#it simply cannot get any better than this

[holylulusworld]

An absent mate

Summary: Your mate cares more about a taken omega.

Pairing: Wolverine x Omega!Reader

Warnings: a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, abandonment, emotional cheating, heavy angst, pregnancy, loneliness, language, shitty friends, shitty alpha, Jean being the worst ever, Jean hate (sorry)

Square filled for the Wolverine bingo @buck-star created for me: Square 23: a/b/o

In the beginning, you believed everything would turn out for the better. Everyone encouraged you to pursue the alpha you fell in love with. You believed their words, their lies, so easily.

Logan wasn’t happy with all the attention you gave him at first. But the more you threw yourself at him, the more he got fond of you. Or so it seemed.

You spent many nights tangled in each other, touching every inch of your bodies, while you got more and more lost in Logan.

His mark soon was on your neck, indicating that he finally settled for an omega and forgot about the one he couldn’t have.

You soon would find out that the passion he showed in the bedroom did not dull the ache whenever he ignored your needs.

Hugs, a no-go. Kissing, only when it was to start something else. Being around you for longer than needed was out of the question.

Day by day, you realized that you got trapped in a loveless bond by no other but your chosen family. The people you trusted the most.

“Logan, where are you going again?” You almost pleaded while grabbing his arm. “I told you I need you today.”

“I told you that Jean needs me. Scott is on a mission, and she’s all alone,” Logan bites back, wincing as you flinch at his harsh tone. “Give me an hour or two, and we can do whatever you want to do.” He tries to charm his way back into your good graces, but you only scoff.

“What if I ever get pregnant? Will you be there for me, too, or just ignore me?” Your questions make Logan stop in his tracks. He considers your words before walking toward the door.

“We shouldn’t have a baby.” His words cut deeper than any knife. “I’m too old to have children.”

“You will outlive all of us. Me…anyone,” you scoff. “You’re not too old. You simply don’t want to have children with me.”

“No…I…” Logan shakes his head. “I’d outlive our child, too, Y/N. I don’t want to see them die like everyone else.”

“You could play with your grandchildren, and their children,” you sniffle. “Anyone would kill for that chance, but you…” You protectively wrap your arms around yourself. “If Jean’s child were yours, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

“That’s not…true.” He tries to argue, but you are too wound tight to give in today. In the past, you endured the pain in silence.

“Forget it,” you sniffle and already turn back around. “I can handle my problems on my own. I’m not a weakling like Jean.” You grab your jacket and bag and storm out of the room, slamming the door shut.

Jean stands in front of your room, running her hand over her visible bump. She smirks, knowing you got into a fight with your mate because of her.

“Get fucked.” You curse and storm past her. In your condition, you shouldn’t stress yourself or always get into fights with your mate. It’s no use. He will not turn toward you, and Jean won’t stop playing the victim.

“I’m so done,” you think in your mind, catching Professor Xavier’s attention. Usually, you guard your mind like a dragon guarding a captured princess. Today, your heart and soul a screaming because you cannot endure more heartbreak. “That’s enough heartbreak for a lifetime.”

After returning from your doctor's appointment, you decided to talk to your fellow X-Men.

You don’t understand why Logan claimed you if his heart was still hung up on Jean.

They all assured you that Logan feels the same, but now you feel like they lied to you.

If you are right, the betrayal cuts even deeper.

Walking along the hallways, you change your mind. If you ask them directly, they’d only lie to you to shelter your feelings.

It’s against the rules, but to get the truth, you are willing to break all the rules.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath before using your powers. You focus on everyone telling you to make a move on Logan.

Not only did Logan and Jean underestimate you, but your fellow X-Men did too.

In full control of your powers, you can read their minds all at once.

Your eyes fill with tears, realizing, they knew Logan would never reciprocate your feelings all along. None of them was truly on your side.

“All of you.” You accuse, pointing at Professor Xavier in particular. “Every single one of you told me to give Logan a chance. You told me he’s bad at admitting feelings.”

“We only asked you to give him a chance to make him happy,” Storm tries to save the situation and calm you. No such luck.

You scoff at your stupidity and shake your head. “You didn’t ask me to give him a chance to become his mate, his partner, or the mother of his pups.” You emphasize your last words, running your hand over your swollen bump. “No. You did it, so he got someone to fuck!”

Professor Xavier flinches at your outburst. Not only because your words are true, but also because you screamed in his mind.

“You wanted me to let him fuck me while his whole attention was focused on Jean. A taken woman. A mated omega. Someone else’s wife.” You sniff and look away from them. “You made me believe he’ll reciprocate my feelings one day.”

Professor Xavier wants to say something, but you raise your hand to stop him. “Save it, professor. He doesn’t care for me. Logan is all over Jean all the time because she won’t leave a taken man alone.” You snarl the last line. “She’s nothing but a homewrecker, and all of you decided to look the other way. I’m done.”

Logan finally joins the others, staring at you as if you lost your mind. He heard every word thanks to his higher senses and advanced hearing.

“If you are unhappy, go.” He growls and points at you. “But before, give me my favorite shirt back.”

You can’t believe his cruelty, but you are not surprised either.

“Fine, have it.” You drop your bag and jacket to take off his shirt, throwing it at Logan. Everyone gasps, even your mate, looking at the prominent bump you hid so well over the last few months. You’re five months pregnant and are already showing a big belly.

Logan’s shoulders slump, and he gasps loudly. “You’re pregnant too?” He asks, as if you tried to hide your pregnancy from him.

“Yeah, that,” you run your hand over your bump, “isn’t your problem, right? That’s what you told me last week when I, once again, tried to tell you about my pregnancy. But you were busy rubbing Jean’s back because she was nauseous.”

You laugh loudly at the absurdity. “She’s pregnant with another man, and you do anything to make her feel better while your mate suffers alone, hoping her mate will at least help her with her nest. I was only ever an afterthought to you, nothing else.”

“How did you not know she’s pregnant?” Ororo’s eyes clouded watching you grab your jacket to cover yourself. “Logan? How did you not know?”

“I…” Logan averts his gaze and shakes his head. There’s no excuse for not knowing about his mate’s pregnancy. For months, he took care of another omega.

You look Jean straight in the eyes and say, “Don’t worry Jean, I give my mate free. You should ask Scott to do the same so you and your chosen mate, the one you love, can be together.”

Jean looks anywhere but at you. Her hands tremble when she places them on her belly. Her pup kicks, and she feels bad for you for a moment. She had the attention of two alphas, while you had to do everything on your own.

Your features darken, and you smirk cruelly as she looks flustered.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you only wanted Logan to give you his full attention out of jealousy. You never wanted him, but seeing him become my mate didn’t sit right with you. Correct me when I’m wrong.”

Jean doesn’t answer. Her silence speaks volumes, though.

In the beginning, she kept her distance and watched you get closer and closer to Logan from afar. Until one day, she decided not to let Logan stop yearning for her. It didn’t matter that you wore his mark, and that he called you his omega at that time.

“I still don’t understand how Logan didn’t know about Y/N’s pregnancy.” Ororo looks at Logan. “Logan?”

“Because he gives a shit about me. I was only good for getting off. I have no worth to him. Not when Jean is all over him most of the day and night. I always wondered if Scott loves being a cuck.”

Gambit snorts at your comment. He shakes his head and shoves people out of his way, holding out his hand. “Do you want me to drive you somewhere?"

“No,” you slap his offered hand away. “I don’t want anything from you or the likes of you.” You walk past him, not sparing Logan a glance as you walk toward the front door. “I hope you all go to hell.”

With that, you slam the door shut behind you, leaving them alone with their regret.

[crunchystarz]

I really wanna see how the Self aware au reacts to a Mc! Who favors one boy over the others? Cause I know my favorites are obvious. I spent 10 minutes just calling riddle cute and speaking to him like a baby. I've done it too Malleus and Vil. I would push the others over to give them all my affections.

TWST SELF-AWARE AU| with a Reader who favors one over the others

ob!boys x gn!reader

Cw: jealousy and obsessive and possessive behavior yandere themes.

NOT proof read mb🥀

A/N this is honestly more of short rambles for each one but honestly this is so real because I favor the characters so hard😭my whole being revolves around Leona at this point so I can only imagine having a bunch of obsessive freaks just for me to baby Leona like crazy I just KNOW he'd get all my attention... Which y'all can probably tell will my writing LMAO I truly do favor him.(also this has been sitting in my drafts for like a week oops...)

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn't get it. Why would you favor him over everyone? He just cannot wrap his brain around why you could possibly you gravitate to someone like him. Riddle knows you're not perfect and your opinions aren't always sound, but seriously? It frustrates him more than anything, watching you treat him like he's so much better than everyone, better than him.

In Riddle's mind, he's the only one stable enough to properly take care of you out of the bunch. It irks him in ways he should be ashamed of; he knows better than to let it get under his skin, but all logical thought is thrown out the window when he walks into your room just to see you coddling him. His heart feels like it's being squeezed like a rag. It hurts, and he hates it. He knows his obsession with you controls his emotions. He's never felt anything this strong in his artificial life. This love is precious to him; you are precious to him. He just wants to be your favorite, so what does he have to do? It gets him so frustrated watching someone other than him gain your attention like they deserve it.

His whole life, he's never had real unconditional love, not from his parents, not from his friends. Riddle strives to be better to improve for the approval of others, but it will never come, will it? He's simply a string of different binary code weaved together by some more advanced being. So he's not necessarily improving, is he? It's a complicated topic he hates thinking about for too long.

So that love he craved isn't real. Yet your love is different. It's the only thing he craves more than anything—he wants your unconditional love. Riddle Rosehearts would be perfect for you, just give him the chance, so stop pining after him. Look at him, please, just look at him only. He'd do whatever it takes, he'll be better, he'll claw his way to the top. He'd make you see him, hell, prove to you that he should be the one to lay your love on.

Leona Kingscholar

Leona isn't surprised; it's nothing new to him. He's not a stranger to watching the things he so desperately wants to be given to someone else. Constantly having a treat dangled right in front of you, where you taste it just for it to be snatched away from you once it brushes your lips. That's nothing new to him yet it doesn't sting any less. He thought he was numb to the fact, yet with you it's like you're constantly reopening.

You're the only real thing in his miserable life. You're the reason he has a drive to do anything—you make him feel lighter, calmer. Leona is selfish, and he knows he's selfish. He doesn't care when the envy pricks under his skin. When he feels his fangs poking slightly at his bottom lips, and his claw-like nails dig into his palms. He doesn't care enough to hide his frustration. He's very open about his feelings because why him.

He'd love to ask why you would choose someone like that when Leona could do you so much better, but he doesn't believe that truly. Leona doesn't think highly of himself; he knows he wouldn't make the best partner, yet he still craves you more than anything. He's again selfish. He wants to take and take and never give back. All your love he wanted. He doesn't want anyone else to have it. He doesn't care if it's not fair, he knows he doesn't deserve it, he knows he's too broken and far gone. Yet watching you love someone else so easily. With no care, no thought, just pure adoration, it fucking shatters him. It shouldn't be him, but he wants it to be so desperately.

So he'll push and he'll shove, he will squeeze himself into your life. Leona doesn't care enough to chase after any of his other desires; you are the exception. He will not let a soul take the only thing he lives for from him when they're right between his teeth. The more you pay him mind, the more Leona weasels his way into your personal life. He despises the way you googly eye him, so he'll just divert your attention to him. Leona isn't above getting physical.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul tries so hard to seem unbothered, but he's not like that. Envy and jealousy are all things he's above. That's what he tells himself to calm his nerves, but deep down, he knows how he gets. He has no way to regulate his emotions in this new world, so how is he supposed to be calm and unbothered when watching you love someone else so intensely? Your favoritism chews at him from the inside out. He was used to weaving things to go his way, so why don't you give him the time of day?

Azul will watch as you fuss and give him so much attention, biting his lips as he tries to keep himself calm. He's never been the explosive type when it comes to his emotions. He's always been calculative and unreadable when it comes to his true feelings. He tries not to let it get to him, but he knows his mask isn't flawless. He just wants things to go his way, for once, he wants you, the only real thing in his sad, pathetic life. He wants your love because you want to give it to him, not because he has to trick you into it. So love him. Love him the most, not anyone else.

However, you don't choose Azul first. No one ever goes to him as the first option. It's not different when you hold his face in your hands as you coo whatever. It's not fair—it's never fair. He can't be normal when he has to be constantly reminded of what he can't have. He wants you to choose, he wants you to come to him, he doesn't want to manipulate you into picking him because you aren't like everyone else. You don't deserve that, but it's always at the back of his mind when he has to watch you out for someone else on such a high shelf.

Jamil Viper

Jamil has always been a shadow. His whole life has been nothing but a follower. He's used to not getting what he wants, he never expects anything. He never craves because he knows he'll never get. He doesn't allow himself to dream of having something so sweet, something sweet like you. He wants you so bad, but he doesn't allow himself to have it. He ignores his feelings of jealousy; he can regulate how he feels. He's used to watching the people he serves get anything and everything at their whim. They don't have to fight for what they want.

Jamil had to fight for you, the only one whose opinions and thoughts mattered to him. The way you see him is the only thing he cares about. He wants you to see him for all he is. He was programmed to be good at almost everything; he could do so much for you, don't you see that—but you don't, you don't even look at him with the sparkle in that you do with him. Jamil knows he's not perfect, his character was designed flawed, but so was everyone else, so why did you attach to him so much? What was it that you lied so much?

Jamil can put on a mask, any mask you want, he can be anything you so desire, just say the word and he'll fit your mold. He'll be better than your favorite if you just allow him to. He's your faithful servant, please just choose him. For once in his life, he allows himself to want something so selfishly, and he can't have it. It's a stinging pain that shoots through his heart. A stinging pain he wishes he could ignore completely, but he can't; it hurts too much.

So, just at least rely on him at least. If he can't be your all-time favorite, at least lean on him, please. It's all he made for—please just let him be useful. Anything to keep your attention, even if it doesn't compare to the attention you give him, it's still your attention, still your love, and he's okay with that. Jamil doesn't ask for much.

Vil Schönheit

Vil was used to the constant attention, the constant praise, and the pampering. The worst part of being nothing but a video game character was that all the fans and prying eyes were fake, too. When the group moved to your world, it was a big change. It was a change he could get used to, a breath of fresh air without all that fabricated fame. That's what it should have been. He should be happy about his newfound privacy.

He found that he hated it. Not enough attention, not enough if your attention is specifically. Vil hated that emptiness, no, you were not full on ignoring him. You weren't even avoiding him, no, you were just giving your attention to someone else, someone other than him? He wasn't used to that. He hated that. What did he have that he didn't? Vil was perfect. Why did you prefer anyone else? It was so frustrating! He's never hated not being the center of attention than when it's when you're cuddling up with that slob.

He craves your validation he craves that fulfillment only you could provide. Only the love he deserved. Vil gets jealous of potential rivals, hes had it happen before and hid it well but it's not so hard to hide those feelings when they boil over. It's so obvious how snappy and snarky Vil gets. He's better than this he should not let it get to him but it does. God he hates it more than anything, but throwing a temper tantrum wont do him any good. He's professional, he can be professional about this.

Idia shroud

Idia's situation is complicated; his self-esteem is terrible, and he doesn't believe he actually deserves to be in your presence. What do you mean you haven't kicked him out yet? He doesn't deserve you. On the other hand, his ego can randomly shoot through the roof, and he feels like he's the only one who gets you; you're the only one he should even have to look at. That's why it truly does depend on how he's feeling, in my personal opinion

Idia is not good with his emotions already, especially when they tangle with other people. He was programmed for human interaction. Yet he still seems to have grown so attached to you. He doesn't know to regulate how he feels arready just you to have a favorite. God hes a rollercoaster.

Idia's heart clenches when he sees you with your preferred boy. It makes him want to sulk in the corners of your room and rot. He doesn't see himself as a fit to be your partner, not one bit. Yet he's so obsessive he can't stay away from you. He swears he'll be cooler and more normal. Please just look at him, okay? These jerks don't deserve your attention. He's the reason they could even be here without his brains. He deserves your attention, just like him, please, please, please —

Idia pouts, and when he's desperate, has enough courage to physically place himself between you and him. Anything, just please give him a chance, let Idia be your number one. Yes, he's pathetic. Yes, he'd beg. What else is he supposed to do?

Malleus Draconia

Malleus wasn't used to not having what he wanted. Jealousy is not something he was exposed to quite often,he could basically have anything and everything he wanted at the snap of his fingers. He was the number fifth mage in the world after all there isn't much he can't have. The only he couldn't have was your devotion. Your unwavering love. That warm spark that sprinkles though his body when you come to him on his own is something he craves the most.

He wants so much more than the crumbs you give him. So he gets so unfathomably upset watching you baby him like some kind of pet. Truly what did you see in a mortal like that when Malleus was willing to give you everything? Foolish human you were.

Malleus is the most clingy in my opinion and I've been over this before in the au. He's constantly throwing himself your way, like Leona and Idia he's not afraid of making his presence known. He can be the possessive one because he knows he's much stronger than everyone else. All the Intimidation means nothing when you still flock back to him. Why? Malleus truly does not get you humans.

He's pouty and aggressive when he gets jealous he can't handle your favoritism well at all. He's always been isolated and you just so happened to the prey he wants to sink his talons into the most. Why do you push him away when he does the same thing you do to your favorite? It's what you want correct? So why is Is it different when Malleus does it. It's frustrating , please just love him unconditionally please hold him the same way he wants that warmth.

MASTERLIST

[oneinnocentprincess]

“It does.” Eleanor nodded in agreement, her eyes trailing to the color before looking back up into his eyes. She noticed a change, one she had no clue what the word would be for it was…or why it happened. There was something different in his eyes. Was that all just from her simple comments and actions? Are men this easy to please? No wonder she hardly had any discussions regarding pleasing her husband out of bed, straightening his collar seemed to be more than enough.

“Well I cannot pretend that they do not exist, Oscar.” She said simply, not wanting to get too hung up on the matter. “Having the title of ‘queen’ is also something I am still adjusting to.” She pointed out to try and better let him know where she was coming from. “I feel queens frequent meetings more than princesses do.” There also was the lingering fear of the townspeople not liking her and being out of the loop could definitely cause that to happen.

That kiss felt to be a direct correlation to whatever she saw shift in him. She leaned in and savored that small moment. It felt so calming and safe to her, but she was slightly confused. What on earth did she do or say to receive something as nice as that?

Part of the reason why she proposed the picnic idea was the concept of eating in a room alone with him… well she is not entirely sure how restrained she’ll be. But outside with many eyes sounded like a far safer route to help keep herself somewhat restrained. Besides, there were still things she needed to explore. “Well I am certainly curious as to what other ways you have in mind…but I guess that will be a surprise.” She did feel a pang of guilt, no clue how to do the same for him. Outside of maybe putting her fingers in his hair and straightening his collar.

Perhaps he was also just coming down from his high also, she thought. A bath surely would help wake and refresh her for the day. Maybe a meeting is what he needed to refresh himself? “I thought you said no thanks needed?” She poked lightly in return to his kind words. “But I’ll accept it.” Eleanor added, because the praise of it was nice after all.

Eleanor looked up at him when he returned, immediately noting his wet hair. A hand reached up to then run through his hair, taking this look in. “Thank you.” She said with a soft nod when he mentioned the bath, her mind lingering to a moment about the soap from home she missed, however, she was sure it’ll be back here soon. Her other hand reached out and adjusted his collar, taking in his look. “Is this your favorite color?” She asked noting the navy blue.

“You think I cannot handle a meeting?” She teased at him, not meaning anything of it before waving it off. “I do want to eventually see how the king I married rules—everything I know has been second hand and so on information…and you know how accurate advisors can be.” Her hands both did then move to the sides of his arms, feeling him and his layer of clothes. It was so interesting that she actually knew what he looked and felt like beneath it all, and could even imagine it now so easily.

“Could it be a picnic?” Eleanor proposed the idea to him, going red in the face again when he mentioned his mouth. She glanced around the room and then back to him. “I’ll spend this morning looking for where they placed my riding clothes then.” Both hands then returned to his collar for a final adjustment. “If that’s the case regarding your mouth…I feel you may fall behind regarding the courting.” The coming down from the lust was at least making things easier for her in regards to speaking with him and the light flirting. “But you or I should tell the staff if we want to have a picnic, I’m not even sure where to even begin when it comes to making sandwiches.” She would rather not risk giving him a stomach ache.

[bucketsofmonsters]

A Matter of Time - Chapter 9 (Final Part)

Timothy Timepice x Reader, Timmy x Reader

Slow burn, Gender neutral reader, Afab reader, scheduled sex, loss of virginity, oral sex, vaginal sex, blindfolds, dom/sub

word count - 3k

Masterlist

“I really think we need to get the timing down,” Timothy said hesitantly, looking intently at the paper he had in front of him that was covered in times and different line items, with little allowance for variance in any direction. 

“I’m telling you,” you said, doing your best to sound patient. “Scheduling an end time like that is going to make you anxious and you’re not going to be able to perform well. Nothing stresses you out like time pressure will.”

“Maybe nothing stresses you out like time pressure, but I think you’ll find I was built to work on a schedule. The only pressure that might apply is the pressure of trying to move around all willy nilly with no timing put in place. Nothing reduces stress more than knowing exactly when something will occur.”

“And when things don’t go according to plan?” you pushed, trying to force him to see that this was a bad idea. 

“I would never allow that to happen,” he scoffed. “I am a clock, after all, my dear. And I do not run late.”

What Timothy was scheduling, of course, was you first sexual experience together. 

You had thought he was joking at first, but you should have known better. When you’d told Timmy about it he had almost hyperventilated from laughing so hard, leaving some rather impolite and mocking sticky notes on the wall under their clock, where they had taken to leaving them to communicate to each other.

You had thrown them out before Timothy could see them. He was already nervous enough without mean notes to egg him on. 

“Have you ever even had sex before?”

His nose scrunched up slightly, a telltale sign you had been right in a way that he was not pleased with. “It’s a moot point. You had never made a schedule before, when we met.”

“Yeah, and you know what I did? I deferred to you, the person with more experience."

He rolled his eyes. “Did you? Or did you simply forget and decide to pawn the responsibility off on me.”

You winced. “I didn’t think you knew about that.”

“You are not so subtle as you think you are. And I am not quite so foolish as you seem to think I am. Another point in my favor, I think.”

You groaned. “Timothy, this isn’t a sport, we’re not tracking points.”

“Hmm. Sounds like the protest of someone who is losing.”

You were ready to start smashing your head into the table. “Fine. Make your schedule and give it to me when you’re done. I’ll follow it, but do not blame me when you are a stressed out mess.”

“I think you will find that that will not be a problem, thank you very much.”

And that was what had led you here, with your boyfriend (or suitor if you listened to the stupid words Timothy had taken to) handing you a sex itinerary. 

“This is so stupid,” you said as you read it over. “I cannot believe you’re actually doing this.”

He did not seem deterred by your lack of enthusiasm. “Is it alright? I gave us 5 minutes to talk before it began, in case you had notes or preferences.”

It was not any of the specific events listed on the sheet in front of you that you had an issue with, but instead the idea of having a sex schedule, so you just shrugged, telling him it looked fine. Or, at least, as fine as it could be. 

Your orgasm was scheduled before his, at the very least. 

You sighed. “Fine,” you said, moving forwards, ready to help him out of his clothes and give this ridiculous thing a shot. 

He stopped you. “I am meant to get erect a minute before we take off our clothes.”

He paused and you knew immediately it wasn’t going well.

“And how is that going?” You’d expected this plan to fail, but failing at the first hurdle like this just felt cruel. 

“Give me a moment,” he said, something verging on anxiety tinging his voice. “I still have 45 seconds left to become erect, it is more than enough time.”

It did not, however, appear to be more than enough time, with Timothy just growing more anxious by the second. 

You watched him, annoyance shifting to pity as you watched him begin to panic. 

Who hadn’t been here, really. Overplanning for their first time, trying to account for every contingency. Doing anything to make it a little less of an unknown, a little less intimidating. Make it seem like you knew what you were doing, like everything was under control. 

But the schedule was not the way forward, made evident by the way Timothy was staring at his crotch angrily, brows furrowing in barely perceptible anxiety as his schedule began to implode. 

Because a schedule wasn’t what he needed. You’d known that, but he’d needed a little more proof, to try and fail before he believed you. 

That was fine. That just meant you’d do it your way. 

“New plan,” you said, dragging Timothy’s attention to you. “Sit on the bed and wait for me.”

“But that’s not in the sch-”

You shot him a warning look that shut him up, leaving him scrambling onto the bed. 

You, however, turned your attentions elsewhere, looking for something that would suit your needs. 

When you turned back, Timothy was sitting on the bed, looking very nervous. He had his hands folded in his lap, his back perfectly straight as he sat at attention, waiting for whatever you said next. 

You walked up to him with a tie in hand, making sure to move slowly and let him take you in. You sat on the bed beside him, leaning towards him as you held up the tie in front of him. “I’m going to blindfold you, okay?”

You handed him the tie, letting him take stock of it, allowing him to get familiar with it now, while he still had his sight. 

His brow furrowied in confusion. “Why would you do that? How am I meant to keep track of the time then?”

You chuckled. “I fear that’s the point, you won’t be able to. I think it would be good, for you to give up control a little, not know what’s coming. No planning or keeping track of the minutes or trying to focus on how you think it should be going. You wouldn’t be in charge of what is going to happen or when. We don’t have to, of course, but I think it might help you get out of your own head.”

He mulled it over silently, running his fingers along the soft fabric of the tie. “Alright,” he said, handing it back to you. “I trust you.”

You pressed a kiss to his temples before lifting the tie, making sure to cover his eyes securely while also leaving it sitting comfortably around his head, nothing too tight or pulling at his hair. 

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders and his breath hitched at the unexpected touch. You kept your hands pressed against him as he calmed again, making sure he knew where you were, hands shifting to dip below his shirt and touch his sides, feeling his breaths under your hands. 

As he settled down, you moved once more, this time shifting to unbutton his shirt, your movement slow and intentional. 

Timothy stayed very still as you manipulated him, clearly too unsure to try moving when blind like this, putting all of his trust on your hands. 

Before long, you had his shirt unbuttoned and were throwing it to the floor in an undignified mess that you were sure Timothy would not approve of. 

He lifted his hips a little, clearly prepared for his pants to come off next. Instead, you cupped his crotch, pressing down gently. 

A surprised gasp escaped him, hips falling back to the mattress. Your hand followed him, and you could feel him begin to harden underneath your touch. 

He seemed overwhelmed, his hips twitching minutely in either direction, as if his body couldn’t decide if the sensation was too much or not enough. 

It took no time at all for him to reach full hardness, which you took as an unequivocal sign that your methods were superior to Timothy’s. He certainly didn’t seem to have any complaints, happy and pliant under your firm hand. 

When you pulled away, no longer palming him through his pants, he whined at the loss, head shifting like he was trying to look at you to no avail. 

You did not leave him hanging for long, shifting to unbutton his pants, not bothering to pull them all the way off, instead only shifting them and his underwear down, his cock popping up eagerly. You were glad you’d been with Timmy this morning. It meant you didn’t need to bother stretching yourself out and were instead able to seat yourself suddenly and without warning on his cock. 

A strangled gasp escaped him, his hands flying down to grab your hips, his grip almost bruising. 

His words came out stilted, sounding almost like you’d knocked the air out of him. “You’re so warm. How are you so warm?”

You smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He tried to chase you, clearly wanting more but unable to find you with his sight stolen. 

“Another one?’ he asked hopefully, and you clenched around him, enamored by how sweet he sounded.

“Depends. Are you going to come inside me in 5 seconds if I kiss you? Because it seems like you might.”

“I don’t care, please,” he whined. He was putting on no affectations; pure, genuine desperation dripped from his words. 

You found yourself unable to deny a request like that, kissing him again, deeper this time, giving him time to sink into it. 

You rolled your hips, moving on top of him as he sat still, clinging to you like a lifeline, leaning into every touch like he needed it. 

