about to start. i was starting to wonder where you ran off to this time." jeonghan pouts before helping you to your seat by the wide viewing glass.

you feel your face flush several shades darker, wondering if you did a good enough job at straightening yourself out in the restroom before hurrying over here. if jeonghan notices your internal distress, he doesn't show it.

today's game is a fundraiser of sorts for helping aspiring athletes who can't afford to go to prestigious sports universities in the country. the company that you and jeonghan work for is one of the main sponsors for the event, but even if it wasn't, you'd still be more than happy to watch one of seungcheol's games with him.

at least, that would be the case if you weren't squirming in your seat every ten seconds.

jeonghan, ever-so keen with your mannerisms, glances at you five minutes into the first half.

"you okay, sweetheart?" your boss-turned-boyfriend murmurs. "you're looking a little flushed. and sweaty. should i turn up the ac?"

you shake your head vigorously, pressing your thighs together as you hold back any lewd noises from the sensation of seungcheol's cum seeping out of your entrance. "n-no, i'm good, hannie. i'm just a little worn out from running all the way here."

the look on his face tells you he isn't convinced by your reasoning, but by the grace of whatever gods are out there, jeonghan lets it slide.

ten minutes in, your high-strung body is starting to cool down—the need for release that pulsed heavily in your core now subsiding into a dull ache. you manage to follow seungcheol's form around the field without wanting to kill him for leaving you high and dry.

thirty minutes in, jeonghan places a hand on your thigh—a gesture you don't really think twice about because he's always liked offering up the comfort of his touch even when you don't ask for it.

by the time the second half starts, that seemingly innocent hand starts to creep up your skirt.

"oh? so that's why," he chuckles when he finally discovers the mess between your thighs. "should've known cheol whisked you off for his new pre-game ritual again."

you can't help the way your thighs inch further apart as jeonghan massages your slit through your soiled underwear, making even more of seungcheol's release dribble out of your hole.

"hannie," you plead without really knowing what you're asking for.

your boss lets out a soft laugh, leaning in to plant a chaste kiss on your nose all while he starts building up your arousal all over again. "what is it, baby? our boyfriend's cum wasn't enough for you? greedy girl."

you shake your head, pawing at his chest to tug him closer. "didn't come..."

"hm? what's that?"

oh, fuck it.

disregarding the possibility of being seen by others outside the viewing deck, you slide yourself over to jeonghan's lap—facing him with a pathetically horny look on your face as you grind your hips into his. seungcheol's cum easily seeps through your panties and onto jeonghan's trousers, but your boss is the last person to scold you for such promiscuous behavior.

"cheol didn't make me come," you whine as jeonghan's hands rest against your hips. "wanna come so bad, hannie. need it. need you."

jeonghan shakes his head with an amused laugh as you continue grinding yourself onto his hardening length.

"one of the company's best employees, reduced into a cockdrunk mess on my lap," your lover tuts before thrusting his hips to give you the friction you craved. "want me to take you right here? where everyone can see?"

you do. god, you really fucking do, but—

"bathroom?" you ask meekly, and it jeonghan springs into action in a heartbeat.

your boyfriend forgoes all the foreplay he'd typically resort to when he's about to split you in half on his cock—knowing full well that the passage will be much too easy with how much cheol left you to deal with.

"he's such a selfish little bastard sometimes, no?" jeonghan sighs with false sympathy as he props you up against the sink—the sound of him unzipping his trousers like music to your ears. "pulls our princess to the side to fuck her and doesn't even think about making her come? he left such a filthy mess behind, too."

you nod a little mindlessly, practically drooling at the sight if jeonghan pumping his length into full hardness. "you'll make me feel good, right hannie?"

your boss flashes you a lazy smile as he slides his cock along your sensitive slit—making those prickles of pleasure flare across your skin once more.

"when have i ever said no to you, darling?"

he slides almost too easily into your velvet heat, cursing at how filthy you feel around him with yours and cheol's combined release coating his length. but this is far from the first time jeonghan's had seungcheol's sloppy seconds, and he easily sets a rhythm that has you curling into his embrace as he fucks your other boyfriend's cum back inside you.

"been a while since we had sex this messy," jeonghan groans, his beautiful face coming into view when he grabs your chin and forces you to meet his gaze. "i fucking love it when your slutty little pussy's filled to the brim. i'm no olympic-level athlete like cheol out there, but i can fuck you until morning if you asked me to, sweetheart."

your trembling fingers manage to find purchase on the front of his neatly pressed button-up, your muscles clenching around jeonghan's thick length as he drives himself into you with fervor that could rival seungcheol's.

"fuck, fuck, fuck," you whimper, lacing your fingers around his nape. "hannie, f-feels so good. so fucking good. wanna come on your cock. please, i'll be good. i'll be so good for you, i promise."

another thing jeonghan likes about fucking you when you're high off your own desperation is how mouthy you get. under normal circumstances, you'd be too embarrassed to start babbling like the cock hungry mess you are right now, so he'll definitely milk this opportunity for all it's worth.

the sight of seungcheol's cum gathering at the base of his cock in a creamy ring nearly makes him come on the spot. the sound that echoes in the tiled walls as jeonghan fucks it all back into you makes his head swim and he knows perfectly well that you're feeling the exact same way.