From then on, the kissing never stopped, not really. Every time you tried to pull back he was chasing after you, clumsily and blindly seeking that affection. The closer you both came, the messier it got, eventually closer to you panting into each other’s mouths than kissing, but still he wouldn’t let you pull away. 

You focused on what felt best for you, sinking up and down and rolling your hips to hit whatever spots felt best. Timothy did not seem to need any further assistance seeking his own pleasure, every movement you made drawing happy noises and firm grips from him. The way he was holding you, you couldn’t go anywhere even if you wanted to. You were sure it would leave marks. 

You were also sure that he had no idea he was doing it, his mental faculties gone, replaced with pure sensation. 

You knew he was truly drawing close when he began rolling his hips in line with you, his prior stillness fading away. 

You chased your own orgasm as fast as you could, sinking onto him to perfectly hit that spot inside yourself until your back was arching into him and you were riding waves of pleasure. 

And then you were pulling off of him completely, Timothy’s confusion and upset clear in his desperate noises and the way he tried to pull you back close to him. 

You managed to sneak away from his grasp, pulling back so he was no longer touching any part of you and he once more had no idea where you were or what you were doing. 

Unbeknownst to him, you shifted down the bed until his cock, red and weeping, stood in front of you.

The noise he made when you took his cock in your mouth was just as desperate as he’d sounded before. 

He reached for your head and then pulled back, like he didn’t trust himself, pressing his hands firmly to the sheets. 

You did your best to comply with his clear wishes anyways, sinking as deep onto his dick as you could, bobbing your head up and down to mimic the pace you’d set before. It was a shorter cock, something you were grateful for now, able to take it almost completely to the hilt with no sensation of gagging. 

Instead of grabbing for you, Timothy’s hands now reached for his own legs, clearly needing to touch skin, his nails digging into the meat of his thighs, barely visible above his shoved down pants. 

You hummed around him and his back arched, a whimper escaping him. 

You looked up at him, eager to see if he was as wrecked as he sounded, and you locked eyes. This seemed to be enough to push him over the edge, his hips rolling minutely as he came into your mouth. 

You worked him through it, swallowing around him as he came, pulling another loud cry from him. 

When his hips finished rolling, you pulled off his rapidly softening cock, not wanting to overstimulate him his first time. That was something you’d ask about before doing. Maybe next time, though, you mused. He did make such wonderful noises.

You shifted back up to the top of the bed, sticky and gross and utterly exhausted. The sheets were ruined, but when were they not these days? You really needed to get back-up sheets. 

“You alright?” you asked, brushing his hair out of his face, making sure he could feel where you were. You were unsure if he would have as hard of a comedown as Timmy tended to. It certainly had been nowhere near as rough, and you had been nowhere near as mean, but you were conscious of the fact that this was his first time. You were prepared for however he might react. 

He seemed largely content. As soon as he got a sense of where your arms were, he sunk into your embrace, cuddling against you happily. “More than. It was wonderful. Is it always that… all encompassing?"

You laughed, running your hand softly up and down his back as he purred happily against you. “You mean overwhelming?”

“I suppose. In a good way, though. Can things be overwhelming in a good way?”

“It seems like they can.”

“Hmm. I’ll take your word for it.”

“Speaking of, what have we learned today?” you goaded. 

He sighed dramatically. “I suppose, sometimes, you are right. On occasion."

You laughed. “You’re lucky you aren’t this combative during sex, I can be far meaner than I was with you.”

Timothy hummed. “Is that why sometimes when I come to after you’ve…” he paused, making a face that showed his clear distaste on the subject. “Spent time,” he decided on, “with Timmy, I find the oddest marks on myself.”

“I do my best to avoid bruises,” you said defensively. You thought you were pretty aware of who Timmy shared his body with and tried your best to avoid any difficult reminders. 

“I found a bite mark on my thigh the other day,” Timothy shot back. 

“In my defense, he deserved that.”

He smiled ruefully. “I would never protest that little rat being given a taste of his own medicine. If anyone could use some corporal punishment, it is that scamp. You will never believe what he said to me the other day.”

You decided not to mention that Timmy was in no way opposed to any of the ‘punishments’ you doled out to him. If anything, you had to talk him down from most of them to spare Timothy the soreness. 

“I thought he was being nicer,” you said. You’d mostly ceased trying to censor the two of them, but you’d heard decent things and it seemed they were getting along just about as well as they could.

“We were. I suspect he wanted something.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately. “Oh, I know exactly how he was acting then. You can never trust him when he’s too nice.”

“I’m learning that. What a backwards little creature. How you stand him, I have no idea.”

You chuckled. “I don’t know, I think he’s alright.”

A shudder ran through Timothy, his hair standing on end as the shaking spanned through his whole body. 

And then he began to affectionately nuzzle your shoulder and you rolled your eyes. “Hello Timmy.”

“Why has master blindfolded Timmy?” he asked.

“I have not,” you said, playfully ruffling his hair. He leaned into your touch happily. “I have blindfolded Timothy and you have decided to crash our party.”

His mouth fell open and his eyebrows shot up, just barely visible over the top of the blindfold. “Timmy did not know Timothy could have fun.”

“Oh shush, be nice. It was a big day for him.”

“Timmy is being nice!” he insisted. “Timmy is always nice. 

“That’s not what he said,” you responded crossly.

Timmy smiled coyly, slipping through his innocent demeanor. “Timmy doesn’t know what master is talking about.”

“That’s it, get over here,” you said, grabbing at him as he tugged off the blindfold and slipped away from you, running off with a giggle, but not before looking behind him to make sure you were chasing him. 

Surely Timothy wouldn’t mind a few more bruises. Timmy deserved them, and clearly wanted them, with the way he was acting. 

You were sure it would be fine. You were defending Timothy’s honor, after all. 

[magpiesbones]

worst thing about being disabled is that now I am fully and completely aware of exactly how much I am worth to everyone I know. And it is not a lot!!

[andragoras-in-vanity]

i have literally never lost interest in something so fast.

[sheisoverhere]

Peeta Mellark is an integral member of the four D12 victors. He is literally the sunset on the reaping! How is this not clear? I’ve never wanted to report people for bad literary analysis more and I’m only half joking. It has forced me to commit a cardinal sin: analyze in anger!

1. Him being chosen by absolute accident is the point. Not only does he represent every single other tribute who simply gets chosen because they live in a messed up country but he represents how even with some odds being in your favor (older siblings, merchant family, being white, being popular, etc.) you are still very likely to be victimized by the oppressive structure of Panem.

2. When Haymitch says, “But she was smarter than me, or luckier” - the luck is all the people around Katniss who created the circumstances for her to lead a successful revolution (her father teaching her to hunt, the arena having woods, Rue healing her with leaves, Thresh not killing her, Haymitch consistently giving her support, her mother teaching her aspects of medicine, on and on and on) and Peeta is the number one, most important part of her luck in the first book. She has someone in the games actively putting her life before his… are you kidding? There is legitimately no better luck than that.

3. Even if we take Katniss out of it, Peeta is so impactful as a victor because most of his scenes would not be cut/doctored. What’s there to edit out? Instead, the viewers get a full view of him loving a girl so selflessly, using trickery and strategy instead of violence, keeping himself alive through art, joking on literal death’s door, and sharing so much of himself with the audience it becomes harder for them not to see him as a real human boy. How rare do you think that is for the games? Haymitch and LGB are caricatures of themselves in the games, playing roles that flatten them down. Even Katniss becomes one dimensional on screen without Peeta (and Rue, of course). It is also heavily implied that he does not kill anyone during the games (in a straightforward way) and even if you count Cato or the girl from 8 or even foxface, it’s never him hunting them or seeking out a kill - again how rare do you think that is to see on screen for Games viewers?

4. I didn’t think this needed to be said but: Katniss dies without Peeta in the first games. a) she goes for the bow and dies in the bloodbath; b) she is hunted and killed by Careers; c) she is killed by game makers because there’s no love story angle to keep them from just burning her entirely; d) she dies from tracker jacker stings or Cato because Peeta doesn’t defend her or tell her to run… I could go on…

5. But even if she does win and wins alone - the victory means as much (I would argue less than) any other rebellious victor winning, certainly less than Haymitch’s win. The biggest rebellion for their games is that two of them win! This is legit the only thing that distinguishes them from any other sympathetic, kind child who would have won the games. Like if Haymitch or Finnick or Wiress winning isn’t jarring enough for the Games to end… why do you think Katniss killing Peeta and winning solo would be? It would not.

6. And finally, I cannot stress this enough: There is no peaceful end to the rebellion or the trilogy without Peeta. “Peeta’s a whiz with fires” (HG) for a reason! Collins, over and over, shows us how fire can get out of control and destroy even those who are innocent and who you love (Gale, Beete, Peeta’s family, Haymitch’s family). If everyone really burns, there’s no one to clean the ashes. The reason not everyone burns is because of people like Peeta who can coax the flames in a way that is nurturing and consistent. I mean…. “Peeta fashioned some kind of incubator” is such an obvious detail. Those goslings don’t hatch without Peeta, life does not go on in peace and joy without Peeta.

It is no coincidence that when Maysilee says Lenore Dove got the “jump on us all” (in being a rebel), she is referring to LD using orange paint to make protest art!

We must stop pushing Peeta Mellark out of the narrative! He is literally the sunset on the reaping!

[tonycries]

The Heir - G.S.

Synopsis. No, your clan leader husband won’t stop until he gives you an heir. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, clan leader! Gojo, established relationship, he’s cray-cray (for you), bréeding - like a LOT, oral (fem receiving), unprotected, creampíe, marathon, séx, running from it, use of “my wife”, overstim, FÉRAL Satoru, absolutely heinous, mentions of kníves and bIood, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 5.3k

A/N. Guess what ya girlie is back with clan leader Gojo hehe.

An heir to the Gojo clan - no matter how small, how weak - could eradicate all three of the big clans before even being born. Much like their father. 

You knew that. Satoru knew that. And, unfortunately for him, so did the stuck-up old toad currently sputtering across from him. 

“I am not asking for permission.” Satoru smiles, deathly calm. “Simply that everyone vacates the Estate. After all, what the madam wants, the madam shall get.”

“But- but young master! It’s madness- An heir can tip the scales of power like never before!” The elder lunges frantically over the meeting room table. “I cannot allow- a-and considering the madam’s lowly lineage-”

Schwing!

They say that the infamous young head of the Gojo clan has a katana as hauntingly beautiful as he is - a blade of pure white, with a sapphire hilt. Though, there wasn’t anyone left to tell the tale - and Satoru wasn’t about to let that change anytime soon. 

The long, deceptively delicate sword glints sharply against Satoru’s humorless grin, and those cold, cold eyes. Unblinking - crazed, as he hums, “What did you say about my wife?”

The man in front of him can do nothing but yelp in fear, “I- it could- the scale of ah-”

“No.” The freezing cold blade presses deeper against skin. And Satoru’s tutting, “Try again.”

“Th-the madam!” Pathetic tears stain those expensive tatami mats below, every shred of previous ego wiped away as the elder’s forced to echo his words. “It is no lie that her b-background is…unsuitable-”

Oh this was why Satoru hated these meetings - and for once in his life he’d been the one to summon it instead of being forced to attend. What a joke. If only this elder had agreed to vacate everyone in the Estate like he’d wanted, then none of this would’ve happened. Seriously, how hard was it to get some alone time with you? 

Satoru sighs, blue yukata rustling as he grips the hilt tighter. “Do you know why you’re here, advisor? Why any of you little council of elders are still here?” And he doesn’t wait for an answer - couldn’t care less about it anyway. Plowing on in that same sweet, dangerous tone - as if scolding a stubborn child, “My lovely wife is kind, you see. Too kind. Doesn’t like for me to get my hands dirty.”

He lets his arm retract slightly, as if giving up on the conversation topic at hand. And oh for all his wisdom, the elder should’ve known better than to let the silence lull into one of safety. Should’ve known better than to let out a breath of relief. Relaxing - ever-so-slightly, to be stupid enough to mutter, “S-see young master. I told- you-”

Because this was Gojo Satoru, and he’s chuckling - and that was never a good sign for anyone but you. “She’d make such a perfect mother, don’t you think?”

---

SLAM!

You startle - there was only ever one person that dared to kick open the doors of the Gojo Estate that way, like he was out for blood.

Eyes tearing from your window towards the now-splintered doorway and-

Oh. Oh shit. 

Your voice dies in your throat as the metallic tang of blood hits your nose - followed very shortly by the realization that this was your husband. Towering figure leaning against the frame, gaze frantic - bouncing off everywhere but you, fingers twitching on the stained handle of his katana, looking for all the world like he’d seen a ghost. 

What the fuck happened?

“Satoru?” you breathe. And the sound of your voice his eyes finally snap to you - widening, like he’d finally noticed your figure standing there. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. Stepping forward in concern, “Are you o-”

You’ve barely made it two steps before Satoru’s closing the distance in a split-second, dropping to his knees before you with a harsh thump!

You wince at the sound, but if it hurt then he doesn’t show it. Anything but - in fact, looking more blissed out than you’ve ever seen him as he lets his prized katana clatter to the floor, looping two powerful arms around your waist.

And it’s times like this - when he nuzzles his cheek against your stomach, sighing in contentment - that you forget about those blossoming stains of red on his yukata. None of his, you bet. 

Threading your fingers through his soft hair, you repeat, “Are you okay, Toru?”

And oh. 

Oh, it only takes those words - and your sweet sweet voice - before Satoru’s entire body jolts. Taking a sharp inhale, fingers trembling as they clutch onto the fabric of your yukata. “An heir.” Words strained, ragged. Some deep, visceral part of himself peaking up at you through those hazy, half-lidded eyes, “Would you give me an heir, my wife?”

You weren’t making it out alive. 

You’re gasping - partially because of his words, partially because that’s all it takes for him to yank you down. Sprawling you out like such a slut on the floor. “Wha- an heir?”

It’s not something you expected him to even consider - that sleepy, quiet little pillowtalk from earlier today where you’d mindlessly wondered out loud whether your husband was ready for kids. Hell, Satoru was never a morning person, so you didn’t expect him to even have heard the question let alone this. 

Nosing at your racing pulse, whispering, “An heir. You think I’d ever deny you, pretty?” Like he couldn’t believe it himself - sharp canines nipping at your neck, “My heir.”

It’s like it was the only thing he could say - could even think about right now as his lips burned a path down your jaw, into the valley of your breasts. Muffled, “N’ now we have the Estate all to ourselves, so I can ruin you as much as I hah- want.”

And for the second time today, you’re actually registering that this wasn’t the same yukata your husband had kissed senseless in before the meeting. Or, at least, those patches of red were new.

“Satoru…” You pull his face back.

“No- no no please- Come back-” you squeal when he just drags you across the floor by the hips, pressing you up against that massive bulge, back to sloppily kissing the underside of your jaw. “Was jus’ one I swear- m’sorry about gettin’ the fabric dirty.”

“Satoru.”

“Wasn’t gonna break you where everyone could hear right?” 

And fuck he doesn’t wait to hear a response, no - it’s been far too long, and every little scold from you has all the blood in Satoru’s body rushing to his aching cock. His lips are crashing onto yours, so desperate and needy. 

“Sa-toru!” you manage to squeal through the way he sips at your candied lips. Letting out pained, breathless little grunts like each swipe of his tongue against your mouth was driving him insane. 

“Shhh shhh, m’here m’here.” he pants into your open mouth, hands wandering everywhere. Cupping your ass, your breasts, nudging open your jaw to let him suck so filthily on your tongue. “Fuck- m’here.” He’s licking up the drool pooling at the corner of your mouth already, “N’ m’gonna ruin-” One hand makes its way to palm your clothed cunt, “-her.”

But, alas, no matter how many times Satoru’s done this before - it never gets any easier, or as less heavenly of a sight for him. 

With you all disheveled and splayed out for him, your tits almost spilling out of your yukata with the way his hands have been so greedy. So thoughtless. 

Satoru groans, dipping his head forward to peck messily at your lips. “Mmm- ” Pulling back just enough to mutter, “Gonna let me breed this pretty cunt, hm?” 

It’s all you can do to give him a half-delirious little nod of agreement, lower lip wobbling at just how hungrily he was looking at you. Eyes wide, lips curling into a crazed smile, fingers trembling with anticipation as he deftly works on untying your robe. 

“Is my wife gonna give me a pretty baby?” He gasps out, strangled. “An heir?” He presses a sloppy peck to your glossy lips, strings of spit snapping when he breaks apart to whisper. “One to take out all these dumb fucks?” Again, so dizzyingly. And again. “Oh how I’d love to see their fuckin’ faces.” And again and again and again. Kisses punctuated by that little mantra - “An heir. My heir. I need you to give me a baby, pretty.”

And then your yukata’s being pulled down your shoulders, the expensive fabric ripping down the side with the way he was so ravenous. Goosebumps prickling down your skin as fast as Satoru can get his hands on every inch of you.

“Oh, look at you.” his jaw falls slack, palms kneading at your soft breasts. “Fuck- the mother of my kids.” He rolls his thumb over your hardened nipples, rubbing lazy little circles, “I need to- fuck!” 

Before you know it he’s pinning your arching body down onto the floor. One hand easily pinning down both of yours, the other angling your lips back onto his, a knee wedged between your damp thighs. 

You whine at the feeling of Satoru’s thigh rubbing up against your drenched panties.

But he could barely hear - fuck, you didn’t even know if Satoru was breathing with the way he wraps his pretty pink lips around one of your pert nipples. Eyes rolling to the back of his head, cheeks hollowing as he sucks - harsh.

“Need to fill these up- s’gonna be so sweet. So full.” he’s blabbering into your tits, tongue rolling around your sensitive nipples. Incessant, like he was somehow trying to draw out milk. “I can only hope they hah- share, right?”

You buck your hips up, mewling as your throbbing clit catches on the dips and curves of the muscles on Satoru’s leg. “P-please, Toru. Don’t tease.”

And oh, when has he ever denied you? Hell, Satoru would burn down this entire world and himself if it meant giving his wife anything and everything. Especially the future mother of his kids. 

With a final, playful bite, you watch with glassy eyes at the way he dances his lips down. Slow. Teasing. Eyes locked with you all the while like some sort of predator cornering his prey. 

“And this-” Satoru stops halfway down, pressing a deep, sultry kiss onto your bare stomach, “Oh this. Gonna be so round n’ pretty. Absolutely glowing f’me, right? Fuck!” 

Snapping his head down at the feeling of your grinding your hips so sluttily onto his legs, slick seeping through your panties and onto his skin. 

“Oh.” he sighs, awe-struck. More to himself than you at this point, “You can kill me if you’re not with my heir by the time we’re done, pretty.”

A promise.

And with it went whatever was left of Satoru’s poor sanity - and whatever pathetic chance there was of you making it out of this alive. 

Immediately, Satoru fists your flimsy panties in his grasp. So see-through they were practically useless anyway. Reveling in your panicked little gaze as he pulls - rips them clean off your dripping cunt. 

“Oh god- There we go.” he moans, hooking two arms underneath your legs and pushing up, up, up - all the way until your knees were pressing up against your tits. Your lips wobble when Satoru takes the time to admire your pussy, breaths coming out in feverish little puffs to watch the way you glisten and clench at nothing. Licking his lips - salivating even - at the sight of your slick beading through your puffy folds. He runs a thumb along your sopping wet slit, “Better wish her good luck tonight.”

And, usually, your husband was refined - he teased and toyed with your poor cunt until you were begging to have an ounce of friction. But right now, it’s a wonder he doesn’t get whiplash with how fast he’s pushing his face into your pussy.

“Mm-” Satoru’s eyes roll to the back of his head as his tongue laps at your dripping wet cunt. Tipping his head back, back, back to let your sweet sweet juices slide down his throat. “Fuck that. Even luck won’t save you from me- hah-”

“Toru!” you arch off the cool floor as he cards the tip of his tongue between your puffy folds. From the base of your sloppy entrance, all the way up to your throbbing clit. “Hngh- s’too-”

He was going too fast too soon. 

You whine at the palm pushing your unstable hips flat onto the ground, holding you still while Satoru licks all over as he pleases. “Now now, how are ya gonna ngh- fuck so sweet- handle later if ya can’t even handle this, pretty?”

Sucking on your clit in such a messy, open-mouthed kiss. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have told me about an heir.” he’s murmuring into your cunt. Harsh - rolling his tongue against the sensitive nub in a way he knows will have you crying out so prettily. “Fuuuck you shouldn’t h- oh- Ohhh, look at you, my wife.”, breathing in deep, ragged gasps of air only to go deeper. “Fuck- just look at you. You’re so wet I could fuck you just like this.”

As if to prove his point, he’s urgently bullying the tip of his tongue between your plushy walls. And it was true - so pathetically true. You take him in so easily. 

Somehow, you manage to crack an eye open to spy downwards - only to be met with Satoru’s eyes already on yours. Hazy, curtained by his messy hair, swollen lips curving up to flash you such a devilish grin as he squeezes his tongue past that feeble, first ring of resistance. In and out in and out in and-

“Ohh. Squeezing me so fuckin’ tight.” His jaw grinds deeper, nose flush against your clit. “Ya like that idea? Like the thought of me p-painting ah- slutty pussy white already?”

Your embarrassed little whine isn’t enough of an answer for your husband. No, he’s pressing his fingers - all glossy and covered with a sheen of your slick - onto your pulsing clit. Just barely grazing in a way that has you crying out. 

Making out with your cunt so sloppily, “Tha’s more like it.” Heavy eyes boring into yours - goading, even, for you to give more of a reaction. “Fuck- use those words, pretty. Scream.” Satoru’s fucking into your sloppy hole the way he’s been dreaming to do with his rock-hard cock. “After all, we h-have the Estate all to ourselves, right?”

Faster. Sloppier. 

Pushing and pulling his tongue in a way that has you sobbing, “Yes! Please- wan’- ngh” Thighs squeezing around Satoru’s fervent head, “W-wan you to jus’ breed me, Toru-”

Oh.

Fuck, you might’ve just signed your will away at this point. 

Because in a split-second, you’re cumming. 

Shit, were you glad that there was no one in the house. Sobbing out a broken whine of his name, fingers white-knuckled on Satoru’s hair while you gush all over his pretty face. Just dragging your sloppy cunt all over his mouth - using him through your high. 

And he’s more than happy to be dragged and angled all you please. Greedily lapping up your syrupy sweet juices, just dipping his tongue into your hole to feel the way you clench around him. 

But it’s not long before Satoru’s pulling away. Swallowing a disappointed whine, you gape up at the absolutely feral man looming above you. 

Lips plump and glossy, your juices dripping all the way down his chin, his jaw. Teeth bared, a pretty pink blush dusting over those cheeks - and you have half the mind to wonder how high the kill count actually is. Whether you’d be on it, too. 

“Heh, kill count?” Satoru grins, teeth grazing so dangerously over your racing pulse. Shit, did you say that out loud? “Funny, real funny.” And with that, he’s thumbing apart your swollen folds, biting his lips at the sight of your quivering hole. “Wonder if our- hah- kid’s gonna have your-” Without warning, he spits. Once. Twice. Gliding the pads of his fingers along the thick globs of spit on your cunt, “-humor?”

And oh how ironic it was for Satoru to be groaning out sweet little spiels of what your kids might look like, when his fingers were anything but. 

Stretching out your gummy entrance, having the audacity to laugh - laugh - at how desperately your pussy was trying to milk his fingers. 

“Y-you’re so mean-”

“And yer killin’ me- ohhh you’re gonna be the death of me.” he mutters - strained. Depraved. Hastily pushing apart his yukata. He hisses, “Fuck-”

You can’t help but gasp at the sinful sight before you - Satoru’s blush reaches down his sculpted chest, down, down, down all the way to his painfully hard cock. Curved against his abs, already so angry and soaked with precum. Giving you a pretty little peak of those veins glistening against the dim lighting. 

Before you even know what’s happening, he’s circling his fat, weepy head around your sloppy hole. Slow, lazy patterns to tease your cunt. “Can only pray m’not dead before I see ngh- fuck- my heir.”

It’s like something breaks. And Satoru’s remembering that no, this isn’t just any child - it’s the next Gojo. That grip on the base of his swollen cock tightening when he slips past your pussy lips. 

“Oh! Toru- f-fuck wait s’too big-” you keen, nails digging into where his yukata was sliding off his milky, sculpted shoulders. Hard enough to break skin. “It’s ah-”

“No.” he spits into your sagging mouth. “No no no no- wait fuck- ngh squeezing so fucking- tight.” Hips pushing in quick, shallow little thrusts to squeeze more of his achy head inside. “Fuck- fuck fuck fuck hold on. Need this. Need this so bad- please!”

And you can’t do anything but arch into his touch, scrambling up onto your elbows to- shit, that was a bad idea. 

Because one look at the sight of your poor cunt, all bulging and stretched out on Satoru’s massive cock was enough to have you running away. 

You’d barely made a movement to escape, feet flattening on the floor to buck your hips because shit it was too much. And it was a useless effort, anyway, because Satoru’s dragging you back so easily, pulling your limp body deeper down his swollen cock. 

“Need this. Need this need this so bad, pretty.” he groans, barely even halfway in yet. Still pushing, still relentless. “Need to breed this cunt so bad.”

Some tiny, useless part of Satoru’s rationality knows that he should slow down - maybe give you a second to relax. To maybe even breathe. But he was out of control now, hips stuttering and wrenching forwards like he couldn’t stop. 

So he’s simply gripping onto your shaky thighs harder, sure to leave neat little indents of his nails to admire tomorrow - or, whenever he gets back his sanity, that is. 

Satoru hisses at the way you’re so pliant below him. Limp, letting him rest your legs on his muscled shoulders. “Think I needa manhandle ya more often, pretty.” Pressing down, down - all the way until you were folded in half beneath him in such a mean mating press. “Can’t- can’t stop-”

The change in angle makes you scream out Satoru’s name - and it makes him bottom out. Finally. 

Fuck, you weren’t making it out alive.

“Oh.” he grunts at the feeling of his heavy balls smacking against your ass, his fat, leaky tip kissing against your cervix. God, if Satoru was any less of a man he thinks he could’ve cum just from the feeling of you trying to suck him up already. 

“Oh- oh my god-” you gasp when he presses down about halfway down your stomach, Pressing down for that bulge, hard. “You’re in s-so deep ngh- S’like you’re pushing into my ngh- lungs.”

Fuck, if you talked any more with that pretty mouth then Satoru was bound to pass out. Blindly, he’s feeling for your pouty mouth, kissing and nibbling at your wobbling lips like a subconscious apology. For what was to come, that is.

Because Satoru Gojo spares no apologies when he starts moving - finally. Finally fucking you the way he’s been dreaming of all throughout that droning meeting. 

And he says so - a little over fifteen times, in fact, while he splits you apart on his cock. 

“-n’ when I was negotiating those ngh- c-clan deals. N’ when I was at that meeting-” he gasps, shoving your legs so far apart it burned. “S’all I could hah- think of. Everything - don’t give a fuck if I got a contract wrong.”

Each word was punctuated by a rough, harsh ram of his cock, stretching out your gummy walls so far apart like he wanted to make his mark there. Pushing - even when he could feel his aching tip nudging at your cervix.

So merciless - violent even - with the way he’s slamming back into you. Molding your plushy walls to every ridge and curve of his massive cock. It was impossible to even form coherent sentences with his harsh pace. 

A large hand flattens beside your head as Satoru’s thrusts get deeper. More purposeful. You almost sob at the sheer pressure when he dances his fingers down to rub quick, methodical little circles on your clit. “Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. “M-more.”

But it wasn’t enough.

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. And shit at that very moment you almost understood why even the most hardened of clan leaders feared to even look at Gojo Satoru wrong. Because he was giving you a sopping, fucked-out smile, eyes widened, voice trembling, “You want more?”

And of course this was the strongest. Of course, he was ruthless. 

Of course, it takes him exactly two seconds to pull out of your heavenly cunt and flip you onto your stomach. One hand coming under you to angle your hips up until you were on all fours - like some ragdoll. The other feverish, distracting on your clit while he bullies his achingly hard cock past your sopping entrance once more. 

“Fuck!” your voice is hoarse when you scream. Teeth gritting because fuck the stretch was too sinful and Satoru’s hips were too harsh. Too hellbent on fucking into you like he’d lost control. “O-oh please, Toru-”

He doesn’t waste time easing you into it this time, picking up where he left off with that maddening cadence. And you were glad he had an arm on your hips because your knees were weakening with each thrust, slowly sliding down the floor before-

“Aw, my poor girl.” you hear Satoru coo from above you. Muscled chest rubbing up against your back, “S’alright. M’gonna take care of it. You jus’ hafta take it- jus’ take it like the good lil’ wife you are.” his body bows into yours, strands of white sticking to his forehead. “N’ I’ll take fuck fuck fuck- care of everything.” So sloppy with his rhythm, pushing you further and further up the floor with each movement - only to reel you right back so easily. “I’ll wash ‘em and hah- clothe ‘em n’ t-teach ‘em to take over this godforsaken society. To protect their momma.”

“T-Toru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic. “I’m…”

“Hm?”

He didn’t even have to ask - he could feel the way you were squeezing so hard around him, like you were trying to suck the fucking soul out of him. The way the only thing you could get out was his name. 

His perfect wife. 

Sobbing out, “Close! So close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

He was losing his fucking mind. 

Biting down so hard at the crook of your neck to keep himself from cumming before you, he moans deliciously, “Then cum. Fucking cum. Please- wan’ you to cum on my cock.” Wrists aching with how desperate he was moving, “Cum- yeah yeah yeah fucking- cum- Cum for your husband.”

Oh, if heaven was real then whatever was left of that part of Satoru that could still form coherent thoughts knew that this was it. 

Watching you fall apart like such a slut all over his cock. Not even realizing it at first - just that your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, swollen lips falling slack, letting out such a pretty cry of his name that he can’t help but cum, too. 

You don’t know who’s more far gone - you, with your head spinning, a lewd little ah! ah! ah! leaving your mouth each time Satoru fucks you through your high. 

Or him, gushing out in thick, hot ropes of cum that overspill from your snug cunt. 

“So muchhh.” you whine, heavy head being held up by your husband. “S’too much.”

And he knew what you were talking about - because Satoru was cumming and cumming and cumming so hard it was like he couldn’t stop. Didn’t want to stop. Because he was mesmerized by that creamy trail of white drooling down your folds, forming an obscene ring at those tufts of white at his base. 

“Too much?” Satoru hisses. “Too much?”

You can only give a barely-lucid nod, whimpering when he doesn’t ease up. Not one bit, in fact, Satoru was only abandoning the hand playing with your ravaged clit to press down on your abdomen. Hard. 

“There we hah- go. Better now?” The hand supporting your head forced you to look down below, at the sticky mess of white covering your cunt. Slobbering all over Satoru’s cock - even down to his thighs. “Now we got fuck- more space.”

You don’t even realize you’re scrambling away until Satoru gasps, panicked, “No no no- we’re not done, pretty. Fuckkk we’re far from done.” Fingers tightening around your neck to pull you deeper down his cock, holding you in place. Just dragging you along his length. “Gotta make sure it takes. Why else d’you think no one in the Estate will be back until tomorrow?”

He doesn’t wait for a response - not that you could give one, anyway, with how you were being fucked dumb on his cock again. 

A strong, powerful leg hooks around yours, pushing you down with his body weight. “So that we ngh- h-have enough time to prepare for my heir.” Weeping head grazing all those sensitive spots so expertly. “T-to plan and and- ruin you and- fuck you feel so good. They’ll be the most powerful- hah- jus’ watch. Those fuckers better w-wait and see.”

So debauched and fucked-out that you don’t even know what he’s running his mouth about now, just heavy, urgent words slurred into your neck while he fucks you just as sloppily. 

“Don’t know?”

Fuck. You said it out loud again. 

And the embarrassing realization has your eyes screwing open, gazing tearily back at an amused Satoru. Well, as amused as he could be when he was just as wrecked as you. 

Kissing your sweaty forehead, hips reeling back all the way until your cunt was missing the stretch - bucking traitorously against the fat mushroom tip grazing your entrance. Making a mess of precum down below.

“S’alright, pretty.” he groans, sandwiching his cock between your puffy folds. “Because you just have to sit there n’ ngh- take- it.”

If you thought that Satoru was broken before then he was absolutely ruined now. 

Because there was no reason or rhythm to his actions now - just mindless, feral movements to milk his cock as much as he physically could on your pussy. Running only on pure need and the thought of you round and so full with his kid. 

“Ah!” you’re startled out of your reverie by something wet. Whirling sluggishly to catch the tears of overstimulation brimming at Satoru’s heavy eyes - shit, you wondered if he even knew what he was doing at this point. “T-Toru…you- ngh- o-okay?”

The only response you get is an unsteady nod. 

“-the best.” he whispers, twitching balls squeezing so painfully with each slap against your ass. Faster. Absolutely soaked with the sinful concoction of your juices and his cum. “We’ll be the best parents- ngh-” And fuck it was so much - too much. Too good. Painful pleasure.

Enough that all it takes is another, sloppy thrust before he’s seeing stars behind his eyes again. Cock twitching wildly inside your cunt as Satoru shoots load after load of cum to paint your pussy white. 

So warm with his cum - him - that Satoru’s body moves before his mind. Pooling the mess down below to nudge back into your cunt. “C’mon, pretty, c-can’t get ngh pregnant if ya don’t oh- cum.”

And it’s so embarrassing how that’’s all it takes for you to reach your high with a strained, barely audible moan. Voice shot, your own orgasm nothing but a few tingles that have your thighs fucking back into Satoru’s. 

“Satoru- Satoru Satoru Satoru.” you mewl, big fat tears streaming down your cheeks. Birds of a feather, they say. 

Hypnotized. Drunk off the feeling.

And, evidently, Satoru was, too. 

“Pretty…” his voice rings in your ear. Tinged with a tone you know didn’t bode well for you - or your poor, overfilled cunt. Bloated and dribbling already. “Are- sure- ngh-” 

And with a jolt, you realize he’s still moving. Still pushing and pulling in languid, slow strokes. Thighs shaking as the fatigue wears on him. 

If anyone saw Satoru like this, they’d have a heart attack. Flushed your favorite shade of pink, the lower half of his body well covered with a sheen of your obscenities. Eyes teary with sensitivity, cock still twitching and so angry as he clears his throat and tries again, “Are we- hah- sure it took?”

“Wh-what-” you gasp, breathing in big, deep inhales. “Yes- yes yes- oh my god it’won’t-”

“It will.” Satoru’s interruption almost comes out as a whine. And he’s more sluggish, dazed when he flips you over onto your back again - not too difficult, with the way you were practically splayed out already. “Th-this pussy is made to take it, right? T-to be bred by me?”

It’s almost like Satoru was begging for confirmation, plugging back in the excess of what was leaking out of your abused pussy. It was spreading in a lewd little pool now, seeping into the non-existent space between you two.

But oh how Satoru loved it. Couldn’t tear his eyes off of it, in fact as he noses at your neck. Barely even thrusting anymore, just raw grinds, “Right? Gotta make sure- ngh- heir. Oh-”

He’s darting his tongue out to lick at the beads of tears streaming down your cheek. The salty taste on his tongue having Satoru’s hips stuttering forwards. Again. And again - alternating, not on purpose - between hitting your cervix and that bruised g-spot. “Gonna give me an heir? Ohhh fuck fuck fuck- lemme breed this cunt?”

You’re using up every bit of energy left in your body to give that slow, shallow nod. Which is all the time it takes for the pool to spread even wider. For Satoru’s fingers to stumble their way back to play with your clit. 

Rolling his thumb over in a harsh, uncalculated pattern - if you could even call it that, just jerky, obscene movements to get you off. 

And it works. Hell, the two of you are barely in the state of mind to even feel it. But he’s finally cumming again, and so are you. 

“Ngh- Fuck-”

With a loud, pained cry Satoru tightens his grip on your body like a vice. Raw, sensitive, overusing his cock until it felt so empty. Until you felt so bloated it was like you could explode - or maybe that was your own orgasm. “Toru- c-cumming.”

You’re not sure, anymore. And you don’t know if either of you could bring yourselves to care at this moment, not when your eyelids grow heavy. Vision tinging with black in the corners, and the only thing you could see was your husbands face - sweaty, eyes almost closed, kiss-bitten lips moving in a soundless whisper.  “-the best- momma.”

A/N. CLAN LEADER GOJO SAVE MEE. Oh yeah the “can’t get pregnant without the momma cumming” bit was based on this old tale I’d heard where people used to gen believe that. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[conkreetmonkey]

Red Dead Redemption 2 was so real for creating the most in-depth, realistic clothing system I've ever seen in any game, and exclusively using it on burly, unhygienic men.

You choose every layer, every accessory, with dozens to hundreds of each to choose from. You can go in and fine-tune minute details like whether or not to roll up the shirt sleeves, or button the collar, or whether to wear your pants under your boots. These clothes get dirty in real time depending on what you do in the game. Mud, dust and blood linger unless washed off. Every garment has a warmth rating based on its material, and the game calculates what temperatures an outfit is suitable for based on the combined total. Dressing too cold or warm for the weather causes health debuffs.

You can choose which way he parts his hair, and whether he gels it. If you eat too much he gets bulkier and gains a double chin, and if you eat too little he can go underweight and get all bony and sallow. Both of these states come with stat changes. His hair and beard grow in real game time, and you need to routinely style and shave his facial hair if you want any style other than a full Santa. You need to bathe him regularly or people will start commenting on his BO, and he'll start visibly appearing filthy long before that. He sunburns in the sun, and in the heat he becomes slick and glossy with sweat.

This shit is IN DEPTH. It blows the customization systems of actual fashion-centric games like tf2, Monster Hunter and Splatoon out of the water in every regard. They honestly look basic in comparison. It's a paradigm shift for sure once you experience RDR2's level of customization. Everything else starts to feel smaller.

The player character all this customization is applied to, and I simply cannot stress this enough, is a 36 year old, 6'3" smoker weighing well over 200 pounds, with facial hair thicker than a sheepdogs, forearms like gnarled tree trunks and a dark, dense forest of body hair covering every reasonable surface. His skin is pocked and marred with scars from a rugged, nomadic lifestyle, and his teeth are the colour of cornbread. He has a thick southern accent, is a known mean drunk and knows how to skin pretty much any North American animal. He has never worn deodorant, flossed or moisturized. He eats canned beans, fruit and the like by simply pouring them into his mouth and gulping, often while walking or riding a horse at full gallop.

I can think of NO better use case for such customization. Not some fresh-faced little twink, not some busty anime babe. Just a gross, hairy, unwashed homeless dude with crippling self esteem issues and a chest broader than a barrel laid lengthwise. A non fashion-centric game, certainly a non-fashion centric character, but for some reason the best clothing and customization system ever concieved, bar none. What the fuck.

[pirateprincessblog]

sannie, not mr choi (pt. 1)

⚜ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: choi san x f!reader ⚜ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: the tour is over, but san can't rest just yet. he is to attend a fashion show in another country. he is homesick, and tired. he misses his family, and his members, even though they just parted ways two days ago. still, his eyes can't help but catch someone who is having an equally hard time, if not harder. his sweet, lovely assistant. ⚜ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 22.3k ⚜ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: idol!san, personalassistant!reader, angst, fluff, smut, slowburn, heartbreak ⚜ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: just here to say that i'm a sucker for soft sannie. the reader isn't necessarily petite, choi san is simply that big. i spent forever editing, deleting, rewriting, proofreading. i am spent. if you see any typos, pls ignore <3 i'll eventually reread and convince myself that nobody saw anything if there is any embarrassing typos ⚜ 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐲. ⚜ 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.

𓆩⟡𓆪

sore feet. swollen ankles. aching arms. dry mouth. eyelids that barely stay separated. little to no free time.

all those are consequences of your not-so-new position that kq has generously offered you. and you have accepted. being choi san's personal assistant had its perks, too. opportunities you could only ever dream of, such as visiting countries you always thought unreachable or expensive, meeting celebrities, even interacting with them, following san to his separate activities. each member had his own assistant. when you applied, you didn't care who you'd work for. you loved them all equally. after all, you have been a fan of theirs since debut.

they didn't need to know that, though. they would've never hired you, had they known that you were a faithful atiny. they wouldn't have believed you even if you swore that you were there to work only, not spy on them or anything similar. you would never do that. you guarded each information about them with your life, and took your job very seriously. being this close to them allowed you to admire them even more, see parts of them nobody else could. the pain, the suffering, the hard work, the love they share for each other, the quarrels, the playful moments. all of it. and you wouldn't do anything to sabotage that.

not even when you were informed that you weren't going back home as planned. choi san will need you with him at the milan fashion week after all. and you were no fool to decline.

even as you stand next to him, ready to exit the hotel, barely keeping your eyes open and your posture perfect.

"stay." he stops you by gently grabbing your elbow, pulling you back before you could step outside and be the first victim of the screams and flashing lights. "you will pass out."

"i'm fine, really." you force a smile. san looks at you, kind eyes filled with worry.

"don't lie to me, please." his voice is a mere whisper. "stay. you can join me at the after party."

you shake your head. you aren't leaving his side. not today. he will need all the support he can get, and even though you are having a hard time yourself, he isn't in any better condition. he misses home, undoubtedly. more than that, he misses sleep. "where you go, i go. i'm bound to you by contract, choi san. you cannot get rid of me just yet."

he chuckles, the sound dear to your heart.

"at least not for another six months, until it expires. or gets renewed, unlucky for you."

he delivers a playful pinch to your side, making you jump and yelp. you slap a hand over your mouth, mortified at the sudden attention that the entire floor of the hotel has given you. hurriedly, you exit the hotel, opening the door of the limousine and waiting for san to greet his fans. his figure is hugged by perfectly ironed black slacks, which you may or may not have almost forgotten to iron this morning, a loose black shirt, with one too many buttons left unbuttoned, and a necklace that sits on his tan chest. naked chest.

"you disapprove of my outfit?" he asks playfully, sipping on his champagne while the limousine smoothly glides over the busy streets of milan, waking each passerby's curiosity.

"not at all, mr choi." you reply equally playfully. you sit across him, maintaining your distance. "i think it's quite lovely. it will attract many fine ladies tonight."

he scoffs. "as if that's what i am looking for right now. oh, how i would kill for ten hours of sleep."

"two more days, mr choi. then, you'll be back home. you'll even miss all this, i assure you."

"i know i will." he sighs. "but right now, i'd rather miss my room and those chaotic idiots i call family."

𓆩⟡𓆪

surrounded by people, yet alone.

that is how you feel at almost every event that isn't a concert. all these people around you exude luxurious energy. the place reeks of expensive fragrances, and the red carpet is covered by all sorts of exquisite gowns. you feel like the odd one out, with your black suit pants and vest which san has picked for you.

"to match with me," he said. "it will look great."

and who were you to refuse him? after all, you were there to fulfill his wished and cater to his needs. free clothes were a bonus you didn't need, but also didn't mind. it is your first fashion show, and san knew that you were as nervous as him. worse, even.

"it will be over soon." he assured you, away from prying eyes. "we can sneak off the party earlier and go rest."

"you know, for people our age, it is a little weird that we aren't eagerly waiting for that after party to get wasted and brag about doing it with celebrities."

"i know, right?" the idol scoffs.

it is the last conversation you have before he gets pulled away into the crowd. his eyes don't leave yours, and a pout is evident on his lips. it is as if he is trying to ask you whether you'll be fine on your own. having no other choice, it doesn't even matter. it is not as if you can leave him here and go rest in your hotel room. you wish you could. he offered, but you'd feel guilty. behind the tough figure, choi san is a soft human. he is the epitome of the term gentle giant. you know that behind his offer he secretly wishes you don't leave him. moreover, he wishes you can follow him around. be in his pocket, he had once said.

your eyes lose his in the crowd, and suddenly, you feel alone. more alone than you've already felt since arriving. even though san is your boss, he is an idol to you first. your comfort person. he brought you peace, and he didn't even know it. you only wished you could do the same with him.

𓆩⟡𓆪

san stays at the after party.

you do not.

he has assured you that he will be fine and that he is perfectly capable of getting his own glass of water if needed. how that water turned into wine, you did not know. you saw the photos on social media. you'd recognize that flushed face from miles away.

as you sit outside on the hotel balcony of your room, with your gaze fixed on the clear night sky and a full moon, your phone vibrates on the glass table.

choi san: i know i told you to go

choi san: but iwas kinds hoping that you stayyed

choi san: am leavinthe place now, couldn't find youu

san seems to have developed a separation anxiety when it comes to you. even on your days off, the man blows up your phone with various messages and pictures, updating you on what he is doing and what you are missing. were he not an idol, and this your job, you would've mistaken it for something else.

your job as his personal assistant did not require you to follow him everywhere. choi san did. he simply needed to bring you along to the restaurant, to the convenience store, to the souvenir shop, to the café. you, and his bodyguard and manager. he would often complain, wishing to only be with you because he felt like he had more "freedom". the manager explained multiple times why it is a bad idea for a male idol to be seen with anyone who isn't a familiar staff member, especially in foreign cities. like paris.

choi san: aryou mad?????

choi san: :(

choi san: ok im ssorry

choi san: you're probbly asleep novv anyvvay

choi san: hey vvhere did the double v go?*

choi san: you knovv

choi san: the upside dovvn M??

choi san: englsh is funny..

choi san: i feel all fuzzy

choi san: i can't find the elevatr

choi san: ilostmybodyguardndmanger

choi san: maanagerr

choi san: icantseethespacebar

choi san: found                      it                               :D

choi san: i tripped on the stairs.

choi san: [image attached]

at the sight of his pouty face and slouched figure sitting on the hotel stairs, your fingers quickly tap the telephone icon in the corner of the screen. he doesn't pick up at first, and worry fills you. then, just as you reach the door to exit your room in search for him, he picks up.

"heya." he casually greets on the other side.

"mr choi." you sigh. "where are you?"

your heart races as someone knocks on your door, and luckily you stand right in front of it to take a peek of who it is. you see a single eye pressed against the peephole. an eye you'd recognize anywhere in the world. with your phone still in your hand, you open the door.

"hey, princess."

as much as the words make your head spin and your stomach fuzzy, you have to put a serious face on. "mr choi, we talked about this. you can't call me that."

"i can do whatever i want." he pouts. "i'm your boss."

"my tipsy boss." you correct. "come, i'll escort you to your room."

as you try passing him, he grabs you by your elbow once again, pressing you gently against the wall. air leaves your lungs. choi san dips his head towards yours so that he is at eye-level with you. "why do you wish to get rid of me so badly?"

"mr choi-"

"sannie."

"what?"

his bottom lip sticks out in a slight pout. such a big man, yet such a gentle heart. "not mr choi. sannie. call me sannie."

"no." you firmly decline. the last thing you need is to be heard by a staff member and get fired. not even san himself could prevent that happening. "i'll show you to your room."

"you're so mean to me." he whines, then enters your room.

"mr choi!" you whisper-yell, suddenly aware of the time. "get out of there, right now."

your words seem to go into one ear and out the other, as the man simply plops down on your bed. face buried into your pillows. the pillows where you just laid before getting bored and moving to the balcony.

a sigh leaves your lips, but you aren't defeated yet. you close the door for now, in case someone's curious eyes decide to wander. "mr choi."

"you're mean." he repeats, words muffled into the soft material. "you hate me."

"you're drunk."

suddenly, he raises his head, jaw dropped. "you aren't denying it. you do hate me!"

"oh for crying out loud." you throw your hands in the air, then make your way to the balcony doors and pull the curtains shut. his room and the managers room are directly in the opposite of yours, and one glance through the window might cost you your job. you then turn around, only to find him sitting with his back leaning against the headboard and arms crossed over his chest. his gaze is fixed on you, eyes squinted and lips pressed in a thin line. you can't help but roll your eyes. "i don't hate you, mr choi."

"lies."

"why are you making this difficult?" it is your turn to whine now. "i promise i don't hate you. you're the best boss in the whole world! now please, please, please let me escort you to your room."

for a moment, you think he will comply. he stands up. takes a few slow steps towards you. finally, you think. but then-

"why do you hate me when all i do is love you?"

-it feels as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs. your tongue is as dried up as a raisin, and a low murmur fills up your ears. san's gaze is intense, crushing your sanity and making the little professionalism that is left crumble beneath his posture. he almost hovers above you, and were someone to walk in, you're sure they wouldn't even see you from his broad shoulders and back. his hair is no longer neatly slicked back, instead disobedient and framing his face, the black complimenting his dark eyes. the eyes that do not flicker. do not blink. only stare at you, waiting for you to say something. anything. fuck.

"why do you keep pushing me away?" his voice is a mere whisper. soothing, not accusing. he wants a reason to be at peace with himself, not a reason to prove you wrong. "what have i done to you?"

"mr choi-" you manage to say. your voice is raspy, like you haven't drank anything for a long time. "you don't mean that. you won't even remember this in the morning."

"you can't call me by my name even when we are all alone?" he tilts his head, giving you sweet puppy eyes. "this isn't a test. i'm not testing your professionalism. i genuinely enjoy your company, i have for a long time now. fine, i might not love you... that was a bit strong. but i like you. i really do. i have feelings for you. i've had them for a while now."

you swallow a lump in your throat. god, you never thought that a confession from one of your favourite idols would hurt like this, if it ever happened. you're supposed to be over the roof, jumping on him, returning the feelings. instead, you gather the little sanity you have left and place your hand on his conveniently naked chest and gently push him away. why does he have to be so warm and inviting? "forced proximity."

"what?"

"forced proximity, mr choi." you repeat, doing your best to maintain eye contact. you need to be strong and firm. he cannot see any shift in emotion. san is observant, always has been. but right now, you can't let him know that pushing him away is hurting you as much as it is hurting him. "you don't like me. you just have the illusion of liking me."

"are you..." he scoffs, taking a step back before continuing, "are you saying i don't know my own feelings? that i am wrong?"

"what i'm saying is that after spending so much time with someone for so long, you are bound to develop a certain... how do i put this?" you sigh, placing your hands on your hips as you think. "delusion. or illusion. whichever you wish."

"you're calling me delusional?" san suddenly seems less tipsy. like this conversation has magically sobered him up. and angered him. "i cannot believe you."

"i'm not calling you delusional. i'm calling these... feelings, i guess, delusional. they don't exist. you might feel comfort, or some type of safety with me. but romantic feelings? think deep down, mr choi. why would you have feelings for me?"

when you said that, you didn't mean for him to actually start listing things. but he does. one by one, and he doesn't stop.

"you're so sweet, and caring. you wouldn't hurt an ant. i know because every time we walk, you tend to look on the ground and walk around ant hills, or any bugs that might be on the floor. you yelled at the manager for stepping on a snail the other day. you care for all members equally, which makes me insanely jealous, because you are my assistant, but i can't deny that it makes me equally happy and warm when i see you do that. you always ask me before creating my schedule, give me choices, even though you don't have to. you give me many days off, you tell the company off many times if you think they are being unfair, you never complain about the tasks you are given, you bring me things without me having to ask, you are here whenever i need you, and you respect my private time and my space. not once did i hear you complaining, not once did you refuse to do what you were told, not once did i see a frown on your face, other than when the management pisses you off. you are the prettiest thing i've ever seen, and just looking at you makes me feel well rested even though i haven't slept. your voice is something i'll never hear anywhere else again, and it's always in my head. when i read your messages, i hear you. when you're not beside me, i hear you. and i hate when you're not beside me. i want you with me all the time, i want you with me behind the cameras, behind the manager, behind the company. i want to take you to a café in paris if i want to. i want to take pictures with you on the bridge in amsterdam. i want to sit on the london eye with you. i want you to open up to me like i open up to you. i want to know what troubles you, not only what makes you happy. i want you to find comfort in me, as much as i find comfort in you. i. want. you."

san becomes blurry before your eyes. were it not for the lack of lights, he would've seen how hard you're trying to keep the tears from spilling. he is making it hard. so hard that you can almost hear your heart snap in half when the sentence leaves your lips. "that is just me doing my job, mr choi."

and you swear you hear his heart burst as well. pain. rejection. heartbreak. it swallows him whole. his figure shrinks, and his voice is small. barely audible. "what?"

"why..." you clear your throat, trying to get rid of the painful lump that is stuck inside it. "why else do you think i do all of it? it is my job. haven't you wondered why i never open up to you? why you only see me at my best? i cannot burden you. you are my boss. you cannot know these things about me. i am here to make your life easier, were it by bringing you a coffee or simply listening to you rant. what you feel for me might be simple fondness, one you might have for a friend. you notice these things because i am constantly by your side. you demand i be by your side. if i don't, you're all grumpy and a menace to the staff to the point that i have to show up whether or not the events have anything to do with me. you've developed separation anxiety, mr choi. you found comfort in me simply because i am the one by your side at all times. were it someone else instead of me, the story would be the same. in conclusion, forced proximity is the answer here. nothing more."

his words die in his mouth. his brows are furrowed. he is hurt. and angry. he has every right to be. you did this to him. you took a loving, kind man and destroyed him. and you'll never forgive yourself, ever. you'll see his face every night before falling asleep as guilt eats you whole.

but you'd feel even more guilty if you indulged. yes, your feelings for him do exist. but what you said isn't completely wrong. san might be under the impression that he likes you, even loves you. but san hasn't had much interaction with anyone else as much as with you. you cannot take his freedom away. he needs to meet other people, he can't settle for you. you wouldn't be the right match. it wouldn't be right in anyone's eyes. after all, you are a fan. he might not know it, or he does. either way, you'd feel weird. as if you took advantage of your position and hypnotized him into being with you. the rest of the fandom would find out eventually, and they wouldn't be kind. hell, they would show up with torches beneath your window, you're sure of it. and you'd maybe do the same, were you to find out that choi san is dating an atiny who just happened to get a job at his company and had the opportunity to work with him.

"okay." he simply says.

you don't respond. the weight of sadness on your chest is too heavy, as is the weight of his gaze.

"good night, miss y/n."

"good night, mr choi."

and suddenly, the words mr choi feel like poison on your tongue.

𓆩⟡𓆪

"you know how i never complain about my job?" you finally catch the manager alone in the hallway once you return to seoul. he is headed somewhere in a hurry, but it is the only chance you have to talk to him.

"no. what's that like?" he simply responds, eyes glued to his phone screen.

"funny. anyways, i don't know how to put this, so i'll just say it." you speed up your pace, only to stand in front of him to block his way and force him to listen to you. "i'd like to switch with jaz."

he almost bumps into you, not aware that you have planted yourself on the ground until you get what you want. "you want to switch? why?"

"i just think that it isn't a good idea to be with the same member for a long time. if you know what i mean."

you're playing a dirty game. and you hope jaz doesn't find out. "you mean... you think there's something going on between jaz and mingi?"

"i didn't say anything." and you wouldn't, usually. but it is the only excuse in your book. you cannot possibly tell him about san's confession. "i just think it would do us all good if we switched places. to avoid favoritism."

in truth, you cannot be near san. the trip back was painful enough, with san avoiding you like the plague. he refused to talk to anyone, really. but only you took it personal. because it was. he had only spared you a glance once you passed by his seat on the plane, and a worried one when one of the fansites almost tripped you. other than that, choi san has maintained his distance from you. it's for the best, anyway.

"you're right.i'll think about it, then text the new pairs in the group chat tonight."

"thank you, sihun. you're the best."

the manager simply rolls his eyes, then circles around you and continues his journey.

in the evening, you receive the long awaited message. you hadn't notified anyone, in case they decide to rebel and talk the manager into dropping the issue. this way it will already be decided, and they won't have any luck in changing his mind. when did you become so mean and selfish?

good evening, everyone.

it has come to my attention that a lot of you have become very comfortable with your idol, while some are still struggling to find a common language with theirs. thus, i have decided to reassign your positions in hopes of switching up the dynamics a little bit. the new pairs will be:

hongjoong and eric

seonghwa and jaz

yunho and gyuri

yeosang and y/n

san and melanie

mingi and thomas

wooyoung and hyori

jongho and sooe

no complaints, i don't want to hear it. this pairing will come into effect tomorrow. good luck.

the separate groupchat, without the manager, is flooded with texts. who ratted who out, plots of convincing the manager to change his mind, even going as far as convincing the members to say something. you occasionally respond with a witty or sarcastic message, trying to blend in and not seem suspicious. jaz and mingi would never forgive you if they knew.