"our sweet little princess is already so good for us though," he coos, leaning closer so that you can feel his uneven breath on your face. "you let cheol use this cute pussy of yours for some stupid good luck ritual even if he didn't make you come."

he emphasizes the words with a harsh thrust that quite literally drives you up the wall and you croon out his name like it's the only word you know.

"h-hannie," you pant with a line of moisture pooling across your lasbes, desperately bucking your hips to meet his erratic thrusts as you claw your way to the apex of release. "'m so close, fuck. need you harder—deeper."

"demanding as always," he laughs softly before planting another kiss on the tip of your nose. if you weren't so fucking close to tears, you would've protested. "i got you, sweetheart. i'll let you come as many times as you want. our pretty baby deserves as much."

making good on his own promise, jeonghan fucks into you at an angle that has stars dancing in the seams of your vision. your lover sneaks a hand between your joined thighs, rubbing your oversensitive clit in tight circles that have you biting into his clothed shoulder.

your walls start to clench deliciously around his cock as you wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer—not wanting even a microcosm of space to come between you.

"you're gonna let me come in this sloppy pussy, princess?" he whispers, the breathlessness in his voice betraying his composure. "gonna let me use you like cheol did? don't worry though, darling. unlike him, i won't leave you wanting."

the sincerity in his voice, coupled with the sparks of sensation shooting down your spine every time the pads of his fingers graze your clit it what pushes you over the edge. jeonghan silences your loud moan with a firm kiss, fucking you through your much-anticipated orgasm as he pinpoints his own.

"so fucking good for me, our sweet little baby," he growls as the mess between your thighs drips onto the marble sink. "fucking love how your cunt squeezes around me. i'm so close, darling. do you want me to—"

jeonghan's words are interrupted with an open-mouthed kiss as you slide your hot tongue against his. "give it to me, hannie," you breathe without pulling away, fingers threading themselves into his messy hair. "want your cum with cheol's. wanna be filled with both of you."

oh, he's only a man and you're one of the two best things that ever happened to him. how could he not heed your wishes?

as promised, jeonghan releases into your abused cunt with a guttural noise, hips never ceasing as he pumps his load inside you. you feel so full—both of your lovers' cum mixing in the sloppiest mess you've ever had between your thighs.

yet somehow, just when the two of you finally caught your breath and jeonghan is just about to offer to clean you up, you lower yourself back onto the floor—turning around with shaky legs as you bend over the sink to present the masterpiece they've made out of your cunt.

then, with the most devilishly innocent look you can muster:

"can you give me more, hannie?"

Cheol: where are you guys? you told me you'll both meet me by the locker rooms after the game. don't tell me you left without me :(

Hannie: we're kind of busy, babe

Cheol: ? busy with what?

Cheol: what could be more important than congratulating me after we won the game?

Hannie: [Sent an image.]

Cheol: oh. OH. so THAT'S how it's gonna be

Cheol: having fun without me again... you're both going to get it tonight, mark my words

Hannie: we never complain when you have fun with either of us when the other's not around, big sulky baby

Hannie: and cut her some slack. this one's taken enough cock for today, don't you think?

Cheol: well, i still need to get the adrenaline out of my system. what do you suggest i do about it huh?

Hannie: :)

Hannie: i gladly offer myself as tribute

[king-crawler]

The scene where Ralph meets King Candy for the first time is one of the most interesting ones on a rewatch because you already know who King Candy is pretending Not to be. The way Ralph behaves is interesting too. (I’m studying these little 1kb game characters under a microscope)

Below the cut is a LONG scene/character analysis (~6min read?)

First off. King Candy’s mere Entrance in this scene already characterizes him a ton and he hasn’t even said anything yet. He speeds obnoxiously around Ralph in his little go-kart BLARING HIS HORN. This immediately gives off the impression of: Very in your face. Very full of himself. And Very Annoying About It. (sir.. your Turbo is showing)

BUT THE DIALOGUE. JUST THIS SINGLE INTERACTION:

(Ralph Face Reveal While Screaming)

“Milk my duds! it’s Wreck-it Ralph??”

“Yeah...? And who are you, the guy who makes the donuts?”

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I love this interaction because King Candy INSTANTLY knows who Ralph is. And from Ralph’s perspective that’s… weird.

Ralph is probably a little confused. Given how he answers “yeah?” He doesn’t just straight up ask “How do you know who I am” because he’s currently being interrogated (Probably Not a Good Time) Also that recognition is something he rarely receives in the first place, so why from this guy…? So instead he asks: Well who are you supposed to be?