𓆩⟡𓆪

kang yeosang is a sweetheart.

he is so sweet that it is painful. he feels almost fragile, and speaks so softly to you. he doesn't ask anything of you, even when you offer. yunho, mingi and him are the only ones in the practice room so far, aside from you and a few other staff members, preparing new moves for the choreography before others arrive. the rest had the privilege of sleeping in, putting all their trust in the three dancers of the group.

the boys haven't complained about the coupling so far, yunho and gyuri already bickering playfully like siblings and yeosang making small talk with you. mingi is in the corner with thomas as the assistant shows him something on the phone, but you notice how distant mingi looks. it's not like they won't see each other ever again. besides, it would've been too suspicious to ask to only switch you and san.

"i haven't had the chance to say this, or the guts, but i love your hair." yeosang catches you off guard. "it's so pretty."

the doors open, with san entering first. his smile drops from his lips as his eyes lock with you. you don't notice him yet, and it gives him a chance to collect himself. until his gaze lands on yeosang's fingers twirling with the ends of your hair. what the fuck?

"i want to do that for the comeback. talk my hairstylist into it, please?" his fingers smoothly run through the freshly dyed lock of hair. you're happy that it is obedient this morning and not a tangled and frizzy mess. "think i could pull it off?"

"of course you could. you're kang yeosang, you can pull anything off." you playfully nudge him with your elbow. "just don't do the hongjoong fireworks coconut cut, pretty please. that still haunts him. and us."

yeosang giggles, in his own cute yeosang way. he really isn't much different off cameras. "noted."

with that, his fingers slide from your hair, letting it fall and frame your face again. as you turn around, smile still on your face, you find yourself bumping into someone. "oh, sorr-"

firm hands hold onto your waist, steadying you. you don't expect it, especially since you weren't really about to lose your balance. as if this very person just wanted an excuse to put their hands on you. you look up, confused at first. and then, that lump in your throat. san's hands are stiff on your waist, afraid that you'll perish if he lets go of you. he gives you the softest expression you've ever seen, with dark glossy eyes hidden under half closed eyelids, relaxed brows and pretty lips. "gosh, you're so pretty."

words are caught in your throat. you look around, frantically. nobody hears him, you think. your hands find themselves once again planted on his chest, pushing him away. it's what you do best these days. "mr choi-"

"right, sorry." he clears his throat, and just like that, his expression shifts. no emotion is visible on his pretty face. at least not when he looks your way.

you don't get the chance to tell him that you have been separated. he walks over to yunho and mingi who are observing the video they took earlier of the new possible choreography.

"you know, i'm actually so happy i get to work with san. he was my first pick when we first got hired. but you stole him." the redhead, melanie, beams next to you. "oh, just look at him."

you don't want to. but you do anyway. to anyone else, san looks like he is immersed into the video. but you see the subtle glances he is stealing, trying to control himself but not being able to. even though you aren't standing close to each other, he suddenly feels suffocated. he can hear you, smell you, feel you. he walks over to the wall covered in mirrors, thinking that the further distance might help. but his eyes inevitably land on you through the mirror. and this time, you don't look away.

"he has gotten so big and muscular." melanie's commentary is golden as the two of you play an imaginary game of holding eye contact. as if the world will crumble if one of you looks away.

san does indeed look handsome today. he wears a black compression shirt and black sweatpants. his hair is a fluffy mess. he hates combing. even though his shirt is long sleeved, it is so tight that it hugs every curve and dip of his muscles, feeding you sights you are so privileged to see. were you an atiny still behind a fan account, you would've begged him to put you in a headlock. now? you have to force yourself to look away before you become a tomato on the spot.

"what's it like?" she pries. "working with him."

"it's..." everything. "okay, i guess. he's not mischievous, he listens to everything i say. he's nice."

"oh, i can't wait. how does he like his coffee? does he like sweet or savory? what's his favourite dish?"

throughout the dance practice, melanie talks your ear off. first with questions, then with shameless comments. at one point, you have to stop her. "you're not here as a fan. you can't say things like that. it's disrespectful."

"boo-hoo. miss perfect here can't handle a few comments." the redhead rolls her eyes. "they're grown men."

"okay." you give up. san will handle it. he has boundaries. one comment from her and she'll go straight back to her father who arranged this job for her.

"i'm craving an iced coffee..." yeosang approaches you, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. who was the idol here again? "would you maybe mind going to the shop across the street and getting one for me? and whatever you wish for yourself, of course."

a black card is placed in your hand. "don't ask me these things, mr kang. just give me an order and i'll do it."

"i can't do that and you know it." he laughs shyly. "but please, would you? i would be grateful."

"of course, mr kang."

the boys are taking a break, and conveniently, san stands right next to the door. he eyes you as you approach him, biting the inside of his cheek. "where are you going?"

"to get yeo his coffee."

"yeo?" he scoffs. "his coffee? since when are you his assistant?"

"since last night." you simply reply.

he doesn't expect it. his brows seem to stay furrowed these days, you being the reason behind it. "what do you mean?"

"our positions were reassigned. i am no longer your personal assistant." you say it so nonchalantly. like you don't care. and you admire yourself for it. you didn't know you had it in you.

"you're lying." his demeanor switches from tough to disappointed, with his arms no longer crossed over his chest but hanging on the sides of his body. "tell me you're lying."

"why would i lie about something like that?" you don't allow him to continue interrogating you, instead exiting the practice room.

he follows, ignoring the calls behind him. "wait!"

"mr choi, i have been given a task. please let me do my job."

"oh, so he's yeo, but i'm mr choi." bitterness is evident in his voice. "you're so- so-"

"what am i, mr choi?"

"mean." he finishes. he looks frustrated with himself. could he not have found a better word?

"i think i heard that one before from you, mr choi. do you wish for anything from the shop?"

"you know what?" he clenches his fists. he stands silent for a while, eyes roaming your face for any indication that you might be simply teasing him and that this is all just a harmless joke. but you don't budge. you look at him, yet it feels like you are looking through him. you don't care. this truly is just a job to you. "i'm glad we switched. at least melanie won't hurt me like you did."

the words make your blood boil. suddenly, you don't feel bad. "excuse me?"

"i poured my heart out to you, and you-"

"do not fucking guilt trip me." you raise your voice. a light gasp leaves his lips, and his fists unclench. he takes a step back as you approach him angrily, finger pointing into his chest, threatening to stab him. "i do not owe you anything. your feelings are not my problem. i meant what i said, every single word of it. this is just a job. you are just my boss. i am here to collect my paycheck and leave. i do not wish to arrive at work and have to deal with this. get your shit together and stop this madness before you get us in trouble for nothing."

your words strike him like an arrow through a heart. a poison arrow. you've never spoken to anyone this way. not even the management. this is a new side of you he is meeting, and he is a fool for falling even deeper for you. "look me in the eyes and tell me there wasn't a single moment when you looked at me and wished for something more than just a business relationship. that there wasn't a moment where you felt so comfortable with me that you wanted it to last forever."

anger overshadows your usual kindness and thinking process. you approach him, unintentionally causing him to further step back and collide with the wall. the height difference is comical, and were it not a serious situation, one of you would've surely made a witty comment about it. to anyone standing aside, it would've been weird seeing someone like choi san get cornered by someone smaller than him. luckily, you are alone in the hallway, and it is now your turn to pour your heart out.

the tip of your nail is buried in his chest, causing him to stiffen and not move a muscle against the cold wall. you look him straight in the eyes as your teeth bite and abuse the inside of your cheek before speaking. "there wasn't a single moment where i looked at you as anything more than my disobedient and spoiled boss."

"you're lying."

"i'm not."

"you are. i don't believe you." he isn't sure who he is trying to convince with his words. you, or himself?

"i am not lying."

"you'll have to do better than that to convince me."

"i will not prove my non existent feelings to you. are you out of your mind?" you are in disbelief.

"you're just saying that because you don't want to lose your job." he argues further. "i'm not insane."

"there wasn't a single moment where i felt anything romantic for you."

"lies."

"i swear to-"

"you're telling me that all those times when i'd accidentally touch you and you'd blush furiously were nothing?"

"stop."

"all those times when i'd lend you my coat because you keep losing your jackets and i'd catch you secretly sniffing it or hugging it after you're done wearing it?"

"stop."

"all those times you stayed up late to talk to me was just work to you? who does that? you could've chosen not to respond. those aren't your working hours. instead, you were always online, whenever i'd send you anything. and don't tell me it's just because you were doing your job. i don't know how much my boss would have to pay me for me to listen to him talk for two hours straight about things that don't even make sense in the middle of the night. no sane person would indulge in the things you did, for a paycheck, and-"

"san."

and that's all it takes for him to stop. his name dripping honey from your lips, but with a bitter aftertaste. he hates that this is the only moment where you have called him by his first name. "yes?"

"leave me alone." you finally say. "we can remain professional, as we were until you ruined it. or..."

as much as he doesn't want to ask, deathly afraid of the answer, the words still see the light of the day. "or...?"

"or i'll leave. and you'll never see me again."

𓆩⟡𓆪

business dinners aren't unusual for the kq company. business banquets that include the staff? a little.

the company is celebrating its anniversary, and has decided to invite all its artists and staff. all those who make this company still stand. you feel proud for being a part from that.

yeosang has forwarded you the digital invitation, and you glance at it once again as you get ready, just in case you missed anything or misread. the dress code is a simple black tie. initially, you weren't taking this seriously. until the private group chat was flooded with images of various gowns, suits and accessories. suddenly, your pants and blazer seemed like sweats compared to what they were wearing. thus, here you stand in an off shoulder black gown with a leg slit in front of your mirror, retouching your makeup. the corset is tight around your waist and ribs, but the rest of the dress falls comfortably and rests against your body. with san, you always opted for pants, jumpsuits, vests. you can't remember when you wore a dress. mostly because you always deemed it impractical for work.

you haven't heard from san for two months now. you see him in hallways, at shows and social media. yeosang doesn't drag you along with him wherever he goes. he values your free time and doesn't like to bother you. deep inside, you miss being tugged all ways at once. it made you feel like you were important and capable. yeosang has given you a vacation, it seems.

the red lipstick is wiped for the third time tonight, making your lips irritated and swollen. it doesn't look right. but you don't have time to reapply or find a new shade, hearing the ride honk just below your window. the five minutes of going down the stairs in your heels, with your hands holding your gown so that you don't trip, feel like a fairytale. it dies once you see the manager in the fancy car, already moody.

"do i want to know?" you roll your eyes as you sit and fasten your seatbelt.

"we asked for artificial flowers. they delivered live ones, thinking that we were picking the cheaper option and they're doing us a favour. in their minds, it was a thoughtful gift. it's-"

"-a disaster." you finish for him. melanie and jaz look confused in the back. you don't. you know exactly why this is an issue. "poor san."

before the redhead can ask, the engine starts, and the manager speeds up so that you can arrive on time. you'd be lying if you said that you weren't bothered by her touchy relationship with san. she always has her hands on him, but in a way that nobody can tell her anything about it, not even san. his hair always needs fixing, his collar straightening, his tie or buttons adjusting. and he doesn't complain. you hate how jealous it makes you. you almost regret your secret meddling in the new pair ups.

the mansion is located just outside of seoul, on a hill overlooking the city and surrounded by a forest. the banquet hall is breathtaking. the first thing you notice is the strong scent of jasmine and honeysuckle. then, endless tables of sweets. cakes, dessert cups, chocolate fondue, cookies, fruit, and whatnot. the colours are inviting, a contrast to the black and white attire that the personnel is rocking. everybody looks breathtaking. you dare say that even the ceo looks handsome tonight.

the seats are assigned, of course. the personal assistants sit at the same table, not in a bad spot. you have clear view of the empty space in the middle of the hall. for dancing, you assume.

"girl, where is your lipstick?" sooe raises her eyebrow.

even if you had it to begin with, it would've been gone with the cake in your stomach right now. "the shade was so ugly that i simply decided not to wear one. red doesn't suit me."

"no, orange doesn't suit you." gyuri corrects. "you haven't tried proper red. here."

she hands you a lipstick. dior, of course. your essence lipstick can't compete with that. "i'm okay-"

"it would be a crime to wear a dress like that and not to have red lipstick on." eric comments, eyes not leaving his plate of food. "this cheesecake is heaven. i won't even need dinner."

a sneeze grabs your attention. nobody pays attention to it but you. you wouldn't either, if you didn't know who it belonged to. before he can spot you, or vice versa, you almost run from the table under the excuse that you're going to apply the lipstick.

the ladies room is empty besides you and another member of staff, who is fixing her hair in the mirror. she smiles as a greeting. relief washes over your body, happy that she isn't one of those your group calls "the bully crew". those are people who have been here since day one, and are impossible to work with. always mean, bitter and judgmental. then they say that the younger generations are rude.

the girl soon finishes, and just before exiting, throws a compliment your way. "you have a very pretty neck."

"that's so random." you laugh. "but thank you."

"maybe it's the dress, but really, i mean it. it's weird to me too, i- oops, sorry. i was just on my way out." before you have the chance to find out what interrupted her, another sneeze echoes through the hallway and the ladies room.

the hand that holds the lipstick stiffens. through the mirror, you can see into the hallway that leads both into the men's room and the women's room. the girl scurries past him, leaving you without finishing her sentence. the person she bumped into starts walking, and you know he has to pass by the open doors of the room in order to reach his destination. like a coward, you hide in one of the stalls. then, familiar voices.

"did you see her anywhere?"

"keep your voice down." you recognize seonghwa. "we just got here. you need to calm down."

san sneezes again, then whines. "i'm going to die here tonight. i won't even see her."

"you're so dramatic. how did she put up with you for so long?" you can almost feel the older man roll his eyes.

"whatever. can't believe yeosang snatched her away from me."

you can almost feel seonghwa roll his eyes. you do, as well. "he didn't snatch her. nobody knew that they would switch us."

"yeah, right. i still want to know why he was touching her."

"her hair, san. i keep hearing this story once a week, and frankly, i'm tired of it. she's not gonna forbid him to approach her."

"you don't get it..." san mumbles.

their voices echo even when they enter the men's room, due to non existent doors. you should use the chance and run away. but your feet stay planted on the ground, and you even put the toilet lid down so you can sit. you might be here for a while, even after they leave. you need time to collect yourself. going back to the table with cheeks flushed and tears in your eyes is not an option.

you miss him. the whole situation seems like a breakup, like san is your ex boyfriend and you both desperately wish to get back together, but you know you can't. it wouldn't work. you hate yourself for thinking that way. all those months of holding back, and now you allow yourself to feel vulnerable after successfully pushing him away.

"melanie is getting on my nerves."

you can't help the snort that leaves you, and you slap your palm over your mouth. seonghwa chuckles. "she's enjoying her new position, isn't she?"

"a bit too much." san's voice is horse, and he sounds congested. "i caught her taking pictures of me in the dressing room the other day. i'm too tired to do anything about it, really."

"san, that's serious." seonghwa's tone changes, as does your expression. he better be joking. "you have to report that to-"

"i really don't have the energy to deal with that. you know her father will convince the management to make her stay."

silence envelops the place for a few moments. you hear soft sniffles, then water running. this might be the moment when you should start meddling. san won't do anything about it, and it will make melanie think that she can get away with it. she won't stop there, you know it. you heard all sorts of comments and fantasies out of her shameless mouth. were you a hypocrite? perhaps. the difference being that you viewed san as a kind, loving person who, if not an idol, would be your dream partner. melanie viewed san as something that you can't describe respectfully even if you tried. she wanted him physically. and she is working on it, she proudly announces it every now and then. nobody in the group bats an eye except you, but you don't say anything. she has already called you out, accusing you that since you were no longer his personal assistant that you had no right to say or do anything that includes him.

this is too far. she is out of her mind. you're sure you'd feel the same disgust and need to meddle if it were another member. this type of behaviour is getting out of control, and you might have to do a little more yelling for the management to wake up and start protecting its artists.

"anyway..." he trails. "i'm going back. do i look less pathetic?"

"no." seonghwa replies. "you look like a dumpling. these allergies have no mercy on you."

san sighs, defeated. "well. this is the best i can do. let's hope i don't see her at all, for her sake."

it should surprise you that san still speaks about you. more than that, it should surprise you that seonghwa knows about it as well. he doesn't scold him. if seonghwa had no problem with it, why did you create one?

"i'll see you there. i'm just going to wash my hands." the older man announces.

you hear footsteps, then water running again. you finally step out of the stall, gently closing the door after you. hurriedly, you rummage through your clutch, and soon enough, you find what you're looking for. you hear footsteps again, except this time, you don't hide. "mr park?"

seonghwa turns around, surprised. he wears simple black slacks, and a black, slightly sheer button up. just his style. "hi, love."

"could you..." you approach him with the item that you dug out, holding it out for him to take. "give this to him?"

the man takes the small bottle of nose drops, then smiles. "you still look out for him."

he doesn't mention anything about you eavesdropping. he's as nosy as you, and you both know it. many times you've found yourselves accidentally looking each others way every time something happened or you'd hear something. and each time you both had to fight yourselves as to not burst out laughing.

"i just had them with me, really." you shake your head. "i don't ever empty my bags. just store things in them until they refuse to close. that has been sitting in there for a while."

"right." he allows you to think you can fool him. "should i say they're from you?"

you shrug. "i can say no. but you'll still tell him, won't you?"

"and you mean to convince us that you aren't an atiny. you know us better than anyone else, and you've been here the shortest amount of time." his hand finds its place on the top of your head, giving you a few pats and a playful hair ruffle, before retreating. "do you need anyone to talk to?"

"no." you quickly reply, flustered. "and i'm- i'm not an-"

"you're not." he nods. "it's our little secret. it has been since the day you walked in and were the only one who didn't want to choose between us."

there goes your meddling. "thanks."

seonghwa then greets you with a smile, and finally exits to find san. the lipstick is applied with shaky hands, and loose hair strands successfully tamed. by the time you get back to the table, the ceo has already stood up to give a speech. luckily, the table is tucked in the corner of the room, saving you from embarrassment of being the only one standing.

as the ceo starts, your eyes wander over the tables. it isn't difficult to find them, their table is at the front, along with the xikers one. san sits with his back facing the room. you wonder if seonghwa has given him the drops already, and if he feels a bit better. it doesn't even matter if he knows who they're from. he can guess, anyway.

the speech is wrapped up, with gratitudes towards the staff, from the older ones to the recently joined ones. "you all make kq, not only the artists." he finishes.

half your table is gone, and you would've stayed sat, were it not for jaz dragging you along to dance with her. your plate of food will have to wait. jaz looks the most stunning tonight. the white dress looks gorgeous on her dark skin, and her usually slicked back hair is replaced by luscious curls that fall over her shoulders and down her back. you feel so basic and underdressed just standing next to her.

"i'm gonna need you to cover for me." she whispers into your ear when a dance move brings her close to you. "mingi wants to use the fact that everybody is here so that we can have some peaceful time alone."

you can't say no. not after you were the one who separated them. "of course. i'll figure something out."

"thank you!" she hugs you tightly. "if you need anything ever, don't hesitate to ask."

there are all sorts of things you need. none of those can be helped by jaz. unless she is a sorceress who can erase your feelings for someone. "i'll keep that in mind."

once jaz successfully slips away, with mingi following soon after, you start feeling tired. it is past eleven, and you don't even realize how long you've been dancing. gyuri and thomas retreat to the table where melanie and sooe haven't moved, and eric is enjoying his third piece of cheesecake and fourth éclair.

"you know that there is a bunch of steaks right in front of you?" thomas playfully smacks the back of his head. "y/n, do you want one?"

"no, thanks." you aren't hungry. not when you see melanie eyeing someone up in the crowd behind you. "i'm going to get some fresh air, maybe when i get back."

you don't know where you are going. the place isn't that big for you to get lost, so you take your time exploring. no balconies so far, and the porch is occupied by smokers. you find a staircase, and that feeling of the fairytale is back again as you take the gown in your hands and start walking. the stairs lead you to a rooftop. you wonder why the event wasn't taking place here. it is as big as the hall, and instead of the dancefloor, there is a pool. the view is breathtaking, with minimal light pollution allowing the stars to glimmer above the still alive city of seoul. the city never sleeps, and is beautiful at any time of day. it's so easy to forget where you are, having to spend all your time inside or wherever your job requires you to go.

the door closes behind you, and you can't help the quiet groan that leaves your lips. you really needed a few minutes to yourself.

"oh, sorry. didn't realize someone was here."

out of all people.

"i just came to catch some fresh air, i'll be gone soon. please don't mind me."

does he not realize who you are? or has he finally come to terms with everything? "don't worry, mr choi. i'm leaving anyway."

when you turn around, you don't know who looks more in awe. more pathetic, better said. his jaw hangs as his eyes roam your figure. you know you aren't masking your expression, because choi san looks absolutely dashing. he wears a white button up, black slacks, a black vest and a tie. you know he dressed himself up because his tie hangs poorly around his neck. melanie must've tried fixing it, she had to. he didn't allow it.

"i don't think i've ever seen you in a dress." he breathes out. such a privilege to have an idol breathless because of your appearance. "you look beautiful."

"thank you. you look handsome as well, mr choi."

he doesn't complain about you calling him so. instead, he walks over, slow and careful. as if he'll scare you away if he moves any faster. he joins you by the fence, and soon enough, his scent envelops you. "i often forget how beautiful seoul is."

you hum, nodding your head.

"enjoying the party?"

"i'm up here. what do you think?"

a soft chuckle meets your ears. you miss hearing that. you allow yourselves a few moments of comfortable silence. nothing but the sound of the leaves rustling in the gentle summer breeze, distant sound of the city, and an occasional cricket. san is leaning on the fence with his arms covering the railing, and his chin resting on top. you, on the other hand, stand still with your palms gripping the same railing. your eyes betray you many times, choosing to glance his way more often than you'd like. he has his eyes closed as he breeze caresses his cheeks and moves the loose strands of his slicked back hair. he looks content.

"you smell cozy." he mumbles, eyes still closed. "like a vanilla candle."

it is your turn to chuckle. "your sinuses cleared up?"

and just like that, you betray yourself. the smirk on his lips is all you need to see. "so it was you."

"guilty." you turn around, leaning your back and elbows against the fence. you tilt your head back, exposing your neck and chest to the breeze. it helps cool you down. "i'm glad you feel better."

you hear him shuffle, before he opens his stupid mouth again. "you don't know how breathtaking you look."

tilting your head to the side, you can't help but glare at him. he is still in the same position, only now his cheek lays on the arms that cover the railing, using them like a pillow as he looks at you. he has never looked more soft and vulnerable.

"you're a dream."

"is this how it will go?" your voice is equally quiet. you don't get angry at him. you aren't irritated. you can't be, not when he looks at you like that. "you'll keep confessing, and we'll avoid each other for a while until you confess again the first chance you get?"

"i'm not confessing. i'm just stating facts. you look gorgeous. any sane man would see and say that if they were here instead of me." he then stands up straight, hands fixing his vest and tie. "i guess i'm just the lucky one. conveniently."

for a moment, you think he is going back to the party downstairs. but he simply plops on one of the deck chairs by the pool. he doesn't invite you over, but you still join him. you opt to sit on it sideways so you can face him. the pool water and the lights in it illuminate his slightly puffy face and rosy eyes. the moments when you hate flowers have become less rare since you started working for him. right now, you despise them.

"i was hoping you were right." his gaze is fixed on the water. "forced proximity. i prayed you were right. but i've seen you for five minutes tonight, and all i want to do is fall on my knees for you. beg you to give me a chance. to show you how good it can be, and how nobody can harm you in any way. to show you what it's like to be mine."

you stay silent. surprisingly, you don't feel annoyed with him anymore. you let him speak.

"i can't believe i ever doubted my feelings. i wanted to, for your sake. because you want nothing to do with me." your heart tightens. "you've made it clear multiple times, and i was trying to decide what you feel for you." the familiar lump in your throat appears. "i called you a liar, and accused you of breaking my heart, when you've rejected me so gently once. i was trying to make you doubt your own feelings." and your eyes sting.

"why are we back on page one?" your voice is hoarse.

san doesn't look at you yet. and it bothers you. "this might be the wine speaking out of me."

"you know you can't drink." you gently scold him.

"i didn't know what to do with myself. i was overwhelmed by everything. knowing that you are in the room but i can't see you. hearing you, smelling you. god, that scent. like the coziest warmest autumn evening. but you were still far from my eyes." the man says. he tilts his head back, resting it against the backrest. "then, i find you here. i told myself i wouldn't put you in an uncomfortable situation. and look what i'm doing."

you try swallowing, hoping to make the lump go away. but it stays stubborn. "it's okay. we're just talking. you're not doing anything to make me uncomfortable."

he closes his eyes again, this time enjoying the sound of the water and your scent that envelops him, even when there's a distance between you. it gives you time to admire him some more. you watch his chest rise and fall peacefully, and when your eyes land on the stupid tie, you can't help yourself. you stand up, walking over to him and sitting on the edge of the deck chair where he rests. he flinches, eyes shooting open. "what are you-"

"shh." you hush him. you've never been so close to him before. your body is pressed against his side as you lean over him, fingers working on loosening the tie so that you can do it properly. you pretend you don't feel his gaze on you. like you don't see his hand twitching, yearning to touch you. "i've spoiled you. you can't even tie your own tie."

he doesn't laugh. he simply gawks at you while you work on the piece of fabric. if he knew that that's all it takes to bring you closer to him, he would've worn his shirt and pants inside out. then, you flinch. your breath stops, as do your fingers. choi san cups your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your lips. "it's obvious that you never wear red lipstick."

he moves his hand sooner than you'd like. the tip of his thumb is red, and before you can offer him a handkerchief, he brings it to his lips. the action is intimate, and your lips are on fire. you wish you'd smeared it a bit more. your eyes stay locked for a worrying amount of time. but san doesn't move. he doesn't lean in. he doesn't say anything.

you do. you find yourself in a trance, consumed by his scent and very being, and you lean in. slow and unsure at first. then, you feel yourself sliding off the chair. san's hand grabs your waist before you can fall, pulling you back on the chair and on top of his body. you don't resist. his eyes flutter shut first. it's now or never.

you close the gap, inch by inch, until the tip of your nose brushes against his. it's pure torture on both ends. your brain and heart are fighting a battle inside you, and san knows it. it's why he isn't making any moves besides holding your body secure so that you don't fall. he lets you set the pace. his warm breath caresses your lips. you can't help the painful exhale of desperation that leaves you, right before tears swell in your eyes.

"i can't." you quietly cry out. "i'm sorry."

san doesn't have time to process the situation. you are already standing, quickly tapping the corners of your eyes with your fingers and throwing your head back before the tears ruin your makeup. a scoff of disbelief leaves his lips. "why are you doing this to yourself? to me?"

"i'm not doing anything. it is wrong." your voice shakes. "i just- i drank some wine too and-"

"why are you denying yourself happiness?" he stands up as well and approaches you. you take a step back, just in case. you can't be tempted again. this was too dangerous. "why are you hurting both of us like this?"

"look, i'm tipsy. i don't want to do something that will give you hopes when i've told you many times that-"

"so what, you're telling me you go around kissing guys when you're tipsy? that i'm not special?" you know he isn't hurt, because he knows it isn't true. he is just trying to lure the truth out of you by making you angry. "do you do this with yeosang as well?"

"shut up." you sniffle. "don't even."

"talk to me. why is the idea of us so horrible to you?" his words are firm, but his tone gentle. he approaches you, and you can't help but step back, feeling overwhelmed. "you don't even need this job. you could do anything you want, i'd be your biggest supporter. you could quit, and-"

"it's not that simple!"

san is blurry before your eyes, just like the first night he confessed. this time, however, there isn't a wall to stop you from walking behind. but there is a pool.

your next step has your foot hanging in the air for a split second, right before a gasp leaves your mouth and you reach for san. your hand slips through his, and soon enough, your body is swallowed by cold water. san wastes no time in jumping after you. before you can sink any lower, his hands plant themselves on your waist, pulling your body against his as he swims to the surface. you didn't expect the pool to be so deep.

while you are busy coughing water and gasping for air, san has swam over to the edge of the pool where the water is a bit more shallow. his voice is nothing but a hum in your ears as you try to recover. your body trembles against his. from the cold water, and from shock. it's just water. but you never learned how to swim. each attempt resulted in you having a panic attack and ruining the fun for everyone else.

"princess." his voice finally reaches your ears. "i've got you."

"san," you cry out. he hushes you, simply hugging you closer and resting your head into the crook of his neck.

"it's okay. i'm right here." he hates that he breaks the boundary by kissing the top of your head. but it is his way of comforting, and he doesn't think in the moment. "i'm so sorry."

his drenched shirt is scrunched between your fingers, but he couldn't care less. he's glad you aren't running away from him after falling in because of him. "please don't let go."

"i won't, but we need to get you out of the water." he gently tucks his fingers under your chin, lifting your head so that he can look you in the eyes reassuringly. panic sets in, and you start trembling more.

"no, no!" you pull on his shirt, latching yourself onto him. "don't let go, please don't let go. please, please, please, please-"

"princess," he cups your cheek with one hand. "i'm right here. i won't let go of you. can you trust me?"

"no."

san knows you don't mean that you can't trust him. you aren't ready to move, and he understands. he tucks your head back into the crook of his neck, and leans against the pool wall for support. he gently sways you in the water, eyes fixed in the way your hair and gown move under the gentle current of the pool springs.

time stops. it feels so natural, being this close to him. his hand rubs your back in an attempt to warm you up in the cold water. he hushes your quiet whimpers, lips brushing against your ear shell. "i've got you."

"don't let go."

"i won't. i promise." the man assures.

you don't know how long you stay like that. all you know is that san has managed to calm you down and is pulling you out of the water. even though it's summer, you are still shivering. san's brows are furrowed, worry painting his pretty features.

"my phone is drenched, it won't turn on. can you stay here while i go get seonghwa?" he crouches in front of you while you sit on the chair, his vest that he managed to discard before jumping covering your upper body. "i'll be right back."

"okay."

seonghwa doesn't judge. he doesn't have sarcastic remarks. he doesn't scold.

hongjoong does. as if you weren't overwhelmed already, hongjoong has decided that scolding and yelling inside the car was the best thing to do right now.

"let me just make this clear: i'm not mad at her, i'm mad at you." he looks at san through the rearview mirror.

you have sunken into the car seats in the back, wrapped in san's vest and seonghwa's coat. even though hongjoong's words aren't meant for you, you can't help the new wave of tears that coat your cheeks. you have trouble breathing again.

seonghwa notices you detaching again, a new panic attack threatening to pull you into its void. "joong."

"what? i'm tired of him, seriously. why doesn't mingi have any problems? i never had to interfere with him and jaz and save their asses. they're careful, and-"

"joong."

your breathing quickens. san doesn't notice, even though he sits in the back with you. he is busy fighting with hongjoong. the situation you were scared of happening is unfolding right now, and nothing happened between san and you. you have already gotten him into trouble. fingers reach for the button on the car door in an attempt to open the window. once it does, you stick your head out, then try breathing.

"why are you being such a jackass about it? it was an accident! you think i wanted to push her?"

"do you think i care? it's not about tonight only, san. it's about you for the past few months. you aren't subtle at all!"

"guys," seonghwa says a bit louder, eyes switching from the road to the rearview mirror every now and then.

"and just what have i been doing for the past few months that you think you have the right to be yelling at me right now?"

"having to explain why you keep dragging her everywhere, having to convince the manager to even let you do that, going to such lengths to delete videos and pictures of you gawking at her, getting dispatch off our asses-"

"and doing all that for mingi wasn't an issue? for me it was?"

"i didn't have to do it for mingi! he was careful!"

"ENOUGH!"

the car stops abruptly on the side of the road. seonghwa exits, rushing over to your side and opening the door. you fall into his arms, a sobbing mess once again, struggling to catch your breath.

"it's okay." he pulls you into a hug.

"i'm sorry." you feel pathetic. it's all you can say. "i'm so sorry. it's all my fault."

"it's not your fault. hongjoong and san are just being pricks right now." the older man pats your head. "do you want to go home or would you like to stay with us?"

"my home, please?"

"you got it." he helps you sit comfortably again, then fastens your seatbelt for you.

the rest of the ride is quiet, with san fidgeting with the ends of the sleeves on seonghwa's coat that shields and warms your wet body, quietly telling you that he is here.

when you wake up, it is still dark. you rub the sleepiness out of your eyes, and meet san's focused face. he carries you in his arms, going from door to door trying to figure out where you live. once he finds your last name, he struggles fitting the key in the keyhole.

"let me." you whisper. "put me down."

once your feet touch the ground, you need a moment to steady yourself. your apartment is just as you left it: a mess as you tried to get ready for the event. you are grateful that the darkness has swallowed it. san doesn't need to know how messy you are outside of work, where you are always organized and tidy.

"uh... do you want slippers?" you point towards a spare pair of slippers that are only used by your family when they visit. "i mean... if you want to stay for a while. or do you have to go back immediately?"

san looks at the slippers, then at you. "do you want me to stay?"

"please." your voice is so low, that if san wasn't so focused on you, he wouldn't have heard it.

"i'll just text hwa. my phone came to life."

you nod. "i'll uh... go put on some tea, i guess. what's the time?"

"does it matter? if you crave tea, i'll make it for you." he simply replies, eyes glued to his phone as he types a message.

now that you look back at your time working with him, san had moments where he loved acting as your boyfriend. you simply didn't allow yourself those delusions. you ignored them. but san loved buying you things, making you try various food and drinks, took pictures of you, gave you his jacket even when you really didn't need it. the response came so naturally from him, as if he usually makes you tea whenever you crave it.

"well?" his full attention is back on you as soon as his phone is tucked in his back pocket. "what does your heart desire?"

"honestly? i'd kill for a cup of cocoa."

your answer makes san chuckle fondly. he makes his way to your kitchen, as if he knew the place by heart. you're grateful that you've decided to wash the dishes today. you have a habit of hoarding dishes before making yourself wash them. you'll do all chores without a problem, from vacuuming to washing the windows. but dishes? you hate yourself for it. it is such a simple task, really. but your brain makes it hard for some reason.

san rummages through your cupboard, not bothering to ask where anything is. he finds the cocoa powder, then the milk in the fridge. "how chocolaty?"

"i trust you."

the clock shows a little past one after midnight. it is monday, and the boys have a day off. still, you can't help but feel bad for causing a mess and ruining their sleep schedule. while san busies himself with making two cups of cocoa, you quickly text seonghwa.

y/n: i'm so sorry for tonight. please tell mr kim that it is all my fault, that mr choi had nothing to do with it. i'm truly sorry for putting you in those positions. i promise i'll do everything to fix it and assure that it never happens again. again, i am so sorry.

park seonghwa: don't be silly. hongjoong was just being an ass. between you and me, he might've been a bit tipsy. plus, eden is on his back about the comeback. he was just unleashing himself on innocent people. don't burden your little head with it.

y/n: i can't help but feel guilty. no matter what i do, i'm messing mr choi up. i've distanced myself from him in an attempt to fix this, but it's only getting worse.

park seonghwa: san is already messed up on his own, even without you. he's been a menace before you came along, don't worry. he just became worse when you arrived. the two of you should take your time to figure out exactly how you feel. i won't say what i know, or how much i know, but i'll give you one advice: talk. don't hold back. that's the only way you'll resolve this.

y/n: thank you, mr park

park seonghwa: you know, it feels weird having an atiny call me that. you are the only one still calling us that in private among the assistants, and you technically know us longest and best. think you can work on that? :)

y/n: i'll try :)

park seonghwa: yay! now go before he gets all pissy and pouty again. warm yourself up, we don't want you catching a cold. good night, tiny ♥

y/n: good night, seonghwa. ♥

you sigh with content. one thing at a time.

"where's your bathroom?" san asks as he pours the hot cocoa in two cups.

"first door on the left."

he comes back with a towel and clothes. was he in this apartment before, but you weren't aware? how did he find your pajamas?

"here," he hands you the clothes, then turns back to stirring the cocoa.

the drenched gown is replaced by a cozy t-shirt and sleep shorts. you don't pay much attention to what you are wearing, until san looks over and chuckles. "what?"

"ateez world tour." he reads out loud.

you look down, and right across your chest, the words he just said. that bastard. "you did this on purpose."

"i promise, i didn't. it was folded inside out and just laid on your chair on top of a pile of other clothes. i thought it was a normal black t-shirt. the pile waiting to be ironed, i assume?"

right, aside from washing dishes, you hated ironing clothes as well. you can't be bothered to pick up the gown, instead pushing it with your foot to the corner. seonghwa's coat and san's vest are neatly folded and placed in the laundry basket.

"come here." he calls you over.

your bare feet tap against the cold parquet floor as you walk over. at no point this evening did you know what san was about to do next, and neither do you know now. he picks you up by your waist, placing you on the kitchen counter. the towel is soon in his hands, drying your wet locks of hair. he stands between your legs like it's nothing. like you do it every day. like all of this didn't happen because you refuse to say your true feelings out loud.

"i can hear you thinking," he whispers.

"i got it." you snatch the towel from his hand, a little harsher than you wanted. he frowns, but lets you have it. "thanks."

you stay sat on the counter, swinging your legs in the air as you watch him focus on the cups. as if he was making the world's most complicated cocoa, using a dozen ingredients instead of two.

"what now?" you dare ask.

"now..." he sighs. "we drink cocoa."

"you know what i mean." you accept the cup from his hands, and your fingers inevitably brush against his. your skin is on fire, and god, it takes everything in you not to drop that cup and pull him close to you. "are we going to act like this is normal? my boss in my apartment at this hour, while i sit here in my sleepwear?"

"you keep worrying your pretty head with stupid things." san takes a sip of his beverage. he hums, then takes another one. "you were right. cocoa is much better than tea."

"san."

pretty eyes finally lock with yours. his brows relax, and his face softens under your gaze. "yes?"

"you need to put yourself in my shoes. i can't help but feel like i'm taking advantage of you. i'm a fan. a staff."

"so?"

"the fandom will be against it. the company as well."

"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

you don't ask san to stay. he doesn't offer to leave. he just takes his place on the couch once he tucks you in your own bed, but not without making a witty comment about the photocard holder and his photocard that lay on the nightstand next to the bed. "you're so cute it hurts. want me to sign it?"

"go away." you bury your head in the pillow. "and leave the door open. i don't like being in the dark, and the street lights have been broken for a while now. leave the bathroom light on, and don't close that door neither."

with each moment that passes, san keeps finding out more things about you. things so unimportant that everyone would forget after a moment or two, but he remembers. it makes him fall for you harder and harder. right now, you are impossibly cute, confessing that you are scared of dark. "i'll be on the couch. if you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me up."

"okay. thank you." your voice is muffled by the pillow. you hear him chuckle, then feel his hand pat your head playfully. "good night, princess."

"good night."

the second time you open your eyes, it is light. for a split second. then, booming thunder. it's been a while since a thunderstorm this strong has hit the city. overcoming your fear of it for a split second, you run over to the windows where the curtains move from the strong wind. the wind makes it hard, pushing the window against you as you try your hardest to shut it. the shuffling and grunting must've awoken san, because soon enough, he gently nudges you aside and closes the window with little to no effort. the room lights up once again, causing you to flinch and cover your ears. your heart beats loud while you await the loud noise to echo in the room.

once it passes, san takes your hands in his, rubbing soothing circles with his thumbs on your knuckles. "want to-?"

"will you sleep in here tonight?" you beat him to it. you don't know where you're getting the confidence, or the audacity. you're doing everything contrary to what your previous self wanted and worked hard to maintain.

a few months ago, you were going crazy because san laid on your bed for a few minutes back in milan. now, it is happening again. he tries to cover you with the blanket once he lays down, only to find you completely submerged from head to toe in it. "hey, where did you go?"

"i'm scared. leave me be."

"is this how you sleep when there's a thunderstorm? with your little head hiding under the blankets? suffocating?"

"san..." you whine, begging him to stop teasing you.

you forget how to breathe for a moment when the blanket lifts and san dives in below, joining you. "my name sounds so pretty from your lips."

"i didn't invite you here to flirt." you scold, gently poking his chest with your finger. "if both of us are here under, who is keeping watch out there?"

"my photocard." he laughs.

a gasp of disbelief escapes your mouth. he'll never let go of this. "one more word and you're losing blanket shield privilege."

"is that so?" he cocks an eyebrow. his hand then sneakily finds its way to your waist, only to poke you and make you jolt. his other hand joins, poking at the other side, until you are a laughing and screaming mess and the blanket slips from both of you.

he's strong, and doesn't budge, no matter how hard you fight back. his figure covers your entire body as he hovers above you, pinning your wrists above your head with a single hand while his other hand shows no mercy by tickling you. "stop, please!"

"say i have blanket privilege."

"you have blanket privilege!"

"now say i'm your favourite boss." he halts for a moment, giving you the chance to say it.

you don't, instead sticking your tongue out in an attempt to further annoy him. it works, an exaggerated gasp leaving his lips. you use the chance to slip one of your hands out of his grip, poking his side. he yelps, then falls on the bed next to you. soon enough you find yourself on top of him, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

san is incredibly strong. you've witnessed many situations since you worked here, from carrying two members on his back to picking up his makeup stylist's desk all by himself and moving it where she wanted. he has more strength in his pinky finger than you have in your whole body. yet he still lets you pin his hands above his head, your smaller hand struggling to grasp his wrists. he plays along. he lets you have it.

he isn't that ticklish. but you are too proud and excited that you've managed to tackle him that you don't even notice. your giggles are everything san wants to hear for the rest of his life. your fingers poke at his sides, over and over, and you are so into it. then, a grunt.

you stop, confused. san doesn't say anything. he simply stares at you, soft eyes admiring your features in the dark. it is only when his gaze drops to where you're sitting that you realise. you don't speak. you don't breathe, either. suddenly, you feel him. below layers of clothes, his body burns hot. as does yours, especially your face and core.

when light illuminates the room for a moment again, you flinch a little, but the clear sight below you makes you forget about your fear. san looks... submissive. his hands stay pinned above his head, and you remember that your loose grip is nothing compared to what he can do. his hair falls over his pretty eyes, which stare back at you through half closed eyelids. lips sticking in a natural pout, plump  and inviting. oh, so inviting.

"sannie," you test the waters with a low whisper.

a whimper. a fucking whimpers leaves this man's lips. he doesn't seem to be embarrassed. instead, he gulps, and bites his lip. you roll your hips, so lightly and slowly, not even sure that he'll feel it. but he does. and he shudders. it makes your body feel as if it's on fire. you've never had an effect on someone like this. and you're enjoying every bit of it.

san craves your attention. your validation. he always has. you've just been connecting it to his teasing nature. didn't really take him seriously. now, you have him wrapped around your finger. and you don't know what to do with it. a whole man, many girls crush and fantasy, lays down at your mercy. and you? you move the hair out of his eyes, press your lips against his forehead, and cup his cheek. "one thing at a time."

𓆩⟡𓆪

monday morning comes and goes, with you waking up alone in bed. the storm has calmed at some point during the night, but you didn't feel or hear anything. except the pair of arms that have held you through it all. you didn't push him away. you've worked for him long enough to know that san needs to hold onto something to fall asleep. it wasn't on purpose. he fell asleep before you, and at some point, he let go of the pillow he was hugging and replaced it with you.

san respects your boundaries. sure, you might need to tell him once or twice to stop calling you nicknames or move his hand from your lower back, but other than that, san tries his hardest to keep his hands to himself. you wonder if it's like that with melanie. if enough time passes, will san prove you wrong or right? will he start developing feelings for her? is forced proximity truly the answer?

selfishly, you hope it isn't.

your phone rings early in the evening, the manager's name glaring at you from the screen. you groan out loud. this is your day off. but then again, being yeosang's assistant has given you many days off. you can take this phone call.

"yes, sihun?"

"pack your stuff, you're flying early tomorrow. yeosang has been invited to a fashion show in two days, and because you have decided it would be a good idea to mess up perfectly good pair ups that have functioned from the beginning, the schedules are all fucked up."

"wait, what?" you find yourself standing up from the couch. you swear you can still smell him on it. "also, that was an idea. don't blame me as if you were forced."

"not only was yeosang's invitation to the paris fashion show lost, we also missed an opportunity to collab with a huge western artist. does the name megan the stallion ring any bells? plus, yunho was offered a role in a drama, and-"

"why are you blaming me for all this?" your heart beats fast, threatening to jump out of your chest. "what kind of organization did you have in the first place that a minor change like switching assistants costed you lost invitations and collabs?"

"if you want to return from paris as yeosang's assistant, or just an employee of the kq entertainment, i would recommend to zip it and start packing. five o'clock sharp in front of the building, not a minute late. if you're late, don't bother to show up. at all, ever."

"but-"

"five am, y/n."

and as if that wasn't enough to ruin your evening of rewatching the walking dead and stuffing your face with pringles, a single message causes you to sit back down on the couch.

choi san: you requested to switch? wish i'd known sooner, i wouldn't have wasted both our time. didn't realize you'd go to such lenghts, but then again, i really must be that annoying and can't take a hint. i apologize for crossing the boundary last night. rest assured, it won't happen again.

y/n: it's not like that !message failed to send!

y/n: san? !message failed to send!

this user has blocked you.

you're about to find out whether or not you were right, after all. far from eyes, far from mind.

𓆩⟡𓆪

yeosang wearing prada and sitting front row on a fashion show, looking ethereal and socializing with those around him is all the fandom ever wanted. you proudly watch from the side, and every now and then, yeosang's eyes widen slightly as they frantically search for you. you are being pushed around by photographers, and can't stand still in one place. when he finally finds you, you can see relief wash over his pretty features. you nod assuringly, urging him to talk to the celebrities around him.

if you thought san needed reassuring and validation, yeosang needed it times two. his english skills have improved in the short time you have been working for him, but you are the only person he could practice with. now, surrounded by only english speakers, and without your poor and broken korean to help, yeosang felt like he was thrown in shark water without a way out. you can see panic set in his eyes whenever someone speaks too fast or when he forgets a word.

but all is gone as soon as he locks eyes with you. you are his life jacket, his boat in this situation, and he is holding onto you for dear life as doja cat and zendaya keep talking to him and over him. at one point, yeosang leans back so that the two can speak comfortably, and they waste no time in leaning over him and continuing the conversation. he gives you a funny look, and you can't help the giggle that leaves your mouth.

yeosang doesn't stay at the after party. as soon as everyone has finished taking pictures with him, and before an interviewer can get his hands on him, yeosang disappears into the crowd and finds you. "take me away."

once back at the hotel, he insists that you join him for a late dinner. you hesitate before walking into his hotel room. strangely, you don't feel weird for sitting on his bed and eating with him at this hour, all alone with him. perhaps because you don't harbor the same feelings towards him as you do for san. yeosang is sweet. he isn't a tease, he doesn't make you question your sanity and make you roll your eyes hundred times a day.

"how's the pasta?" he asks, glancing over at your plate of truffle pasta. "any good?"

"it's great." you nod. "how's your steak?"

he doesn't respond, instead nodding with his mouth full. he takes a sip of whiskey from his nightstand, then wastes no time in stuffing his mouth again. you can't help but laugh fondly.

"didn't take you for a whiskey kind of guy." you confess.

"what kind of guy did you take me for?" the man raises his eyebrow playfully.

you hum at first, as if thinking. yeosang cuts his steak in peace, until your answer causes him to stop and gasp dramatically. "honestly? a banana milk kind of guy."

"you take that back." he threatens with his fork. "it's strawberry milk. don't disrespect me."

you enjoy this playful banter. no pressure, no expectations. just the tiredness and tipsiness talking out of both of you. you try the whiskey, he tries the leftover pasta. eventually, half the bottle of whiskey is gone. you didn't think you'd enjoy it that much. yeosang wasn't of any help. moreover, he encouraged you to drink.

now you struggle to move from the comfortable bed you're sat on, even after the man plops on it and closes his eyes, muttering a good night.

"you can't go to sleep with your makeup on."

"watch me." he simply covers himself up to his neck.

your words have no effect on him. they simply enter one ear and exit out the other. frankly, you're not sure they even get to his ear. it feels like they're bouncing off it and hitting you back in the face. in just a few moments, you raid the hotel bathroom in search of wet wipes and any kind of face serum he has brought along. it didn't help that he had a whole line of skincare on the counter. you don't know those things. he'll survive one night without it.

the moment the wet wipe touches his cheek, yeosang's eyes shoot open.

"that's cold." he frowns.

"yeah, well, suck it up."

yeosang's gaze is so much different than san's. san is intense, and dark. yeosang's is curious, and sweet. brown orbs glimmer as he follows your hand movements that reveal his face bit by bit. by the time you have wiped almost everything off, yeosang is wide awake. a light shudder leaves his lips when your fingers brush the wipe over his birthmark.

"there it is." you smile as you reveal it. "pretty."

the man blushes furiously. you think it's the alcohol. he hopes you don't know it's something else.

"close your eyes. you have a bit of eyeshadow left."

you don't need to tell him twice. he makes your job so much easier that you could just kiss him on the head sometimes.

"warning, this is also going to be cold."

you've done this countless times with san. but the moment your fingers touch his skin directly, your heart skips a beat. this isn't casual. not with yeosang. you try not to notice the way his eyes stare at you as your fingers rub the serum on his glass skin. the way he grips the cover. the way he slightly squirms under it. the way he gulps whenever your fingers touch the area around his birthmark.

"almost done," you whisper as your hand moves onto the space between his eyebrows and his forehead. it seems to be another sweet spot of his, because he almost purrs when your fingers gently rub the serum into his skin. you don't want to stop. not when he closes his eyes and hums contently while you do something as simple as putting a product on him, something that he does himself every day.

"no wonder san is in love with you."

you freeze. fuck, does everyone know?

"a person just puts their walls down around you and trusts you completely." he rambles on. "your mere presence is very comforting. i hate that he got to you first."

"okay." you sigh. the wipes are thrown into the small bin near the nightstand, and you have to walk a few steps around the room before you can speak. your thoughts are scattered, and at this point, you might have to ask yeosang to slap you to make sure this is not one of your daydreaming shifts when you used to work at the coffee shop. "let's pause. just for a moment."

"oh, i'm sorry." the man sits up straight, rubbing his eyes. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. i just mean that... a person can trust you easily. honestly, since you started working with me, i've stopped using my brain."

"yeosang." you sigh once again.

wide curious eyes look at you, and the words stop in your throat. is it possible that the forced proximity was an issue on your end? this is surely the alcohol. and the way yeosang is starting to act exactly like san. maybe you have a type.

no. what you have is a serious case of delusion. you need a vacation as soon as your feet touch korean soil.

you turn the lamp near the bed off, ensure that yeosang has a glass of fresh water in case he wakes up during the night, and prepare his outfit for tomorrow on the armchair. he only watches, not uttering a word. it isn't until you reach the door and light switch that you hear shuffling, and you turn your head to see him laying back down.

"good night, mr kang."

you miss the pout on his lips once the main light is off, but not the quiet "good night, tiny" before exiting and heading for your room.

𓆩⟡𓆪

your paid time off is approved within a day. manager sihun agrees that you need time away, but for different reasons. you're offended.

"it feels like your quality of work has declined."

you have to hide your snarky remarks. if that is what gets you time off, then let him have it.

in no time you find yourself sipping a freshly squeezed lemonade on your balcony. a book in your hand, fresh out of the shower, hair drying in the sun, with the whole day ahead of you. until your work phone vibrates on the table. you ignore it. you don't know why you even brought it out there in the first place. a habit, maybe.

the page of the book is barely flipped before the phone vibrates again. and again. and again.

"are you serious right now?" you groan.

park seonghwa: hey :)

park seonghwa: can i call you?

park seonghwa: oh wait

park seonghwa: you're on you time off?

park seonghwa: imsosorrypleaseforgivemejustignoremekbyehavefunonyourtimeoffdontmissustoomuch<3

y/n: it's fine, mr park. how can i help you?

park seonghwa: hi!

park seonghwa: oh :(

park seonghwa: mr park?

y/n: is something wrong? are you understaffed?

the dancing dots appear in the corner of the screen near seonghwa's profile picture. then, they disappear. and reappear. and disappear once again.

y/n: mr park, may i know wh|

your typing is interrupted by his name taking up the screen. with a sigh, you press the green icon.

"mr park?"

"first of all, i don't like that." he complains on the other side. "yeosang broke you."

"i assure you, mr kang had nothing to do with anything." you can't help the eye roll. "may i know-"

your words are cut short once again by a voice in the background, then a crash. "san, you absolute moron. i am so sorry, ma'am. we'll pay for that and clean up the mess."

you stay silent, eavesdropping the conversation. seonghwa's voice turns into an angry whisper, but the phone is close enough for you to hear everything.

"pull yourself together. there's six cameras on you, and you're drunk from half a cup of beer?"

"i'm not drunk."

"you're getting there. in the middle of namhae, in broad daylight, fooling around with that gopro and breaking stuff. what else do you call that? you're lucky the staff are busy cleaning what you just did and their attention is off you. i'm calling y/n, just so you know."

"i don't care."

"you don't care? alright. hello, y/n?"

"give me that."

"yes, he's being a pain in the ass. can you come over?"

"give me that!"

"what's that? you'll be here in fifteen? great."

"park seonghwa, give me that phone!"

"too late. she hung up."

you hear complaining and whining, then shuffling. he must've exited the room they were in, because seonghwa is back on the phone.

"i just wanted you to hear how miserable and pain in the ass he is."

"with all due respect, what does that have to do with me?"

"i'll send you a video. i want you to watch it, then come to whatever conclusion you want. i'm not forcing you to do anything, nor am i guilt tripping you. i'd just hate to see two people suffer a heartbreak they don't need. it's all up to you."

once the call ends, you feel as if your head will burst. you selfishly wish seonghwa hadn't reached out to you. just when you got san out of your head. you can't have one day of peace at this job you used to love.

the promised video plays on your screen, showing san in the back of a car and seonghwa next to him. the older man holds the phone so that san doesn't know he is being filmed. the familiar pout is present on the younger ones lips as he looks out the window, arms crossed over his chest.

"sannie, you're sulking again." seonghwa teases.

"leave me be."

"we're filming content for the fans. will you be like this the whole day?"

when san turns his head towards seonghwa, and the camera, you don't expect his eyes to be red and glossy. then, with the tiniest voice ever, he mumbles. "i miss her."

"i know." seonghwa sighs. "but you drove her away. you blocked her number without giving her a chance to explain."

"i know i'm stupid. you don't have to say it." his fingers play with the buttons of his shirt. you can't help but thank seonghwa for giving you the first peek at san dressed in a white shirt and black slacks, sleeves rolled up with his forearms out for everyone to enjoy. "she hates me."

"she doesn't hate you."

"you don't know that. for all we know, she thinks that you hate her."

san turns his head to look at seonghwa abruptly, then starts shaking it. "no. it's not like that."

"well, if i was her, that's the impression i'd get."

"i could never hate her. she could break my heart over and over, and i still wouldn't find it in those broken bits to hate her. she's all i think about. i thought the distance would do us well. it's killing me, especially seeing her near yeosang. or anyone that isn't me. do you know that i haven't washed or used my coat that she wore in amsterdam when it was cold? it still smells like her."

"loser." seonghwa tries to lighten up the situation by pinching his thigh.

"ow! stop it." san isn't having it. "i genuinely miss her. i'm so close to showing up at her door and falling to my knees, i swear."

he then returns to silence and turns his head back towards the window. the video ends with seonghwa smiling at the camera.

choi san will be the death of you.