WELL FIRST OF ALL. HE KNOWS WHO RALPH IS BECAUSE TURBO’S GAME CABINET SAT NEXT TO HIS FOR YEARS. Which is why King Candy is so surprised - he’s probably seeing him for the first time in decades.

“Hoohoo, please- No! I’m King Candy!”

I also love how he nervously laughs at first before responding with “No!” In that particular way- simply laughing it off before being Rather Quick to reject Ralph’s proposal that he could possibly be someone else. Interesting .

But it’s the way he says “I’m King Candy!” That carries so much implication. His pose and smile, the perfect inflection in his voice- it’s theatrical, it’s like he’s rehearsed it. It’s almost like he’s trying to convince Ralph that he’s really who he says he is with the best performance possible. He’s been doing that for years and by this point he’s totally mastered it. Nobody suspects a thing. (For now……)

—————————— Skipping forward a little, Ralph explains that he got a medal from Hero's Duty.

"Your medal? (giggles) Bad guys don't win medals!"

"Well, this one did. I earned it over in... Hero's Duty"

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

"What? No no no no no..."

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

THERE IS A LOT TO UNPACK HERE.

First off we'll focus on Ralph. The way he admits it... He knows it sounds bad. He breaks eye contact and hesitates before saying "Hero's Duty." Probably because he knows what King Candy is gonna retort with. But he still says "I earned it" not only because he doesn't want to incriminate himself, but because he believes it. He did earn it... right? And then Ralph tries to brush off the suggestion that he's going Turbo before being interrupted by King candy's rampant tantrum. (WHICH I WILL GET TO.)

At this point, Ralph is becoming less confident that he earned his medal because he's in denial about “going Turbo.” His confidence wavers here especially because he's in the presence of this apparent authority figure whose trying to guilt and incriminate him. (And this is a situation he's already all too familiar with- think of how Surge Protector always halts him when going into games just because he's a bad guy.)

But there's still one major thing keeping this denial intact: He wants to hold onto the fact he deserves his medal so bad. Others have hurt him for so long, he thinks getting that medal alone means he'll finally be respected, praised, and loved.

"Is it Turbo to want a friend? Or a medal? Or a piece of pie every once in a while? Is it Turbo to want more out of life?"

(I know that’s literally the Conflict of the Movie. BUT ITS WORTH MENTIONING OKAY I LOVE RALPH’S CHARACTER LEAVE ME ALONE)

I think the fact you can gather all this info just from the way he's portrayed during this SINGLE INTERACTION- its amazing. Amazing character writing is when when nearly every action a character does reinforces their motivations or personality and you're able to SEE IT!!

——————————

Now to focus on King Candy again… this FUCKER‼️

First off, him mentioning Turbo Isn’t even that suspicious at this point in the film… well… at first glance at least.

At first it seems like everyone knows who Turbo is. Ralph is questioned at Bad-Anon, Q*bert tells Felix and the nicelanders freak out- everyone who’s been around for a while knows who this guy is. But if you think about it… isn’t Sugar Rush a newer game? Not as new as Hero’s Duty, but it’s still a little odd that King Candy would know who Turbo is ON TOP of knowing Ralph. Just a little.

"You game-jumped?? Ralph... You're not going Turbo, are you?"

Ok but Seriously. That Part. The pure irony of King candy saying THAT a threat against Ralph in an attempt to incriminate him. The way he says it too... He breaks eye contact and glances to the floor like it’s something forbidden to even mention. His accompanied hand movements too (and King Candy speaks with his hands A Lot) they move like he’s describing a ghost story. He’s obviously trying to scare Ralph… trying to scare him into admitting something.

This is... a lot. Maybe even some level of self projecting...? Cuz MAN. that is too deep for me to even start getting into

But the fact that his OWN NAME (a SECRET IDENTITY MIND YOU) has become so infamous that now HE’S WEAPONIZING IT?!? IS INSANE??? Can you Imagine his thought process. Like how far gone into the deep end is he.

(SORRY FOR NOT USING MY OWN WORDS. BUT I JUST ADORE HOW @simpingforcys PUT IT HERE. …..)

THIS. this is so good. And the way King Candy eludes to “Turbo” as some kind of monster. Could that be offering him like. A Brief moment of catharsis. Or fuel some twisted sense of pride. What the FUCK is going on in this SICKO’S HEAD !!!!! I NEED TO KNOW!!!!

"Because i-if you think you can come in here- (laughs nervously) to MY kingdom, and take over MY GAME, YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER THING COMING!"

SECOND!!!!!! King Candy gets SO defensive SO FAST. That man jumps to conclusions IMMEDIATELY!!! He essentially throws a tantrum while stepping closer to Ralph, stumbling over his words and giggling nervously. The mere thought of there being ANY threat of someone else taking over "his game" riles him up SO BAD.

This is the same EXACT SAME TEMPER that made him storm into Roadblasters as Turbo years ago, because he saw Roadblasters as a direct threat to his own game's popularity - HIS popularity!!!! Because getting exposure- infamous or otherwise- is the ONLY thing that drives him. (Pun intended. Sorry.)