𓆩⟡𓆪

the week passes fast. you'd wake up in the morning, one past noon being morning to you, rot your brain on social media, and before you knew it, the sun was down and you were transferring yourself from the couch on the bed. your diet consisted of shin noodles and a single boiled egg, paired with unnatural amounts of red bull (i just had to describe myself i'm so sorry <3). luckily, you didn't have any pets. you wouldn't have the energy to walk them or take care of them.

seonghwa's phone call ruined your plans. you wanted to spend the week reading all those books you've purchased and never have time to read, go for morning walks, maybe even go to a spa. but every time you closed your eyes, you saw san.

you saw his hurt face the first time you've rejected him. you saw his pout. you saw his glossy eyes. you heard his voice.

your last day was no different. kuromi pajamas, mouthful of noodles, the new season of your favourite show playing in the background while you mindlessly scroll on tiktok. until the doorbell interrupts you.

when you look through the peephole, you don't see anybody. an empty hallway. just a glimpse of somebody running downstairs. you shouldn't open it. everything about it screams danger. but you do anyway, sticking your head out first. step by step, you make it to the railing, and then lean over it in hopes of catching the person that just interrupted your last night of so called selfcare. he wears a hood, but something in the way he walks is familiar to you.

"hey!" you call out.

the person stops. the hallway lights illuminate the rings on his finger, one of them especially familiar to you. you bought it on your trip to italy, and gave it to none other than choi san for his birthday.

"mr choi." disappointment is evident in your voice. "will you please come back so we can discuss your need to ding-dong-ditch me?"

you can see his figure slouch. slowly, as if he'll scare you if he moves any faster, he makes his way back up the stairs and stops at the top. he doesn't raise his head to look at you yet. not when you step away from the railing, and not when you stand in front of him. only when your hand finds its spot under his chin and raises his head, his eyes find yours. he wears glasses. they give him the nerdy boyfriend image.

"what are you doing with yourself, mr choi?"

"what..." his voice comes out hoarse, and he clears his throat before continuing. "what do you mean?"

your hand leaves him sooner than both of you would like. you step back, then answer. "i mean, what are you doing chasing a fan? a staff member? while your phone is bursting with messages from the most drop dead gorgeous and talented idols."

"you don't know anything." he simply replies.

he doesn't move. you do. you walk back into your apartment, leaving the door open. you only spare him a glance over your shoulder; a silent invitation. he takes it. closing the door behind him, taking off his shoes and placing them neatly on the shoe rack, wearing the slippers he claimed last time. it all felt natural. you felt natural.

"red bull?" you offer.

he can't help the quiet chuckle when he sees your head in the fridge. "no, thank you."

"hmph," you purse your lips. "i've got cola, melon milkis, a week old carton of orange juice, chocolate milk, and two bottles of soju: peach and strawberry. you pick."

"a glass of water is fine."

"boring." you say.

he knows you are joking. still, he rolls his eyes playfully and joins you in the kitchen. "i'll have a red bull, then."

"which one?"

"what do you mean which one? there's more than- oh. okay." you open the fridge door fully and step away, revealing the colorful collection to a surprised san. "you little addict."

"says the man who lives off lays and milkis." you bite back.

"alright. give me the green one."

"which green one?"

"there's two?"

"duh." you say, rolling your eyes. "the light green and dark green."

"i trust you."

in a few minutes, san and you are settled on the balcony couch, sipping the energy drinks and looking at the busy streets below. the couch is big enough for three people to sit comfortably, yet san has squeezed himself in the corner. you sit on it sideways, facing him. it doesn't seem as if he thought any of this through. he came here on impulse, you know it. you know him.

"how's working with yeosang?" he fidgets with the can.

"that's what you came to talk about?" you tilt your head to the side so that it leans against the backrest.

"no." he mumbles.

"you didn't answer my question, san." his name out of your lips has him perk up. "what are you doing chasing after a fan?"

"i'm not chasing after a fan. i'm chasing after my personal assistant. well, ex personal assistant."

"does that sound better in your mind?"

he opts for silence again. you're making it difficult, yet he is willing to try, again and again. he wouldn't have come here for no reason. the man takes another sip of his can, as to avoid talking. your can is downed already, and your lips and throat feel dry. you leave the balcony just to get the two bottles of soju, then plop back on the sofa.

"here." you set the bottles on the table, allowing him to choose. he abandons the can of red bull and reaches for the peach soju.

"i thought i wasn't allowed to drink." he says, then brings the beverage to his lips.

"take small sips, san. we've got time. unless you have somewhere to be?"

he shakes his head. "no. even if i did, i would've cancelled."

"if you say so." you take a sip of the alcoholic beverage, and san mimics you.

his gaze is locked on the city through the glass balcony, and his face is still covered by his hoodie. in an attempt to relax his stiff posture and nervous fidgeting of hands, you sprawl out your legs and rest your feet on his lap. instead of relaxing, san further stiffens, the soju bottle in his hand stuck in a deathly grip. you try to pull them back to yourself, seeing that you've caused further discomfort. yet san's hand simply finds its spot on your legs, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your skin where your pajama bottoms have hiked up.

"sannie." you call softly.

you swear you hear a shuddered breath. his head leans on the backrest, and he tilts it sideways so that he can look at you. he scrunches his nose so that his glasses sit better. "hm?"

"talk to me." you urge him. "say what's on your mind. you didn't come here to ask me about yeosang. or to sit in silence."

he hums again. "the silence was comforting. but no, it's not what i came for. though, now that i think about it, i think i did enough talking. i came to hear what you have to say. if you have anything to say."

"you were honest with me up until now. and i appreciate that." you start. it is your turn to pour your heart out. "and it is only fair that i do the same. but i think it would be more interesting to lead this conversation with questions."

"like twenty-one questions?" he immediately gets it.

"right. i'll give you a head start. you can ask me three questions."

"one is enough. as you said, we have time." he doesn't take long to figure out what he wants to ask you. words smoothly slip out of his mouth. "have you slept on it? 

"and why do you care about their opinion when the only one that should matter is ours?" it feels like he is scolding you. you know he isn't. he is just getting annoyed at the situation both of you are in. "this could be the best thing that can happen to us."

after a moment of silent thinking, you sigh. "i have to sleep on it."

right. you left him without an answer. technically, he left himself without an answer. "i didn't get enough sleep to decide."

he laughs. "meanie."

"my turn, then. since you don't want the head start." you take a sip while you think. the gentle touch on your legs is a distraction. for a man so big and tough, choi san has the softest hands in the world. "when did you realize your... feelings for me?"

it feels odd. feelings for you. choi san has feelings for you. such feelings that he keeps coming back, no matter how many times you reject him. if you were him, you'd hate yourself. yet san looks at you with such fondness in his eyes, that for the first time in a while since you parted ways with him, you find yourself looking away and blushing furiously. only he has the power to make you feel small, yet safe.

"well?" you clear your throat.

"it started in london. when i begged you to join me on a secret mission to five guys in the middle of the night, and you came with me. after that we went for a walk because i overate. i think the exact moment i felt something fuzzy in my stomach was when i plopped on the bench and held onto my stomach, and you had the time of your life giggling and taking photos. i realized then that i loved that side of you, and that i might be falling for you. then, i was sure when we went to amsterdam, and you were so excited to go for a walk and buy souvenirs that you forgot your jacket at the hotel. i lent you my coat, and when i saw it on you, i knew that i wanted you to keep borrowing my clothes."

you remember seonghwa's video where san confessed he hasn't washed or used that coat since you did. you look his way again, only to find his eyes still fixed on you. he examines your face in search of any negative emotion. but you only smile at him, causing him to breathe out in relief.

"my turn. did you really mean what you said back in milan? when i first confessed to you?"

"it's hard to explain." you sigh. "just because i was doing my job, doesn't mean i didn't enjoy it."

"so i'm not a spoiled and disobedient boss?" he presses in a teasing voice.

"not all the time. and that's two questions, sir. now i get to ask two." you dig your heel into his thigh as a way to punish him, and he returns the action by pinching your calf. "ow!"

"you're being mean again." he pouts.

"only for you." the alcohol is starting to get to you, because in no way would sober you wink at san and continue the conversation like it's nothing. like you don't see him blushing and looking away, a smile dancing on his lips. "you bring out the worst in me, it seems."

"so it's my fault." he laughs. "go on, then. ask."

"hmm..." you trail, thinking. "you've gotten plenty of confessions from many idols. how come i am the one that peaked the interest of the choi san?"

"first of all, the choi san? i'm not that special."

"yes, you are. you have millions falling on their knees for you. you're one of the most popular and influential idols right now. so many rookies look up to you, want to be you. sometimes it seems like you aren't aware of your popularity. guys want to be you, or be with you, girls as well. and-"

"second of all," he interrupts you, not believing a single word out of your mouth, "all those confessions don't mean much to me. i don't feel any connection to those people, and honestly, i don't want to waste my time to find out whether or not i'll feel any. i like to live in my own bubble, with the guys and our staff. it's familiar. it's cozy."

right, you forgot his introverted side for a moment. "still. as a long time fan of many groups in the industry, i've never seen idols as pretty as the ones in this generation."

"no amount of beauty will make a true man swoon if their personality is a zero. only those who are shallow won't look past a face."

"so you settled for me because i'm a little ugly but have a personality?"

you expected him to laugh with you. it was funny in your head. but the man simply looks at you, brows furrowed. your laughter dies out. you just had to ruin it.

"sorry." you mumble.

"don't ever say that again." he doesn't scold you. he isn't angry. he is disappointed. "i can't believe you would ever think of yourself like that."

"it was just a silly joke."

"i don't like it. it breaks my heart." his voice is quiet. "i have- actually, never mind. my turn, was it?"

"you have...? you have what?" you set the bottle down and sit up straight, legs still on his lap. "choi san don't leave me hanging."

"it's stupid. if i show you, i might as well just jump from here to save myself from humiliation."

"okay, now i need to know. you can't just say that and then move on." he avoids your pleading eyes.

you pull your legs away from him, and before he can protest, you get on your knees, still on the couch, and clasp your hands. he knows he's weak. yet he still looks at you, and he wants to smack himself from the way his bottoms feel tight after seeing you on your knees with big pleading eyes. "you'll think i'm weird."

"i won't! i promise. please, please, pretty please?"

and just how can he say no to you? hesitantly, he reaches for his pocket. he pulls out a wallet, and you're confused at first. until he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to you. "i'll see myself out."

"you're not going anywhere." you plant your palm on his chest, pushing him back to lay against the couch. you turn the paper over, and your breathing stops. it's a polaroid from back in paris. you remember snapping pictures of him and the manager as a joke. you remember the manager doing the same to you. you thought the pictures turned out bad, you didn't even want to look at them. your outfit was a mess, your hair as well, and you had a chocolate stain on the dress you wore. none of it was visible on the photo. just san and you, acting silly in front of the eiffel tower, smiling wide. sihun was only taking pictures of you, yet san managed to smoothly photobomb and earned himself the cherished polaroid. "san..."

"i know. it's weird. i'm sorry."

it wasn't weird. unexpected? sure. you weren't even aware that you had a picture with san. that day was very difficult for you; you had forgotten to pack san's famous leather vest for the show, you spilled coffee on two of your outfits, and the chocolate from the croissant dripped on your third one. the wind kept tangling your hair, and you dropped your stone magnet as soon as you stepped foot out of the shop and broke it. what was a disastrous day for you was a memorable day for san, it seems.

"oh, san." you become all giddy and soft at the thought of him carrying the photo in his wallet.   "you were just carrying this around all this time?"

"...no?" his pretty eyes lock with yours, the city lights making them glimmer.

he expects you to call him weird. to slap him. to tear the photo. what he doesn't expect is for you to bring the polaroid to your lips, then press a kiss to the back of it.  the action leaves a pink imprint of your lips behind, in the shape of a heart. you return it to san, who is stunned by your action. "you're so cute it hurts."

you stand up and pick up the empty cans, but not before playfully poking his dimple. he is left in silence for a few moments, replaying what just happened. his fingers brush the pink print you gifted him so generously, and he doesn't know what takes him over. he brings it to his face, pressing his own lips on the same place you did. he allows himself a short moment of peace, closing his eyes and inhaling the sweet scent you've left behind. gods, what a fool. kissing a piece of paper.

he thinks that you don't see him. but you do, in the reflection of the open glass door of the balcony. you allow him to have the moment while you rummage through your cupboards. by the time you are back on the balcony, san is almost laying on the couch. his cheeks are flushed both from alcohol and your actions, fingers fidgeting with the polaroid, and his dimples on display as he foolishly grins at the picture.

"i hope you're not on a calorie deficit." you toss a small bag of chips his way. he fails to catch it, and it lands on his face. "oopsies."

"i'm not. i'm bulking." he says as he examines the bag.

"and you hide it all under that hoodie. tsk."

he stubbornly wears the hood still. you don't have a clear view of his pretty face, aside from the glasses that peek out and rest on his nose, and it bothers you. but you won't press him. you'll let him set his own pace. "are we continuing the game?"

"if you want to. it's your turn, i think."

he watches curiously as you open a box of strawberry pepero. "when you got the job and had the opportunity to choose first, you didn't want to choose. why?"

"as a long time atiny, i didn't want to. i didn't want to make it seem like i like one of you more than the rest." you shrug.

"and you ended up with me."

"and i ended up with you." you confirm. "were you disappointed? i don't speak your language. i don't fit the beauty standards. i was pretty clumsy. i wouldn't hire myself."

"you're too harsh on yourself." san scolds. "i was actually happy and excited. i could practice my english with you. and look at me now! unstoppable."

unimpressed, you bite on the first pepero stick. "so i'm just an english lesson to you."

"you're being mean again. anyways, my turn."

the man takes a moment to think as he chews on the potato chips. he politely covers his mouth as he does so, and reminds you just how perfect he is. how something as simple as chewing has you make heart eyes at him you don't know.

"who was your bias before this?"

you choke on the treat. you didn't expect that. the reaction has him perk up. he sits up straight, crossing his legs and looking at you with an amused grin, awaiting the answer.

"well?"

"you won't get mad?"

he already frowns at the fact that it isn't him. "no..."

"alright then." you take your sweet time chewing the treat, making san's patience run dry. "my bias was..."

"you're killing me." he whines.

"wooyoung."

"what?!"

"my turn!"

"wooyoung?!"

"oh, come on. it was long ago. you're my favourite now. maybe. besides, you said you won't get mad."

"i lied."

he lays back down, sulking. arms crossed over his chest, and his lips poutier than ever. "are you really mad because you weren't my bias since day one?"

"no. i'm mad because out of all of them, it had to be wooyoung."

the streets are slowly dying out, and the building lights are dimming one by one. it is well past midnight. san is cozy on the couch, not showing any signs of getting up and leaving any time soon. you don't mind. you're happy that he feels comfort in your place. in you.

once done sulking, he sits up straight again.

"want one?" you point at the box of treats.

"sure."

he watches you pull out a single one. his hand tries to grasp it, but you simply avoid it and aim for his lips. you place the pink treat on his lips, which so obediently part and take the sweet stick between his teeth. you're grateful for the soju. otherwise, you wouldn't have san eating out of your hand as he looks at you like you are his whole world. you gently push the treat as he chews, and when your fingers graze his plush lips once he gets to the end, you have to fight yourself to not jump on him. san makes it hard by mischievously licking his lips, and your thumb in the process.

"another?"

he nods. in no time, you push him so that he leans against the backrest again. he gasps when you sit on his lap, hands flying to your thighs for support. the hood is finally pushed back by you, revealing the pretty flushed face under the moonlight and street lights. his touch burns your skin over the thin fabric of your pajamas. you are in awe of the size of his palm, which covers a significant amount of your thigh.

"open up." your voice is a mere whisper. he does as you say, and you waste no time in placing the pepero stick between his teeth, but not before playfully teasing him and swirling it around his tongue first. the strawberry and ruby chocolate melt on his taste buds, and he wishes for nothing more than to taste the other pink that is your lips. as he bites down, a satisfying crunch meets your ears. "good boy."

he almost purrs when your hand caresses his cheek. he might combust on this very couch tonight.

"you're so pretty. i could just put you on my shelf and watch you all day long." you're not sure where all this is coming from. you had buried it deep down. was the bottle of soju really enough to make all of this flood out of you? curiosity paints his features, resulting in big glossy eyes and furrowed brows. "my pretty boy." 

he almost whimpers. he's lucky he has the treat in his mouth, because he masks the pathetic whimper by swallowing the pepero. he watches as your other hand retrieves another one, this time placing it between your lips. his face feels warm under your touch. his body is at your complete mercy. all he can do is squeeze your thighs from nervousness as your face inches closer and closer to him. the other end of the stick is pressed against his lips, and he takes it again. he forces himself to go slow, and not like a guinea pig eating an asparagus.

eyes are fluttering shut, breathing becomes shallow, and anticipation pools in lower stomachs as the pepero stick becomes shorter and shorter. san feels your warm breath caress his lips. he smells the strawberries and your lip gloss. he feels your hair tickle his cheeks as your upper body hovers above him. he is aware of the burning situation on his lower area where the two of you are connected. he is overwhelmed.

there is a single bite that separates the two of you. san stops. he isn't brave. you stop as well. and for a moment, he panics. his hands squeeze your thighs in an attempt to keep you from running away again. not this time. not again. and you don't disappoint him.

you bite down on the last bit, and finally, press your lips against his. san exhales into the kiss. he has dreamed of this moment every night. every day. every time he'd see you reapply your lip gloss or lip balm. the scent of sickeningly sweet fruits envelops him, and while he would usually complain, he now welcomes it.

every time he smells a strawberry, a blueberry, a cherry, or a chocolate, he will be reminded of the way your pretty lips feel like a plush cloud against his. of the way you take his bottom lip between your teeth, gently tugging it. of the way your hot tongue swipes over the now slightly swollen lip, as an apology. of the way your body yearns for him, fingers tangling into his hair, playing with the strands. hips hopelessly seeking friction. shallow gasps leaving you whenever you pull away to catch your breath.

of the way his hands can't get enough of you. the way they slide under your top, just to rest on your waist. feeling your burning skin under his touch. fingers tracing up your spine and leaning you further against him. like he doesn't want a single atom to stand between you. his other hand gripping the back of your head, deepening the kiss. tasting you like it's his last meal. like he was made to touch you, taste you.

like he was born to love you.

san effortlessly picks you up. he walks over to the nearby wall, pressing you against it. the cold concrete cools you down. soon enough, your clothes are a mess on the floor. you can't help the exhale of awe that leaves you as your fingers trace san's shoulders, collarbones, then his chest and abs. he fails to hide a proud smile, dimples cutely peeking out. his glasses are all fogged up. you don't want to remove them. the contrast between his face and body should be studied.

"still think i'm pretty?" he huffs, trying to unbuckle his belt while he still holds your body against the wall. he is insanely strong.

you respond with a courageous act; tongue swiping from his collarbone and up his neck, until you stop by his ear. you bite down on his earlobe, and then graze his ear shell with your lips before whispering:  "the prettiest."

hands clumsily help him undo his belt, and once his pants hit the floor and he is left in boxers only, he doesn't waste time in pinning you further up the wall so that your legs fall over his shoulders. fingers dig into your thighs as he dives in, teeth pulling the thin fabric aside and tongue eager to taste you. you're lucky it's nighttime.

pretty eyes look at you as the tip of his tongue barely grazes the sensitive bud between your legs. watching your face. studying your expressions. enjoying the way your brows furrow and mouth hangs open as he finally tastes you. you hold onto his shoulder with one hand, and pull his hair with the other. sweet moans are music to his ears. he notices you enjoy slow but deep strokes. so that's what he does: savours you slowly, deeply, to your core. it feels as if all air has been knocked out of your lungs.

before you can fall apart in his mouth, your hand yanks his head away. you half expect the moan that leaves his flushed lips. san carefully sets you down. he then watches in awe as you lower down on your knees. the boxers free his needy cock from their grip. it finds relief in your gentle grasp. san hisses as your tongue softly swirls around his sticky tip. he chokes when your lips close around it, barely even stuffing the tip before you gag. tears prickle your eyes as you test your limits, pushing his thick length to slide down your tongue and touch the back of your throat.

you didn't take san as a noisy man during sex. not that you thought about him in that light. once or twice, maybe. you aren't complaining. not as his hand caresses your hair, gently pulling it every now and then, refraining himself from just snapping his hips and making you cry as he loses himself to the feeling. his moans are pathetic. in a hot way. in a way that makes you realize you want to have san squirming, whining and begging under your touch.

so when both your hands join your mouth on his throbbing cock, san loses his mind. his whimpers intensify, and his hips hopelessly move in rhythm with your head. "fuck-"

you pull away, but don't stop your hands from moving. "you close, baby?"

"oh," he breathes out at the new nickname. "so close. fuck, so close."

"you want to make a mess on me?" you offer, sticking your tongue out and placing his cock on it.

"no," he declines.

"why not?" to your knowledge, every man wanted that. you've tried it. weren't exactly impressed. but for san? you'd do it again and again. "you don't want to paint my face? my tits?"

he shakes his head breathlessly. "you are too pretty for that. it's degrading. i don't want it."

and just like that, he makes you melt all over again. just when he thinks you'll tip him over the edge, your hands abandon him. but it's late. his cock twitches, and he gasps in disbelief as he watches himself leak on the floor. he lets out a frustrated grunt from the ruined orgasm. he misses the way your eyes darken at his needy and upset expression. you felt sorry at first. but now, you might have discovered a new side of san you like.

"aw, my poor sannie." you cup his face, thumbs caressing his cheeks. you feel liquid on them. fuck, is he crying? "baby?"

"i'm- it's fine," he looks away, humiliated.

"sannie." like a lost, obedient puppy, san's glossy eyes lock with yours. "you're so good to me. such a patient little puppy."

"i am?"

"of course you are. you're my pretty boy. and i'll reward you for being so good to me."

"really?" he is intrigued. "how?"

"are you feeling frustrated?" your fingers move the loose strands of hair from his face, caressing his head in the process. "did i ruin your orgasm?"

"n-no..." he stutters.

"i did, didn't i? poor baby." you award him with a sweet kiss. enough to have him chase you when you pull away. but you press your finger against his lips, silently telling him to wait. "you want to cum, sannie?"

"yes, please." san breathes out. "pretty please."

"then use me, baby." you give yourself to him, fingers unhooking your bra and leaving you bare before his eyes. "use me, punish me, breed me, destroy me. do whatever you want. i'm all yours."

san's mouth waters. his ears are buzzing. he hesitates, at first. once his hands lay on your body again, fire reignites within him. he pulls you in for a kiss, desperately searching for the sweetness of your mouth. the taste of you melts on his tongue. you let him set the pace. he is so lost in the way you taste that he doesn't even realize he is rubbing himself against you, hips hopelessly searching for friction.

"need any help?" you purr into his ear as he switches to kissing your neck.

he only hums, and you waste no time in gripping his sensitive cock again.

"you have such a pretty cock, sannie."

if only you knew before how hot male whimpering was. you would've found yourself a submissive man as soon as possible. but your patience and unknowledge is rewarded, life gifting you san for what you've missed.

san turns you around so that you are bent over the glass railing. you feel his sticky tip brush past your thighs, rubbing against your clit, before diving into your warmth. when he bottoms out, he releases a moan of pleasure and relief. you wish you could see his face, but you'll settle for shameless moaning into your ear as he presses his torso against your back and starts moving. you feel him deep in your belly, so much that the sight of it has a new wave of arousal gushing out of you.

"you're so pretty," he is a blubbering mess. his grip is strong on your waist, and so is the one in your hair. your head is pulled back so that you can catch a glimpse of his fucked out face. "you feel so good- fuck-"

"come on, baby. use me."

"i want to- i want to-" he breathes out between moans.

"you want to cum?"

"yes, please. please, please, please- i can't- ah!"

he's taken aback when your hips slam into his. he lets you regain control, pathetically clinging to you as you work your hips at a rough and fast pace, inching him closer to the promised orgasm. then, you slow down. you feel his every vein against your walls. you feel his leaking tip kiss your cervix as you take him deep, causing both of you to gasp and reach for each other. not able to take it anymore, you pull out just enough so you can turn around. he slides back in like he was made for you, filling you up to the brim and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, all while his hands leave bruises on your thighs and waist as he tries his best to control himself.

"come on, baby. wreck me." you moan against his lips.

san deliciously grazes your sweet spot, and once he finds out just what you like, he slams his hips into yours. his teeth bite into your shoulder, drops of sweat cover his body and make his hair stick to his forehead. yet san doesn't care. he is lost in the feeling of you. in the sound of you. in the sight of you.

"sannie-" you breathe out. "fuck, baby, you're doing so good. you're such a good boy."

now you're a blubbering mess. orgasm inching closer, san abusing your sweet spot with his hot tip, hitting it over and over until a strangled moan meets his ears and your body starts twitching in his arms. the sight of you falling apart has san finally reach his own release. ropes of cum shoot inside you, giving you a warm sensation as you recover. san shudders under your touch as you rub his back, quiet whimpers leaving him as he sloppily rides out his orgasm.

"my pretty boy." you praise him. his hair is now slicked back due to sweat and your caressing. he finds comfort in hugging your body close to him and resting his head on your shoulder. "you did amazing, baby. you made me feel so good."

"i did?" san asks, then raises his head enough to take a look at you.

you press your lips to his forehead, and finally, remove the foggy and drenched glasses and put them up on your head as a hair band so that he comfortably lays back on your shoulder. "of course you did."

you don't know how long you stand like that. until the sweat on the two of you dries, and a chill enters your bodies. you drag san back to the couch, laying on it first and inviting him to lay down with you. he wastes no time in helping you wear your top, then wears his own boxers. finally, he lays down with you. head snuggled on your chest, arms wrapped around your waist, as if you'll fade if he lets go.

"good night, san."

"good night, princess."

you're both covered with a thin blanket. just when you start falling into slumber, san wakes you with a tiny voice.

"am i really yours?"

"you are."

"can you say it again?" he mumbles, half asleep.

"you're mine?"

"no, the other thing."

"my pretty boy?"

"yes. good night."

"good night, mr choi."

he pinches your thigh under the blanket, causing you to yelp. "sannie, not mr choi."

"i'm just messing with you, sannie. good night."

"good. good night." you don't miss the way his dimple appears, even though you can't see his smile from this position.

and you can't wait to poke it every chance you get.

[baepsays]

I'd give you everything, I just want to see you win ⸻ clan head Gojo

chapter summary ⸻ Things have been tense between you and your husband, and he is determined to resolve it, but you seem reluctant.

pairing ⸻ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

chapter warnings ⸻ angst, fluff, suggestive stuff in the hallways, gojo just trying his best, never ending yearning continues, gojo going through it, some more sad backstory, heavy tension, still slow burn, actual progress between them?

a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

word count: 8.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

chapter three: Pink Camellias

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Maybe the usual white wreaths of chrysanthemums, or perhaps something more grand. White dahlias, or maybe white roses? Maybe that’d be too hopeful for a funeral. Maybe even in death Gojo Satoru, the one alone honored through heaven and earth, the strongest, cannot have flowers that match his caliber, and maybe it's better to leave these things unanswered. 

Because more often than not, he wonders if there would’ve been a funeral to even begin with—because something tells him his body would have been preserved for ages to come, displayed in some glass case, or hung up on some wall. Like a war-winning sword, too rusty and worn out to use, but gallant as ever to boast and display as a threat over the enemies’ heads. 

And he wonders if that was the death he would've been satisfied with. If he would've gladly passed away, knowing there would not even have been a grave with his name on it. But then again, death does not knock at your door with options in its hands. You do not get to choose how, where, or when you were born, and neither do you get a say about these things in death. Even if you lose all your hope and will to live, death is supposedly always predetermined. Even if you are Gojo Satoru, no, maybe especially if you are Gojo Satoru, these things are simply out of his hands.

Maybe it is precisely why Gojo Satoru has not let his guard down many times in his life. Because whenever he did, he met his eventual demise.

Time and time again, he was proven right that he could not let himself be treated like any other human. Or even get treated humanely enough to begin with—that it is not possible for him to exist if it is not to aid others' peaceful existence. Even if he does not understand the better part of humanity, the majority that occupies this earth, the people for whom he relentlessly serves quietly and loses his friends. His existence signified something bigger than the deities in heaven, the ‘Gojo’ name attached to him meant more than his given name, and his powers required more acknowledgement than his identity.

He is a deeply flawed person for someone meant for greatness and divinity. 

Sometimes he thinks maybe that he wasn’t meant to be the bearer of the burden. He came to believe more in strength above virtues and all. He became someone who cannot accept his emotions, as they always turned out to be his most fatal weaknesses. The past that haunted him and the future that terrified him—how they crippled him and obstructed the path he wanted to carve out for the generations after him.

Though what truly prevented him from understanding what he stood against was himself.

No one is Gojo Satoru’s biggest enemy other than himself. No one truly cared about Gojo Satoru's failures more than himself. And no one wished more than Gojo Satoru that the world one day would finally get fed up with him enough to finally leave him alone.

And that is probably the biggest tragedy of Gojo Satoru's entire existence. The things he never understood and the things he refused to understand—those are the true reasons behind his demise. And the reasons why he never became anything more than a cautionary tale. The god who failed to gauge his opponent’s strength and met his eventual death. Truly the fate of a tragic hero is to crumble and die during the most crucial of times. Shining under the spotlight during the climax, lying lifelessly on the ground in a pool of his own blood, with a smile on his face.

So what if he could feel the ground soaking in his blood, pooling underneath him, cooling down as his consciousness slowly drifted away into some abyss he did not think he'd return from? If it meant that his loved ones got to have another shot at survival at the cost of his life depleting from his cold corpse, he would not mind that choice, again and again. 

Maybe finally, then, the world had enough of Gojo Satoru. Maybe his life was enough of a bargain, perhaps not the first time, but the second time around, it was the prize for restraint. 

But dead or alive, he will always remain the enigma, the unmatched, the strongest, and the honored one. In life or death, the biggest weapon of jujutsu society, and in the entire existence of this world, is nothing more than a myth. That only manifested once in a few centuries and eons.

When the cold winter air becomes warm, and spring starts to quickly flee, the cherry blossoms all fall off the tree. 

It is disheartening to see once full and pink trees lacking those hues. But when the ground gets covered by those fallen petals, and the air smells sweet, those trees start to sprout little leaves. The shiny little light shade of greens that pop up signifies that summer was just around the corner. Time for new beginnings to turn into age-old stories.

And yet, for one couple suffering from the great effects of misunderstandings created by their unfortunate circumstances and their poor understanding of emotions, it was misery.

To be completely honest, you have often wondered how things would have been if you had married an unkind man instead. If instead of averting his gaze from you, he looked you in the eye and told you that he could not stand you. Maybe things would have been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier to hate him like that. It would have been predictable at least, the same age-old stories you have been watching unfold with your grandparents, your parents, and almost every lady who was unfortunate enough to have been born at the same status as you. And maybe you would have become one of them, ignored, neglected, bitter, and forgotten. It would be way easier then to keep to yourself in the boundaries that you have established for yourself in this estate, and there would not be any presence of this nagging feeling to cross them constantly. 

It’d have been easier that way to understand why Gojo Satoru looked like he was suffering through deep pains when you were anywhere near him. 

Instead, now you are left with your incomprehensible personal thoughts and actions. Why, despite all the kindness he showed you—more than what most husbands of arranged alliances have probably shown to their spouses—could you not bring yourself to be satisfied with just that? Could you not be glad that he was not at least similar to the men you have grown up around? Could you not accept that bare minimum? Have you been foolishly expecting some whirlwind romance to sweep you off your feet? 

You should not bite the hands that are feeding you. Just because for once someone has given you some respect in this society that holds you a prisoner does not mean you get to act like a fool. It is crucial you understand your place in this equation. You are a normal and weak human being, somehow tied to the strongest— Gojo Satoru, the once-in-a-lifetime myth of this jujutsu society. 

Though you must say, you never really understood the myth of Gojo Satoru. So self-sacrificial and benevolent, all for what? 

But it does not take understanding to worship a myth. You were aware of that when you gave up all your hope in the heavens above, when you saw others closing their eyes and praying for everything their hearts desired, while you stood there blinking and wondering what the point of all of this was. What was the point of asking God to pardon you from the inevitable? Things like birth, sacrifices, hatred, and death. And like these many inevitabilities, it just happened to be that you married a man who is as mythical as the gods in heaven; perhaps that is why you don't really get him. But perhaps he was a god you could finally believe in or a myth you could worship? 

But what was the point of worshiping your husband when you cannot truly love him?

And you cannot make any sense out of this bizarre relationship you have come to form with him. Not truly a husband, neither a lover, but more than an acquaintance, less than a friend. It is not that you enjoy being around him, but you get anxious when you do not see him for prolonged periods of time. You do not seek his approval, but you wish to appease him. Inevitabilities cannot be avoided, but things like love and affection can be carved out of a stone. And perhaps you have started to fool yourself into thinking that you are deserving of such a thing when you are stuck in a relationship lacking those feelings.

It is exceptionally greedy to want so much from a god, to want more and more from him when he has given up his literal life for others. So how could you ask your human husband, on par with the gods, to become the truly idealized husband you secretly always hoped for? 

Hasn't he given you enough?

“Ma’am? MA’AM!” Mia, one of the girls given the responsibility to look after your immediate needs, called you out of your daydreaming. 

“Are you alright, Gojo-san? You have been looking lost for the past couple of days.” Suki leaned down to fix your makeup while Mia continued to work on your hair. Mornings have never had such a routine for you. 

“Yes, yes, I am. Do not mind me. Also, you two should stop addressing me as Gojo-san.” Your voice dimmed out of shyness.

“But we cannot, ma’am, orders from Gojo-sama.” Mia smiled at you in the mirror and went back to fixing your hair. 

Their concern was justified. Since what happened with your husband at the lake, things have been awkward between the two of you. You have been anxiously hiding away from him, directly calling Ichiji to ask about the dinner preparations, and trying to delay your breakfast until he goes to his home office in the left wing or gets called out for meetings or work, even going as far as to have dinner earlier or later than usual by yourself with some lazy excuse. Because it was embarrassing. 

Why did you even say those things to him at the lake? Did it even matter? Even if he hated you, did that matter? Or was it the fact that he didn't deny it even once?

Instead, you've started getting bouquets of flowers from him every day. He never shows up to deliver them or hand them to you himself; it is either one of the staff or Ichiji who gets them to you. Sometimes the staff will decorate them in a pretty vase on the dining table or on the little coffee table in front of the windows by the armchair in your bedroom, and other times they’d be wrapped up neatly in some sort of decorative paper in an intricately arranged bouquet. And every time you look at those gorgeous flowers, they make you think about just how shallow this relationship is.

“Good morning, Gojo-san. Late again, huh?” The chef said, as you sat yourself at the little dining table in the corner of the kitchen, mostly used by the kitchen staff, and now you.

“Good morning, Suzuki-san, just been tired lately.” You flashed him one of your practiced fake smiles. But unfortunately, in the brief period of time he has come to know you, he got a hold on how you actually look when you smile. When you eat the dessert at the end of the meal, the way your face lights up can be easily distinguished from when you force yourself to eat cucumbers and put on this smile after swallowing them down with what looks like ease. 

“No cucumbers in the salad today.” He gave you a smile before setting it down with the rest of your breakfast. 

“Thank you very much.” You sheepishly thanked him before digging into your meal, hungry from making yourself wait to have the first meal of your day. All just to avoid running into your husband.

“So, what flower is it today?” The chef asked with his back turned towards you; he only chimed in once you were about halfway through eating your food. Even though he was busy tidying up the kitchen and putting away dishes, the nonchalance with which he asked the question had mirth in it.

His question made you think back to the lilies sitting in your room, tall, beautiful, and fragrant, in hues of pink and white. You only looked at them once in passing when Suki mentioned where she should place them. And you offhandedly told her, ‘anywhere.’ As gorgeous as they were, they meant nothing. Just a sad apology for a sad situation. Where it feels as if you both are at fault, but also not quite really. 

“Lilies.” 

“Oh, my granddaughter loves them!” 

“Would you like to take them back with you?” 

You offered him the flowers more enthusiastically after you finished the rest of your coffee, but the chef stiffened up. 

“Oh, ma’am, that is so kind of you, but I cannot do that.” Mr. Suzuki rubbed his hand dry once he was done cleaning up, and he fully turned towards you to deny your offer.

“Why not? I am sure they will stay fresh for a few days. If you are concerned that the flowers will wilt." With your dirty plates and mug, dodging Mr. Suzuki’s attempt to take them off your hands, you walked towards the sink.

“It is not that-just—” 

“You know you can speak freely with me, Suzuki-san.” You continued to wash the dirty plates as Mr. Suzuki kept fretting beside you. 

“Gojo-sama got them for you. How could I—” The chef nervously tried to explain to you. 

“Technically he gave them away to me, so now they are mine, and I can do as I please with them.” Mr. Suzuki kept staring at you, blinking away, with nothing to refute your analogy.

“I would rather they wither with someone who actually wants them.” You finally looked at him after drying your hands, with a pleading voice.

“Oh, now you are making me feel bad.” Mr. Suzuki smiled at you sympathetically. He was stuck in a dilemma. On one hand was his employer, the head of the clan, the kid he saw growing up into a fine young man, for whom he couldn't help but root. And on the other hand was you, the new madame of the estate, the timid little girl whom he has come to think of like his own granddaughter.

“If it makes you accept them, then sure.”

“I insist, please.” The way you looked at Mr. Suzuki, with your face scrunched in a little sad frown, the old man could not help but concede.

“All right.” The old man said with a long sigh. But your smile and incessant thank yous made him smile to himself when you skipped out of the kitchen, happy to have successfully negotiated something in your life for once.

Mr. Suzuki was glad to have made you happy and could already imagine how happy his granddaughter would be as well when she sees those flowers tonight when he gets back home. 

Yet he couldn't help but feel pity and a tinge of pang in his chest for your husband.

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Recently, he has been thinking about flowers more often than he used to. But for a completely different reason.

Since that night at the lake, he has been trying to come up with different ways to express how apologetic he is. Which is hard for Gojo Satoru. There haven't been many instances where he had to genuinely apologize for hurting someone's feelings. And no, it is not because he is some compassionate, empathetic soul; he just has the power, strength, and wealth to get away with anything. 

It is true that privilege makes you blind. Gojo Satoru realized that the hard way after he married you. He has unfortunately hurt you one too many times in the brief time he's known you, even before he married you. He remembers when, after you two got engaged, he asked your father to have dinner at your house. He wanted to see the place where you grew up; maybe after dinner he'd have asked you for a tour of the estate and a walk in the gardens with you after dinner—to get to know you better. 

And yet his duties didn't let him do that.

Professionally, in the context of the reformed jujutsu society, things have been better overall. Even for him, his messed-up schedule has become somewhat adequate. Now instead of three hours of sleep, he gets five whole hours! Not the hallmark of a healthy sleep routine, but that's an improvement nonetheless.

Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner, he was called away for an emergency meeting. If you asked him now, his opinion would be that it was not important enough to skip dinner with you (and your family). But sadly, even just a few months ago, Satoru wasn't the married, mature man he is currently! Still, the next day when he heard from your father that you didn't eat anything at the table, it stung. 

He told himself he'll make it up to you somehow. And yet, since he married you, he's stepped on all the wrong stones around you. 

This time around, he felt worse. It might have been because he's come to acknowledge his feelings for you. The fact that he has developed slight feelings of affection for you is astonishing. But he does need this to work out between you two, because he can't get married again. It’s all just so tedious! Yeah! That's the reason why. These are feelings similar to when you wish to permanently keep a kitten found on the side of the road, even though you planned on just fostering it.

Or maybe it was the fact that despite all his pretenses, you still managed to see through the facade he has perfected over the years. It scared him, but it made him more and more upset with himself. Not because he failed to fool you, but because everything has been so confusing for him—these feelings he has never truly felt before to this degree, and the lack of understanding he has for them, and the fact that you are getting caught up in this mess of sentiments and getting hurt by him. Unintentionally or not, he made you feel bad about yourself.

He couldn't just live with that. He couldn't just stand there and act like everything was fine. Not when you were ignoring him, avoiding being in his presence, and moving to sleep on the cramped loveseat in your bedroom when you felt like he was deep asleep—as much as your presence pained him, your absence pained him more.

But why was he even feeling all these intense feelings? He would rather not know the answer.

He just wanted to make amends with you as soon as possible. He genuinely does not fancy Ichiji showing up at his door to ask what he'd have for dinner, to relay the answer back to you—he means, the kitchen. 

Satoru wants you to ask him, personally, what he wants for dinner. To have meals with you at the dining table as usual and wake up to your sleeping face, to stare at it for forty-five minutes before getting off the bed. And if he wants things to go back to how they used to be, he needs to say his sorrys. Which he sucks at. So here he was, doing what he was best at—buying things!

And since he doesn't know you well enough, actually, he knows basically nothing about you—he does plan on changing that—except for the fact that you like staring at the trees and the flowers at the lake. Which is why he went with the flowers.

After what happened at the lake, he tried to follow you to your bedroom, but when he got there, you had already locked yourself in the bathroom. In the morning when he woke up, you were not there beside him; the bed on your side looked neat, like it wasn't slept in. He later noticed the blanket and pillows on the loveseat in his bedroom and added two and two together. So he waited at the dining table for you to join him for breakfast with a bouquet of tulips. And when you didn't show up even then, well past breakfast, he had no other choice but to leave the bouquet with someone to hand it over to you. 

Later that night, when he found those tulips arranged in a pretty glass vase on the dining table, his entire face lit up. He sat down in his chair, expecting you to join him, and when you didn't, he went to the kitchen and got to know you ate earlier before he arrived. Then when he went to your room to look for you, he found the little card, saying sorry in his handwriting—that he slipped into the bouquet—in the trashcan in his bathroom. And he understood that you, in fact, hadn't accepted either the bouquet or the apology. 

But Gojo Satoru is nothing if not persistent! Since then, he kept getting you different varieties of flowers. Telling himself that, at least one of these days, your heart will melt looking at the pretty blooms. He got sunflowers, more tulips, roses in different colors, lilies, and some varieties of hydrangeas—whatever flowers were in season or he could get with his bottomless wallet.

He’d place the flowers on your nightstand every morning, and when he'd come back home, he'd ask either Mia or Suki if there was any noticeable reaction from you. Often you’d just hand over the flowers after instructing them to place them in a sunny spot. Sometimes they'd tell him that you took some time longer to smell certain flowers, like hydrangeas and lilies, before handing them over—and he'd make a mental note to repeat those flowers on his roaster. 

But the cards with his handwritten sorrys would always end up in the trashcan of your shared bathroom.

Today, he got you an assortment of lilies, pinks and whites, some in full bloom, some still unopened buds. And he hoped that you liked them; maybe you finally smiled a little and kept the card this time. He really hoped that was the case as Ichiji pulled up in the driveway of the Gojo estate.

He kept staring at the mansion from his window. As it got closer and closer, he saw your silhouette at the main entrance. Standing there smiling, bidding goodbye to some staff as they retired for the night, including Chef Suzuki, who was the last one to bid you goodbye with a smile on his face. As he was walking away, Satoru saw a bouquet of flowers in his hands, lilies to be exact. And when he rolled down his window, he saw the same pink and white lilies in the chef's arms. Some of the buds were now partially open, and the flowers he saw blooming in the morning were upright and bigger than before. 

“ICHIJI! STEP ON IT!” Satoru leaned forward and shouted at Ichiji with urgency, making the poor man stiffen up in his seat.

“Y-yes sir!” Ichiji nervously looked back and forth between the glass in front of him and his boss in the rearview mirror as he did what he was instructed to do. 

In that instance, Satoru wished he lived somewhere smaller. An apartment, maybe. One bedroom, one living room, one bathroom, barely a kitchen, a nightmare to live in, but that's all he wished for right now. Somewhere small enough that it wouldn't take thirty minutes for his stupid car to go from the main gate to the main entrance. 

“Oh, fuck it.” 

With those last words, Gojo Satoru teleported away. 

It was almost a routine for you to bid the staff goodbye at the door; after all, they always took such great care of you. Sure, it got lonely at night when most of the people in this massive mansion were gone, but nonetheless you were glad they had loving homes to get back to after a long day of work. It made you somewhat jealous that you never had that, a home to look forward to going back to. You had at least hoped that maybe someday you'd be that home for someone to come back to. But how things are going with your husband seems like it'll stay a wishful dream.

“WAIT!” 

You couldn't help but pick up your pace, hearing Satoru’s voice suddenly speak out from behind you. Even though his legs were longer than yours, you speed-walked as fast as you could and made sure to not turn around even once. Once you took a turn down the hallway that led you into the main part of the estate from the entrance, you couldn't hear his footsteps. 

But you were forgetting there is no point in running from the lion in the lion's den. Especially if the lion can teleport.

From there on, you kept turning around to check if he was following you. Fortunately, you didn't notice his shadow or his voice. Soon enough you were in the hallway that sat between the main part and the right wing of the mansion. 

Calling this place a mansion was honestly not appropriate; the way the structures were built and how every route to one part of the mansion connected to another, the gorgeous lighting down to the lit marble floors—it was nothing less than a castle to you. Including how beautifully this hallway was built. Each hallway that separated the main part of the mansion from the left wing and the right wing was designed to look alike. There were gorgeous pillars that lined up from one end of the hallway to the other end, standing tall on each side of the marble floor that led to the right wing. On each side, between the pillars, there was just enough space to fit an intricately carved statue, or a big vase, or two people. You've only heard how the one leading to the left wing looked exactly the same. 

Whenever you're here, it makes you want to peek into the spaces between the walls and the pillars, but you never got around to doing it. That is until now.

“Got you.” 

Satoru pulled you by your wrist and dragged you with him behind the pillars. He pressed you back to one of the pillars; with both his hands on the pillar behind you, he had you caged between him and the long structure.

“Were you trying to run from me?” He raised one of his eyebrows in question, and something in his voice sounded like a challenge.

“I-I wasn't...” You tried to look away from him and turned your head to the side.

“You really want to do this right now?” He also turned his head and once again looked straight into your eyes. The blue pupils that wavered a few weeks ago to even look in your direction now looked straight into your own irises with no hesitation.

“Just how did you even get here?” Everything about this situation was frustrating. From where you were exactly standing, how close to him you were standing, how his eyes looked at you, and how they didn't even blink for at least a minute straight. 

What a strange man.

“I can teleport if you're forgetting.” His eyes followed your pupils in every direction they moved.

“Right…” You dryly swallowed, nervous about where this conversation was going.

“You're not going to ask me why I asked you to wait? Also, how rude of you to instantly start running when I asked you to wait for me?”

“It just—I just—it happened automatically.”

“Are you serious?”

He looked at you incredulously. Like you've gone and personally offended him. Which you've probably done more than one time since he sat down in front of you the very first day you two met. 

“Gojo-san?” Before Satoru could continue with reprimanding you, Mia’s voice came into both of your ears.

It was already well past 12:00 AM. Usually by now you're already in bed or at least in one of the sitting rooms reading something. It was expected that Mia would come looking for you since you asked her to draw you a bath before you could head to bed. 

“I wonder if she got lost again.” Mia mumbled to herself as she looked around the area for you. 

Each individual pillar was thick enough to hide one or two people behind it easily. So when you tried to get Mia’s attention, it came in handy for Satoru. He pressed his right hand’s palm to your mouth, and his left hand flew to your waist as he leaned in to keep sandwiched between the pillar and him.

“MMHMF!” Your voice was completely muffled by his huge hand.

“What?” He whispered close to your face; you could feel the warmth of his breath mixing in with yours. You could even feel the coolness of his hands on your mouth and through the silk of your robe. 

“Mmmf mf mmff mm!” You muffled some more in his hand, trying to get your words across to him, and hoping some of the stupid noises you were making would get to Mia's ears before anything worse than what was happening happened.

“Want me to take my hand off?” You nodded vigorously while gripping onto the wrist of his right hand, futilely trying to tear it away from you. While he just smirked at your struggle.

“So, what are you offering if I do take it off?” Satoru’s eyes were taking their time to move between your left and right eyes. The more intently he gazed into your eyes, the playful smirk on his face fell. He could feel your lips on his palm; he felt a little discomposed to be touching them, and now that he is cognizant of that, it was making his heart beat unusually fast. And he was afraid you could hear it too. But he could not just take his hand off your lips. 

“Mmhf.” You tapped his hand, trying to signal him to take it off so you could answer him. But not really; you were planning on escaping as soon as he'd take it off.

“Yeah, I could take it off, but I know very well you'd just run.” You shook your head aggressively and looked up at him with your best puppy-dog innocent eyes. And it did partially work; you best believe he was tempted to do as you asked.

“Hmm. How about you nod yes or no to my questions? When I'm done, I'll take it off.” Though you were a little nervous about what he was exactly about to ask you, still you nodded yes. He smiled for a second before furrowing his eyebrows. He looked serious, and he never really looked serious. Especially without his blindfold on, it was jarring to be this close to him and see him make such a face. 

It almost made you wish he continued to wear his blindfolds again. Which he has completely stopped wearing around you since what happened at the lake. 

“The lilies in Suzuki-san’s arms— were they the ones I gave you?” 

You stared at him dumbfounded for about two minutes or so. There was nothing wrong with what you did; you just gave them to someone who will appreciate them better instead of watching them wither away in front of your eyes. You shouldn't feel guilty about that, yet with each passing second you could see his eyes getting somber, and they looked like you had somehow hurt him again. 

With a guilty gulp, you slowly nodded yes.

“Why—I mean, I got you lilies before; did you not like them? Or just, it's this whole thing; do you want me to stop with the flowers?” Usually when your husband speaks, he speaks in precise hits and points. You don't remember him being a blabbering mess in a way that felt, for once, like he didn't intend on this. 

You nodded yes again. 

“Alright… But—just know that—I, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know how to explain myself. I want to, but—can I ask what I can do to properly say sorry to you?” With a sigh, he looked at you expectantly as he removed his hand off your mouth.

You stared at each other in the shadows behind the pillars. You were free to run away, but you could not. You could not leave him like this; you just couldn't do that.

“Instead of flowers, I'd—uh—much rather you got me a plant. And explained things to me. And I'm sorry too. I was being too harsh.” 

“You were not, trust me.” 

“I really want to.” 

There was no lie to what you just said. You did feel sorry about how things went down and how things have been going. You want to be nicer to him because he has been so kind to you. But he seems so unfathomable and like someone in another realm above you. And you are just you. Not worthy to stand beside him, much less eat with him at the same table or someone he could share his surname with. But what's done is done, and if you must coexist, there should at least be some mutual trust. 

“Gojo-san!?” When you heard Mia’s voice echoing at the end of the hall again, you moved out from the back of the pillars, leaving him behind in that little alley of shadow. With one last look at him, you walked away. 

A plant. Of all things, a plant. 

Since he got engaged to you, then married you, to now, you've never asked him for anything. And now you asked him for a plant. No jewelry, a no to flowers as well apparently, not even books or something more expensive. But a plant. And what plant exactly? 

“Ichiji.” Satoru sighed and rolled around in his office chair again. 

“Y-yes, sir?” There has never been one day when Ichiji didn't feel like throwing up if his boss asked him some stupid question.

“What plants are good as a gift?” And Ichiji's streak remains intact, because right now he feels like throwing up. 

“I—I don't know, sir, maybe a cactus?” What kind of stupid question even is that, and how do you even answer that?

“No, absolutely not. Too prickly, no. Maybe a flowering plant?” Satoru turned in his chair to stare out of the window behind his desk.

“Maybe a rose plant?” Ichiji suggested as he looked at the stack of papers on Satoru’s desk while piling up more papers on top of them.

“NO! Why are you just suggesting plants with thorns? Just go, leave!” And this is why Ichiji feels like throwing up everything Satoru asks him some stupid question. 

If Gojo Satoru wants to get his wife a gift she will actually like this time, he needs a second opinion. Which is not from him, assistant. So he left for home early that day, early enough to catch the gardener, who mainly looks after his estate gardens. 

“Watanabe!” 

The gardener stopped shearing the bushes and turned around to look at the source of the voice. Every time Satoru screams his name and runs to him, he remembers when he was barely three, running behind him, asking about plants. And he feels a smile stretching on his lips, looking at the snowy fluff of hair rushing to get to him. 

“How are you doing today, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe smiled at him and moved slowly to put his shears down; his age is finally catching up to him.

“Later, Watanabe! Can you tell me what's a good plant to gift someone?” Satoru asked him in a hurry, like time was ticking away too fast.

“Oh, well, succulents are everyone's favorite to gift.” The gardener was perplexed at his question; that was the last thing he was expecting.

“No, no, something pretty! Flower-bearing plant. Not roses; they are thorny, and everyone keeps recommending roses.” Mr. Watanabe laughed at his whiny tone. 

“Alright, if you don't want roses… But how about something similar? Without the  thorns, of course— how about camellias?” Satoru blinked at him, hearing about the flower for the first time.

“I don't know that one; do we have one here?” 

“No, unfortunately, we do not. But you might remember them from your grandfather’s funeral. They were his favorites.” 

Satoru does remember those flowers almost vividly. The white flowers were used to decorate for his grandfather’s funeral. Ever so stoic was the old Gojo, so hearing he liked such a bright and beautiful flower made him see his dead grandfather in a new light. But it did make sense for him to like those flowers. As beautiful as those flowers are, they were just as bold and elegant, words anyone would use to describe the old Gojo clan head. Satoru always thought those were just some very full roses, but apparently not. 

“Some reason why we don't have one in our garden?” Seeing all the varieties of roses in the west part of the estate’s garden, it didn't make sense to him why something so rose-adjacent wasn't here already.

“Well, your mother didn't like them. Unlike flowers like roses, camellias drop their entire flower instead of letting go of it petal by petal.” Satoru tilted his head and thought to himself about the eccentric plant.

“Your mother didn't like that; she said it was dreadful.” Mr. Watanabe sighed as he went to clear up some of the cuttings.

“Ok, so can I ask you… Uh, could you get me one of those plants?” Suddenly Satoru felt shy in front of the gardener. The same one to whom he'd run up as a child and demand whatever flower that would catch his eye that day.

“Oh, do you want us to plant one in the garden? Surely it could be arran—”

“No.” Satoru interrupted his train of words, “I mean—as a gift. Could you get me a small one?” The gardener stopped doing whatever he was doing to look at Satoru. For a moment he forgot why Satoru came up to him asking about plants. He thought the gift must have been some sort of formality. But if he is putting this much thought into this, it could only mean one thing. 

“What color do you think the camellias should be, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe’s smile widened. 

“Does it matter?” Gojo Satoru didn't know much about flowers or plants, which is why for the last few weeks Ichiji was responsible for sourcing out the most suitable and best flowers so he could give them to you.

“It sure does! Flowers have a language of their own!” Satoru blinked cluelessly at the old man.

“Well, what is the purpose of this gift?” Even though Mr. Watanabe had an idea who this gift could be for. He may be old, but he still keeps up with the gossip that goes around the estate.

“I want to—to apologize.” Satoru meekly said everything about this situation was a new experience for everyone. 

“And who are you apologizing to?” When Satoru’s ears became redder at his question and his eyes wavered a little in nervousness, Mr. Watanabe felt it was best to not tease the man any further.

“Alright then! How about a pink Camellia plant? It'd be perfect!” With many pats on Satoru’s back, the gardener picked up his shears and walked away smiling to himself, excited to make arrangements for Satoru's request. 

Satoru didn't know flowers could mean something other than, ‘Oh pretty!’ So he was curious why Mr. Watanabe thought particularly pink Camellia flowers would be perfect to get his feelings across.

Things have been somewhat better since your husband cornered you in the hallways the other day. You two have been eating together again; you're not sleeping on the couch, but you're still not really speaking to him. So the regular calls inquiring about dinner are still going to Ichiji, and other than eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed, nothing is really back to normal.