And the way he repeats “MY” kingdom “MY” game… mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine. Are you done with your tantrum old man.

——————————

Wow. Anyways I think that’s enough for now. And that was in response to only a minute of content. (Oh dear.)

[anna-hawk]

Harder

Frank Castle x implied F!Reader (no body parts are mentioned)

Summary: Frank opens the door to find you unusually quiet and needy.

WC: 2,1k // Explicit 🔞

Warning/Tags: pretty much PWP - sex as stress relief

Read on AO3

Gif from my lovely @darlingshane 🧡

Frank was sitting at the small coffee table in the living room area of his tiny apartment and cleaning the neatly aligned row of handguns lying on it, when there was a soft knock on the door. His hands stopped assembling the gun he had just finished cleaning, while his head turned towards the sound with a frown. Scarcely any people knew where he lived, meaning that anyone calling on him, especially that late in the day, was making all his senses go into high alert. Finishing assembling the gun within the next two seconds, Frank slid a magazine into it with an audible click. Not caring that he was only wearing a pair of jeans, he stood and slowly made his way to the door. He pointed the gun at it, while reaching for the handle with his other hand, letting it hover there as he looked through the peephole. As soon as he recognized you, Frank let out a long breath as the tension fled his body and lowered the gun to let it dangle at his thigh. The frown returned a second later as he realized that you barely ever came to his place. Usually, it was him who was coming to you and not the other way around. He much preferred it that way, not wanting you to be here if someone decided to hunt him down. Something must be up for you to show up here.

Downcast eyes and a shuttered face met him as he opened the door, although your eyes lifted to him as soon as you’d noticed the door opening.

“Hey,” Frank rasped, his voice rough since he’d barely spoken at all today, spending it trailing some crime lord on his own.

“Hey,” you replied, no real inflection in your tone as you shifted on your feet. Your eyes did, however, take in his half naked body and remained on his chest for a while before you looked into his face again.

Frank leaned against the door-frame with a shoulder as he waited for you to say something. He didn’t bother hiding the gun, since you knew exactly what he did for a living. You didn’t even glance in its direction. Just as he wanted to finally ask if something was wrong, you stepped into his space and wrapped your arms around his waist, sliding your hands up and to his shoulders, the fingers digging into his skin. His free arm automatically wrapped around you as you pressed your forehead to his shoulder with a deep sigh. Frank took several steps backwards to pull you into the apartment and shut the door. Quickly depositing the gun on the small shelf standing next to the entrance, Frank then used the same hand to run the fingers along the back of your neck and into your hair.

“You a’right?” he asked against your temple.

“Needed to see you,” you breathed.

Frank stared ahead of him as he took in your words, completely aware that you didn’t reply to his question and that you used the word needed and not wanted. It was the first time that he saw you behave like that. Your lives were complete opposites, with him working in the shadows while you were dealing with a regular job. Only weird circumstances and a common acquaintance had thrown you together some day. You’d just clicked. Frank had enjoyed your easy-going attitude and acceptance of what he did, and things had turned physical after a while as well. No strings attached. That was why he was so surprised by your behavior. You sometimes ranted or groused about things that annoyed you, but he’d never seen you this… quiet.

Before Frank could try to pry further into the reasons behind your presence, you let go of his torso and sank to your knees in front of him. Your knees had barely made contact with the hard floor that you pressed your face into one side of his V-line before sliding your tongue out to lick a path to his happy trail. As taken aback as he was by your actions, Frank’s body instantly reacted to your touch, meaning that he was already half hard by the time your fingers went to the fastenings of his jeans. It had been weeks since you’d been together as he’d been out of town, and your schedules just didn’t align. You didn’t exactly stay in contact. Not really. You sometimes texted or Frank showed up at your place and things would go from there. In any case, he didn’t stop you from tugging down his jeans and revealing his cock instantly since he’d forgone putting any underwear on, like he’d done with the shirt. If you needed him like this, he was happy to oblige you.

Not wasting any time, you curled your fingers around the shaft and pumped it a few times before taking the tip into your mouth. That definitely did the trick, and Frank was fully hard after a couple of passes of your tongue over the sensitive head. Through hooded eyes, Frank watched as you popped off his length to quickly remove the few items of clothing you had on, before sucking him back into your mouth as soon as you were fully naked. His nostrils flared as he held himself up with a hand on the door, only to groan when you reached for his other hand to place it at the back of your head. You gasped as his fingers combed through your hair, only to fist it a moment later. Something was definitely up with you because you usually enjoyed keeping eye contact while you went down on Frank, but you didn’t even glance up at him once while you bobbed your head back and forth. As much as Frank would have liked to tilt your head up for exactly that, he chose to respect your wish. He started thrusting into your mouth as well, since that was also clearly what you wanted, from how you put your hand over the one on your head again and squeezed it meaningfully. Despite you not wanting to look at him, Frank surely had no issues with taking each of your movements in, or letting his eyes travel over your naked form.

“Lookin’ so fuckin’ pretty like that, Sweetheart,” he growled, as he pumped his hips at a quicker pace for a few thrusts.

He grunted as you moaned around him.

You let go of him, panting as you regained your breath, and stood. Your hand went to his nape to pull his mouth to yours, your tongue licking into his mouth with intent. Frank had barely the time to put his hands on your hips before you moved away from him again after breathing, “Fuck me, Frank.” against his lips.

He turned with you as you sidestepped him to head to the couch and lean over the armrest. You held yourself up with your elbows and waited for him. Frank didn’t move for a moment, his brow creasing again at your unusual actions. There wasn’t the usual seduction in your moves, no glance back at him with a flirty wink or teasing grin. You kept your face down, only your ass facing him. Slowly, Frank took the few steps that closed the distance between you and lifted a hand to trail his fingers from your ass and up to your nape. He saw as well as felt the shudder that ran through you at his touch, the reaction satisfying him. No matter what was currently going through your head, you’d sought him out. Needed his touch. He could do this for you. Like everything you might ever ask of him.

As he put the crown against your entrance, he found you more than ready for him, proof that you truly wanted this. He watched himself sink inside you slowly, relishing in the tight heat of your body and the way your breath rushed out of you the deeper he went. You hung your head as he finally bottomed out, and groaned while pushing back against his pelvis, visibly wanting to make sure that he was all the way inside you. Drawing out again, Frank gave you a few shorter thrusts before filling you all the way once more. He started with a lazy rhythm, only making sure to slide inside fully with every pass.

“Harder,” you ground out, pushing your hips back in counterpoint with his.

Frank obeyed and began upping the pace as his hips gently slapped against your ass. You moaned, but he saw you shaking your head after a minute.

“Harder,” you repeated, voice louder as you moved against him, intending to show him what you wanted.

Taking hold of your hips with both of his hands, Frank grunted as snapped his own forward into you sharply. You cried out, your moans growing louder with his thrust, your body going with the motion of Frank’s movements. Frank knew that you weren’t done the second he saw your fist clench on the side of the pillow.

“Harder, Frank. Fuck me harder!” you shouted, your voice high with some kind of anger that had Frank’s own temper rising.

Leaning his large body over yours, Frank grabbed you by the nape and forced your upper body down until you had your cheek resting against the couch pillow, a whimper of need escaping you at the action.

“Like this?” he almost snarled against your ear as he pulled all the way out and slammed into you with a force that had the whole couch skidding a few inches forward.

Frank didn’t give you the opportunity to reply with actual words, since he reared back to grab one side of your hips again while keeping his other hand on your neck and fuck into you with brutal force. The only sounds coming from you were blissed out noises as Frank finally gave you what you so desperately craved from him. If being manhandled was what you needed, Frank was happy to deliver. He watched you avidly as pleasure filled sounds kept leaving your panting mouth, your expression of utter ecstasy having him give you everything he had to satisfy you completely. Not like he minded, since seeing you like this, needing to relinquish all control to him, only made his own pleasure sharper.

“That what you wanted from me, baby? Fuck you so good ‘n hard until you forget everythin’?” Frank asked as he lowered himself over you again, the hand on your nape sliding to the front until his fingers were wrapped around your throat.

Like before, you didn’t reply verbally as only mewls of pleasure greeted his ears, but Frank didn’t need an answer. He knew he was right. Knew the feeling all too well himself. The absolute trust you put in him was humbling and turning him on at the same time.

As Frank kept pounding away inside you, it was your quivering legs and fluttering walls around his cock that announced your climax to him. It was only confirmed by your cry of utter bliss and the repetition of Frank’s name a moment later. Frank stayed in the same position over you, except that he had his forehead against the back of your head as he let your orgasm slam through you. His thrusts never faltered, despite how tightly you were squeezing around him, until he finally shoved into you one last time, his hips pressing against your ass, as he came inside you with a sharp expletive.

Frank panted against your head for several seconds before he straightened again after pressing a light kiss into your nape. He carefully pulled out and put his half hard dick back into his jeans. Observing you carefully for a while as you kept breathing quickly and didn’t move, Frank finally stroked a hand over your back. You did react to his touch, and slowly lifted off the couch with trembling arms. Frank sat on the couch and watched you plop down next to him. With an exhausted sigh, you heavily leaned against him and closed your eyes. Frank extended his arm along the couch to wrap it around your shoulders and pull you closer still. He felt you smile against his chest, which made one appear on his face as well, as you finally seemed to return to your usual self. His eyes automatically went to yours as he noticed you lifting your head to seek his gaze. The eye contact had him smiling softly and raking his fingers through your hair. He chuckled as you closed your eyes with a content expression. You returned his smile after opening your eyes again, but didn’t speak as you leaned back against him. You didn’t need to. He might not know what triggered tonight’s events, but he was happy to be there whenever you needed him to get you out of your own head.

[literaila]

HEYYYY!! It's me again!!

I have two things to discuss today.

Firstly, have you seen those reels where Megumi reminds Gojo of Toji and he gets freaked out? So has this ever happened in the Gojo household? If yes, how dramatic does Satoru act?

Secondly, I have a request, It would absolutely make my day to see Satoru jealous. (Yes, I know we saw a it with Nanami, but can you blame a girl to want more?) Like if the reader got hit on, I am sure he'll pull something like he did to Megumi with Nobara and Yuji.

Thank you for reading this,

You are amazing and I love you.

(I'll do anything you ask me to.)

no doubt, for the first couple of months (two years) megumi lived with satoru, every time the boy woke up in the morning with his hair deflated, or walked in the room scratching his head, or sat on the couch, or went into the bathroom—satoru had to refrain a wince.

it’s not that the likeness was uncanny… but… well, the attitude was.

when megumi had on that evil smirk—usually when one of his many plots against satoru came to fathom—it was clear that the very man satoru had erased from existence had shared some of his more… admirable qualities with the boy.

sometimes it was the way megumi spoke. the tiny little inflections that satoru was probably making up, but were also definitely there. the little sigh when he asked the boy a question or the clearing of a throat when megumi was confused.

and the eyes.

megumi’s eyes were always cold, always hesitant, always moving around, constantly looking for some problem to focus on. and his glares, and his eyebrows, and uuugch.

sometimes satoru had to run into the bathroom just to cower himself away for a moment.

and if megumi happened to knock on the door, already scowling when satoru opened it a crack, really, the gasp that came next was unavoidable.

“what’s up with you?” megumi demands, shaking his head at the older, very immature man. “can you move?”

said man would open the door as little as possible as he squeezed by, trying and failing not to stare at the little boy—who has very dark hair, dark eyes, and dark intent specifically when it comes to satoru.

none of it goes unnoticed.

so if satoru is leaning over the counter, his eyes pleading with yours, you already know what it’s about.

(you’d learned about satoru’s weird superstition about two days into becoming his co-parent).

“no,” you say immediately, going back to making both of the children’s lunch.

“i didn’t say anything.”

“still no, satoru.”

“but, please,” he falls against the counter dramatically, wide blue (alien) eyes basically perfect spheres as he widens them. “just this once?”

“it’s a supply store.”

he shakes his head intently. “that’s not the issue.”

you give him a bland look, unamused with his stupid qualms, and put the lid on a container.

“he looks freaky,” satoru whispers, conspiring. “there’s something off.”

you look over to megumi who is sitting at the table, swinging his legs and chewing on some cut up ginger.

he looks as pleasant (frowning) and sweet (irritated) as always to you.

you raise a brow at satoru, choosing not to argue with him about this. god knows you do it enough.

“do you want me to cry?” satoru asks, pouting. “i have ptsd.”

you roll your eyes. “ever heard of exposure therapy?“

so satoru takes megumi to the store to get markers and papers for a school project, giving him questionable glances from beneath his glasses, and making weird comments under his breath about psychopaths and plastic surgery.

when they get home megumi is annoyed as ever, attempting to slam the door in satoru’s face before he can walk through.

you’re, of course, sitting with tsumiki at the table and watch as this interaction happens.

megumi stomps by and tells you, “please kick him out. he’s being weird again.”

and satoru just opens the door, red faced, finger pointing at the little boy, demanding: “see?”

so, yeah. satoru suffers with the memory of toji, and his biggest ideation (hurting the six-eyes user) comes to life in the form of a little boy who now lives in his home. just two rooms down the hall.

seriously, who really won that fight?

but as the months (years) go on, satoru learns to mostly ignore the resemblance between the two. sure, when megumi wears his hair differently or says anything in that rough, angry voice satoru gets a little freaked, but so what?

(if he has to go sit in his closet for a couple of minutes it’s just because he’s tired, okay? it has nothing to do with being afraid of a six year old or anything of the sort).

still, things slowly begin to change as megumi grows accustomed to satoru’s antics, and satoru becomes accustomed to being called out for them.

(you do it occasionally, but satoru knows you’re mostly joking. you’re nothing if not the benefactor of his schemes.

on the other hand, the only other person to ever seriously call him out about his ego was… suguru.

so. there’s that.)

and eventually, satoru doesn’t even notice if megumi is looking at him with devious intent. he’s well prepared and not afraid of some whiny little kid who can’t even reach the top shelf in the fridge.

(he hides behind you, usually.)

but even satoru can’t ignore the way megumi begins to change as he grows. literally, several inches by the time he’s eight.

and then there’s the way his eyes—his cold, evil eyes—change when he’s talking to tsumiki, or you. the way he softens when you’re trying to tell him something, or when he needs help. the tiny, affectionate grin that grows on his face when tsumiki is bouncing around, so full of energy that she can’t sit still.

satoru looks at him sometimes, and he doesn’t see the gifted sorcerer killer that the boy comes from, but a brother. a son that gets to be adored by the best person in the world (him you)

that is, of course, until megumi looks satoru’s way and the scowl is back, even harsher than before.

and then theres the learned attitudes, the things that you all shared—you, satoru, and the kids—just as a result of being together for so long.

isn’t there something about developing the traits of the people closest to you?

so, even though megumi is a photo copy of his father, satoru begins to see other things in the boy.

like the crinkles by his eyes, matching tsumiki’s.

or the way that his eyebrows go up when he’s trying not to smile, and the eventual twitch of his lip when he can’t help but laugh at something. satoru’s dreamed of that sight since he was seventeen and first set his eyes on you.

and then the eventual pout that megumi develops when he’s giving everyone a hard time. the pout that satoru practices in the mirror, making sure to save for only the most dire of occasions.

(also, satoru can’t help but think of megumi as the thing that keeps him… humble, in the face of everything. that question that continuously reminds satoru to keep growing, keep getting stronger, just so he can protect everything that matters.

he won’t admit it, but satoru knows that someone had to do it. someone had to be a replacement for the only other person who could ever compare to the strongest sorcerer.

and if suguru could meet megumi, satoru thinks, sometimes, when no one else is around to hear it, they would get along.

they have a lot in common, after all).

sure, megumi might have the same face, and same smirk as toji. he might as well be a literal clone of the man, just waiting to age into his skin.

but, satoru decides, one day a couple of years in, when there’s that innate protective feeling as he observes the boy—one that satoru never thought he had, much less be able to feel—maybe it’s more that toji resembles megumi, and not the other way around.

so satoru doesn’t flinch anymore because megumi’s face brings up memories he’d prefer to keep locked away—he flinches because megumi was waiting in the shadows.

just to scare him.

(secaond idea is here)

[alchemistc]

Eddie practices his arguments with Steve.

The thing is -

Here's the thing. It's not that he's expecting an argument. So far every time either one of them have been irritated with one another, or pissed off about something, they usually just, like, talk about it and shit. Healthy-like, which is -

Totally fucking weird for Eddie My-Parents-Fought-As-A-Love-Language Munson and Steve Still-Figuring-Out-Its-Okay-To-Be-Loved Harrington. It's weird, it is, and Eddie can't help but wonder if Steve is just bottling shit up until it explodes out of him and he realizes that this thing they're doing just isn't worth it anymore.

So.

So Steve does this thing, right?

This thing where he rolls his jaw and sometimes it pops and it makes Eddie want to stick a curly straw up his nose and scramble his own brains. And he's such a fucking neat freak that every time he's over, he ends up rearranging Eddie's room - not even in purpose, just. He likes to touch things, and Eddie gets it, he does, but touching things usually leads to picking things up leads to setting them back down and before Eddie's had time to look up, Steve has swept empty beer cans into the trash and lined up Eddie's models in a neat row like they're troops readying for battle and since he's like a war buff they're always lined up like a little battalion which is cute but also frustrating as hell because - because Eddie's chaos is organized and now he can't find his fucking lyric journal with the song he's very much not ready for people to see, or know about, or -

The point. The point is Eddie has been gearing up to talk to Steve about it for three days now and he's now at the stage where he practices. Works out the scenarios, muddles through possibilities, tries to anticipate every way it could go tits up.

He's never - Steve is most of his firsts, and he knows it's dumb and romantic but he'd like Steve to be all of his lasts, too, and so what if that means he's pacing the length of the trailer (all the while perfecting his Steve-voicr, which has been a tough one to nail but he feels like he's getting there. He's smarter and more eloquent than he lets on, is Steve.) and arguing with himself. Resetting, back to the start, working through a disastrous turn where Steve accuses Eddie of cheating on him (nope, reset, Steve's well aware Eddie wouldn't, cut that from the options).

"And seriously, Eddie, how could you think I'd do that shit to you, you know -."

"What the hell?"

Eddie whirls.

Mike Wheeler is standing in his living room, staring at Eddie like he's grown a second head. Which. Shit. They haven't actually, like, told anyone that they're...doing whatever it is they're doing (There's things Eddie wants to call it, but he hasn't brought them up yet because they're terrifying and super fucking telling and even though he's pretty sure he and Steve are on the same page he doesn't want to presume) so the kids don't know. No one except Robin knows, and she's states away and busy so.

"What the hell right back, Wheeler, what are you doing here?"

"I left my chem textbook here last night. You said I could come get it."

And - sure, he definitely had, but he'd sort of been staring at the hollow where Steve's neck and shoulder met and imagining biting it when he said it, so -

"So you broke into my house?"

"The door was unlocked."

"So you walked uninvited INTO MY HOUSE?" And he's maybe hamming up the annoyance as cover, but Wheeler just stares at him.

"Are you practicing breaking up with Steve?" Wheeler asks without preamble, with zero inflection, not even a quirk of his brow, and Eddie -

Flounders, is a generous term for it. Really what he does is shriek, and cackle, and then cover it up with the weirdest laugh either of them have ever heard which covers nothing at all. "What are - why would you - what makes you think - listen, Michael, you can't just break into people's homes and accuse them of - of - what exactly are you accusing me of?"

"Of having really terrible taste in men, Eddie, where's my textbook?"

"I don't fucking know, Wheeler, Steve rearranges shit all the time so who the hell knows where he would have -."

"It's probably on the bookshelf, then," Mike says, and then squints. "Are you...practicing arguing with Steve?"

"How do you even -?"

"Neither one of you is subtle."

"Shut up, Wheeler."

"If that's how you talk to Steve it's no wonder you have to practice your arguments."

"I'm not - you're infuriating."

Mike squares him with a look that reminds Eddie of when he's calculating hit points and strategizing his next move. He frowns. Sighs. "I have like ten minutes before I have to leave. Steve doesn't think you're cheating on him, so let's start from the top."

---

"The kids know," Eddie tells Steve, fingers shifting in Steve's hair, and Steve's lashes flash as he looks up from Eddie's lap. Mike had been - well, Wheeler might be half a decade younger but he'd been pretty instrumental in helping Eddie nail down the right approach to "Please stop cleaning up my messes you're ruining everything." so another non-argument is in the books, and Steve had looked confused about it but he'd agreed to try not to move shit around at least.

("I'm still cleaning up all the trash, though, you live like a goblin."

"It's hot that you know what a goblin is, baby."

"Nerd.")

"Are you...okay with that?"

"Are you?"

"I asked first."

It's not that he doesn't want to answer, it's just.

Okay he doesn't want to answer. Jesus Christ, he'd used Mike goddamn Wheeler as his Steve stand in to practice an argument that hadn't happened and he's still scared to call Steve his -

"I... don't really know. What to tell them." And that's - shit, not what he meant to say, Jesus.

"What do you mean?"

Steve crinkles his nose, and Eddie hates how goddamn cute it is, because he really wants to just, like, boop the tip of it and then suck Steve off but -

Where's Mike Wheeler when he needs him?

("If you ever tell Steve about this I'll tell Will to TPK your party for the next ten campaigns."

"Why would I tell Steve I'm helping you save your relationship?"

"Brownie points. So you can hold it over Henderson's head. Blackmail."

"I used to be terrified of you, but you're actually super lame, honestly."

"Preaching to the choir, my friend.")

"I mean, what...what do we tell them we...are?"

"Are you freaking out about calling me your boyfriend?"

"...no."

He shifts, and Eddie's fingers slip through the strands of Steve's hair as he shuffles, scoots, sits up and twists to face Eddie.

"I am, right? I mean...you want me to be?"

Eddie hasn't practiced this conversation, because - because it's presumptuous, because it felt sort of like jinxing it, because -

"Yeah. Duh. Of course I - shit. Yeah. Yes."

Steve's smile is bright and a little knowing. "I have a confession."

"I'm not sure I want to hear it."

"Trust me, you want to."

"Okay fine," Eddie tells him, eyes on Steve's hand as he slots their fingers together. Eddie hooks his pinkie along the edge of Steve's sleeve. "Twist my arm, why don't you?"

"I'm actually kind of glad they already know. I've been trying to figure out how to tell them for a while. I've been, like - creating scenarios in my head to try to figure out how they're going to take it."

There's - okay, so Eddie's thinking a lot of things, right at this moment, like how Steve apparently also creates mind-scenarios to play out before a situation happens, and how they might want to test out their creativity in other areas, actually, and that derails his whole train of thought for a moment, but "How long?"

"How long what?"

"Have you been trying to figure out how to tell them?"

Eddie's not insecure, exactly, but he is a big fan of knowing what people he cares about think of him and how often they think of him and -

"I mean, since, like, the first time I kissed you?"

Eddie is stupid crazy about Steve Harrington. He's fully fucking feral for this man, honestly, it's dumb. Absolutely ridiculous.

"I'm in love with you," Eddie tells him, and the tips of Steve's ears are pink.

"I know," he says, with a smarmy little grin because Eddie had admitted (under duress, and screw anyone who doesn't think a naked Steve Harrington in your lap is duress) he'd been obsessed with Harrison Ford for like a full year in his tweens, and Steve takes every opportunity to remind Eddie he knows.

"I'd also very much like to circle back to you creating scripts in your mind about telling the kids about us."

"Henderson's always a nightmare, I swear to god."

"We gotta teach him some humility."

"He respects you more than he respects me, you teach him."

"You gonna say it back?"

"Well not now," Steve says, and Eddie wants to bite him.

---

"I love you," Steve says, while Dustin and Mike and Max argue about who knew first.

Eddie hasn't practiced this one. "I know," he says, and Steve's brow quirks when Dustin catches the exchange and groans.