Like how usually on Sundays your husband is locked up in his office or hiding away from you or you're hiding away from him. But today, on this particular Sunday, Satoru is dragging you somewhere by your hand.

“Will you just tell me where we are going?” You were right behind him, and being this close to him, holding his hands, was not something you were used to. You could feel the rough calluses on his hand and the sheer size difference between yours and his hand. And it irritated you to even think that this feeling of his skin on your skin is not fading away anytime soon.

“How about I show you instead?” Even though all you could see was his back, you could hear the excitement in his voice.

“I really don't like surprises.” You mumbled to yourself as you looked around, realizing you two had already crossed the main part of the building and were well into the left wing. 

The colors of the walls, the marbles and stones on the floor, the painting on the wall, and the decorations scattered everywhere were cohesive with the rest of the mansion. It broke away the little illusion you had in your mind about the boundaries you created for yourself.

“Here we are.” 

Satoru walked through another hallway, which had large glass windows for walls. It felt like you were already outside, given how the pathway was lit with natural sunlight and overlooked everything in its surroundings. At the end of the hallway was an opaque glass door, which, when he opened, led into a room with plants. 

It was a greenhouse, with light blue tinted glass and humid, dewy air inside. There were not many plants inside, just some little seedlings and small plants that you were sure the gardeners were growing to plant in the gardens for the next season. 

“What is this…?” You could not help but be in awe of the place as you walked between the little plants on each side and a raised platform in the middle with a table on it; everything felt like it was meant to be exactly where it was. Sure, it was not the most gorgeous feature of the Gojo estate, but to you, it was just as awe-inspiring as the lake or the huge, soft couches all over the mansion. 

“Your gift!” He excitedly pulled you to one of the corners, where in a pot was a little plant, and there was a little card hanging over the edge of the pot. You looked at Satoru for approval to reach out for the card, and when his smile stretched bigger on his face, you reached out for the card. 

On the card, it was written in a somewhat messy but familiar handwriting you've been seeing for the last couple of days—‘I am still very sorry; I hope everything I'll say next will get that across to you.’

“I am sorry. I know nothing makes sense, but just know you don't cause me any pain.” Satoru said from behind you. You didn't have it in you to turn around and look at what kind of face he was making, so you kept staring at the plant in front of you.

“You're the only reason why I look forward to meals, especially dinners. I look forward to sleeping in our bed, and I don't just sleep in my office chair.” He didn't explain any further. Because he could not. He could not say why he looked like he was always in a dilemma when you were a little too close to him or why he has been so unfairly kind to you. But it was enough for now. He didn't really owe you any more than what he has given, and you could not help but feel like you've just been ungrateful to him. 

So with a knot in your throat, you put on your best smile and turned towards him to nod in acceptance of his apology. And he didn't push you to say anything more; he didn't ask why you looked like you were in so much pain, or why you couldn't look him in the eyes, or why you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

“Can I ask you something?” Satoru asked you after a few minutes of silence.

“Sure.” He noted that you didn't sound like you were about to break down into tears anymore.

“Why a plant though?” He stood beside you, staring at the side of your face while you stroked one of the leaves on the plant.

“I used to have many plants at my father's estate; I used to spend a lot of time in the gardens. I just liked taking care of them.” Your eyes lowered again. And you didn't look like you were about to cry again, but you looked somber.

“You could still do that here! I mean, we have so many plants in the gardens.” He looked genuinely excited to gesture to your surroundings with both his hands.

“Yes, but they're not mine.”

“Everything with my name on it is naturally more yours than mine.” 

You didn't know how to respond to that. But then again, that's just how things always are with your husband. He unknowingly says something too kind, too misleading, that has your tongue heavy as a stone in your mouth and your chest contorting in foreign shapes and feelings.

“Can I ask you something now?” You were clearly trying to divert the conversation, and Satoru knew that, but he didn't stop you.

“Mmhmm?”

“What kind of plant is this?” You looked at him for the answer.

“Huh? I thought you were a plant expert?” The signature Gojo Satoru smirk was back on his face, and you were surprised at yourself to feel relieved to see it.

“Oh, come onnn.” You whined and playfully pushed his side while he looked down at you with a smile. 

“I don't know.” Satoru playfully shrugged his shoulders.

“You don't know?” He shook his head from side to side, with no intention of answering you.

“Find out for yourself when it flowers.” And he walked ahead to get out of the humid glass house, with you whining from behind.

Satoru didn't know why he didn't just answer your question. Maybe because you didn't acknowledge when he said everything of his now also belongs to you. Or maybe teasing is just a natural part of his personality; that is why. Either way, it worked in his favor. In the last few days you have been talking more and more to him, trying to figure out what exactly the plant he gifted you was. You tried to compare it with the plants in the gardens, now free to roam around everywhere, with at least one of the staff trailing behind you with Satoru's orders.

“Is it Peony?” You handed him his blindfold as he put on his watch.

“Thank you. But nope.” He took it from you with a smile and walked out of the walk-in closet.

“Just tell me!” You shouted behind him while he giggled and walked away.

Satoru already told the gardeners who look after the estate gardens, specifically Mr. Watanabe, so he does not give you any answers. But you still somehow figured out it was a camellia plant. And he remembers how ecstatic you were when he finally agreed with you that it was a camellia plant. But now your concern was what color?

“S-sir, it's ma'am. Should I ask her to call back in a bit?” Ichiji held Satoru’s phone in his hand; it flashed ‘wife’ on his screen.

“No, give it to me.” Satoru took his phone from Ichiji while everyone in the room looked at him with eyes that said, ‘sigh, newlyweds.’ Suguru smirked at him from his left with a raised eyebrow. He is getting teased later.

“I’ll be back.” But that doesn't mean he's hanging up on you. You're finally calling him, actually him, and not Ichiji to ask about your regular dinner inquiries; there is no way he is hanging up on you. 

“Good afternoon to you, Gojo-san.” He said in a sing-song voice as he walked out in the hallway to pick up your call.

“You too, I was calling to ask ab—”

“Dinner, right?” 

“...Right.” He couldn't see you, but he could tell from your voice you were feeling a little nervous again.

“The usual is ok.” You hummed from the other side. He never really asked for anything particular; it always went like this, and you just chose whatever you thought he'd like the best. 

“Also can I ask again—”

“No, I am not telling you the color of the flowers. You'll see when they bloom.” You whined from the other side of the call, and he couldn't help but giggle at your response. You were really resilient, huh? 

“Asking me constantly won't give you the answer, sweets.” His voice sounded so fond; if anyone nearby heard that, there'd be gossip going around that Gojo Satoru has become a hopeless romantic since he married his wife.

“Ok, then bye.” Satoru didn't mind your tantrums; in fact, he welcomed them. He wanted you to be able to eventually talk back to him and converse with him freely, and this was a step in the right direction. With one last glance at his phone, he walked inside the room full of people staring him down. In partial disdain and partial awe from most people and teasing glances from friends, still confused that this was the same Gojo Satoru they've always known.

The rest of the day, Satoru spent half anticipating when he'd get to leave work. And half thinking about pink camellias.

Sure, Mr. Watanabe didn't tell him what they meant, but he understood why they were the perfect gift Satoru was supposed to get for you. And Satoru understood that after doing a quick research after talking to Mr. Watanabe. Anything could be given to apologize, but there should be something meaningful behind the gift other than just feeling sorry.

To say broadly, pink camellias are given to someone you admire. And at certain times, they can mean longing for someone. Someone out of your reach, someone you know, has been trying their best. It's a sign of affection, admiration, and yearning. And Satoru believes that's precisely what he felt for you.

So, Gojo Satoru often thinks of flowers when he thinks about his own death. But now he believes whenever he surely thinks about flowers, he'll be thinking of you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

yeah so april and may were not it.

tag list (1): @cheralith @slayzzz @madamechrissy @gojosperms @gojoao @cuntphoric @cuntyji @cuntphoric @aishi-toru @fushitoru @rriwyu @arcanarix @lover-lyn @buckysm @wwwritererm @indiewritesxoxo @shouiow @user25384959574 @dxmnsaera @emyyy007 @ineedbetterhobbies0809 @littlemisswitch67 @dxmnsaera @kazupop @tabalugax @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @thetiredcollegestudent @tokyolhtl @emochosoluvr @moncher-ire @veahhcarothers @hyunjinspdf @younjunie @em0cleo @novaisbebita @hisarmsaremycocoon @wise-fangirl @sheep-infog @arrozyfrijoles23 @ppejmurde @miizuzu @ricecake-mochi @tushkiiiiiii @ovela @69-gojos-wife-69 @lxxnour @mereniss @theorphicangel @gojosconsort @soupicidesquad +

[kissingmilfs]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 | 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

18+ minors please dni ✮⋆˙

✮⋆˙content warnings: somno, cnc, scissoring, pervert!sevika

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧

the sheets rustled as sevika groaned herself awake. she awoke in a cold sweat that made every piece of fabric cling on any patch of skin it could find. sevika has never awoken from such a disgustingly, filthy dream. but the longer she’s awake the further the dream slips away from her. the last affects of the sex dream remain though. her clit achingly throbs like a second heart. somehow throughout the night you had rolled into sevika’s chest and tucked your leg between hers.

sevika didn’t necessarily want to wake you for the sole purpose of getting off. but if she rolls her hips right—maybe she can get enough friction to come without rousing you. sevika’s arm secures itself tighter around your back. your breathing remains steady. sevika gradually shifts and rotates her hips until she’s positioned her pussy on the apex of your thigh.

burying her nose in the messiness of your bed hair—sevika takes a deep sniff. you smell like hers. cautiously sevika drags her hips tentatively across your thigh. she holds her breath—not knowing if you’ll wake. but you remain still. such a perfect little doll, sevika thinks. the metallic fingers of sevika’s prosthetic angles your thigh even more against her cunt. the pressure is almost enough. her hips heavily grind down again. no, that’s not it. it felt better dragging herself the length of your thigh. she opts to try that method again.

sevika’s body produces more of a sweat from her attempts to get off. it’s starting to frustrate her. but she needs you. sevika knows she cannot simply roll over and rub one out. her body craves you. sevika feels the beginning of an idea sparking. she carefully rolls you on your back, brushing some hair out of your face. her fingers pause mid stroke when you mumble. but nothing more happens.

humming to herself in contentment, sevika diligently parts your legs wider before kneeling between them. tonight is one of those nights sevika’s fucking grateful you sleep without underwear. she cannot even fathom why she argued over something as banal as this. her mouth waters at the sight of your pussy in the moonlight. blinking away the distraction, sevika wiggled her boxers off her hips. she sits down quickly to tugs them off and toss them somewhere.

sevika returns to her former position kneeled between your spread thighs. her hands soothingly run up the soft skin of your thighs. marveling at how remarkable still you are in your sleep. if sevika’s clit wasn’t so distracting the woman would take the time to get you properly ready. but she’ll have to make do.

shifting on her knees sevika widens them enough where she can easily reach her own cunt. her fingers thickly skim down her folds and she hisses at how sensitive she is. sevika isn’t thrown too off guard with the sheer amount of mess coating her fingers. she felt it when she peeled off her boxers. her fingers shine in the dim light graciously afforded by the moonlight through the sheer curtains. sevika didn’t even really need to prep you. her own wetness would be enough. but she cannot resist. sevika crotches forward. one hand, her metal one, sinks into the mattress while the other slowly drags her soaked fingers up the length of your pussy. she all but trembles with the sinful action. and the only reaction that comes from you is tiny whine. it’s not even enough to convince sevika your sleep conscious mind registered the sensation.

regardless sevika eagerly plunges her own fingers back into her overly sensitive cunt and only pumps them in briefly. she gathers, scoop one might say, a generous amount of her own slick once again. it’s far more than the first time. sevika’s fingers return to your pussy. it takes a few passes through your folds and over your hole for all of sevika’s mess to transfer. your legs only twitched once.

sevika hums her satisfaction. “you’re so perfect, baby.” she utters softly. “and i’m so sorry…but i have to. i need to.”

she positions her body opposite yours. her left leg slotted over your right. sevika’s fingers curl into the sheets as she wills her body to stop fucking trembling. sevika feels desperate. insatiable. her senses have never driven her to such extremes. never once awoken from a dream and sweating out the fever of a lost orgasm. she wishes desperately her fingers would work. but after years owning your heart, body and soul—sevika can never take herself there alone.

and it’s exactly why she’s angled her cunt parallel to yours. sevika knows within minutes of sensually grinding her pussy against yours she’ll be released from this agony. she holds back the groan of approval housed in the depths of her throat. you’re warm and still covered with sevika’s juices. and it seems her few passes made you wet on your own.

“my needy girl…” sevika whispers out as she finally begins moving her hips.

it’s not entirely the easiest orgasm. usually sevika can hold your hand or thigh for leverage. or position your legs wider or higher. but sevika can make do. especially when each brush over her swollen clit against yours sends a heated spark in sevika’s stomach. she can feel herself dripping out and making a mess of you. her hand eventually circles your thigh—bending your leg. and it works. sevika’s strength can easily hold this position. it gives her more breadth and her clit freely glides against yours.

sevika’s body builds up the familiar sensations of her orgasm. her toes curl and uncurl. the muscles in her abdomen almost hurt from coiled tension. then she hears your tiny whimpers. sevika’s ears cannot differentiate if it’s whimpers of pleasure or if you’re slowly waking.

“sev?” sevika for sure knows you’re awake. your voice is faint and whiney and she could almost miss it. sevika cannot fully see your face but she knows you’re sporting that confused pout. the one where your lips are so damn kissable and your eyebrows bunch in light whisper.

her hips don’t come to a full stop. sevika cannot bring herself to. “shh…it’s okay, baby. i’m almost done. i promise. i’m so close.”

your body barely registered sevika’s actions at first. you were waking up from a warm dream. a warm and tingly dream. your body had never felt so relaxed. you called out sevika’s name only because you hadn’t waken in her arms. it is only after sevika coos at you did the realization set in.

“mm..sev…” you whine out again. not in distress but because now you’re inappropriately horny. it is clear your body did not receive any release.

“i know, doll. i know. let me handle it, baby. i’ll make you feel good. i promise.”

[maenefa]

Why does Eowyn want to die?

Because Aragorn won’t love her? Because she feels trapped in her feminine gender role?

These are the explanations we get in the text. However, none of the characters really acknowledge Eowyn’s darkest fear: being taken alive by the enemy.

There are some bad takes on Eowyn that boil down to patronizing her and downplaying the seriousness of her problems. People say that she had a naive desire for glory and Faramir teaches her that war isn’t actually fun. Then there’s the whole “Eowyn was a deserter who selfishly ran away from her duty” argument.

You can only say these things if you ignore how dire the situation was, how close Sauron was to winning, and how gruesome Eowyn’s fate would have been if he won. She knew that death or capture likely awaited her, and she knew that dying in battle was the least bad option. (She also knew her own worth and believed that she was too useful a warrior to be left behind with the civilians. And she was right.)

Eowyn’s actions are ruthlessly practical! She wants to die fighting because that’s better than waiting around for The Horrors. Let’s be real, Eowyn is too sensible to be suicidal over an unrequited crush.

Here are some of her most revealing quotes:

“All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honor, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more.”

“And those who have not swords can still die upon them.”

“Nor is it always evil to die in battle, even in bitter pain. Were I permitted, in this dark hour I would choose the latter.”

“But I do not desire healing…. I wish to ride to war like my brother Éomer, or better like Théoden the king, for he died and has both honour and peace.”

In the end, Eowyn only stops wanting to die after Sauron is defeated. Just before the Ring is destroyed, she tells Faramir:

“I stand upon some dreadful brink, and it is utterly dark in the abyss before my feet, but whether there is any light behind me I cannot tell. For I cannot turn yet. I wait for some stroke of doom.”

Eowyn can’t turn to light and life until the war is over. Hope is too painful; death at least offers “honor and peace.” This passage is so important because it EXPLICITLY links Eowyn’s despair to the outcome of the war and makes it clear that she is not simply having a meltdown because Aragorn rejected her.

There are two important moments where Eowyn is threatened with violence. The very first time we meet her, we are told by Gandalf that Wormtongue planned to turn her into a sex slave after Saruman conquered Rohan. Even though this threat is dismissed quickly, it’s a disturbing reminder of what could happen to Eowyn if Sauron wins.

Then we have the most triumphant moment of Eowyn’s story: her battle with the Witch King. Once again, Eowyn is not threatened with death, but with captivity and torment:

“Come not between the Nazgûl and his prey! Or he will not slay thee in thy turn. He will bear thee away to the houses of lamentation, beyond all darkness, where thy flesh shall be devoured, and thy shrivelled mind be left naked to the Lidless Eye.”

Eowyn laughs at him and makes sure to announce that she is a woman before killing him. Her victory is all the more satisfying because the Witch King has just threatened her with captivity, loss of agency, the violation of her body and mind—all threats that Eowyn has faced before. But the Witch King’s words continue to haunt Eowyn and us. He threatens to withhold death; and death is therefore framed as an escape, a gift. Eowyn is taken to the Houses of Healing, but she is obsessed with returning to battle and fighting until she dies.

When Eowyn says that she fears “a cage,” this is a brilliantly simple metaphor for the entire spectrum of oppression she has faced: from the well-meaning restrictions of her culture to the horrifying enslavement threatened by Wormtongue.

Once the war is over, Eowyn is able to laugh at her fears. She teases Faramir: “And would you have your proud folk say of you: there goes a lord who tamed a wild shieldmaiden of the North!” Her fear of being caged has been turned into a bit of flirtatious banter. She feels completely safe with Faramir, and the idea that he “tamed” her is nothing but a joke between them.

[semperamans]

hi! i have no clue what i'm doing here, but i've been so inspired by @harrysfolklore, so i decided to try my hand at smaus! i'm also so very new to the world of f1, so pretty please go easy on me <3

in my weird little noggin' - yn is a famous singer dating shawn mendes whom (spoiler) turns out to be a jerk and wittle baby oscar is in love and just wants a chance :'( let me know if you wanna see more <3

fc: gracie abrams

liked by piastrisbakery, teammclaren, landoe04, and others

piastriupdates oscar is never beating the fan boy allegations and we love to see it :')

view all 1,342 comments

sc4rlett_44 LANDOS FACE I CANNOT

↳ vroomvroombois he looks like spongebob after squidward ate the krabby patty 😭

↳ piastrisbakery you like yourusername, don't you oscarpisatri 😏

landoland A FEARLESS RESPONSE SOME MIGHT SAY FDHJFKSDHF

↳ newintown THE WAY YOU CAN TELL THAT'S NOT THE FIRST YN-RELATED PUN LANDO HAS EVER SAID TO HIM

↳ forever_mclaren omg PLEASE go watch the 'oscar being in love with yn for 15 minutes' video on youtube. you'll quickly find that lando is the captain of the yncar ship.

wrongagain osc is soooo cute!! but yn is never leaving shawn. they're too perfect for each other ❤️

↳ oscarsfearless89 idk... oscar talks more about yn than shawn does at this point...

liked by zendaya, oscarpiastri, shawnmendes, arianagrande and others

yourusername shawn peter raul, how i will forever love you :’) the sunshine on my darkest days. i simply don’t know what i would do without you. thank you for choosing me two years ago today <3

view all 1,112,210 comments

love4yn mom and dad mom and dad mom and dad mom and dad!!

↳ starryeyesandbutterflies i think your parents are getting divorced bc shawn didn't even post her :(

↳ ynlover111 SAYING YOUR PARENTS ARE GETTING DIVORCED IS SOOOOO CRAZY WHAT THE FUCKSJDF 😭

forever_yn i love when we get boyfriend pics of shawn but he never posts any cutie pics of our girl :(

timotheechalamet ew

↳ yourusername shouldn't you be clocking in at the chocolate factory right about now? 🤨

vroomvroombois PLEASE oscarpiastri not you liking this like you aren't WAITING for the day they break up 🧐

↳ f1fanatic81 osc would 100% treat yn better

↳ landoe04 i see what you did there...

camilaisqueen shawn and camila were cuter imo 🤷🏻‍♀️

↳ ynsgirly I SWEAR TO GOD I THOUGHT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT KING CHARLES' DUSTY ASS WIFE

↳ speaknowstan arguably the better camila...

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔:･°

shawnmendes uploaded a story!

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mclaren posted a new video!

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yourusername uploaded a story!

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liked by calilovesoscarp, sc4rlett_44, pitstoppiastri, landoe04, and others

oscarpiastriupdates these spot the difference games are becoming impossible.

view all 453 comments

foreverpiastri ive never seen him look so angry...

sc4rlett_44 the audacity of that interviewer 😬

↳ newintown wait, what happened?

↳ sc4rlett_44 during the pre-quali interviews, someone from press kept dropping shawn mendes song titles in their question and he was making it *really* obvious. Osc was pissed.

↳ vroomvroombois he turned into such a little diva. i love.

↳ piastriprincess no because if someone said "hey Oscar, i'm curious if you would be able to treat YN better than Shawn Mendes? i've heard you're a fan, so i figured you'd be left in stitches following the news. luckily there's nothing holding you back! hopefully YN will have some mercy on you!" i'd kill them

↳ ynoscarsunshine osc is such a gentleman though :( "you know those are actual people you're making a joke out of, right? someone in that situation has real, hurt feelings, and, to be honest, i'm unintrested in joking and capitalizing off someone's pain. next question."

shippingyncar the way he defends her </3 oscar > shawn no contest.

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liked by selenagomez, yourbrother, oscarpiastri, oliviarodrigo, and others

yourusername *taps mic* is this thing on?

well, hi there! i apologize profusely for my sudden absence, but your girl had to touch grass, pick up some new hobbies, catch up with old friends, and teach my nieces how to tell good apples from bad ones (a very important life lesson)! for complete transparency, i've had a really rough go of things lately. the heart was never meant to break with millions of eyeballs upon it, but mine did and boy did it suck. if you find yourself hurting now, please let me be your reminder that hard times *do* pass. things *will* get better. just give it some time.

i'll get off my soapbox! anyway, i am *so* excited to show you guys what i've been working on while cozied up on my parents' front porch swing watching spring roll in :') i'll being seeing you guys oh so soon 💚

view all 1,101,238 comments

drewbarrymore ❤️😘

inlovewithyn istg your instagram posts are like a kiss on the forehead

mclaren 🧡 if you're looking for a new hobby, watching F1 races is highly entertaining! ♥️ by author

↳ oscarpiastri this is true.

↳ landonorris can confirm.

↳ charlesleclerc can also confirm.

↳ lewishamilton 👆🏾

↳ maxverstappen fast cars are fun, yes.

↳ danielricciardo very fun indeed.

↳ scuderiaferrari ❤️🏎️

↳ bestofyn YN HAS THE WHOLE GRID IN HER COMMENTS I CANNOT WHAT IS HAPPENING

↳ boxboxbaby EVEN FERRARI IS HELPING OSCAR SHOOT HIS SHOT IFDSJFISL?!

arianagrande the vid u sent of your nieces singing defying gravity has been on repeat 💖

rarebeauty stunning ❤️

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liked by sainzsmiles, danielricciardo, landoe04, landonorris, and more

mclaren yo bro, who got you smiling like that? 🧡

we are smiling because bahrain is just five days away!

view all 13,210 comments

landonorris i know 😏

↳ oscarpiastri 🤨 mclaren i'd like to request a new teammate

↳ danielricciardo i also know 💁🏽‍♀️

↳ piastrisbakery danielricciardo WHY DID YOU USE THAT EMOJI??? I CANNOT

↳ danielricciardo because i am sassy 💁🏽‍♀️

↳ maxverstappen i know, too!

circuitcutie oh this is absolutely bc yn followed him back

↳ bigmclarenfan ?? can we focus on racing please??

↳ oscpresso no ❤️

↳ danielricciardo no 💁🏽‍♀️

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(part two)

[stromblessed]

Mizu, femininity, and fallen sparrows

In my last post about Mizu and Akemi, I feel like I came across as overly critical of Mizu given that Mizu is a woman who - in her own words - has to live as a man in order to go down the path of revenge.

If she is ever discovered to be female by the wrong person, she will not only be unable to complete her quest, but there's a good chance that she'll be arrested or killed.

So it makes complete sense for Mizu to distance herself as much as possible from any behavior that she feels like would make someone question her sex.

I felt so indignant toward Mizu on my first couple watchthroughs for this moment. Why couldn't Mizu bribe the woman and her child's way into the city too? If Mizu is presenting as a man, couldn't she claim to be the woman's escort?

However, this moment makes things pretty clear. Mizu knows all too well the plight of women in her society. She knows it so well that she cannot risk ever finding herself back in their position again. She helps in what little way she can - without drawing attention to herself.

Mizu is not a hero and she is not one to make of herself a martyr - she will not set herself on fire to keep others warm. There's room to argue that Mizu shouldn't prioritize her quest over people's lives, but given the collateral damage Mizu can live with in almost every episode of season 1, Mizu is simply not operating under that kind of morality at this point. ("You don't know what I've done to reach you," Mizu tells Fowler.)

And while I still feel like Mizu has an obvious and established blind spot when it comes to Akemi because of their differences in station, such that Mizu's judgment of Akemi and actions in episode 5 are the result of prejudice rather than the result of Mizu's caution, I also want to establish that Mizu is just as caged as Akemi is, despite her technically having more freedom while living as a man.

Mizu can hide her mixed race identity some of the time, and she can hide her sex almost all of the time, but being able to operate outside of her society's strict rules for women does not mean she cannot see their plight.

It does not mean she doesn't hurt for them.

Back to Mizu and collateral damage, remember that sparrow?

While Mizu is breaking into Boss Hamata's manse, she gets startled by a bird and kills it on reflex. She then cradles it in her hands - much more tenderly than we've seen Mizu treat almost anything up to this point in the season:

She then puts it in its nest, with its unhatched eggs. Almost like she's trying to make the death look natural. Or like an accident.

You see where I'm going with this.

When Mizu kills Kinuyo, Mizu lingers in the moment, holding the body tenderly:

And btw a lot of stuff about this show hit me hard, but this remains the biggest gut punch of them all for me, Mizu holding that poor girl's body close, GOD

When Mizu arranges the "scene of the crime," Kinuyo's body is delicate, birdlike. And Mizu is so shaken afterward that she gets sloppy. She's horrified at this kill to the point that she can't bring herself to take another innocent life - the boy who rats her out.

MIZU'S ONE MOMENT OF SOFTNESS AND MERCY, COMING ON THE HEELS OF HER NEEDING TO KILL A GIRL TO SPARE HER THE WORST FATE THAT THIS RIGID SOCIETY HAS TO OFFER WOMEN, AND TO SPARE A BROTHEL FULL OF INNOCENT WOMEN WHO ARE THE CASTOFFS OF SOCIETY, NEARLY RESULTS IN ALL OF THEIR DEATHS

No wonder Mizu is as stoic and cold as she is.

And no wonder Mizu has no patience for Akemi whatsoever right before the terrible reveal and the fight breaks out:

Speaking of Akemi - guess who else is compared to a bird!

The plumage is more colorful, a bit flashier. But a bird is a bird.

And, uh

Yeah.

I like to think that Mizu killing the sparrow is not only foreshadowing for what she must do to Kinuyo, but is also a representation of the choice she makes on Akemi's behalf. She decides to cage the bird because she believes the bird is "better off." Better off caged than... dead.

But because Mizu doesn't know Akemi or her situation, she of course doesn't realize that the bird is fated to die if it is caged and sent back home.

Mizu is clearly not happy, or pleased, or satisfied by allowing Akemi to be dragged back to her father:

But softness and mercy haven't gotten Mizu anywhere good, recently.

There is so much tragedy layered into Mizu's character, and it includes the things she has to witness and the choices she makes - or believes she has to make - involving women, when she herself can skirt around a lot of what her society throws at women. Although, I do believe that it comes at the cost of a part of Mizu's soul.

After all, I'm gonna be haunted for the rest of this show by Mizu's very first prayer in episode 1:

"LET" her die. Because as Ringo points out, she doesn't "know how" to die.

Kind of like another bird in this show: