#just a few kind reminders for those who may need them

[carneflower13]

live in the moment. take things day by day because change, good or bad, does not happen overnight. love yourself. love others. put the joy and peace that you would like to see in the world out there. live and laugh and enjoy the little things and don't give up because no matter what people might try to tell you, it's really not over until it's over

[lith-myathar]

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[drchucktingle]

BEING AN ASSHOLE AS A BRAND

lots of authors have been posting great pieces of advice for up and coming buckaroos and i agree with so much of it. GREAT RESOURCES right now so i thought i would add my own. usually i use words like scoundrel but for meanings sake i will just be direct: dont make being an asshole your brand

let me preface this by saying it should be taken with HUGE grain of salt, you can do whatever you want buckaroo its YOUR art and your personal expression. to be honest i often refrain from ‘advice’ because id rather simply tell what works for me, but i feel like this one is pretty universal.

i am in incredibly rare position to have come up in TWO MAJOR CREATIVE INDUSTRIES and reached ‘traditionally published’ or ‘major film studio contract��� level completely separate from each other, without connections between, and this is ABSOLUTELY a massive factor in the buckaroos who trot long term

there is always a sort of incoming class of buds who rise up, and inevitably a few of them will seem to WANT to make enemies with everyone around them the second they have even the smallest voice. i UNDERSTAND in the sense that we have these legendary jerk artists in our culture. HOWEVER

1 those artists generally let their asshole flag fly AFTER they reached the top and 2 if not, it was a different time, there is simply not enough money in the creative fields for major creative entities to tolerate talented up and coming assholes. it is FINANCIALLY a different timeline now

EVEN SO you can point to a few old big timers who are notorious assholes but i would say its important to consider JUST HOW BIG WOULD THEY BE IF THEY WERE ALSO KIND. what if they were that talented AND watched out for their buds? heres what happened to the 'jerk brands' i trotted up with personally

every single one of them got intoxicated by the identity of being mean or ‘just tellin it like it is’ and then fell directly onto their face. the only ones who escaped were those who started that way on the trot up and IMMEDIATELY pulled it together and stopped and changed course

i know it might seem obvious to many reading this but you would be SHOCKED how many buds thinks it is a COOL IDENTITY to cultivate. some will probably subtweet this haha but listen bud, the directors you trash SEE IT. publishers DONT NEED TO TOLERATE TALENTED ASSHOLES ANYMORE THERES NOT ENOUGH MONEY

important reminder that i am talkin on artists who are PUBLICLY assholes, who trash talk their classmates or their fans. the ones who EMBRACE THIS IDENTITY as a sort of flag to wave because it gets them attention. theres plenty of SECRET assholes who find success, unfortunately. that is other topic

it is also important to say that FIGHTING THE POWERS THAT BE or protesting the scoundrels of the world is not being an asshole. KINDNESS CAN BE STRONG AND DIRECT AND POWERFUL. we need kind, strong buckaroos these days. it is not a weakness to love, and you should speak up for those who need it

so what can be done? what happens if you are reading this post and thinking ‘oh heck i can feel myself falling into asshole trap?’ well as a first reminder you can do anything you want bud, HAVE AT IT because i am not telling you this for MY sake, but if you want some actual advice id say this:

just being kind is MUCH easier than it seems, it only takes a little effort to reach out to your buds, to help, to encourage, to assistant, to talk about how much you liked someones film or song or book. jealousy or frustration are NATURAL feelings, but you dont have to let them run the show.

you MAY have to mourn the times an author couldve reached out for a book event that never happened because you turned them into an enemy. or a record executive read the stuff you said in some interview and pulled the soundtrack slot that was waiting for you on their desk. but IT IS NEVER TOO LATE

YOU can turn those feelings into fuel instead of venom, and GUESS WHAT it will genuinely be great for your art. LOVE is such an incredible driver, even when its manifested from anger or darkness. it takes some work, but i believe its worth it for your heart AND your prospects as an artist. LETS TROT

[timmydraker]

CW: use of R word

Tim who, as much as he doesn’t want it to be true, is a poster boy for typical Neurodivergence. He’s more logically thinking that emotionally and needs obvious signs of someone’s emotional state that he can put together to understand how he should respond to help them.

But that’s not what bothers him because that doesn’t bother his parents.

Instead it’s his passion, though not in technology and detective work as they quickly found use for that in their business, but for bugs.

Ever since he was a kid Tim has been enamoured by insects and arachnids and even fungi. He would only read books that talked about bugs or had one on the cover, but since it helped him learn to read at a steady pace his parents didn’t mind.

At least, not at first.

When Tim got into coding just so he could make his own little web-journal for all his bug finds, they were happy he was learning how to organise and structure at just six years old, but when he only did those things regarding bugs…

Tim had his first panic attack when he watched his father pick up his terrarium filled with Diapheromera Femorata (Stick bugs) and chucked it into the bin. The glass shattered as the corner his something hard and he was forced to watch his bugs struggle to navigate the glass and rubbish, most of them injured.

His mother had gagged when she saw them and demanded the whole bin be burnt with the bugs still inside.

Tim had been so heart broken, but mostly confused. His parents traveled the world to dig up dirt and old items that were mostly the same yet they didn’t like bugs?

When he asked one his Nanny’s she gave him an answer that he would never forget, “Well, you see… only those people like bugs, y’know? The… special ones, like re-“

Tim never even let himself think of the last word she spoke and from then only forced himself to only focus on his computer work. He still loved photography but now he took photos of skylines and trees, not the beautiful beehive a few yards behind his house or the spider webs that sat between branches like art works. He took photos of Batman and Robin and for a long time that was enough to make his longing bearable.

If he still followed several pages and articles about bugs either a secret email account, that didn’t matter.

His parents were happy with him even if they still made remarks about his ‘stupid little fixation’.

It’s when they are going over the paper work for Bruce to be Tim’s legal guardian while they weren’t home with Tim’s older brothers hanging around as moral support (bodyguards) that his parents mock him.

Janet is signing some paper with a stupidly expensive pen and chatting to no one in particular when she says, “You’re all lucky we killed this nasty little bugs of his so you don’t have to deal with them.”

Everyone else in the room freezes, beside Jack who huffs a laugh and adds, “Good thing we did, he’d probably be more of a retard otherwise- talking about ‘habitats’ and bloody spiders.”

All of the members of the Wayne family are dead quiet as Tim sits there with a clear look of disassociation coming into his eyes. Alfred has a calm look on his face that tells all who know him that he’s furious and Bruce is strikingly similar.

Jason looks ready to attack and Dick isn’t even moving to stop his brother or calm anyone down.

Damian is holding onto Titus’s collar like a lifeline but seems to give the hound some kind of silent order as the usually calm dog begins to growl low and dangerous.

Jack and Janet tense and stare at both dog and master, Jack ordering him to control his dog.

Bruce stands, letting Titus growl and taking the half signed papers and throwing them in the bin, “I changed my mind, I will be taking you to court for full custody of my son. Leave my house now so I may obtain a restraining order.”

Janet genuinely flounders for a moment and begins to shout about outrage and audacity but when Dick sees that Tim is starting to cry he stands up and reminds them that he is a cop before moving to pick up his second youngest brother and leaving the room.

Tim doesn’t hear much else, only muffled shouting and the sound of a door slamming.

He distantly realises he’s in the family room, not the one they use to have guest but the real one with beanbags and a snack draw, and is being cradled by his brothers. Even Damian is beside him, holding onto his hand tightly as they wait for Bruce and Alfred.

Tim sobs into Dicks chest for Alamos a whole hour before settling more, Bruce coming into the room and Jason and Dick reluctantly hand him over to he can be held by their father.

“Tim, chum, it’s alright. We’ve got you.”

The boy in question shakes his head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I won’t talk about the bugs I promise-“

Bruce squeezes him tighter and kisses his head, “I don’t want that. What I want is to hear about your bugs.”

Stunned, Tim looks up at him with confusion and barely gets his mouth to move enough to ask what he means.

Dick coos from beside him on the next couch and runs a hand through his hair lovingly, “My sweet baby brother we love you, and you love bugs! So of course we want to hear about it. I’m so sorry we didn’t know how they had been treating you but it was wrong. There’s nothing wrong with you, I swear it.”

Tim sniffled, nodding absentmindedly. They gave him a moment for their words to sink in before Damian spoke up, “Timothy, I demand you tell me about your bugs.”

Jason makes a noise and elbows Damian as if to tell him to shut up, probably thinking the other was being rude, but Tim knows his brother well and just smiles. “I can do that, Dami. I… I don’t think you’ll be very interested though.”

Damian scoffs, “I will ignore that statement as it implies I would waste my time with something I don’t care for.”

Bruce smiles at his youngest and holds Tim’s hand, “I agree. Could you maybe tell us about why you like them? Or your favourites?”

It takes him a moment to respond, but when he looks at all their open expressions and gets an encouraging nod from Alfred, he stutters out a response before gradually gaining confidence as they ask genuine questions to his facts and descriptions.

They each make an effort to ask him about bugs, Jason asking a few times if he wants to check out some books that he knows use bugs as symbolism’s and Dick asking if he can tell him the difference between insects and arachnids several times. Damian and Bruce are both a bit more subtle with their support at first, but after a month Tim enters his room to find a giant terrarium with several different sections so he can have multiple bugs that might not get along with each other.

Bruce and Alfred don’t even make any comments or give disapproving looks when Dick and Jason reveal they each got a tattoo of the bug that Tim said he associates with them.

[mallory524]

Can I request thunderbolts and how they handle female reader whos feeling down? About a person thing or a mission or whatever, it doesnt matter, just maybe some hugs if its not too much to ask? I love love love your thunderbolts reactions to reader getting kidnapped!! Im also so obsessed with them rn <3

(ahhhh you're so nice thanks)

thunderbolts when you're feeling down

tags- fem!reader, comfort, hugsss, vague mentions of injuries, people are mean but the thunderbolts love you

notes- i know i've been taking so long to get back to requests i've been busy and i barely went on tumblr the last few days but i'm turning that around now let's go babyyy

Yelena

You’d gotten hurt during a mission that went very wrong and Yelena had to help you hobble out of there herself. Your body may have healed pretty quickly, but you were definitely acting differently for the next few days. You were just so … sad. It was surprising for Yelena, especially since this was by no means the worst mission you’d ever been on. Nonetheless, you weren’t your usual bright self, and Yelena knew something was eating away at you.

Yelena won’t let you pretend nothing’s wrong, of course. She eventually gets to the bottom of it, hearing you say it made you feel weak after needing so much help the other day. "Yelena, you and Ava have such cool abilities, and we’ve got three super soldiers Plus, a guy who can’t even go on these missions because he’s too powerful to be let loose-" She quickly cuts you off. "No, do not start that. Don't start comparing yourself to other people. You are one of the most capable people I know. You've saved me and the others so many times. You don't even give it a second thought," she tells you, taking your hand into hers. "This is just one of those times we get to help you. You deserve to have someone take care of you for once." Just the way she says that she gets to help you really shows how much she cares about you, and how much she wants to be there for you when you need her.

If going out and taking a brisk walk around town would make you feel better, Yelena's got her shoes on, ready to go. If you want to fall asleep watching a movie with her, she'll grab some snacks and a big blanket to wrap around you. She won't leave your side until she's seen you smile - really smile - and even then, she's still spending as much time with you as she can. No such thing as too many hugs or too many kind words for you.

Bucky

Being with a congressman, you already had a lot of events you had to attend, but now you're both in the New Avengers sort of against your will, so double that. It's constant formal events and conferences and banquets, and talking to some of the most arrogant people in the world at all of them. You try to make friends, or at least find someone to talk to, but your efforts aren't often met with the response you want. Some are nice, but a lot of these high society types look down on you. You try not to take it personally, because they look down on everyone, but it's hard not to be discouraged when you're constantly surrounded by people who believe themselves to be so much better than you. They're so cold, and Bucky is often the only real source of warmth or kindness you have all night.

After you get home after an especially exhausting evening, Bucky waits for you to get changed into your comfy clothes so he can talk to you. The moment you walk back into the room, he pulls you into a hug. "You're so patient for putting up with all these things," he mutters to you. You try to tell him that you don't mind, but he knows. These events have gotten to be draining. You finally tell Bucky how those people are really starting to bring you down. He reminds you that he loves you so much, and you shouldn't spend time worrying about anyone who can't see how wonderful you are.

Bucky will cook you some comfort food or draw you a bath if you want, or the two of you can just spend the rest of the night quietly enjoying each other's company, watching something or listening to music. He'll do anything you want. He hates when you're discouraged like this and he just wants you to feel better.

Ava

Life with the Thunderbolts/Avengerz has been great, but lately things haven't been as fun. The team is getting really busy, so you aren't taking the time to hang out anymore. It feels like when you're not on a mission, you just sit around the tower and everyone does their own thing. It was nice at first, but it's gotten lonely. You're spending all your time alone or working, and you've been in low spirits as a result.

Ava's concerned by your change in demeaner, and one day she asks you about it. When you finally open up and tell her how lonesome you've been lately, she feels terrible. "You're right, we haven't been spending enough time together. I'm sorry," she tells you, gently reaching out to embrace you. "We should be making more of an effort to hang out throughout the day. We've had a lot of big changes in our lives lately, and you shouldn't be processing it all by yourself." She sits with you for the rest of that afternoon, talking, laughing, watching tv and holding each other. When you leave the room for a moment to grab a blanket, Ava texts Yelena and asks that she make sure no one has anything planned later tonight; the team should do something together, even something simple like a movie night with everyone crammed on the couch. Ava likes her solitude, but she knows you'll love spending some quality time with the group. She doesn't want you to have to spend another night isolated in your room.

John

The mission had been pretty rough, and nearly failed completely. It was a rescue mission, and in spite of the chaos and darkness, you thought you'd figured out where the hostages were. It immediately became clear, though, that you'd fallen into a trap and led your friends right into it with you. You eventually got out of there and saved the people you were looking for, but you were all injured to varying degrees because of your mistake.

Back at the tower later, you're laying down on your bed all alone while everyone chats in the other room. John walks in, sits beside you, and asks what's going on. "I almost got us all killed, Walker. I can’t face any of them,” you say, sitting up but not turning your head to meet his eyes. Hearing you talk like this breaks his heart - and hearing your voice tremble a little like you might cry sends him into a panic. "Hey, hey it's okay! You made a mistake. Everyone does... you know I have."

"Well, Ava was pretty mad at me back there. She has every right, but you know... it hurts." He gently turns your face so he can look at you. It's sad, you're blaming yourself for everyone else's injuries, but you're looking pretty banged up yourself. "Well I'm not mad at you," he says softly. "You helped a lot of people today. It just didn’t go very smoothly. You did your best, don’t beat yourself up about this." You've got him by your side for the rest of the night. He doesn't want to rejoin the group, he just wants to be there for you. You lay there with your head on his chest, as he gently strokes your hair. He occasionally leans further down to quietly compliment you: telling you how smart you are, how beautiful you are, how strong...

Alexei

The news is rarely on in the tower. It's a lot of the same stuff over and over, and many channels don't have anything nice to say about any of you. It's usually not anything surprising or even very personal, just repetitive. A lot of "Who even are these people?" and "How can we trust them?" and "Captain America is suing those frauds " and "Remember when John Walker killed that guy?". It starts to get to you, though, when the press starts to find out more and more about your past. Turning on the tv and seeing literal footage of the things in your life that you regret the most is the worst feeling.

Alexei catches on to what's happening. You seem sort of down all the time and you're not talking very much anymore at those galas and charity events that you all have to go to, or even to your friends for that matter. You eventually confide in Alexei about how much this is all beginning to bother you. He grabs you by the shoulders, looking you in the eyes and immediately trying to cheer you up. "Do not listen to any of them. You know who you are and we all know who you are. These vultures just look for the worst in everyone. You have come a long way and you are doing your best. Do not forget that." You now have someone standing up for you whenever some reporter tries to give you a hard time. Alexei is a very friendly guy, but he can be intimidating when he needs to be. He texts you throughout the day to see how you're feeling, even after you insist you're fine. He will do anything you want to do if he thinks it'll raise your spirits, even if that's just a big hug at the end of a really tough day.

Bob

Most of the time, the team works on their own, but you do have to check in with Valentina occasionally. No one enjoys that. Her career is almost entirely in the hands of the New Avengers, so she kisses up to you when she thinks it will help her, but she's still kind of the worst. You meet up with Valentina on your own today and you try to be cordial, but she keeps throwing in little digs. She asks you if you’ve slept because “you look so tired”, she asks if that's really what you're wearing to the press conference, and before you leave, she tells you to leave the talking to her tonight. "We really want them to root for us, and with your past... well you understand,” she says. You carefully remind Valentina that she's one to talk about bad press, and that shuts her up, but her words stick with you regardless.

Bob's in the other room, listening to the constant slights. He knows all too well how Valentina can be so inviting, and then belittling a second later. It’s not clear whether or not she even realizes she's doing it. Maybe it makes her feel like she still has a little power over you and the team. You brush off all her words, but Bob knows it's gotten to be too much. Throughout that long, boring press conference, Bob keeps glancing your way, and you seem sort of off. Bob pulls you to the side afterwards and asks you about that meeting with Valentina, checking in to make sure you’re okay. You just wave it off and tell him you don't care, and that "being a little rude is definitely not the most egregious of Valentina's many crimes". He nods and takes your hands as he tells you, "I know, but I don't like hearing her talk to you that way. You’re just… you’re just so great. I don’t want you thinking otherwise. Especially not because of people like her.” You wrap your arms around him and thank him for his sweet words. Bob doesn't just move on after that, though. He knows how much impact words have. He makes sure to regularly assure you, tell you how nice you look, and comment on how kind and strong you are whenever he can. The world isn't kind and he wants to make up for it. He doesn't want you forgetting how wonderful you are.

[200mark]

⌗ i know it’s not much but .. lee jeno

SCENE .. in which jeno turns his living room into a makeshift restaurant for a cozy at-home date.

꒰ DETAILS ꒱ boyfriend!jeno & fem!rea ⋮ ♯ file 001. established relationship, scenario, petnames && fluff ᵔⰙᵔ wc .. {929} 𓂃🖊

♡ entry .. hello again! i had this sitting in my docs for a while so i decided to kind of rewrite it for jeno, originally writing this there was no one in mind and just wrote it as “he” this idea was going to be like a full on date night idea but i like small intimate things so this was really cute idea that i had thought of mid writing. proofread but may still be errors! i apologize in advance.

more of nct dream

jeno had been planning this all week, he knew you were coming by his place all week, so he made sure he kept it tidy, even washing the dishes everyday. the faint smell of vanilla lingered in the air from the candle in his bedroom, he glanced over to his room seeing that it was the only room in the house that was a mess he rushed over and closed the door “well so much for lighting that candle,” he murmured to himself before walking back into the living room sighing running his hands through his hair.

he went out and bought a table and chairs, a white tablecloth that draped over the table which was too small but it’s the thought that counts he kept reminding himself. the table was round and black and it took him a few days to build only because he read the instructions step by step, the table and chairs had been built since wednesday and he left it all set up in the living room just going straight to bed when coming home from work, afraid to mess up his set up.

“should i light these candles now or wait,” he was referring to the candles placed on the table, he was definitely starting to over think this whole thing now maybe he went in over his head. “i’ll light just one since the one in my bedroom is still in there, and put the others away.” he quickly lit the candle and placed the candle in the center of the table, turning it slightly to face towards the chair you would be seated in. 

he rushed into his bedroom tossing the candles onto his bed, which wasn’t a smart decision since they were glass but he managed to get them both on his bed. he went back into the living room looking at the set up one last time before going into the kitchen checking on the pasta he was cooking. 

the knock on the door startled him, he looked at the door then down at his watch it dawned on him that you’re now here and he rushed to the living room straightening up pillows on the couch and adjusting the rug under the table with his foot behind letting out a stressful sigh, “i hope she likes this..” he mumbled to himself.

he makes his way to the door, “who is it?” he said jokingly causing you to laugh “maintenance!” you shout back and he opens the door, “maintenance be looking a little different here” you giggled and without a word, jeno reached out, gently pulling you into a hug—tight, warm, and exactly what he needed.

“you smell amazing,” you said, pulling away and making your way into his apartment. “wait wait wait,” he gently grabbed your arm, turning you around hoping you didn’t notice his set up in the living room. you looked up at him “everything okay?” and he nodded “i have a surprise,” he smiled covering your eyes “trust me, okay?” “of course, i trust you jeno.” 

“it smells great in here. are you finally burning those candles i bought you?” he heard the excitement in your voice which made him smile, and he nodded as if you could see him before saying yes. he’s guiding you to the living room one hand on your hip the other covering your eyes.

“okay are you ready…? i’ve had this plan in motion all week so if you don’t like it you don’t get to eat delicious food with me,” he lets out a little chuckle and you gently nudged him with your elbow he removed his hand from your eyes and placed it on the other side of your hip.

you open your eyes allowing them to adjust to the lighting before taking in the scene around you, “is this the surprise…?” you say attempting to sound disappointed but he could practically hear you cheesing behind your words.

“no yummy food for you then,” he removes his hands from your hips and walks into the kitchen, “baby i’m joking, i love it! very thoughtful and cute.” you wrapped your arm around his following him into the kitchen, “yeah, i know it isn’t much but-” you cut him off “it’s more than enough jeno.” you said smiling and he kissed your forehead, “i’m glad you like it baby.”

after a while you’re both seated at the table set up in the living room, eating your pasta, sharing a laugh and just enjoying each other’s company. “so you really had this table built basically all week?” and he nodded, taking a sip from his cup. “mhm, i usually sleep in the living room when i come home from work but i was afraid of ruining the whole set up so i was forced to sleep in my bed, very worth it though.”

“i almost forgot,” he said standing up from the table disappearing into his bedroom and you just watched him “i know you’re allergic to roses… and i still wanted to get you some flowers so i bought you some stargazer…? i’m not sure the lady at the flower shop helped me pick them out i just told her your favorite color and…” he kept rambling on he did notice you were standing in front on him smiling from ear to ear, 

“they’re beautiful jeno,” you laughed softly, clutching the flowers to your chest, eyes shining. when your lips met his, he was smiling—soft, giddy, and full of happiness. 

“well, beautiful flowers for an even beautiful woman.”

[grudgecollector]

protective daryl is such a Must like

imagine someone’s just threatened you and he stands in front of you with one of his arms back so he can hold your hand. “you don’t talk to her” he’d growl.

after somehow sending them away he’d turn back to you and hold your face and just “you okay?” and a “i’m never gonna let anything happen to ya”

Ol' Coyote | Daryl Dixon x Reader

Tags: Swearing, smoking, protective Daryl, season 2 Daryl, light angst, mentions of past domestic violence

Words: 2.5k

A/N: I'm FERAL over protective Daryl YES GAHD

Something you'll never get from me is a non-southern reader in TWD fics.

I may have made things a little ooc with Shane, possibly just a tad more aggressive than he actually is with people confronting him. But it's for the plot of the fic.

Also I'm not sure if I really like how this turned out, but I think I've just been staring at the words too long. I hope you enjoy it either way <3

Tension was running high on the farm. A nervousness had settled over you in the last few days as you watched Shane. His erratic behavior was becoming unnerving to observe from the outside. His freshly shaved head glistened with sweat as he shook it, watching Lori practically stomp away from him after a heated conversation. 

This was what you were best at. Watching. Every move that was made within your eyesight didn’t go unnoticed, every twitch, every heavy sigh that came from the man. You always had a knack for catching things just before shit hit the fan. That was the only thing you were thankful for when it came to your ex boyfriend. 

The things Brian said and did to you during those four years were permanently ingrained in your mind. Always reminding you to keep your guard up around men who would view you as weak, feeble minded, helpless and in need of saving. Men with the kind of charm that draws you in, making you think they can protect you from the dangers of the world, when in reality they are the biggest threat to you. 

The almost sadistic glint in Shane’s eye. The way he’d suck on his teeth and laugh humorlessly. The way he watched her… It was starting to scare you a little. It wasn’t a fear you held for yourself, but for Lori, a woman tangled in a web that was impossible to escape from. 

It wasn’t hard to admit that you did not feel safe around the man anymore. That feeling started to dissipate after he proposed the idea to give up on the search for Carol’s missing daughter. He was losing his grip. Even more-so after his botched run with Otis. 

“You good?” Daryl asked, nudging his elbow into your side. 

He had something hanging from his fingers, the necklace he had gifted you a week ago. He followed your gaze as he clasped the necklace for you, fingertips guiding along your hairline softly before settling on your shoulder. 

“Yeah…” You replied quietly, turning your head to look at the man beside you, “Is it just me or is he losin’ his damn mind?” 

“Oh it ain’t just you, sweetheart.” He nodded towards Dale who was sitting atop the RV, occasionally glancing over towards Shane. 

The angered man was pacing back and forth, roughly rubbing at his chin. Whatever conversation he and Lori had seemed to have stirred him up pretty bad, you could practically see the smoke rolling off his shoulders. 

“He needs to get his shit together.” You shook your head, crossing your arms, “The way he acts just... Ugh.” 

“You can keep on hoping, but I think he’s lost his marbles a long time ago.” Daryl huffed, hand dropping down to your waist as he brought you a little closer. 

Daryl and you walked back over to his area away from the rest of the camp, your shared tent occasionally rustling under the wind. The fire Daryl built an hour ago was starting to go down, tiny flames licking pathetically towards the sky, failing to build itself back up. 

The sun was starting to set, pink and orange hues blending together with the darkening blue sky. Daryl settled next to you on the grass, his knee brushing against your thigh. 

These were the moments you cherished the most. Calm and peaceful in a world filled with unimaginable horrors. A chance to take a deep breath and forget about your worries for just a short period of time. And you couldn’t ask for anyone better to spend it with. 

Over the last few months you had spent most of your time next to Daryl. At first he didn’t seem too fond of it, occasionally glancing your way with narrowed eyes and a suspicious attitude. Like he was waiting for you to strike, trying to stay a step ahead of your nonexistent plan to rob him blind. 

In reality you just appreciated the quiet. Away from the hustle and bustle that came with such a large group of people. You wanted to keep your distance, especially when it came to the children at the camp, trying your hardest to avoid the gut wrenching feeling that came whenever you looked at Carl. Oh how innocent and naive they were in such a heartless world. 

Eventually Daryl started to warm up to your presence. Allowing you to accompany him on hunts, teaching you the basics of tracking, and how to skin animals properly. It was easy to see through him, see past his rough edges and appreciate the moments where his kindness would shine through momentarily. 

The closeness between the two of you was something you cherished deeply. Knowing that wherever you went, he wouldn’t be far behind. 

It was moments like this that you could momentarily forget the ticking time bomb that slept just a few feet away from you. The very man in question is sitting next to Rick at the group’s shared camping area, laughing almost emotionlessly at something his best friend said. 

“You’re gonna burn a hole into his head if y’keep starin’ like that.” Daryl muttered, smiling a little bit when you halfheartedly glared at him. 

“Shut up.” You grumbled, “I’m gonna head up to the house real quick, gotta use the bathroom.” 

You were quick to stand. Your fingers brushed gently through Daryl’s hair, prompting him to place a hand on the back of your calf. 

The field in front of the house was still muddy from the rain, your boots sinking in just a little with every step you made. The sound of the ground squishing beneath your feet was drowned out by laughter from the camp, Carl, Lori, and Rick huddled together in front of their own fire as they shared a can of corn. 

It made you happy to know that at least one family was able to stay together through all of this. While they may not be perfect, they were still trying to stay intact in such a hectic world, making things as normal as they could be for their child. 

“Sup lovebirds.” You greeted Glenn and Maggie as you walked up the steps to the house. Glenn rolled his eyes and gave you a tight lipped smile. He hadn’t exactly sealed the deal with Maggie just yet, the both of them tiptoeing around each other cautiously. 

“Evenin’.” Maggie smiled, nodding towards you, “Where you headed?” 

“Is it alright if I use y’alls bathroom? I promise I won’t be long.” 

Maggie tilted her head a little, “You always ask and the answers always gonna be the same.” 

You couldn't help but smile a little, “Yeah well, believe it or not my parents did teach me manners. I usually don’t like invadin’ other people’s spaces without askin’ first.” You shrugged, going to grab for the handle of the screen door. “Thanks Maggie.” 

The hinges groaned loudly as you opened it. The Greene’s home was so beautiful, a warm yellow light casting over the neatly kept rooms, picture frames of the occupying family decorated the walls. It was that sense of normalcy you had needed ever since everything started. Something reminding you that not everything had to be so terrible all the time. It made it easy to forget the reality of things. 

You walked into the bathroom and gently shut the door behind you, not bothering to glance at your reflection in the mirror. Scared of what would be staring back at you. 

By the time you opened the door again, you could hear Beth and Patricia talking in the living room. Maggie was sitting next to her sister on the couch now, Glenn must have gone back over to your group for dinner. You figured you should probably do the same thing, cook up those squirrels Daryl and you caught earlier in the morning. 

You walked back outside and unzipped the pocket to your cargo pants, a lucky find at an army supply store. The top of the crumpled red and white box flips open easily, and you pluck a half smoked cigarette out along with your lighter and begin making your trek back towards your camp. 

“Hey.” A voice stops you, Shane standing from one of the rocking chairs on the porch. 

Great…

You brought the orange filter to your lips and flicked open the zippo lighter you stole from Daryl. You didn’t bother to look at the man walking towards you for more than a second, exhaling the smoke from the corner of your mouth as he got closer. 

“Can I help you with somethin’ Shane?” You asked, annoyance present in your tone.

“I don’t know, can you? Cause you seem to be starin’ an awful lot recently.” His broad shoulders rolled back a little as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“You feelin’ a little paranoid there? Intimidated by someone doing a little people watching?” 

“Don’t patronize me.” He shook his head, stepping closer towards you. 

An anxious feeling started to eat away at your stomach. You never liked when men started to close in on your personal space, even less when it was someone like Shane. The unpredictable and dangerous types. 

“I’d barely call it patronizing.” You shot back with a small shrug.. 

“You got a problem with me or somethin’? With how I’ve been handlin’ things?” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “I mean I got my fair share of issues with a lot of things, man.” He was starting to prick against your nerves, “Like you wanting to call off the search for Sophia? That was pretty fucked up.” 

“Not this shit again.” He shook his head, hands going to rest on his hips, “It’s bad enough I got to hear it from everyone else in the camp. Now I gotta hear it from the girl who’s too good to even grace us with her presence.” 

“Oh boo fucking hoo. Why is that such a big deal to you? Can’t someone just enjoy some alone time?” You scoffed, flicking off the flimsy ashes from your cigarette.

“Ain’t no such thing as alone time anymore. You gotta start contributing more to the group.” 

“Or what? You gonna boot my ass to the curb and call it a day? Seems like the kinda route you’ve been lovin’ lately.” You almost spat, an accusatory tone to your voice, “I’ve contributed plenty of my time to the group, helping Daryl with hunts and runs, making sure your bellies are full. I help wash clothes in the morning, I do daily perimeter checks with Glenn. Ain’t that enough for you?” You stepped a little closer this time, lowering your voice to harshly say, “Cause if you’re implying anything more, I ain’t doing personal tent calls like some street whore.” 

“You better watch your mouth.” His eyes were starting to get that wild look again, twitching a little when you smiled bitterly at him. 

“Did you hit your head or somethin’ when you went on that run with Otis? Is that what’s got you so fucked up? Some traumatic brain injury or some shit?” 

“Who do you think you’re talkin’ to, little girl? Cause I know it ain’t me.” He sized you up, chest puffed out as he got closer, but you stayed firmly planted, not allowing him to intimidate you. 

Not this time.  

“You’re fuckin’ losing it Shane, sure there ain’t many in the group that pick up on it but I sure do.” You shook your head, “All I’m sayin’ is you need to take a step back before you get someone else killed.” 

Clearly your wording made something snap within Shane. That littlest bit of self control he had disappeared, and suddenly his hands were clutching onto your biceps, blunt fingernails digging through the fabric of your shirt. 

“I ain’t getting anyone killed,” He growled out, “I keep this place safe, me. Not you, not Rick, or Daryl, Dale, none of you. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, girl, you’re barely smarter than a bag of fucking rocks. All talk and no bite.” His words punched into your harshly, he was practically snarling in your face as he got closer and closer. Your eyes were wide, fear striking through your heart as you stared at him. “Got any other smartass remarks, huh?” 

“Get your fuckin’ hands off of me, man!” You thrashed in his hold, quick to bring your still lit cigarette up and pressing it against his forearm. 

He flinched away, letting you go, and for a split second you almost thought he was about to rear back and slap you. He had that same exact look in his eyes your ex would get. 

Dangerous and unpredictable.

“Hey!” You heard an angered voice growl from behind you. 

Suddenly you felt hands on you again, making you flinch. But the hold was gentle, guiding you as Daryl stepped in front of you, his shoulders heaved with each heavy breath, clearly having run over to you as quickly as he possibly could. 

“The hell you think you’re doin’, huh?! Puttin’ your hands on her like that!” He was seething, but his hand was gentle as it held onto yours, squeezing softly as a way to reassure you. “You don’t fuckin’ talk to her, y’hear me?” He growled out threateningly, his hand resting on the knife secured to his belt, ready to strike at any second. “Don’t let me catch you near her again, asshole, or it’ll be hell to pay. I promise you that.” He glared at Shane, quickly turning around and guiding you past the group’s camp. 

“What the hell is going on? What’s with all the shouting?” Rick asked, catching up to the two of you. 

“Y’better get your fuckin’ boy, Rick. Ask him to explain the situation t’you.” Daryl spat, not giving him time to reply. 

You sat back down in front of the fire, staring at the yellow flames blankly. Never did you think Shane would put his hands on you like that, but the way he had talked to you, looked at you. It was too familiar, as if you were standing in front of the direct reincarnation of a man you fought so hard to forget. 

Daryl’s hands gently held your trembling ones. His index finger and thumb came up to your chin and pushed your head up so he could look into your dewy eyes. His fingers caressed your cheek, he knew that look on your face all too well, having seen it in the mirror plenty of times. 

“He ever tries anything like that again, he’s a dead man.” He stated firmly.

“I thought he was gonna hit me.” You said weakly, you hated how pathetic your voice sounded.

“I ain’t ever gonna let anything happen t’you. Not while I’m still breathing.” 

The promise would be a difficult one to fulfill, you both knew that. But the words still held weight, settling deep within your heart. You would be safe with him, you knew that.

[yanderes-galore]

Pure vanilla with a darling who knew him as healer cookie.

Have fun with this one. Pick if it's headcanon, one shot or whatever.

There was two ways I could write this. You being a part of Gingerbrave's group or you being part of the Raisin Village. I decided to cover the second version after finishing the first one since the first one had more content.

Yandere! Pure Vanilla wirh Darling who knew him as Healer! Cookie

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Overprotective behavior, Delusional behavior, Clingy behavior, Paranoia, Possessive behavior, Kidnapping, Isolation, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Ah, PV as Healer Cookie is such a sweet soul.

Iirc, Healer was the name PV took after being inflicted with amnesia.

Since the Dark Flour War he's become a nomad, soon settling in the Raisin Village to be their healer.

Being a healer is all he knows... All he remembers.

He doesn't mind... He enjoys seeing people happy when he heals them.

You most likely first met him while going to find the Vanilla Kingdom with Gingerbrave and the others.

You were injured due to a scuffle with some rogue Wafflebots and needed to he tended to.

Healer was quick to do so, taking you into a medical tent to work on healing you.

Your first meeting with each other is during an emergency... a life or death experience.

It... sticks with him more than it should.

Healer is very kind when he tends to you, often making sure you get food and water.

He tends to your companions too, although they seem more like children you're looking after since you're older....

Healer stays around you more though.

He feels oddly... drawn to you, especially in such a weak state.

He likes the idea of you needing him... of you trusting him.

Which... makes Healer a bit fond of you.

When he hears of your group's goal of exploring the reason behind the Wafflebot attacks, he nearly tries to dissuade you from pursuing it.

It's too dangerous with just you and your inexperienced crew!

At least let him come with you... He wants to help!

In reality... He wants to look after you.

This ends up with Black Raisin and Healer joining you all.

Black Raisin tried to say Healer was more needed in the village... Yet he declined.

He needed to come with you.

He needed to make sure you... and the others... are okay!

This was how the bond between you and Healer went.

As you traversed the lands leading to the old Vanilla Kingdom and fought monsters along the way... Healer provided support.

Whenever you got injured, Healer was always by your side to look over the nasty wounds.

Black Raisin may scold you for not being careful... But Healer always defends you, he's... protective.

You'd probably make the joke that he has a crush on you light-heartedly.

Which makes you notice the light pink tint on his face when you make the comment.

You reassure him you're just teasing, you just want to be playful.

But it still affects him more than you thought it would.

Imagine Healer, despite being an amnesiac, feeling drawn to you due to his old life.

As Pure Vanilla, he was surrounded by friends.

He was a caring hero and king in those days... surrounded by others he could trust.

I'd imagine your personality reminds him of one of his old friends, or maybe even a few of them....

You give the cookies you're traveling with a sense of direction... You help guide them from harm.

Healer doesn't like that sometimes that means putting yourself in danger...

But he still finds you just as endearing as his old companions.

Perhaps by the time you get to the Vanilla Kingdom, Healer starts to recover some memories.

He begins to realize just who he is... a great healer and leader who disappeared after the war....

He seems uneasy and tends to wander off to try and chase memories, but you always manage to catch up to him and ground him.

Maybe another thing that adds to his obsession is the fact you seem genuinely interested in who he was.

You're curious of Pure Vanilla, often asking Wizard Cookie about the history of this old kingdom.

You act like you look up to the ancient hero... Even going as far as to vow to protect your traveling companions.

It leaves Healer a bit flustered that you want to protect him...

Even more so when he realizes you looked up to and cherish him... He's that hero, after all.

Protecting you is in his instincts even when he doesn't have his memories.

No doubt partially because you remind him of the friends he once wanted to protect.

Essentially, I feel for most of your journey you're protecting Healer/PV.

You're caring for him and treating him like he's vulnerable, you're pampering him...

Some may view it as insulting to be treated as weak...

But Healer finds himself craving that care from you.

Things of course change when you encounter Dark Enchantress and Pure Vanilla is revealed.

By the end of the encounter you're left shocked.

The healer you were caring for... was the Pure Vanilla?

You don't have much time to fully process this before PV rushes over to you, a concerned look in his heterochromatic eyes.

He's looking you over for wounds, murmuring about how he hopes he protected his dear friends this time.

I have a feeling once his true identity is revealed, PV feels like he needs to 'repay' you or just 'protect' you.

He's a healer and protector at heart, a true hero meant to support.

But he takes it too far, of course.

He can never be normal about his feelings in these kinds of HCs.

You defended him in combat before... and you've shown that you're reckless when looking out for others.

Now that he's at his full strength due to obtaining his Soul Jam... It's about time he returns the favor.

Your journey would get more difficult as time goes on... Not only due to the stronger foes...

But also Pure Vanilla growing more... strange.

Since you encountered him at the Raisin Village and helped him get back to his old kingdom... He's been paranoid.

Even the sight of blood (jam?) just being on you sends PV into a spiral.

He knows he shouldn't be worried... That you're well looked after in your group... but...

Well... He can't help but think you'd be much safer with him.

He thinks back to your playful banter... how you said he might have feelings... how you protected him...

He wants to do the same... He felt safe around you... He wants you to feel safe around him too.

Then there's the alternative version of these HCs I thought of.

Instead of traveling with Gingerbrave, you're simply a citizen in Black Raisin Village.

For the longest time you've known Healer as a traveler who showed up here one day.

He'd treated everyone here at least once, all smiles as he eagerly sees to the wounds of your fellow villagers.

He's even treated you, you had gotten a few wounds from wild animals... or even crumbled a bit....

Healer made sure you didn't worry though, soothing you with medicine and wrapping your wounds.

He'd watch you day and night in the medical tent to heal, well... as much as he could with the bandages covering his face.

You appreciate him and everything he's done for you and your friends.

Such sentimentality ended up with you befriending the healer.

You two would often talk with one another, you even learned a few tips and tricks from Healer.

Perhaps your friendship even blooms into a mutual curiosity... leading to Healer falling for you.

You and Healer may even test your feelings one night.

While Healer finished tending to someone, you two had begun to talk.

You barely noticed his mostly innocent plotting... The healer blushing softly when you're around.

While you were distracted, probably by checking how much supplies he had, Healer pipes up.

"My friend... Look at me for a moment?"

By the time you turn, he kisses you softly.

It's soft, sweet... and tastes oddly like vanilla.

You remember such an encounter fondly since you had been curious about him too.

But before you could pursue something further, Healer left with some travelers to solve the Wafflebot problem.

You didn't mind, he had always wanted to make sure you were safe....

You didn't expect to see him again, that kiss and sweet night together no doubt a one time encounter.

Then... days later, someone came back.

The presence was... familiar yet foreign.

An ancient hero came back with the travelers, a smile on his face.

"My dear friends...! I’ve returned to offer you a new home...."

It's, of course... shocking to learn what your crush actually was.

Or... Who he was.

Pure Vanilla stands in his place, soon meeting you and looking rather excited.

"My dearest friend... I am sorry for leaving. Do not worry... I'll never leave you long ever again. Come... let me show you our new home~!"

Regardless of which story you meet... Pure Vanilla progressively gets obsessed over your safety and health.

Be it you leaving for missions... or himself doing it... It comes to a head eventually.

Imagine Pure Vanilla inviting you to his council room, claiming he has something to talk to you about.

It's not too out of the ordinary... Something PV just likes to speak with you over a drink or dinner.

You're a companion in his eyes.

He offers for you to sit in his council room once you arrive through the large doors, a nervous yet eager look on his face.

Then he asks you the question...

"How do you feel about me, my dearest? As in... Would you accept a proposal of mine?"

It confuses you, what was he asking?

'What kind of proposal?' You ask... making the hero clear his throat.

"I... wish to be your lover officially. I want you to marry me, my love... To be mine."

It's... a lot to ask. You have a feeling he knows that.

Yet even after you decline, the hero presses.

"No, my love... Please... consider it? I could give you everything... I'll protect you, I'll care for you, I'll love you... I just ask you to stay by me, in my kingdom, where I can watch you."

It soon becomes clear that his intentions are to... restrict you to his castle.

Even if you turn him down again, the hero seems a bit irritated.

"My love... I'm sorry... but I can't have you in danger anymore... You need me... I NEED you... I'm afraid I can't let you leave if you're not going to listen."

Pure Vanilla, while typically submissive compared to his fellow Ancients... is willing to be assertive when it comes to you.

He's seen you hurt... He's experienced special moments between you... Even if you say 'No' now...

He knows you're meant to be.

Imagine Pure Vanilla locking you in his castle, convinced you'll hurt yourself if you leave.

He's paranoid, in a constant anxious feedback loop when he doesn't have you close.

So he shares a room with you, one where he can make sure you're safe and comfortable.

His past where he failed to protect his friends certainly doesn't help... his past trauma corrupting the relationship he wants with you.

But... he ignores all that... and pretends you aren't glaring at him as you're locked away in a room.

This way... You'll be safe... and all his...

Ironically though, he'll lose you emotionally.

You'll hate him for what he's doing and has done.

Sure, he won't kill... but his own emotions are dangerous to you both.

PV will keep you with him one way or another since you mean so much to him...

He plans to be your loving husband... The one meant for you...

Yet he'll always be too focused on that, on the moments that are in the past, that he'll be blind to the betrayal you feel now due to his isolation.

[chososdiscordkitten]

You're Mine!

Synopsis: riding choso nd giving him hickeys hehe ^-^

Pairing: Switch!Choso x Fem!Reader Content: No use of y/n, some plot, porn w/ feelings, bite marks, hickeys (m&f), lipstick prints, markings, topics of ownership, praise, riding, hair pulling (M), creampie

Dedicated to; this beloved anon, may your pillows be cold and fluffy 4 the rest of ur life <3

MDNI

Choso didn’t really understand the idea of hickeys and bite marks. Had he bitten you hard enough to leave a mark, wouldn’t it hurt? And aren’t hickeys just bruises made from his lips? 

It didn’t really click in his mind, the idea of pain associated with pleasure- but if you asked him to, he would give you hickeys with a small nibble here or there. 

Giving them was just another task he had to complete when it came to pleasing you- he would happily lap and suckle on the soft skin of your neck and leave blossoming marks on you if it meant you would be happy. 

And when you gave them to him, he still didn’t get why. The process felt terrific, but the aftermath always felt raunchy. Like some horny teenagers who couldn’t control their affections. Or when people looked at the purpling marks on his neck with a little grimace on their faces. 

But when you muttered something into his ear on your way down to the pale skin of his neck- “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” that’s when Choso started associating marks with some kind of ownership. 

If little bruises and remnants of your lipstick where you had kissed him littered his neck, meant he was yours- that was something completely different. Gladly would he offer his skin for you to mark. 

It changed the way Choso looked at the tedious process of giving you small hickeys on your neck and down the swell of your chest. 

It transformed into a way of showing that you were his, just as much he was yours- and that no one else could come near you. 

Wedding rings and necklaces with his initials were one thing—but having a reminder bruised onto your skin. There being no way of removing it other than with time. Just to show people you had a person and didn’t need another. 

It made a particular depraved part of his brain twitch when he would see them on you. Even more when he would see them blooming on his own skin the following day.

Choso had half a mind to tattoo your name on him—just to have a permanent reminder of you etched on his body. 

Nothing, not even time or soap and water, would remove it. But you swatted away those thoughts with the little tickles you would kiss on his skin. 

Thinking how much more enjoyable hickeys and nibbles were than tattoos would be. 

But then came the sad sight of the pretty, pinkish-purple marks fading to an ugly shade of yellow or green. Or the soap scrubbing away the marks your lipstick would leave on his pale skin.

It always made him mournfully graze the diminishing marks in the mirror. 

Though that sight wouldn’t last long, you were always attentive to giving him fresh ones to look at when the fading ones would disappear. 

What you liked most was how fucking sensitive he would get- a few open mouth kisses on his face or his neck, and he would be putty in your hands. 

Even more when he’s sat on the couch beneath you- his hands lazily massaging the malleable skin of your thighs and his head to the side. Giving you the perfect angle to litter his skin with small circles of your spit- beneath the sheen of saliva, a blooming red mark left by your lips. 

With every moan you would vibrate onto his skin- his hands would tighten their grip. Almost urging you to grind onto the growing tent in his as you lapped at his tender skin. 

It didn’t help that you were barely wearing anything- a spaghetti strap tank that rode up your waist with every little grind his hands led you to make. And the only thing separating your core from his tented cock was a pair of panties. 

Supposedly just to do laundry and watch a film while waiting for the first load to finish- your excuse being “There were no clean clothes.” when he asked why you were barely covered. 

And him- a t-shirt and basketball shorts, no boxers because it was as you said, ‘No clean clothes.’

That’s what frustrated Choso the most. So fucking close to your cunt- but two stupid layers of clothing blocking his access. And his lips were far too occupied. Letting out small sighs of content mixed with little whimpers to voice his complaints. 

But you felt just how desperate Choso was starting to get from the way his hips bucked up when you would lightly exhale onto his damp skin. 

A wave of goosebumps rose on his skin with every nibble you would make.

Or how his soft sighs started sounding like whines as your soaked panties would press right against his leaky, clothed tip.

The whimper that left Choso’s lips bordered on a cry when you raised your hips away from him in the slightest. Inching your hand down his torso and dipping your fingers past the elastic of his shorts- your lips refusing to let up the peppering hickeys on his neck.

Your hand lightly grasped his eager shaft, smile forming on your lips against his skin as you released his cock from the prison of his shorts. 

Pulling back and giving him a few gentle strokes as you gazing at Choso's expression. His eyes shut tightly, his bottom lip threatening to quiver with perched eyebrows. And the sharp hiss falling from his parted lips when the ridges of your fingers would roll over his tip. 

Placing a soft kiss on his cheek before sliding your lips to his ear- “Pull them aside.” you commanded with a tone Choso swore you only used to get him to do what you wanted. 

And it always worked. 

His strong hand slid from your hip to your core- greeted with a drenched cotton center as you lapped at his sensitive ear. Whimpering from the light strokes mixed with every sweet exhale you made against the cartilage. 

You couldn’t help the shuddering inhale that left your lips when his finger hooked onto the side of your panties and exposed your sopping cunt to the air. Wasting no time in sliding the tip of his finger up your soaked slit and feeling your hips rise from the feather-like touch. 

As pent up and eager as Choso was- he's never been a monster. Didn’t matter how much precum leaked from his cockhead, he wanted to prep you before anything else. 

But you, the complete opposite. Swatting away his eager-to-please hand with a playful scoff. 

Choso parted his eyes and looked at you, pulling away from his ear with low eyes. His expression all but asking you if something was wrong. 

You lip tucked between your teeth with a strong willed hand grasping at the side of his neck. Taking a humming tone, “Fuck the prep- I need you inside.” you whispered, rolling your palm over his tip and pressing a sloppy kiss onto his lips. 

The kindness of granting you prep had slipped his mind entirely when you looked at him with hungry eyes. So fucking ravenous, you’d risk displeasure just to have his cock inside. 

To have a part of him, inside. 

Choso eased his grip on your sides, feeling your hand grasp right below his cock head and feeling your hips rise a bit more. A hand on the side of his neck with a tucked lip- bracing for the stretch.

The little moan that left his lips bordered on being a shuddering whimper at the heat emitting from your entrance. And when he felt the taught muscle of your cunt press right against his tip- Choso swore he would cum right then and there. 

He had far too little time to prepare himself to not spurt his mess before any real fun started, and your denial for prep didn’t help. The look of pure and utter starvation in your eye, didn’t help. 

The shared inhale of air as you lowered yourself onto him was saccharine to his ears. 

Taught, slick walls that hesitated to welcome him, making his eyes shut again. As though Choso was inviting you to suckle on his neck again, he threw his head back onto the ledge of the couch with a throaty moan. 

And your hips- stuttering with every inch you lowered yourself on. A sharp sigh left your lips before connecting them to Choso’s neck again. Littered with previous blooming marks of a reddish pink. Yet he wanted more. 

And more, you had plenty to give. 

Licking a soft stripe down his adams apple with moans vibrating against him. A soft huff leaving your lips when your clit was flush against his pelvis. Taking your hand and placing it on the hem of his t-shirt. 

Pawing at his happy trail as you lightly rose yourself, your lips sucking on his neck with soft whimpers rumbling from his throat. 

One of Choso’s hands rising up your side and taking the hem of your tank top with it. Pulling your lips from his neck as you slowly rode him. Arching your back to give him a better view of your clothed breasts and seeing Choso’s low eyes lock on them. 

His hand rose past the mound of your breast and freed your nipple from the thin tank. His thumb gave a gentle swipe at the firm bud as your hips took on a frotting motion. His tip nudging right at the sensitive spot with every grind you made. 

Choso broke the gaze he had on your breasts, batting his eyes up to you with a soft whimper. “You’re so pretty.” he hummed, leaning his lips onto the exposed swell of your breast, pressing a gentle kiss onto the soft skin. 

Being able to feel his adoration in the sloppy laps and suckles he made at your chest. 

Lips formed in a soft ‘o’ as your hands reached for the half-removed tank. Slipping it off in its entirety and feeling Choso's hand on your hip, dip beneath the cotton of your panties and grope your ass. 

Your grinds grew in desperation with a slight ache forming in your inner thighs. Your hands slipping beneath his t-shirt and lightly clawing at his carved torso. The light stimulation of your clit grinding against his pelvis knocking more honeyed moans out of your lungs. 

Barely able to withstand the burning in your lower spine from how slow you were going. You leaned forward, raising yourself from his cock and holding yourself mid shift. His mouth full of as much of your breast as he could have. (greedy)

Choso batted his eyelashes up to you, pupils in the shapes of hearts at the feeling of your cunt clenching around his shaft.

Trailing his hand from your rib down to your other cheek, two handfuls of ass being used as mounts as he rose his hips from the couch. 

Unwilling to let go of your skin from his mouth- if anything sucking harsher as he plowed his hips up into you. A strained whine leaving your lips from the swift jab, giving Choso the confidence to continue his harsh thrusts. 

Your hands roamed up his arms and settled in his hair, gladly ignoring the little chime that sounded from the laundry machine. Lightly tugging and feeling the grunts and moans rumble onto your tit with every harsh thrust he made. 

The edges of your fingers lightly clawing at his scalp with an orgasm forming in your tummy. As though your twitching walls weren’t enough for Choso- he took his non-dominant hand from your ass, sliding to your inner thighs right where you connected with him. 

Sucking harshly at any untouched patch of skin his plush lips could find. 

His calloused ring and middle finger pressing against your puffy clit making your spine quiver with a shudder leaving your lips. A drawn-out curse littered between your moans was heard as a hymn to Choso's ears. 

As though you were singing praise from the noises you couldn’t control. Looking up at you, the curve of your neck adorned with a light sheen forming from how worked up you were. 

Releasing your skin from his lips with a little pop, his chest heaving with every whimper spilled from his lips. “Am I doing good?” he murmured against your skin. 

A moan almost in frustration at the question left your lips. Choso’s fingers moving sloppily- unable to keep a pattern with his left hand as his relentless hips bucking into you, churning your brain to mush. 

Placing his lips at your sternum- sucking harshly to create those little marks you so loved to see on your skin. As many as he could just to hear your compliments.

Barely able to comprehend his fish for praise- a sharp exhale left your lips. “D-doing so fuckin’ good.” was all Choso needed to hear to release that knot in his tummy he had been holding tightly from the second his tip pushed past your cunt. 

Holding onto his orgasm for as long as he could- so fucking needy to have you finish before him. 

But the twitching walls of your cunt made it too hard for him to keep his focus. 

Pulling away from your sternum, Choso shut his eyes, his lips pressed tightly together and thrusting into you greedily- your lips barely able to form the words, “F-fill me up-” was the last thing Choso heard before doing as you commanded. 

His hips rutted up into you in tandem with every vulgar spurt his cockhead made. White, thick and full of love coating your walls as he continued his mean thrusts. 

Your mess mixed with his spend pooling at his base and dripping down his heavy balls. Choso’s fingers refused to let up- He needed to feel you cum on his cock. 

And with your hands gripping vigorously at his hair- the moans that left your lips bordered on guttural as his hips continued their fast pace. Uncaring if he was overstimulating his cock- Choso was still hard for you. 

His shoulders trembling with unfiltered grunts and whimpers leaving his lips against your skin as he continued.  

Choso’s jaw was clenched, gripping so harshly at your ass his fingertips were turning white, his nose crinkled with his eyebrows pinched. His moans came out stifled from his nose, barely able to keep up the pace. Your tits bouncing in his face from his incessant jabs as you milked his cock for all he had. 

Eyes rolling back from the harsh nudges his overworked tip made against your gspot, mixed with the merciless circles his fingers made against your cunt made your hands pull on his hair unwillingly.

A little tear falling down your cheek from the mouth-watering pleasure—and fucking finally. Your walls started fluttering around his shaft. 

Choked whimpers graced Choso’s ears as his lips sloppily kissed at your sternum. Too overstimulated to give you any more marks of his adoration, and settling on a few lazy pecks. 

Easing your hips back down onto his lap as your breathing steadied. Shivering inhales with lazy hands sliding from his scalp. Inhaling air with an upturn of whimpers as the remnants of his seed trickled out of you.

Resting your temple onto his shoulder with a pleased smile. His cock still throbbing inside of you as you caught your breath. 

Blinking your eyes up at him as though you weren’t the one who instigated the mess that spilled between you. 

Choso looked back at your pleased expression- fucked out and happy. A sprinkle of smugness in your smile, but still. you were happy. 

Smiling to himself at how convincing the little glimmer in your eyes was- how you could convince Choso himself that you were innocent in all of this. 

Knowing full well that he would be sent to go put that load of laundry to dry before coming back and giving you another load of his. And happy to do so. 

-

(a.n) I doodled mpeg Choso, pregnant with my kids on company time. that's the level of insane im at rn

[sanjisblackasswife]

Blk fem Reader x Geto & Gojo (SEPARATELY)

Mentions of sex, kissing

Geto and Gojo are without a doubt lover boys in my opinion, but they express their love differently. I can’t list them all, but I’ll mention a few;

I think lover boy Geto is the kind of guy that when he falls in love with you, you literally become all he is worried about. Nothing you could do and say is a burden, if anything he wants you to solely depend on him for anything.

Lover boy Geto knows you’re strong, and don’t need to depend on him, and will always respect that, but he will also remind you that when you ever want to tune off your brain and just let him do all the heavy lifting in your life you can.

Mentally exhausted? Come lay on his chest and let him hear you talk about what’s been bothering you.

Physically exhausted? Don’t even worry about it he’s there putting prison salt in your lavender bath right now.

You will never have to worry about thinking when you’re with him. He adorns you to the point that you never need any reassurance if he loves you.

Everything that lover boy Geto says always includes you, even if it’s his idea;

“Oh yes we’d love to join you.”

“We have made reservations to rent out this beach for the weekend .”

The only time he ever says my is when he is mentioning you;

“Yeah, my Y/N loves those snacks let me go get it real quick.”

“She did what? Not my y/n, who are you talking about?”

The way he makes love to you is always so overwhelming, because he’s so expressive with his body, his tongue exploring areas on and inside you. He always says, “Look at me. please.” when he’s close. Geto just can’t have an orgasm with you without looking you in the eye.

You swear he’s ruined you for anybody else, but it’s you that ruined him. He doesn’t even masturbate anymore (unless it’s with you).

Lover boy Geto that is more than willing to make a space for you both separate from the world, he doesn’t want to admit it, but he has a slight weird possessiveness over you, that he can’t seem to hide.

His eyes are always on yours, any syllable you spew out he catches himself smiling like an idiot to see and hear what you have to say.

I also can see him being the kind of guy that if you’re under a cabinet or something he’ll come behind you and shield the back of your head with his huge hand to prevent you hitting it. He knows how clumsy you can be.

Lover Boy Geto is a sight , because he’s harsh around so many that are around him, but you?

He turns into mush for you.

Lover boy Gojo to me loves loud and exciting. You’re his world and he never makes you forget that.

He’s a clingy boy, never will admit it, but his actions show it. When he falls in love with you you are set on a pedestal that nobody can match for him.

Gojo can’t last not a one conversation without mentioning you.

“ Mochi likes the strawberry ones….my girlfriend y/n i mean—“

“Y/N and i went there before! Yeah, I plan on taking her again as a surprise next month.”

Lover boy Gojo that embarrasses you with his words of affirmation, he teases sure, but sometimes his words’ll get you so flustered you have to slap him on his arm to stop.

Lover boy Gojo that TRIPLES his gift giving when it comes to you.

Graduated? New car with money in the glove compartment.

Birthday? 2 week vacation at his own private beach

Just a random Tuesday? Here’s a few just because gifts.

He would want you to be completely comfortable with being someone you can go to with trouble. Whatever it may be regardless of how silly or serious.

Gojo’s demeanor changes as well, he’s still that silly and strong Gojo, but he’s just Satoru with you. Stealing glances, basking in your comfort, tapping your ear off about the latest pokémon episode—

Being COMPLETELY babied by you. I’m talking being held, occasional kisses, or else he’ll pout—-

he’s 29 and 6’6” btw

He loves being taken care of by you, he handles the heavy work like paying bills, shopping, and anything else you need, but you take care of his emotional and mental stability a lot. The way you hold and take care of him, the way you listen and endulge him even when he’s acting too childish for most.

Lover boy Gojo never had experience with being IN love. This was new, but he was willing to learn.

Sex even became something he wanted to learn more about, the first time you both finally decide to make love he’s like a curious puppy.

“Lick here? ….How’s that? What about here—oh! You made such a cute noise that time….this fast enough?….deeper? y-yes of course—“

He’s the strongest and feared man, but nobody know that you’re his kryptonite, his weakness.

And he doesn’t mind it at all.

[mononijikayu]

pretty woman — nanami kento.

“You don’t look like you’re here to be fixed either.” he says. “I’m not.” you admit. “Just didn’t feel like being at home. Thought I’d sit somewhere people didn’t expect anything from me. For like, two seconds.” He nods. There’s a silence that settles between you then, but it’s not awkward. It’s rare. Companionable. Like two strangers who’ve walked miles through the same kind of loneliness and just happened to stop at the same bench. After a moment, he asks you, “Are you often this forward with strangers?” You smile faintly, eyes still ahead. “Only the ones who look like they need someone to remind them they’re still here.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Actor’s AU (AU of the AU);

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Pretty Woman, Pretty Boy, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Hurt/Comfort, Age Gap Relationship (Reader is 30s, Nanami is late 40s), Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Post–Separation/Divorce, Dating, Feeling, Light–Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Soft Smut, Actor! Nanami, Comedian! Reader;

Words: 17k words.

Note: this was a commission of @nanamin-chan who wanted to see a different perspective of the actor's au!!! please thank them for this!!! this is a few years where nanami kento has become all but single and has been going through a LOT. in some ways, this deserves some happiness too after paying for his mistakes. anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as we do!!! i love you all so much~

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the good life ― masterlist.

HIS LIFE HAS BEEN QUITE AN ADVENTURE THESE PAST FEW YEARS. It has been a few years since his separation from his wife of nearly thirty years, veteran actor Nanami Kento drifts through life like a man half-remembered by the world he once commanded. 

The silver screen still calls his name, scripts still arrive at his door, and fans still pause with reverence when they see him but deep inside, he is unmoored.

That was the truth of it all. Time, once so precisely accounted for in neat schedules and well-worn routines, has unraveled into empty afternoons and hollow evenings.

Their separation was quiet, dignified by all standards. He expected it, if he was being honest. After he had done to her, he had expected she would have done worse. But his estranged wife was not that sort of person. She was too much of a good person. Too good a person he could never be. 

Instead, they packed up their belongings from the old home, had a settlement, and became distant and amicable friends who sometimes drink together. There were reports about it, true enough. But there were no tabloid scandals, no public fallout. They didn’t allow it. 

Just two people who had loved each other at one point, perhaps fiercely, perhaps too brutally and too horribly, until the love grew too unbearable to even have between them widened into a chasm. The paper may say that the both of them were just separated, that it's a break. 

After all, the law says they are still married. There was an agreement to not divorce just yet. He had your friendship, he has the kids. Yet, it’s not the same.

In every other way that matters, Nanami Kento is alone. His wife does not love him that way anymore. And he doesn’t blame her for that. 

Though, he still wears his ring out of habit. He still checks his phone as if expecting her to call, ask what he wants for dinner, or remind him to pick up tea on his way home.

But there is no home. Only a new elaborate high rise apartment to come home to. It was too clean, a bed too cold, and a calendar marked with dates that now mean nothing.

Kento doesn't know if he believes in second chances. He's not even sure he believes in himself anymore. At least not the way he used to, when he was young and roles came easy, when she’d sit in the front row of his plays with those warm eyes, mouthing his lines as if they were poetry written just for her. 

Now, love feels distant, like a language he once knew but can no longer speak. He wonders, sometimes bitterly, if he squandered all his good years. If he gave all of himself to a life that has already ended and left nothing behind.

He questions whether he’s worthy of being known and revered, not just admired, but truly seen. After all he had done, was he worthy of something more than that?

There are people who flirt, who reach out, who want to know the man behind the quiet melancholy. But Nanami Kento doesn’t know how to let them in. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

They were just flings to him. Little wanderings that would dry up after five months and then a new one comes along. It was rinsed and repeated.

He isn't closed off out of cruelty. He’s just... tired. Tired of starting over. Tired of hoping. Tired of the ache that comes with imagining a future he’s not sure he deserves.

Terrified of disappointing anymore, terrified of becoming someone that would hurt someone again in the way he had hurt his wife.

And so he moves through his days like a shadow of the man he once was. Still searching. Still mourning. Still wondering if, somewhere out there, love might find him again or if he’ll remain adrift, alone in a life too large for one.

Some days are easier. He’ll wake to the sound of birds on the balcony, light pressing in through the curtains like a hesitant promise. He’ll make coffee in the quiet. Always hot black espresso, no sugar, just the way he likes it. 

And for a moment, the ritual feels almost like peace. He’ll go for long walks with his scarf wrapped tight and his thoughts even tighter, passing streets lined with memories he doesn’t quite let himself feel.

The industry still calls. Directors still cast him as the wise elder, the cold father, the heartbroken lover. Many roles that now echo uncomfortably close to the truth. Sometimes, acting feels like the only time he knows what he’s supposed to do. 

On set, there are marks to hit, lines to say, someone to yell “cut” when it all becomes too much. But when the cameras stop rolling, when the lights go out, he returns to a silence that doesn't end on cue.

He doesn’t talk about the separation. Not to his co–stars, not to old friends who tiptoe around the subject, not even to himself, not really. To the world, he’s composed. Controlled.

Still the dependable Nanami Kento. But beneath the surface, he's in a slow freefall, reaching for something, anything that feels like solid ground.

Sometimes, when he catches his reflection, he hardly recognizes himself. The lines on his face have deepened, not just from age but from the weight of unspoken things. Regret lives in the corners of his eyes. He doesn't regret loving her, not ever. 

But he regrets being a bad man who couldn’t love her well. He regrets the ways they stopped talking. The missed chances. The slow, steady drift apart. The final, unceremonious goodbye that wasn't even a goodbye, just a quiet agreement to let the distance win.

He wonders if there’s a version of himself somewhere that he could be proud of. A version of himself who fought harder, who said what needed saying, who reached out instead of retreating. A man who held on. But that man isn’t here. Perhaps he never will be.

Still, there are flickers. A smile from a stranger in a bookstore. The warm brush of hands during a crowded train ride. A soft voice over the phone, a new colleague, perhaps too young, perhaps too curious.

These moments unsettle him. They remind him that he's still alive. That his heart still works, even if it's bruised. That maybe, just maybe, there’s something left to give.

But love? Love feels a far away concept to him to visualize. And he, so far from the man who once believed in it without question, can only take it one quiet, aching day at a time. That was just the sad truth of it all.

The bar is dim, quiet, and mercifully anonymous. It was the kind of place where people come to be forgotten, not found. Kento sits alone at the far end, nursing a glass of whiskey that's long since warmed in his hand. The ice has melted into thin gold, and he hasn’t taken a sip in minutes.

His phone buzzes again. Another message, probably the third tonight, from someone on set. The after party is in full swing. They want him there, say it won’t be the same without him. But Nanami Kento doesn’t even bother to check it. 

The phone stays face–down on the polished wood of the bar, the screen lighting up only to dim again. He came here instead, drawn not by desire but by habit.

The party would be all noise, all smiles too wide and eyes too sharp, people leaning too close, voices too loud. He doesn’t have it in him to pretend tonight.

The bartender offers him a silent nod of recognition. He's been here before. Not often, but enough that they know not to ask questions. He appreciates that. He appreciates that someone just lets him be, even for this moment.

He lifts the glass, finally takes a drink. It burns, but it’s a clean kind of pain. Honest. Simple. Nothing like the ache that sits in his chest, slow and stubborn. He stares into the glass like it might answer something, but it never does.

There are couples tucked into booths around the room, voices low and bodies leaning in. Young love, or new love. Or maybe both. He watches them with a strange mix of envy and detachment. Not bitterness. Just…..distance. Like watching a memory from the outside, blurry at the edges.

Once, that was him. The stolen glances. The laughter into warm shoulders. The feeling that just being near someone made the world feel warmer. It’s strange how long ago it feels, like another life. Like another man entirely.

He takes another sip. His mind drifts to the last conversation they had. It was not loud, not cruel, just final. If anything, it was exhausting.

She had looked at him across their kitchen, her hands clenched into the hem of her sweater, and said quietly, “I wish you the best, for all of your life, Kento.” 

And he, stunned into silence, had said nothing. Not a word of disagreement. Not any plea like please stay left in his mouth. Not even any sort of apology leaving once again. Nothing. It was  just silence, heavy and choking. That silence never left. And neither did he.

Now he wonders if there was still a chance buried somewhere in that moment, a small light he should’ve reached for. Another message buzzes in. Then another. He finally turns the phone over.

A string of emojis, a blurry photo from the party, someone holding up a shot glass in his honor. Come on, Nanami–san. Just one drink with us?

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he finishes the whiskey and signals for another. The bartender pours without a word. As the glass slides toward him, he catches his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.

Eyes tired. Shoulders slumped. A man trying not to feel too much, and failing. There’s a sadness there he’s stopped trying to hide. Let them see it. Let it sit.

He doesn't know if he's waiting for someone to join him or if he's just punishing himself for still wanting to be wanted. But tonight, he's not an actor. He's not a husband or a father. Not a mentor or a legend or whatever name they pin to his image.

Tonight, he's just a man with a drink and a silence he doesn’t know how to fill.  

For now, he knows that’s all he can be for himself and for the world.

And they have to deal with that until he can find his way back somewhere.

The second drink’s halfway gone when you sit down beside him. It was not too close, not with the easy familiarity of someone who knows him, just enough space to make your presence known.

No loud greeting, no recognition in your eyes. Just a quiet figure sliding onto the barstool with the kind of calm that feels almost intentional.

Nanami Kento notices without reacting. He doesn't turn to look, just flicks his gaze sideways for a moment. You're not drunk. Not looking to be.

Your hands are steady on your glass, and you’re not talking to the bartender like you’re trying to make friends. You just… exist there, beside him, in the same gentle quiet he’s clinging to.

It takes a minute before either of you speaks.

“You always look at your drink like it insulted you, pal.” you say, not facing him, voice soft, like you’re letting the words drift more than deliver them.

He blinks, not sure if you’re talking to him or just thinking aloud. But the corner of his mouth twitches. Barely. Almost. “I suppose I expect too much from it.” he replies after a beat, voice low and measured.

You hum, tipping your glass slightly. “Whiskey’s honest, at least. Can’t lie to you. Can’t fix you either. I would say mommy’s favorite.”

That lands a little too close to something in him. He snickers for a moment at your words. He glances at you, properly this time. Your face is unreadable, bright eyes fixed on the amber in your own glass like it holds some kind of answer.

“You don’t look like you’re here to be fixed either.” he says.

“I’m not.” you admit. “Just didn’t feel like being at home. Thought I’d sit somewhere people didn’t expect anything from me. For like, two seconds.”

He nods. There’s a silence that settles between you then, but it’s not awkward. It’s rare. Companionable. Like two strangers who’ve walked miles through the same kind of loneliness and just happened to stop at the same bench.

After a moment, he asks you, “Are you often this forward with strangers?”

You smile faintly, eyes still ahead. “Only the ones who look like they need someone to remind them they’re still here.”

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh. Yet it felt more of an exhale. It's the first real sound he’s made all night that doesn’t sound like it’s been swallowed first. “Maybe I do, pretty woman.” he admits.

You turn your head, finally meeting his gaze. “So… are you going to that party everyone keeps texting you about?”

His eyebrows rise just slightly. “You saw that?”

“I mean, it's too obvious from here. Your phone could lit up like a beacon if I needed to find  something in a dark alley. Couldn’t miss it.” You tilt your head, laughing slightly. ���You gonna go? It’s better than this place, no?”

“No. I think I’d rather stay here, really.” Kento whispers, voice low and deliberate, like he’s testing how the words taste in his mouth. “Boring sort of people with boring desires. I don’t want that.”

You turn your head slowly, arch an eyebrow, lips already curving. “Good. Because if you’d said yes, I’d have had to dump this whiskey on your head and declare you dead to me. It would’ve been very dramatic. People would've clapped.”

He smirks. “You always make it sound like I’m missing out on a Broadway show.”

“You are. I’m not kidding.” you say, sipping. “Starring me. Written by me. Directed by—well, let’s be honest, probably also me. But you? You could've had a supporting role, pal. Maybe even a line or two.”

He leans back, glancing at the doorway like the boring people might come clawing in. They don’t. Just shadows and silence. Another moment passes. It settles between you like an old friend. 

It was familiar, a little drunk, not entirely trustworthy. And in that space, something new flickers in him. Not hope. Not yet. But maybe the trailer for hope. The teaser. The grainy preview before the real film.

He lifts his glass slightly, his voice dry enough to be a martini. “To whiskey.”

You clink yours against his, a little spark of mischief in your eyes. “To strangers.”

“And questionable decisions.”

“Oh, those are the best kind. If a decision doesn’t scare your mother and confuse your therapist, is it even worth making?”

He laughs under his breath. Just a huff of air, but it’s honest. “You know… for someone I technically just met, you make it weirdly hard to leave.”

You shrug. “That’s my charm. I weaponize charisma. It’s not even subtle.”

He studies you for a second too long. The kind of look that starts like curiosity and ends like gravity.

You raise your glass again, tipping it slightly toward him. “So? Are you staying for the next act?”

“Only if it’s got better lighting and fewer existential crises.”

You grin. “No promises.”

There's a stillness afterward. It was a breath held between one heartbeat and the next. Nanami  Kento doesn't look away from you this time.

Not out of suspicion, or curiosity, or even caution. Just… presence. Something in the way you look at him is grounding, and in his world of scripts and silence, that's rare.

You both drink. The whiskey goes down smoother now, less like punishment, more like ritual. He sets his glass down with a care that betrays his exhaustion, his thoughts.

His shoulders still carry the weight of someone who’s spent years holding himself together with quiet discipline and the kind of restraint that never made room for collapse.

He takes another sip, then eyes you over the rim of his glass. “Alright,” he says slowly, “I’ll bite.”

You look at him. “That’s a bold offer on a first drink.”

He ignores it, barely smirks. “Why’d you stay?”

You don’t answer right away. Just tilt your head, let your finger trace the rim of your glass like it’s helping you think or stall. Then: “Because I’m next.”

He sets his glass down, leans forward slightly. “Next for what? The electric chair? A bad haircut? Or are we talking something a little more metaphorical here, because I didn’t bring my dictionary.”

You flash a quick, sideways smile. “I’m next in line for boring. For safe. For that quiet little life with the quiet little house and the partner who says things like, ‘Let’s just stay in tonight,’ and means it every night.”

He winces theatrically. “Sounds terminal.”

“Exactly. You see why I had to bail.”

He leans back, eyes flicking to the empty stage across the room, then back to you. “So what, you’re staging a rebellion over a glass of whiskey?”

“No, no.” you say, sipping. “The rebellion started when I didn’t follow them out the door. This”—you gesture between the two of you, between the glasses, the space charged with something both electric and unspoken—“this is the afterparty.”

He lets that hang in the air for a beat. Then: “Hell of an afterparty. You, me, and a bartender who keeps pretending he’s not eavesdropping.”

The bartender, who is definitely eavesdropping, gives a guilty shrug. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Hiroto. You’re still cute.” You smile, slow and crooked. “Not all revolutions start with a bang. Some start with a clink.”

Kento looks at you again, and now that flicker inside him, the maybe-hope, is growing teeth. “You seem to always talk like you’re already in the movie version of your life.”

You nod. “Because I am. Just waiting for the right co–star.”

Another pause. Long enough to make both of you aware of the tension winding quietly around your chairs. Then he says, “You really think you’re next? To be someone’s co–star in life?”

You look him square in the eye, not blinking, not flinching. “I know I am. Question is—what are you?”

He studies you for a moment, like he’s trying to decide if this is a trick or a test. Then he says, “You really don’t recognize me?”

There’s no arrogance in it. It was just a trace of disbelief. Like a guy who’s used to being pointed at in airports, not stared at across bar tables like a curiosity. He’s not used to not being recognized for something, whether it be for hate or for joy.

You squint at him, overly dramatic. “Did we go to high school together? Because unless you were the lunch lady or the janitor, I’m drawing a blank.”

He huffed a laugh, low and wry. “No. I suppose not.”

You sip your drink, then tilt your head. “Well, good. I’m allergic to men who expect applause just for showing up.”

He smirks. “So no parade for me, then.”

“Not unless you’ve got a marching band in your pocket. And even then, I hope they know jazz.”

Something shifts in his expression. It was subtle, like a muscle twitch, like he wants to say something and then thinks better of it. You soften just a little, enough for him to see it, but not enough to make it easy.

“You look like someone I could talk to, you know?” you say, simply. “That’s enough for me.”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns slightly, like he’s trying to get a better angle on the moment. On you. He watches your hands, all steady, relaxed. The way you hold your glass like it’s a ritual, not a crutch.

After a beat, he says, “It’s strange. I used to think the scariest thing was being alone. But now I think… maybe it’s being surrounded by people who know your face, but not your name. Who think they know you, but only ever met your shadow.”

You don’t say anything at first. You let the words settle, breathe a little. Then you nod. “Yeah. That’s why I come here too. It’s easier to fall apart in a place where no one expects you to stay together.”

He glances at you again, and there’s something different in his caramel eyes now. It was something between admiration and recognition. Like he’s just seen the curtain drop and the real act begin.

“Were you ever in love?” he asks suddenly, like he’s tossing the question onto the table with the check—casual, but you know it’s the real reason he showed up.

You blink. “Wow. What a thing to ask a gal on a first date. What’s next, blood type? My mother’s maiden name?”

He shrugs, unapologetic. “Well, how am I supposed to get to know you if I don’t ask the good stuff?”

You lean back in your seat, smirk playing at your lips. “You let the lady say it first. It’s etiquette. Like holding the door open or pretending not to notice when she cries at Meet Me in St. Louis.”

He raises a hand, mock-defensive. “Alright, alright. Consider me chastised. Properly scolded. Proceed, oh wise one.”

You take a sip, then glance at the ceiling like the answer might be hiding in the rafters. “Yes,” you say finally. “Once.”

His eyes don’t leave you. The room gets quieter—not really, but it feels like it does. “What was it like?”

“It was soft….gentle. I don’t know how to explain it.” you say, slowly. “Like… worn cotton sheets soft. And loud. God, it was loud. Not the fighting kind of loud. The laughter kind. The slamming–the–door–because–we’re–late–to–everything kind. It ended slowly. Like a song fading out on the radio while you’re still singing the chorus.”

You pause, swirl your drink like it might play back the memory. “I still think of them sometimes, of course.” you add, voice lighter now, conversational. “But not because I want them back. Just… because they existed. And once, that meant something.”

He nods, eyes lowered to his glass like it might offer him a response. “That’s a good way to remember someone.”

You lift one shoulder, a little shrug. “It’s the only way I know how. That, or write an angry jazz ballad and become a legend.”

He looks up, mouth twitching. “Don’t tempt me.”

You tilt your head. “You write?”

“Only on napkins. And only after two drinks and a questionable life choice.”

“So, pretty boy….” you say, lifting your glass. “You must be very prolific.”

He clicks his drink against yours. “You have no idea.”

You grin. “Don’t worry, I’m a fan of tortured geniuses with emotional baggage. I collect them like shot glasses.”

He laughs, but it’s warm, grateful. Like someone who needed to laugh right then and didn’t know it until you gave him the line. “Maybe I’m like that too.”

“You gasped mockingly. “Oh, I’d be honored!”

He laughed once again. All the sudden, the bar grows quieter behind him. Last call hasn’t been shouted yet, but the air has that kind of weight to it. It was the kind that says stay or go, but make peace with the choice. 

And in that moment, Nanami Kento realizes something. That he’s not thinking about the texts anymore. Not about the party or the people waiting for him to show up with that practiced, polished smile. He’s thinking about how long it’s been since someone sat beside him without asking for anything.

“You don’t have to stay with me, you know.” he says after a while. Quiet. 

Almost like he’s said it a thousand times before and never really expected anyone to disagree. You don’t even flinch. Just sip your drink and glance sideways at him. You then smiled at him, almost too kindly.

“I know, I know.” you reply, like you’ve heard that line a thousand times too. “But you look like someone who could use some company that doesn’t charge by the hour.”

He snorts softly. “Therapist or escort?”

“Depends on the night. And whether you start crying or flirting first.”

He gives a tired little smile and turns his glass in his hand, the way people do when they’re stalling, like the liquid left might suddenly refill if they’re patient enough. There’s barely a sip left. There’s barely a whole sentence left in him either.

“Would you stay a little longer?” he asks, finally. 

And this time, it’s not with the polish, not with the charm. It’s not Nanami Kento, the actor man in the fancy suit. It’s Nanami Kento the man. The real one. The one under all that stoic posture. Tired. Worn. Still here. Still trying.

You look at him, not hard, just long enough to mean it and say, soft but with a spark. “Yeah. I can do that.”

“Thank you.”

Then you lean in a little, grinning. “But I expect to be compensated. I don’t sit around giving my sparkling presence away for free.”

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s the going rate for sparkling presence these days?”

“Oh, steep. Minimum one interesting story, half a tragedy, and a compliment that doesn’t mention my eyes.”

He pretends to think. “Tough crowd.”

“You’re the one who invited the crowd.”

He chuckles, and you both fall into that rare kind of silence. It wasn’t awkward, not filler. The good kind. The kind that says: I see you. You can stop pretending now.

And just like that, you both sit there, two people who don’t quite know what they are to each other yet, but know they’re something. And for tonight, that’s enough.

YOU LIVE PRETTY WELL. Nanami Kento did not expect it, you living just a few blocks away from his own apartment building. It wasn’t the grandest of all the places he’d seen. But it was suitable. It surely was expensive to live in Minato–ku. 

Well, he shouldn’t judge. He just met you tonight and became his friend. He didn’t even know what you did for a living. You could be a lawyer or even a modest living CEO.

Kento was sure he was about to get drunk. He’s thinking too much. You unlock your door with one hand, bottle of whiskey in the other, and glance over your beautiful shoulder at him.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” you say, sweeping your arm dramatically. You were playing your bit, he was sure. “Where the heating is inconsistent, the lighting is flattering, and the ghosts all mind their business.”

He steps inside, looking around like someone who’s used to hotel rooms and set trailers, not creaky floorboards and secondhand furniture that’s earned its place. “It’s charming.” he says politely, which is code for small but good enough. “Modest living, huh.”

“Don’t be fooled, really.” you say, tossing your coat on a chair. “This place is one broken appliance away from being a tax write–off.”

He gives a faint smile, the kind that suggests he’s secretly delighted but refuses to admit it. You head to the kitchen, into a more polite nook and grab two mismatched glasses. He hums as he looks around more.

“I’m beginning to think you’re a rich person just living a humble life.” He says to you. “I mean come on, how do you get a Molteni and C Doda armchair?”

“A comedian’s paycheck is hit or miss, you know.” You shouted from your kitchen. “I’m off season right now!”

“You do comedy?”

“For fun, for now.” You say to him, snickering. “I’m a full time make–up artist.”

“Oh wow, for who?” He asks you. “If there’s an NDA, I won’t tell, I promise.” 

“Tsukumo Yuki. She pays me exclusively to just do her make–up.”

“Makes sense. She’s got very rich.”

“I hope you like your whiskey neat and your company chaotic.” you call over your shoulder.

“I was at a five-hour press junket yesterday. Chaos is preferable.”

You return, hand him a glass. He clinks it against yours with the casual resignation of a man who has accepted his fate. “To poor decisions made with excellent people!” you cheered as you raised your glass.

“To late nights that sound better in stories!” he replies to you, a smile on his face. You both drink.

“So…..You’re an actor. Makes sense, you might know Yuki.” you say, settling into the couch like it’s your stage. “What’s it like? Being adored by millions, traveling the world, having your face Photoshopped onto T-shirts?”

He sits across from you, unbuttoning his jacket, the way a man does when he’s trying to pretend he’s not too impressed by the upholstery. “It’s… a lot of pretending.”

You nod. “Ah. Acting.”

“Life.”

You raise a brow. “Look at you, going full existential on my futon. Be careful, the cushions aren’t built for that kind of weight.”

He chuckles. “And you? What’s it like being the most interesting person in a room with no spotlight?”

You pretend to blush. “Flattery this early in the night? I didn’t even put on my emotionally unavailable mascara.”

“It’s a rare shade.” he deadpans.

You sip, eyeing him. “So what now? You drink my whiskey, charm me with philosophical sadness, and then disappear into the night like a Scandinavian myth?”

“Only if you promise to write a sad little poem about me after.”

“Too late. Already working on the second verse. Rhymes with ‘brooding’ and ‘unduly suited.’”

He laughs, actually laughs genuinely this time and leans back, loosening his tie. It feels like a small victory. “Why did you really ask me to go with you here?” he asks, voice lower now. “Very rare to do all of a sudden.”

You shrug. “Because you looked like you needed somewhere to just be a person. And I needed someone to split the last of the good whiskey with.”

He nods slowly. “Fair trade.”

The clock ticks somewhere behind you, the kind of clock you only remember exists when the room goes quiet. Neither of you were talking now, not because you’ve run out of things to say but because the good stuff’s already been said.

Nanami Kento was staring down at his empty glass like it might give him an answer to a question he hasn’t asked out loud. You shift, curl deeper into the couch, and let the silence stretch just enough to feel it.

“So…..” you murmur at him, drinking. “When do we get to the part where you tell me I’m too much?”

He looks up, brow creased. “Why would I do that?”

You give him a half–grin, the kind that says you’ve heard it before. “Because I am. Too fast. Too loud. Too everything.”

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes still locked on you. “I think…..” he says carefully. “You’re exactly enough. For once.”

Your smirk falters. Just a breath. Just a blink. And then you laugh, too quick. “Now you’re just trying to sleep with me.”

“I’m exhausted,” he says. “But not in that way.”

You tilt your head, and this time you don’t mask the weight behind your stare. “So what way are you?”

He’s quiet for a beat. Two. Then: “The kind that just wants to stay. For a minute. In something that doesn’t feel fake.”

You don’t reply. You don’t need to. The room answers for you. He sits back slowly, his knee brushing against yours. You don’t move away. Neither does he. It’s a soft collision, but it lands like a thunderclap. Something about the way it doesn’t feel accidental at all.

“I’ve had scenes like this, tension building.” he says, almost to himself. “Set lighting. Marks on the floor. Dialogue I didn’t write. And still, this feels more like a movie than any of them ever did.”

“Is this the part where you say you’re bad at real life?” you ask, voice quiet now.

“No…” he says, turning to look at you fully. “This is the part where I say I want to get better at it.”

Your breath catches just slightly. He sees it. He hasn't moved yet. You’re close now, close enough to count the lines near his eyes, the quiet furrow of his brow when he’s thinking too hard. You want to smooth it out with your thumb. You don’t.

“I think….” you say, barely louder than a whisper, finishing your drink. “This might be the moment the audience starts leaning forward in their seats.”

He smiles slowly. “You think they’re rooting for us?”

You nod once, slow. “Only if we don’t screw it up.”

And then finally, he leans in. Not fast. Not certain. Just close enough that you feel the warmth of him. Just close enough that your nose nearly brushes his. One breath shared between two people who’ve spent the whole night circling this exact spot.

His hand lifts slightly, like he’s about to reach for your face but he stops short, waiting. The space between you finally snaps. He leans in that final inch, and you meet him there like you were always going to do so.

It’s not gentle, not at first. More like the tail end of a sentence you’ve both been trying not to say all night. His mouth finds yours and it’s like flipping the switch on everything unspoken: sharp, certain, a little desperate. Like he thought he could wait and just realized he can’t.

Your glass hits the table. It was half–gracefully, half because neither of you’s got the coordination for whiskey anymore. Your hands are already in his hair, pulling him closer like you’re trying to anchor yourself to something real. And he is with you….solid, warm, here.

He makes a sound against your mouth, low in his throat, like you surprised him. Everything about your eagerness made him feel everything and anything all at once. You pull back just a fraction, breath shallow, lips still barely brushing his. 

“You kiss like someone who thought about it too much.”

“I did.” he admits, voice rough. “And now I’m trying to stop thinking.”

“Good.” you murmur. “Because I’m tired of being charming.”

“Liar.”

You smirked at him. He kisses you again. Only this time slower. It was like he wants to memorize the way you taste when you're not talking. And god, it works. It shuts you both up in the best possible way.

He shifts, crowding closer, one hand sliding to your waist, the other pressing against the small of your back like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on. Your fingers find the edge of his shirt, tug it loose from his belt. 

Not fast, just enough to feel skin. To feel him. You both break again, panting now, foreheads pressed together, like the couch, the whiskey, the city. All of it’s spinning away from this one moment.

“Are you staying the night?” you ask, breath hitching.

He gives you that half-smile—lazy, crooked, completely undone. “You gonna let me?”

“Depends,” you murmur. “You gonna kiss me like that again?”

He does. And then again. The night folds in around the two of you. Your clothes half–on, hands everywhere, mouths tangled in the kind of silence only earned by people who’ve talked their way right into each other’s arms. No spotlight. No stage. Just you and him. Finally, finally shutting up. But you don’t pull away either.

The space between you pulses like a held note in a song that hasn’t decided whether it’s a ballad or a tragedy. The city hums outside, and somewhere in your chest, something clicks into place. Not love. Not yet. But maybe, just maybe, the start of something dangerously close. At least for tonight.

Kento's lips linger on yours, the kiss deepening as he pours all his emotion into it. His hands roam your body, touching you reverently, as if committing every curve and contour to memory. You can feel the racing of his heart against your chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. 

When he finally pulls back, his caramel eyes are dark with a mix of satisfaction and something softer, more tender. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you.

Almost instantly, his mouth moves into you again. He moves against you with a gentle urgency, as if he's savoring the taste of you. You respond eagerly, parting your lips to deepen the kiss. His tongue slides against yours, exploring, teasing, igniting a fire in your belly. 

His hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of heat in their wake. You arch into his touch, craving more, needing to feel every inch of him. The kiss grows more passionate, more desperate, as if you're both trying to consume each other. When he finally pulls back, you're both breathless, your hearts racing in sync. 

"I could kiss you forever, my pretty woman." Kento murmurs, his forehead resting against yours. "You're addictive."

"Kiss me again." you breathe, your voice husky with desire. Kento obliges, his lips crashing against yours in a fiery kiss. His hands tangle in your hair, tilting your head back to deepen the angle.

"So demanding, aren’t you?"he murmurs against your mouth, a hint of a smile in his voice. "I like it." 

“There’s a lot of that where it came from.”

He nips at your lower lip, soothing the sting with his tongue. "Tell me what you want, pretty. I'll give you anything." 

His hand trails down your neck, over your collarbone, his touch feather-light and teasing. You shiver, arching into his caress. "You." you whisper, your eyes locked on his."I want you."

Kento's pupils dilate, his gaze darkening with lust. "Say it again, pretty." he demands, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you want me."

"I want you." you repeat, your voice steady and sure."I want your hands on me, your mouth on me, your body inside mine." 

Kento's breath hitches, his grip on your hair tightening."Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me." he groans, his lips trailing down your neck. “You’re dangerous…..I just met you tonight and it feels like forever.” 

“I’m good at making people fall in love.”

“I know.” He bites down gently, marking you, claiming you."I'm going to take you apart, piece by piece, until you're begging for mercy."

His hands push your shirt up, exposing your skin to the cool air. He palms your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, making them pebble beneath his touch. You gasp, your head falling back as pleasure shoots through you.

"Yes…” you hiss, hips rolling instinctively against his. “Touch me, Kento. Make me yours.”

He groans low in his throat, eyes darkening as he leans in, mouth trailing heat along your collarbone. You feel him hesitate just long enough to meet your gaze.

“You gonna take your shirt off right now?” you murmur, your voice a velvet tease as you curl your fingers into the hem of his. “Or are we doing this the awkward, tangled way?”

He laughs—breathy, wrecked—and yanks the shirt over his head without another word. You drink him in like you’ve been parched for years. All sculpted lines and quiet intensity, like someone carved a poem out of muscle and restraint.

“Good god….” you murmur, tracing your fingers down his chest. “You really are stupidly hot. Who let you get away with that?”

“No one, pretty.” he breathes, leaning in until your mouths nearly touch. “I’m on the run.”

“Okay.” you say, admiring. “Points for presentation.”

“You haven’t even seen the finale, I’m sure of that.” he says, voice low and dry, but there’s a flicker of heat behind it that makes your pulse jump.

You tug him back down to you, your laugh caught somewhere between your teeth and his lips. Clothes start to disappear like they’re being written out of the script. It was quick, purposeful, a little clumsy in the best way. 

There’s something delicious about the mess of it, the way he fumbles with your jeans and mutters a curse when the zipper sticks, the way you kick off your socks with the grace of a cat falling off a windowsill. And still he keeps pausing to touch you.

Fingers trailing along your ribs, over the dip of your waist, the inside of your wrist. Like he’s learning you in parts, not just trying to get to the ending. You pull him on top of you, and he fits like he’s always meant to be there. His hands bracket your face, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, like he’s grounding himself before he drowns.

“You good?” Kento asks, low, voice hoarse. You nod, lifting your hips to answer the question you don’t want to say out loud yet. “I’ll continue.”

“Make me feel good.” You whispered to him, a smile on his lips.

“Oh, I plan to.”

Kento's hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your flesh as he thrusts deeper. His lips trail along your neck, leaving a path of hot kisses and gentle bites. You can feel his breath, ragged and uneven, against your skin. 

The room fills with the sound of your mingled moans and the creaking of the bed frame beneath you. Sweat beads on your forehead as the pleasure builds, coiling tighter and tighter in your core. Kento's movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he's trying to merge his body with yours completely.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, needing to feel every inch of him. The world narrows down to this moment, to the sensation of him inside you, surrounding you, consuming you.You're lost in the rhythm, in the heat, in the feeling of being utterly and completely his.

Kento's hips snap forward, driving into you with a force that steals your breath. His hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing, leaving trails of fire in their wake. You arch into his touch, desperate for more, craving the feel of his skin against yours. 

His lips capture yours in a searing kiss, tongues dancing and tangling in a passionate duel. The taste of him, the scent of him, fills your senses, overwhelming you with desire. You can feel the tension coiling in your belly, the pleasure building to a crescendo. 

Kento's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing faster, harder, as he chases his own release. You're right there with him, teetering on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss of ecstasy. With a final, powerful thrust, you could feel yourself see stars coming against him.

"Fuck, you feel so good." Kento groans, his voice strained with pleasure. "So tight, so perfect." His hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him as he buries himself deep inside you.

"I could stay like this forever." he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. You shiver at the sensation, your nails digging into his back. 

"More, more…." you pant, wrapping your legs tighter around him. 

"Give me more." Kento obliges, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, more desperate. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of exertion. 

"Come for me, pretty." he demands, his thumb finding your clit and circling it firmly. "Let me feel you come apart around me."

His words send you hurtling towards the edge, your body tensing as the pleasure reaches its peak."Kento!"

"Yeah, that's it." Kento encourages, his voice husky and low. "Come on my cock, baby. I want to feel you squeeze me tight." 

His thumb presses harder on your clit, the sensation overwhelming as you crest the wave of your orgasm. Your body convulses, your inner walls clamping down on him as you cry out his name. Kento's movements become erratic, his thrusts growing shallow as he chases his own release.

"Fuck, I'm close." he grits out, his grip on your hips tightening. "I'm going to fill you up, make you mine."

With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, his body shuddering as he finds his own climax. You can feel the warmth of his release spreading through you, marking you as his. He collapses on top of you, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he tries to catch his breath.

A little while later, you both were in the afterglow, still tangled in sheets that are definitely not high thread count, he rolls onto his back beside you, arm slung across your stomach, grounding you like a weight you never knew you needed. You glance over at him, sweaty, flushed, hair all askew, and grin.

“So. That happen in any of your movie scripts?”

“No, not at all.” he mutters, laughing as he was still catching his breath. “But I’m going to request rewrites.”

You laugh, turn into him, and press a kiss to his shoulder. “Next time, pretty boy…..” you whisper. “You’re bringing the pizza.”

He groans. “And you’re picking the music.”

“You’re in luck. My playlist’s 60% seduction, 40% crying in the shower.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just pulls you closer to him. And for once, neither of you needs to say anything clever. The silence that settles afterward is thick, but not heavy. Like the kind that follows a good set. Then laughter still echoing in the corners, lights just starting to dim. 

You lie there for a while, skin against skin, heartbeats slowly syncing up like they’re getting used to each other. Nanami’s thumb draws lazy circles on your hip. It’s the kind of touch that doesn’t ask for anything. Just says I’m here.

You glance up at him. “Are you always this talkative after sex?”

He exhales a laugh through his nose. “Only when I’m trying to impress.”

You snort. “Wow. Rolling out the big guns, huh? Silence and mild caressing? Be still my heart.”

“I’m pacing myself, pretty woman of mine.” he says, tilting his head to look at you. “You’re clearly a marathon.”

You grin. “I am a special gal. I walk fast, talk fast, and expect orgasms with flair.”

He chuckles again, eyes half-lidded now, and you feel it, how easy it is to settle into this. Like the city can hum and rattle around you and you’d still find your way back here. He takes a moment to watch you as you move slightly from him and into the glow of lamp light.

“I like this.” he says suddenly, voice soft and a little surprised. “You.”

You blink. “Wow. No foreplay with that one, huh?”

“I thought we were past foreplay.”

You laugh out loud again, but there’s something quieter underneath now. Something steady. You move towards him again, letting your fingers curl against his chest and feel the slow beat beneath your palm. 

“You know this doesn’t have to mean anything, hm?” you say, not as a warning, just as fact.

He nods. “I know. But maybe it could mean something good.”

You study him for a second. He was a beautiful man, older than you to be sure, but beautiful. Almost too beautiful to even comprehend. His golden hair rumpled, skin still warm from you, that soft look in his eyes like you’ve disarmed him completely without trying.

“Don’t fall in love with me tonight, pretty boy.”

He smiles at the ceiling. “Tonight’s almost over.”

You hum. “Tomorrow’s a mess.”

“I like messes. I’m made of that. I did all of that.” he says, brushing your hair back from your face. “Yours seems like one I could sit in for a while.”

You raise a brow. “Sit in, huh? You talk dirty to everyone you sleep with?”

“No, not at all.” he says. “Just the ones who offer whiskey and existential crisis in the same evening.”

You grin, tuck your face into the crook of his neck. And you stay there. Long enough for the outside noise to fade. Long enough for the city to sleep. Long enough for whatever this is to feel real. Even if only for tonight.

HE LEFT HIS PHONE NUMBER FOR YOU TO CALL WHEN HE LEFT THAT NIGHT. He ended up scribbling it on the back of a food receipt you had in the kitchen, the ink smudged just a little from how long he’d held it before walking out your door that morning.

“Call me.” he’d said, casual as anything. “I’ll answer it as soon as possible.” 

It was like it wasn’t already something sitting heavy in his chest. Like he wasn’t about to check his phone every damn hour. But you hadn’t called. Not once.  Not yet. And it was driving him absolutely mad.

At first, he told himself it was fine. Cool, even. Maybe you were busy. Maybe you were playing it smart, letting the high of the night fade before reaching for anything real. But now, a week into filming his new project, the irritation had fully set in.

He was brooding more than usual on set. Which, for Nanami Kento, was saying something. His jaw stayed tight between takes. His timing was off. He missed cues, flubbed lines that should’ve come easy. The director called for a break and gave him that ‘Are you okay or are we going to have to name the understudy?’ look.

His co-star tried to make a joke about his method. He did not laugh. Between scenes, he scrolled through his messages like a man possessed. Nothing from you. Not even a sarcastic “Sorry, meant to call, got abducted by aliens.”

Each time his phone lit up and it wasn’t you, something inside him clenched a little tighter. Worse than the silence was the not knowing. Has it meant something to you at all? Did it meant as much to you as it did to him?

Because it sure as hell meant something to him. And no one got that close. Not since his estranged wife. Not physically, emotionally. No one had actually left a mark on him. Not since you had come and shaken his life around.

He’d replayed it all too many times: the laughter, the quiet, the heat. The way you’d curled into him like you’d belonged there. The way you hadn’t said goodbye like it was final. And still it was genuinely a badly received radio silence.

Now he was walking around like a man with an itch he couldn’t scratch and no idea if he’d imagined the whole damn thing. Someone handed him a coffee. He didn’t even taste it. Someone told him to hit his mark. He missed it by a foot.

“Hey, Kento–san?” his co-star finally said, pulling him aside between takes. “Whoever she is? Call her. Yell at her. Write a poem. I don’t care. Just get it out of your system before they start cutting you out of your own film.”

He didn’t respond back to his co–star at all. It’s horrible advice. It’s the same sort of advice that led him to be a bad husband in the first place. He just stared at his phone again. And wondered how long you were going to leave him hanging in the space between maybe and never.

Nanami Kento doesn’t believe in coincidences anymore. Well, in general, not really. Not in the way that makes people bump into each other like fate had nothing better to do. His life has always been calculated. 

Precise. Predictable, even when it hurts. But when he steps out of the quiet, borrowed van onto the main street of a town so small it barely has a name, he sees you standing there outside a tiny coffee shop, a paper cup in your hand and a scarf wrapped lazily around your neck. He suddenly freezes.

That is you. His pretty woman from the bar. The one who sat beside him when he didn’t know he needed company. The one who didn’t ask for anything, who spoke to him like he was a person, not a role. He remembers your voice. Your stillness. The way you didn’t flinch at his silence.

He stands there too long. Enough that one of the crew glances back and nudges him, murmuring, “Everything alright, Nanami–san?”

He nods slowly, distracted. “Yes. Just—” 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Because how the hell are you here? You don’t look like you belong to this place. Not in any condescending way. Just….you’re the type of person who seemed carved for city nights, bookstore corners, low–lit bars and sharp conversations. Not this quiet countryside with its fading signs and sleepy pace.

And yet here you are. Laughing softly with the barista, hair caught in the wind, bright eyes crinkled with something like real joy. You haven’t seen him yet. And for a moment, he thinks about walking away. About letting this be a memory instead of a moment. But something stops him.

Maybe it’s that same stillness you carried before the kind that made even silence feel like something sacred. He walks across the narrow street, hands buried in his coat pockets. His steps are slow, careful, like he isn’t sure if you’re real.

When he stops in front of you, you finally look up. There's a pause. A blink. And then, it was that recognition. Your lips part, surprised but not startled. Like maybe you were wondering if he was real, too.

“Well….” you say softly, like a secret between old friends. Like you hadn’t slept together that night. You smiled. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

“Neither did I.” he replies, almost breathless at the sight of you. “Especially not here.”

You glance around, gesturing loosely to the sleepy town behind you. “Yeah, it’s… not where you’d expect to find me.”

He nods. “No offense, but you look like someone who belongs where the sidewalks don’t roll up at 7 p.m.”

You smile, and it’s warmer than he remembers. “None taken. I still can’t believe I’m here either, honestly.”

He waits, tilting his head slightly. “So… why are you?”

You glance down at your coffee, then back at him with a small shrug. “A bit of a reset, I guess. Life got loud in the city, and I needed quiet. Yuki’s taking a break. Thought I’d try letting the countryside teach me how to be still without being lonely.”

He studies you for a moment. The words hit something in him. Something he’s been carrying but hasn’t been able to name. “You always speak like that?” he asks, almost amused.

You grin. “Like what?”

“Like you’re narrating a book no one else gets to read.”

You laugh, genuinely, and for the first time in a long while, Nanami Kento feels something loosen in his chest. “Guess I just like giving things meaning, huh?” you say. “Even if they don’t always deserve it.”

He nods once, quiet. “I think that’s why I remembered you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You remembered me?”

“Of course.” he says, and it’s the most honest thing he’s said all month. “Some people… you don’t forget. Even if you don’t know her name. All I was calling you was pretty girl, pretty woman. I need your name, you know.”

Your smile softens, tugging at the edge of something real. “It’s [last name] [first name], by the way.”

He repeats it under his breath like he’s rehearsing a line in a play—one he wants to get just right. Like tasting a word he’s not ready to let go of.

“[First name],” he says again. Then he offers a small, almost boyish smile. “Kento. Nanami Kento.”

You blink at him, smirking. “Oh, I know. The actor. Brooding, intense, vaguely Scandinavian even though you’re not. You worked with Yuki.”

He lifts a brow. “And you’re her makeup artist, right?”

You slap a finger to your lips, mock-scandalized. “Shhh! Didn’t I say it’s an NDA? You trying to get me sued?”

“Oh dear,” he deadpans, holding his hands up in faux surrender. “My bad. Please don’t report me to the shadowy cabal of publicists.”

You narrow your eyes playfully. “They will come for you. And they’re terrifying. They wear black turtlenecks and know how to erase someone’s IMDB credits.”

“That explains my last three indie films disappearing,” he says with a perfectly straight face.

“Don’t joke,” you say, waggling your finger. “I still have trauma from accidentally contouring a producer into looking like an Easter Island statue. They moved me to background actors for a week.”

He laughs—really laughs—and it sounds like something he hasn’t done freely in a while.

You lean in a little closer. “Anyway, we’ve both outed ourselves now. Me, the paint-slinger. You, the tall handsome face that cries beautifully on screen.”

He tilts his head. “And off screen.”

“Oh, wow. Is that your next Oscar campaign slogan?”

“‘Nanami Kento: Crying Beautifully Since 2009.’”

You grin. “Sold. I’ll do your press kit for free.”

There’s a moment—just a flicker—where the humor slows, the silence stretches, and something gentler curls around the edges of the conversation. It’s in the way he looks at you. Like he’s not just watching you talk, but listening.

“I like your name.” he says, softly. “It fits you. Sharp and kind at the same time.”

You tilt your head. “Careful. You keep talking like that, I’ll have to fall in love with you.”

“Too late,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “I already called dibs.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “God, you actors. Always stealing the last word.”

He raises his glass again. “Only when it’s worth stealing.”

He doesn’t sit down right away. Just stand there, taking you in again, the way your hands cradle the coffee cup like it holds more than just warmth. You seem quieter than you were that night at the bar but not withdrawn. More… rooted, maybe. Like the stillness you spoke of found you after all.

“Are you filming something out here?” you ask, nudging him gently back to reality.

He nods. “A small project. Director wanted something slow, intimate. Thought a town like this would feel more… honest.”

You tilt your head, smiling. “You always choose honesty when you can?”

He gives a small, dry laugh. “It’s not always an option. But I think I’ve learned to stop pretending I don’t want it.”

You gesture to the empty chair at your little table, and he hesitates, but only for a moment. Then he takes the seat across from you, folding his coat neatly, as if even now he’s still performing quiet discipline.

“I have to admit.” you said to him, crossing your arms on your chest. “This is the last thing I expected today.”

“Seeing me again?”

“No. Seeing you again here. In this nowhere town where I came to disappear.”

He meets your gaze, steady. “Are you trying to disappear?”

You pause. Then: “I think I was, at first. Now I’m just… trying to be somewhere that doesn’t expect too much of me.”

He understands that more deeply than he can say. The air between you shifts, still light, but layered now. Familiar. It’s not quite like picking up where you left off, because nothing really started that night. But it’s something. A continuation, maybe, of a quiet understanding neither of you asked for, but both recognized.

“Do you want to walk?” you ask suddenly. “This place has a whole six blocks of charm.”

He raises an eyebrow. “A tour?”

You grin. “A detour.”

Nanami Kento doesn’t usually say yes so easily, especially not to detours. But something about you, this strange, steady thread weaving back into his life without asking for permission—it makes him curious enough to get up.

As you walk, you talk about small things. The town’s single bakery with the terrible coffee but perfect melonpan. The inn you’re staying at where the owner talks to the koi fish in the pond like they’re her grandchildren. The stray cat that waits by the bookstore every morning, expecting someone to read to it.

And in return, he offers things he doesn’t tell most people. How strange it is to sleep in hotel rooms that all smell the same. How the silence on set sometimes echoes louder than the noise. How he’s tired, bone–deep tired and he’s not sure who he is when the cameras stop rolling.

You don’t interrupt. You don’t try to solve it. You just walk beside him. As if that’s enough. And somehow, it is. When the wind picks up, you both slow, turning toward the river where the water moves soft and low. He glances at you, unsure of what he’s supposed to say. If this is a moment, or just another quiet breath passing through.

But then you speak. “I’m glad it was you, you know.” 

He turns to you, eyeing you somberly. “What do you mean?”

“At the bar. That night. I didn’t go there to meet anyone. I didn’t want to be found. But… I’m glad it was you.”

Kento swallows hard, a quiet ache rising in his throat. “I’m glad it was you too.” he says, and means it more than anything he’s said in years.

The river hums low. The town breathes slowly. And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel quite so lost. You lead him down a narrow path lined with crooked fences and old telephone poles, sunlight slanting through the trees like it’s got nowhere better to be. 

The wind kicks up a little dust once again, rustles the drying laundry on someone’s balcony. It’s quiet, but not empty. There’s life here. Slow, familiar life. Kento listens as you point out things like the soft bark of the old cedar tree, the old woman who sells pickled plums from a box on her porch, the bench by the train station that creaks if you sit too far to the right.

He watches you wave to people like you know them and more surprising, like they know you back. A group of kids pass by and call your name, dragging along a scooter with one busted wheel. You call out a reminder to “watch the pothole by the bridge” and one of them shouts “we know” like you’re someone who’s always been there.

“You said you came here to get away.” Kentosays quietly, almost accusingly, but not unkindly. “But… this doesn’t look like a getaway.”

You smirk, slowing your steps just enough for him to keep walking beside you. “Yeah. That’s because I lied a little.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh, pray tell?”

“My grandparents live here. They’re still alive. Happily.” you admit, nodding toward a pale green house with a sun–faded door and a dozen potted plants crowding the porch. “I used to come here every summer when I was a kid. It’s not glamorous, but I guess it always felt like the world slowed down when I got off the train.”

He looks at you, really looks this time. You, standing barefoot in soft sneakers, a coffee long gone cold in your hand, hair caught in the breeze and eyes full of something that feels like home.

“You seem different here.” he says, without thinking.

“Different how?”

He shrugs, eyes forward. “Lighter.”

You smile at that. “That’s what this place does to people. Even the grumpy ones.”

“You think I’m grumpy?”

“I know you’re grumpy.”

He huffs, almost a laugh. You keep walking, leading him past an old bridge with rust on the rails, and he follows, quiet, thoughtful. He watched as you started to hum a song he doesn’t recognize at all.

“Most people don’t stay here long.” you say suddenly, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “Just travelers passing through. Photographers, artists, singers. Tired people. Very bored people.”

He hums. “Which one do you think I am?”

You tilt your head, pretending to study him. “You don’t strike me as the artsy type, actually. You’re not dramatic enough to be a writer, and you’re too well–dressed to be just a backpacker. So I’d say… tired.”

He pauses. That lands heavier than you probably meant it to. “Well that’s such a thing to say.”

“Bullseye?” you ask softly, and he doesn’t answer. Just walk a little slower.

When you turn up a narrow dirt road, he follows without asking. He’s stopped asking where you’re taking him. There’s something comforting in the way you walk ahead, like you’ve already decided it’s okay for him to be here.

“My grandma’s probably already started cooking.” you say over your shoulder. “She’ll pretend she doesn’t know who you are, even if she does. That’s her thing. Makes people feel comfortable.”

Nanami frowns slightly. “What do you mean, ‘if she does’?”

You glance back at him, confused. “I mean, she has a habit of recognizing people even when she shouldn’t. Like that guy from the noodle commercials. Or the lady who was on that old soap opera. I swear she has a sixth sense for washed–up celebrities.”

He freezes. Just briefly. You stop, noticing his hesitation. “What?”

“…Nothing.”

You squint. “Wait. Do you want people to recognize you?”

There’s a pause. A long one. He looks at you, expression unreadable. Then, with the smallest shrug: “Just your grandma, I hope. She’d give me bigger food portions.”

You laugh, loud and sudden, full of disbelief. “Oh my god. No way. I sat next to you at a bar, poured my heart out to you, and you wanted me to fuss over you like you were famous?”

“I wasn’t famous in that bar,” he says quietly. “Just tired.”

You stare at him for a moment longer. Then shake your head, smiling. “Well, okay.” you say, “You’re still coming to dinner.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“That you’re a little famous? That people could recognize you?” you smirked at him. “Only if it means you expect dessert.”

He looks at you like he doesn’t know what to do with that, like he’s still getting used to someone treating him like a person instead of a profile. But he follows you up the hill anyway. Toward a warm house. Toward kinako mochi and nosy grandmothers. Toward something that might just be peace.

You lead him up the hill, past fields of rice that sway lazily in the late afternoon breeze, the golden light casting everything in a soft glow. As you approach the small house with the overgrown garden and the old wooden gate, Nanami Kento feels the weight of the day’s quiet beginning to settle over him. 

He’s still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that you’re not just some random person he bumped into at a bar but someone whose life is rooted here, in this strange little town, in a way he never would've guessed.

The door creaks open before you even knock, and an elderly woman with silver-streaked hair and a bright smile appears in the doorway. She’s wearing a faded apron and holding a wooden spoon like she’s ready to defend the kitchen.

“Oh, you’re back.” she says with a soft laugh, as if this happens every day.

“Where’s grandpa?”

“He went to play mahjong with his friends.” Your grandma giggled. “It’s been a while since he played, after all. His friend just got back from Sendai!”

“This is Kento, grandma.” you say, nudging Kento forward. “He’s staying in town for a bit.”

The elderly woman studies him for a moment with sharp, discerning bright eyes that seem to see everything. Then, she nods like she’s accepted something only she understands. She turns to Kento with a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Kento.” she says, her voice warm. “I’m her grandma. But that’s enough. You’ve got good timing. Dinner’s just about ready.”

Kento manages a polite smile. “Thank you for having me.”

“Come in, come in.” She steps aside, gesturing for him to enter.

The inside of the house is cozy. Old wooden beams, shelves lined with mismatched cups and plates, the faint smell of something savory simmering in the air. It feels like the kind of home that’s been lived in for generations, the kind where every corner holds a memory.

“Sit, sit!” Grandma insists, leading him to the low table where she’s already placed a few bowls of rice and pickles. There’s a steaming pot in the center, something rich and fragrant. Nanami sits, still a bit surprised at the ease with which he’s been brought into this domestic world.

[name], as though reading his thoughts, gives him a knowing look. “Grandma’s not one for formalities. She’s always fed whoever’s around.”

Your grandma chuckles, sitting beside him. “No point in starving anyone, especially if they’re passing through. I’m sure you’ve had enough fancy meals in your life, Kento–san. This is a proper one.”

Kento laughs softly, though it’s laced with a hint of discomfort. “I don’t usually have meals like this.”

You watched him for a moment, a quiet understanding passing between you. You know that he’s not used to being this comfortable, to being treated as someone ordinary, not an actor, not someone important. Just a man who’s hungry, tired, and seeking a little peace.

“My grandma’s food is the kind that makes you forget about the rest of the world, you know?” you say lightly. “Just sit tight! This is going to blow your mind!”

And as the first bite of warm stew hits his tongue, Nanami Kento finds you’re right. The tenderness of the meat, the earthiness of the vegetables, the way everything melds together in a way that doesn’t feel rushed.

It’s the kind of food that wraps itself around you, takes you by the shoulders, and makes you feel like you’ve come home, even if you’ve never been here before. Kento had only had something such as this only once and it was his estranged wife’s cooking. But this was a different sort of special. Because you were smiling so brightly.

The silence between you all feels comfortable, unhurried. Kento isn’t used to this kind of stillness. Not the kind that doesn’t demand anything from him, not the kind that doesn’t expect him to perform or speak or be something he’s not. Here, in this humble little house, he can just exist.

Your grandma talks about her garden. About the pleasant weather. About how the local cats keep stealing her catnip and hiding it in the neighbor’s yard. There’s no rush to any of it. It was so beautiful. There was no hurry. And he liked that.

And when the meal winds down, you quickly rise, reaching for the plates. Kento stands, too, moving to help, but you shake your head gently at him. You signal him to just keep sitting down and rest.

“Just sit. You’re our guest.” you say, smiling as you start gathering the dishes. “I’m sure My grandma wants to ask you all sorts of questions.”

Your grandma grins knowingly, hands resting on the table. “Oh, I do. But first… tell me, Kento–san, do you like tea?”

He chuckles. “I do.”

“That’s good.” she says, standing up with surprising energy. “Then you’re in for a treat.”

As she prepares the tea, you go on and sit next to Kento. She was tenderly watching him as if she’s still trying to piece together this strange meeting. It was interesting. She had never seen you be like this before. Or bring any one to meet her, let alone a man.

There’s an almost hesitant energy between you now, something that speaks of both curiosity and something more subtle. Something like... connection. Neither of you expected this, but here it is, unfolding in the quiet corners of this small town, in the middle of nowhere.

“You don’t seem like someone who needs to hide.” you say softly, after a while.

Kento hand stills on his cup. “I don’t, really. I just… forget sometimes what it feels like to be seen without expectation.”

You meet his eyes, the soft vulnerability of his words hanging between you. “My grandma doesn’t expect much, you know.” you say, eyes softening. “That’s why this place works. It doesn’t ask for anything more than you’re willing to give.”

He nods slowly, understanding your words. The words settle in him, a truth that feels simpler than anything he’s allowed himself to admit. His life was so fast paced and everyone expected so much of him. And he doesn’t like that. 

In some ways, this is what he would have wanted with his estranged wife. He would have wanted this life with her. Yet he knew that was over now. It was never going to happen. But as he sat here, he knew that there was another door that opened to him. He knew that when he looked at you.

“You’re right.” he says quietly.

And for the first time in what feels like years, Nanami Kento feels like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. The evening stretches on, the light outside fading into a rich indigo, the stars barely visible against the soft glow of a lantern that hangs by the door. The small house feels like it’s wrapped in quiet, a rare kind of peace that Nanami hasn’t known in a long time.

You and your grandma settle back into your seats after the meal, the last of the tea steeping as the conversation shifts into more comfortable territory. Your vibrant grandma is telling stories out loud now, so energetically. 

The small, almost absurd anecdotes from her youth, her sharp memory lighting up with details that surprise even you. She talks about her childhood, how she used to race the boys to the river, how her first job was at a noodle stand on the corner that doesn’t exist anymore.

Kento just listens, entranced. He can’t remember the last time he sat in a room where nothing was expected of him. No script, no camera, no need to perform. Just stories and the kind of laughter that comes with familiarity, the kind that makes you feel like you’ve always belonged in a place.

At some point, your grandmother gets up to fetch a blanket, and you find yourself left alone with Nanami Kento, the air now full of the quiet hum of cicadas outside and the gentle rustle of the wind. 

It’s rare for him to be alone like this with anyone. He’s been alone for so long, even surrounded by people. But with you, he was sure he felt something different. Something lighter, something more like a safe space.

He looks over at you, his gaze soft, a little guarded, but there’s an openness there, like he’s not sure how to read you, but he’s willing to try. 

“Do you come here often?” he asks, the question almost too simple. “To visit your grandmother?”

You smile, settling back into your chair. “When I need to. It’s the only place I can feel like myself, you know?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, letting your words sink in. He’s not sure what to say next, not sure if he’s ready to voice the quiet questions that have been lingering since that first night at the bar.

Instead, he simply says, “I can see why. It feels… real.”

“Yeah,” you agree softly. “It’s real. Not a lot of places left like this.”

Kento’s fond gaze shifts to the window, the faintest reflection of the moon catching in the glass. He thinks about everything. His life, his career, the years spent chasing something he thought he needed to prove. The constant cycle of applause, of recognition, of being seen but never truly seen.

“You know…..” he says after a moment, his voice quieter than before. “I think I forgot what it felt like to just be... without anything attached to it. To be seen without the need for approval or validation.”

You glance over at him, studying the quiet vulnerability in his expression. “You’re not the only one there.” you say softly. “I think we all forget sometimes. The world pushes us so hard, and we get so used to moving with it that we forget how to stop.”

Kento chuckles lightly, but it’s not an easy laugh. “I don’t even know who I’d be if I stopped.”

“Well, I think it’s just part of that.” you say, standing up to stretch. “Maybe that’s the part you need to find. Who you are when you’re just... Kento.”

He watches you for a beat, then nods slowly, as if he’s finally allowing himself to consider the idea. The simplicity of it all. Just being just Kento, no pretense, no expectations.

Everything about it appealed to him. You move toward the window and look out at the garden, where the last of the fireflies are blinking faintly in the warm night air. 

"I don't know how long you'll be here." you say quietly to him. "But I hope this place helps you find that person."

“I think it already has, if I’m being honest.” he says, and it feels like the truth. He looks at you, and only you. “In ways I didn’t expect.”

You turn back to face him, eyes steady. “Then let it. Let it help. Let it remind you that you don’t always have to be someone else.”

He stands then, slowly, as if the weight of his body is a bit less now, a bit more grounded. “I’d like that.” he says simply.

Your grandma comes back into the room with a blanket, her tired hands resting on her hips. “I’m glad to see you two getting along. I’m sure we’ll be hearing more stories before long.”

Kento smiles, a little more open now. “I’m sure.”

You pull the blanket over your grandmother’s lap, and she pats the empty space beside her. Nanami Kento hesitates but then sits down, the comfortable silence settling back in as the night continues to stretch on. The sound of the wind outside is almost like a lullaby, gentle and soothing.

And for the first time in ages, Kento feels like he’s in a place where he doesn’t need to rush, and doesn't need to be anyone other than who he is at this moment. Maybe that’s all he needs right now. Maybe it’s enough.

HE’S A REGULAR IN THE SPECIAL FAMILY GATHERINGS. The new family winter house in Tokyo was warm, creaky, and filled with the scent of coffee and cinnamon.

Snow layered the trees outside like something out of a painting, and inside—well, inside was a whole different kind of storm.

“Okay, okay.....” Gojo said, dramatically flopping down onto the couch beside Keiko, who gave him a look halfway between amusement and exhausted affection. “So remind me again….do I count as stepdad or fun uncle with unresolved boundary issues?”

“You count as mom’s midlife crisis, Satoru–san.” Kenshin said flatly, not looking up from his book.

Kento snorted into his tea. That’s his son, alright. “Well, those words are honest.”

“You count as her worst life trauma, Dad. I don’t think you should be saying anything.”

“Noted, son.”

“Uh, correction.” Satoru raised his hand. “I am the ongoing, extremely charismatic, painfully handsome midlife crisis. There’s a difference.”

Nanami Kento rolled his caramel eyes from his armchair by the fire, adjusting the blanket that had been thrown over his legs by force. (Nanami Keiko insisted on cozy traditions that suited her tastes and he cannot deny his daughter anything.)

“You’re both ridiculous, aren’t you?” Keiko said, tossing a marshmallow at Satoru, who caught it in his mouth like an overgrown Labrador.

Kento glanced toward his ex–wife, who sat cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, nursing her own mug. “Why did we ever let him in the house?”

“Because he brought wine, and not just any, the good one.” she said to him, as if it was a matter of fact. “It's Marchesi Antonori, Kento. I’m not letting that go to waste.”

“I always bring wine for you, baby.” Satoru said, smiling as he kissed her cheeks, watching her smile against Satoru’s touch. “And good gossip, that everyone enjoys. Don’t act like I haven’t upgraded this family’s drama with better lighting and better cheekbones.”

“You say that this isn’t a setup for a soap opera, you know?” Kenshin muttered. “I mean, maybe Reality TV. I’m sure everyone’s going to enjoy it.”

Keiko leaned into her dad’s side. “A very slow, awkward menage à trois on TV? We’ll make bank! Maybe better than my work at the hospital.”

Kento let out a long sigh. “Please don’t say ‘menage à trois’ in front of your mother and I, sweetie.”

“You’re the one vacationing with your ex–wife and her boyfriend, Dad. We’re past pretending this is normal.” Keiko argued at her dad. “Plus, this is how I’m coping with it. It has to be funny or it’ll be trauma!”

“She has a point there, Kento–kun.” Satoru said as he made a comical face, raising his glass. “To co–parenting with complex emotional boundaries and excellent skincare routines.”

Nanami Kento didn’t laugh, but his mouth twitched. He looked down into his cup like it might hold a different answer this time, then looked up and said, almost offhandedly: “I’m seeing someone. Well, at least I think I am.”

The room went still for a second.

“You’re kidding?” His son says, eyes widened. “Dad, are you serious?”

Keiko looked like her world was rocked. “Beyond five months?”

“I met her seven months ago.”

“Holy shit?” Gojo Satoru huffs, almost like he’s surprised. “This is just…..

“I just don’t know….” his ex blinked, tilting her head. “Wait, are you serious or is this one of your deadpan setups that ends with a philosophical burn?”

“No setup, really.” Kento said. “She’s… well. Complicated. Smart. Funny in a way that sneaks up on you. The kind of person who finishes your sentences and then rewrites them to be punchier. Really witty.”

Satoru wiggled his eyebrows. “So you’re saying she finally made you interesting?”

Kento shot him a dry look. “She has a real talent for pulling the rug out from under people. Emotionally and, on at least one occasion, literally.”

“She sounds really cool, Dad!” Keiko said, grinning. “Can we meet her?”

Kenshin didn’t look up. “Does she like chaos?”

Kento took a sip of his tea. “She lives in it. And somehow makes it feel like home.”

There was a beat of silence before Satoru said, “Okay, see, that’s borderline poetic. You’re in trouble.”

Kento allowed himself a small smile. “I might be.”

His ex–wife raised her cup toward him. “Well then. Here’s to your chaos.”

Satoru added, grinning wide. “And here’s to us, still not a ménage à trois, but definitely an award–winning sitcom.”

“Limited series.” Keiko corrected.

“With a strong fanbase.” Kenshin added.

Kento just shook his head and looked out the window, hiding his smile in the rim of his cup. Satoru leaned back, arms behind his head like he owned the place. Which, of course, he didn’t. But no one ever told him that because he wouldn’t believe it anyway.

“Okay, back to the subject. I’m too nosy for my own good.” Satoru said. “What’s her name? Is she famous? Is she dangerous? Does she do her eyeliner in one perfect stroke without blinking?”

“She’s not famous.” Kento said, voice mild. “She’s worse. She’s normal. She’s a make–up artist by trade and a comedian by enjoyment.”

Kenshin looked up at that. “You brought a normal person into this gene pool of emotionally complicated circus animals?”

“She’s not normal.” Keiko said. “He said she was complicated. Big difference. Normal gets scared and leaves. Complicated brings snacks. And she’s a comedian slash make–up artist. She’s very complicated.”

His ex–wife turned toward him, curious now. “How’d you meet her?”

He looked into the fire for a long second, then said, “A bar visit. She was enjoying there. I wasn’t planning on doing anything else. She made me want to. And—”

Satoru mimed wiping a tear, cutting him off. “I swear to god, you’re one poetic monologue away from stealing my brand.”

“She probably thinks I’m too serious.” Kento muttered, sighing.

“Then she’s got taste.” Satoru said brightly.

Keiko grinned. “Is this the same woman who left you looking like a teenager who’d just discovered jazz and heartbreak the last time you came home to visit us?”

“I told you not to read my journal notes.” Kento grumbled at his daughter.

“You left them on the kitchen table under a mug that said 'World's Okayest Dad.'” Kenshin said. “You wanted us to find them.”

His ex-wife gave him that look, the one that peeled you back like a clementine, soft and amused and just slightly sharp. “So?” she asked, casually sipping her tea. “Why haven’t we met her?”

Kento didn’t answer her right away. He sighed as he shifted in his chair, the firelight catching the quiet tension in his shoulders. The massive room, previously loud with banter, went suddenly still as it held its breath.

“I don’t know if there’s anything to introduce right now. I mean, even her. It’s just….I don’t know how to define it yet.” he said finally, voice low but even. “We’ve been… sleeping together.”

Gojo Satoru raised his brows so high they practically hit his hairline. “Sleeping together as in sleeping together? Or metaphorically, like 'emotionally naked while watching sad French films’ kind of thing?”

Kento gave him a look as he sighed, exasperated. “Sleeping together. Literally. Repeatedly. As friends.”

Keiko blinked. “Wait. Friends who…..what?”

“It’s not like that.” Kento said quickly. “Or no, it is like that. I’m….not sure. I haven’t done this in years.”

Kenshin sighed, rubbed his head. “Okay, explain, dad.”

“I mean……We talk. We laugh. We cook sometimes, or she steals my takeout. She edits my texts because apparently, I sound like I’m drafting a cease–and–desist. Then we end up in bed again and we….do things. And then she talks to me and then she….she leaves.”

“I have to say that’s hot.” Satoru muttered, already pouring himself another drink. “I mean, vaguely tragic, but also, still very very hot.”

His ex–wife shakes her head at her partner’s words. She looked at her ex–husband, leaned forward. “And you’re okay with this?”

Kento paused. “I thought I was, I mean, I was sure I was. I’ve done this so many times with other women, for years and years now.” he admitted. “I told myself it was enough. We had an understanding. No expectations. Just… moments.”

Kenshin, who’d been silent up to that point, closed his book slowly. “So what changed, Dad?”

Nanami stared into his tea like it might tell him. “I started wanting in–betweens…..The mornings after. The dumb little texts during the day. I started missing her even when she was still there. That’s when I realized I wasn’t being a good friend anymore. I was pretending not to care because I was scared she’d run if I admitted I did.”

A beat passes. Kento sighs heavily. “She’s not the kind of person you ask to stay.” he said. “She’s the kind you quietly hope chooses to.”

“Sounds familiar, huh” his ex–wife said gently, with a half–smile. Those words hit him hard, painfully even. Kento purses his lips into a flat line. “Well, maybe you could choose better this time, don’t you think?”

Keiko nudged his arm. “You know you can talk to her, right? Like, use words. You’re supposed to be good with those.”

“Yeah, I did the same thing.” Satoru added, grinning. “Start with ‘I like you’ and maybe not with ‘what are we?’ unless you want to spontaneously combust.”

Kento chuckled, despite himself. “You’re all very helpful.”

Satoru raised his glass. “We’re a walking disaster, Kento. But we’re your disaster.”

His ex–wife clinked mugs with him. “Now call her. Or text her. Or send a raven, whatever suits your aesthetic, Kento. Just….don’t let this one slip away.”

Nanami Kento looked down at his phone. Then, slowly, he reached for it. His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts. It’s the one saved with no emojis, no unnecessary punctuation, just your first name. Stark. Honest. Maybe a little terrifying.

Satoru leaned over like an older sibling with zero respect for personal space. Even when the younger of the two. It was funny, but it was how he was with Kento. “Do it already, man. Text her something casual. Like ‘hey’ but brooding. ‘Hey...’ with a heavy pause.”

“Thank you, Satoru, that’s extremely helpful.” Kento said dryly.

“Do you want it to be helpful or emotionally reckless? Because I can do either, but not both.”

“Can we not peer–pressure Dad into confessing his feelings like this is an after–school special?” Keiko muttered from the couch, half-buried under a blanket and her own secondhand embarrassment.

“I’m not confessing, at least….not yet.” Kento said. “I’m just… acknowledging.”

His ex–wife smiled. “Mm. That’s what people say right before they confess.”

Kento sighed like a man about to walk into traffic with his eyes open. Then, after a brief, silent moment, he typed: “Hey….Answer this when you get back…...Actually, are you home right now?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed as the message peered at the screen. “That’s it? That’s the big opener?”

“It’s a text, not a marriage proposal.”

“Yeah, but come on. Add a winky face or a little something. Give it flair. Give it a mystery.”

Kento locked his screen and dropped the phone onto the coffee table. “If she answers, she answers. If she doesn’t… I’ll wait.”

His ex–wife tilted her head, watching him like a painting she’d seen before, but with new light falling on it now. “You really like her, don’t you?” she asked.

Kento didn’t look away from the fire. “She makes me feel like I haven’t missed my chance yet, to be a better…person.” he said quietly. “Like maybe there’s still time to choose something more than that grief of everything I’ve failed.”

The room fell into that rare kind of silence, where no one needed to say anything clever, because the truth had already landed. And then, like the universe had a flare for timing, his phone buzzed. He didn’t jump. Didn’t snatch it like Gojo Satoru probably would have. He picked it up slowly. Read it once. Then again.

Your reply: “I’ve got whiskey, terrible TV, and your sweater still on my couch. You coming over or what?”

A rare, reluctant smile curled at the edge of his lips.

Keiko noticed first. “She texted back, didn’t she?”

Kento didn’t say anything. He just stood, walked to the hall to grab his coat, and murmured over his shoulder— “Don’t wait up.”

Satoru let out a dramatic gasp. “My god, he’s in love.”

“About damn time, don’t you think?” his ex–wife whispered into her tea, grinning. “He’s waited long enough. I’ve forgiven him already, no?”

“Baby, you forgive too easily.”

“Hm, and you don’t?”

“Oh no, I hold grudges until I die.”

She laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

HE SHOULD HAVE BROUGHT A WARMER COAT. The snow outside hadn’t let up. It spun softly in the air like ash, delicate and slow, and Nanami Kento drove through it with one hand on the wheel, the other resting absently near the passenger seat like muscle memory. It was like he was used to reaching for someone who wasn’t there. Yet.

Your neighborhood was quiet when he pulled up, the kind of stillness that held breath. He could see the faint glow from your window, warm and familiar and messy in that lived–in a way that made his chest ache a little. He felt the chill brim through his bones as he walked towards your door.

He knocked. Once. Then again, softer. The door opened. You were barefoot, wearing that oversized sweater he’d left behind a week ago. The sleeves are too long, collar wide enough to fall off one shoulder. You didn’t say anything. Just raised an eyebrow, one hand braced against the frame.

“Well?” you asked. “Did you bring snacks, or is this strictly a regret and emotional unraveling kind of visit?”

He exhaled a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “I thought we already unraveled, pretty woman of mine. Far too much.”

“You’d be surprised how many layers a person can have.”

You stepped aside to let him in. The door clicked shut behind him with a kind of finality that didn’t feel ominous. It felt earned. The apartment smelled like popcorn and your perfume. A mindless old movie murmured from the TV. Two glasses waited on the table. You were prepared for his arrival.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come, but….I prepared anyway.” you said, not quite looking at him as you curled back onto the couch.

He shrugged out of his coat, folded it over the back of a chair. “I wasn’t sure I’d be invited.”

You didn’t smile, but your mouth quirked in that way it always did before you said something too sharp or too honest. “We’re not really good at normal, are we?”

“No, not at all.” he said, sitting beside you, knees brushing. “But we’re excellent at being messy, together.”

You handed him a glass. He took it. Neither of you toasted. Instead, you looked at him, eyes softer than your voice. He looked at the glass for a moment and then to you. He takes a sip of the drink.

“So, tell me, Nanami Kento. Is this situation about friends making poor decisions together, or are we headed for dangerous territory?”

He looked at you like he was memorizing something important—something fleeting. “I don’t know…..and that’s perplexed me for a while.” he said. “But I want to find out. With you, if possible.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Then you reached for his hand, laced your fingers through his without ceremony. “Well….” you said, voice light but sure. “That’s a good answer. You should buckle up, pretty boy. You’re in my territory now.”

He didn’t answer. But his fingers tightened slightly. He puts down the glass and leans closer to you. It was like he could breathe again. For the first time in weeks, everything felt like it was exactly where it was supposed to be.

The quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it was comfortable. It was layered. It was like the kind of silence that follows a good piece of music, where no one wants to speak in case it breaks the spell. Where lovers slowly danced to the tenderness of each other’s arms.

Nanami Kento sat there for a long beat, your fingers warm in his. He hadn’t realized how tightly he’d been wound the past for all this time. Not until you leaned your head lightly against his shoulder like it was the most obvious place for it to be. Like you’d done it a thousand times before.

You didn’t ask him what took him so long. You didn’t press for more. That was the thing with you. When it really mattered, you always knew when to stay quiet. Eventually, you broke it anyway. Because you were you. 

And because you were you, you had given him a chance to feel like the world was going to be alright. You gave him a moment to believe that he was just a human being, not a monster. He was a terrible person and he atoned for it — he still does. But he deserves more than that too. Sinners cannot be morose in misery forever.

“So. You told your ex-wife about us?”

He blinked. “How do you—”

“Gojo Satoru texted me a winking GIF of a champagne bottle popping and the words ‘you devil 😏’ a while ago.” You snickered at him. “He found out my number, it seems.”

Kento groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Of course he did.”

You grinned. “Honestly, I’m flattered. Feels very film noir meets gossip column.”

He tilted his head to look at you, his expression unreadable but softer around the edges. “I didn’t mean to… make it a thing. I just… mentioned you.”

“Mm. And how much of the ‘us’ did you mention?”

He hesitated, then, because you asked, he answered honestly. “I told them we’ve been sleeping together. That it wasn’t just once. That it never felt like ‘just friends’ to me.”

Your smile faded, but not in a bad way. It merely deepened, grounded itself. “And what did they say?”

“Well, my daughter Keiko called me a coward. My son Kenshin didn’t look up from his book as he chastised me. My ex–wife gave me that look she always does when she knows I’m thinking too much and doing too little. And Gojo Satoru… well.”

“He sent the champagne GIF.”

“And started to advise me on how to text you, let me tell you about that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God help us all if Gojo Satoru starts producing romantic gestures.”

“I don’t know….it captured my wife’s attention, so…..”

“Well, one time’s a charm!”

Kento laughed for a moment. When he had calmed down, he looked down at your joined hands. He turned his palm slightly, just enough to skim his thumb along your skin. “They said I seemed happier when I talked about you.”

“Were you?”

He met your eyes. “I am.”

You didn’t say anything for a second. Then you shifted, swung a leg over to straddle his lap in one fluid, quiet motion. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, your mouth inches from his. The air changed between you. It was warmer, charged, full of that breathless not–quite–yet.

“You didn’t bring flowers for me.” you whispered.

“I brought honesty, pretty girl.” he said. 

“And your very thin coat.”

“And my very thin coat.” Kento starts laughing again.

You couldn’t help but lean in and just kiss him. He was too beautiful. How could you not? Kento recovered from the shock and started kissing you back with just as much passion in his heart as you did. 

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t a clash of longing and impulse. It was deeper. Familiar. Like a conversation you’d both been having in fragments, finally spoken out loud. And when you pulled back, barely, he rested his forehead on yours.

“I don’t know where this is going. But I’m excited.” He whispered.

You smiled. “Good. Because if you tried to define this with a genre, I’d have to throw you out.”

He chuckled, the sound low, private. “What would you call it then?”

“Something between slow burn and absolute chaos.”

“That sounds about right.” You nudge your nose against his, voice warm with the kind of mischief that had always been your sharpest weapon. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

“Neither would I.”

“But if you keep this up ….showing up in sweaters and being honest and ruinously kissable, I’m going to start talking about you in all my acts.”

He raised an eyebrow, still close enough that your lips brushed as you spoke. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Oh, it’s both, pretty boy.” you said, smirking. “You’ll be immortalized forever as that guy—the emotionally complex, devastatingly hot, slow-blinking brooder who drinks tea and ruins my comedic timing because I’m too busy thinking about his hands.”

He gave a quiet, amused huff. “And here I thought I’d be the brooding muse type.”

“Oh no.” you teased. “You’re gonna be the punchline. Full bit. A ten–minute tight set on how my life derailed because some overachieving man with cheekbones and literary trauma made me feel feelings.”

He tilted his head, studying you like you were something between a challenge and a blessing. “Then I hope you tell the whole room.”

You blinked, slightly thrown. “What?”

He smiled—not wide, but true, unmistakable. “I hope you talk about me. Joke about me. Make fun of how I fold my socks or how I never eat the last bite. I hope you roast me so well they quote it online.”

You stared, mock–offended. “You want me to destroy your dignity in front of strangers?”

“I want you.” he said simply to you. “And you happen to be at your best when you’re telling stories that make people laugh. If that means I’m the butt of your jokes, so be it. I’m used to that, after all.”

You paused for half a second. “Even if I tell you a bit about apologizing to the lamp when you bumped into it?”

His laugh came quick and honest, his head tipping back for just a second. “I was half–asleep. After back to back schedules.”

You grinned. “I’m putting that in the act.”

“Fine. But then I get the right to heckle.”

“Oh really?”

He leaned in close, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “Only during the parts where you make yourself sound like you didn’t fall first.”

You felt that one all the way down. You felt your cheeks turn red at his words, entirely flustered. Your fingers slid through his hair, slow and affectionate, grounding the moment in something a little deeper.

“Well, pretty boy….” you whispered to him warmly. “Looks like we’ve got a pretty solid two–person show.”

Nanami Kento smiled into your kiss this time.

And neither of you needed to rehearse a single word.

You just enjoyed each other’s warmth under the falling snow.

epilogue

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The kind of bright, blindingly domestic Sunday that made you suspicious something had to go wrong. But instead, everything went right. Suspiciously right. Nanami Kento, your boyfriend, had warned you about everything, of course.

“They’re a lot, pretty girl.” he’d said, tugging at his collar like it might hide him from the memory. “They’ll ask questions. My daughter is terrifyingly witful. My son is unamused by everything. And my ex-wife is……” He paused. “Too intelligent and efficient. You already are aware of Gojo Satoru, so the warning is already there.”

“So basically, a reality TV show.” you replied, adjusting your eyeliner in the mirror. “Honestly, they’re a crowd that would love me at a stand-up show.”

Now, standing in the doorway of their family vacation home again, this time not as the whispered–about as the woman, not as the mysterious friend but as you. You took a breath and stepped in.

“Hi, hi.” you said, a hand raised like you were greeting a rowdy class. “I brought pastries and absolutely no emotional stability.”

Keiko blinked at you from across the room. Then she grinned. “I like her already, Dad.”

Kenshin looked up from his tablet, assessed you silently, and finally said, “You’re the one who said Dad folds his socks like origami.”

You smiled. “I did. And I stand by it.”

Their beautiful mother appeared from the kitchen, holding a tray of coffee. She looked at you the way women who’ve lived a lot of life look at other women. She was curious, assessing, and not unkind. If anything, she looked at you kindly and friendly.

“You must be the famous friend my ex–husband was crashing out about.” she said to you, smiling as she took your hand. “Thank you for coming!”

“I’ve been upgraded, finally. Took him long enough!” you replied with a smile, squeezing her hand too. “To ‘person who might have a toothbrush here now.’”

She barked out a laugh. “Well, he finally did something right!”

“Oh, I do not know how you deal with his sock choices.”

“Finally, someone who understands!” She cheered.

Nanami Kento, standing off to the side, looked like a man trying not to smile and failing miserably. His ears had gone a little pink as you two started chatting like you were long life friends, sharing secrets and. As the afternoon unfolded, something strange happened.

Keiko happily and quickly dragged you into a game of charades, where she purposefully gave you the most obscure clues because “you’re quick on your feet, you can handle it.” — and she was right!

Kenshin, who claimed not to laugh at anything, nearly choked on his cider when you got the impression of Kento reacting to a surprise birthday party (“mild confusion and deep disappointment, performed entirely with the eyebrows”).

Even his amazing ex–wife, who was already in love with you as her new best friend, ended up sitting beside you on the porch swing later that evening, sipping tea and saying, “He’s happier. I hadn’t seen that in a long time.”

You looked at her. “He makes it really easy. There’s still a lot of struggle, but with him, it’s easy.”

“You make it just as easy for him.” She nodded, watching her children through the window, talking with their dad and Gojo Satoru. “Just don’t make it temporary. I know he’s rough around the sides and he will make you mad, guaranteed. But he’s the kind of man who doesn’t love lightly.”

“I don’t joke lightly either.” you replied, smiling at you. “So we’re even.”

“Then I’m glad.” She whispered at you, smiling back. “We’re both finally happy and fulfilled. That’s good.”

Inside, Nanami Kento was watching you through the glass, his hand half–raised in a wave he hadn’t even realized he was giving. You winked back at him. Later, after the goodbyes were drawn out and warm and no one pretended they hadn’t enjoyed themselves, Kento took your hand as you both walked to the car.

“Well?” he asked, voice low.

“They love me, I think.” you said smugly. “Actually, no. Obviously. It’s obviously.”

He laughed under his breath. “Yes. Obviously.”

“And for the record, pretty boy….” you added, looking at him sideways. “I love them too. Not that I’ll say that to their faces. I have a reputation to maintain.”

Kento stopped walking. Turned to you. His hand slid from yours to your cheek, thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “I know, pretty woman.” he said. “But I also know you mean it.”

And that was it with both of you. No fanfare. No punchline. Just the truth. And you, leaning into it. Finally, completely, it was like the best setup of your life. You were always going to be invited to family dinners from now on.

[imperialtopaz]

Pick A Pile - How will May 2025 unfold for you?

Pile 1 – 👑 Pile 2 – 💁 Pile 3 – 😁 Pile 4 – 🍀 Pile 1 👑 – Song: Headphones On by Addison Rae – “You can’t fix what’s already broken, you just have to let go and be in the moment.” – If you’ve been seeing 333 a lot, that’s a sign. There’s this strong empress type energy around you;think creativity, growth, and feminine support. – This month is all about shifting your focus. Stop looking at what you’ve lost and start thinking about what you want to create in your life. – Put your energy into those creative ideas you’ve been sitting on. Reach out to friends, connect with people who lift you up. – Whatever you do now is going to matter a lot in the months leading up to November. Something big is comingm, like a surprise opportunity you’ve always dreamed of. – I’m getting the vibe of growing up or growing out of a situation you’ve outgrown. You won’t be in the same place you are now in a few months. So if things feel a little stuck right now, just focus on the small steps forward. – I also see this nurturing, motherly energy around you, someone who’s going to help you stay grounded and remind you to appreciate what you already have. If you know this person, try to keep them around because they will help you a lot. – Honestly, you might already have everything you need, you just might not see it clearly yet. Try changing your perspective. Life’s probably better than you think right now.

Pile 2 💁 – The word “treacherous” came through pretty strongly. There might be some kind of unexpected betrayal around you. It kinda feels like not everything has come to light yet… – It might be time for you to take a step back and reevaluate the people in your social circle. – Some folks might see you as someone who “has it all,” and that could be stirring up some jealousy. – That jealousy might lead to drama, rumors, or gossip especially from people who don’t really show their true colors upfront. – If your gut’s been picking up on something weird or off about someone, trust it. Someone’s not being fully honest about their intentions with you. – You may have to let go of people you once believed were solid. That can be painful, especially if it involves grieving the loss of a relationship or friendship. – But in the long run, it’s better to know who’s really in your corner. Keep your energy protected, you’re not wrong for being cautious. Pile 3 😁 – This pile might be feeling kinda.. meh lately like you’ve been stuck in a routine. But deep down you're craving for something more exciting. – At the same time, you might not be the biggest fan of change or stepping outside of what feels familiar. – There’s definitely a theme here around fear of the unknown, not knowing what’s next can be scary, but it’s also where growth happens. – Nothing new is gonna come in if you keep doing the same thing every day. You have to shake things up a bit. – Try something different, try a new makeup, talk to that person, take a risk, start that thing you’ve been thinking about. – Life won’t really start until you do. Pile 4 🍀 – This pile has been putting in work, whether it’s on a project, a skill, or just working on becoming a better version of yourself. There’s definitely an energy of growth and improvement here. – I’m seeing a full-on rebirth, a really positive shift is coming your way. – Travel is also showing up here. It might be to a place you’ve been before, maybe your hometown, an old city, or somewhere from your past There you will see just how much you’ve changed and grown since the last time you were there. – You’re stepping into something new. You’re not stuck anymore. – Someone from your past might pop up too, possibly someone who lives far away and wants to reconnect. – The direction you’re heading in is the right one, and you have spiritual and energetic support backing you up. – Any delays or blocks you were dealing with before? They’re being cleared. Your spirit team is making sure things start falling into place for you. – A possible relocation could be in the cards too..new energy, new place, new you.

[lurochar]

The Domino Effect (Pt. 1)

Alastor's shadow has been banned from seeing you for a week. The fallout thus begins.

This was getting long, so it's going to be split into 2 parts. I'm not sure when the second part will be posted, hopefully next week.

Warnings: Alastor's shadow is a massive simp for Reader. There are a few cringey deer puns to get through

18+ MDNI

The Shadow will Play and The Buck Stops Here

^^

Please read those two first

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

One week.

An entire week – 7 whole days (his Master was so, so cruel), 168 hours (time wasn’t the same for a being like him), 10, 080 minutes (so why was it taking so long to pass?), 604, 800 seconds (would have to go by before he could smell, touch, taste you again).

He was getting restless, antsy in the meantime.

His Master was allowing him to roam around freely if he didn’t need him for anything, so perhaps his Master did understand that being separated from you was one of the worst things he (they) could endure.

Not that Alastor would ever admit that out loud of course.

But misbehaviour was misbevaviour – Alastor couldn’t let his own shadow think it could do whatever it wanted without his explicit permission, especially when it concerned you.

Everything about you belonged to him. Your pleasure was his, your pretty sounds were his. All of your blood, sweat, and tears were his. 

His shadow may be a literal part of him, but he was a selfish, selfish man. Wasn’t he already being kind enough to allow his shadow to watch and observe? 

Yes, you were his in every way but one – your soul. 

It was an utterly frustrating aspect about you and Alastor wasn’t completely sure why you would not give your soul to him. Surely by now you know he would do everything in his power to protect it, treasure it, and he would never dream of mistreating you in any way.

You saw how he treated other souls under his thumb, how he treated Husker and Niffty. He was most certainly charitable to them, wasn’t he? Sure, he may be a little rougher on Husk, but it wasn’t his fault the former Overlord didn’t seem to know his place at times and he couldn’t have the souls he owned out of line and misbehaving, could he?

You, of course, were different from them, they were toys, his pawns. You were his lover, his mate. 

He was selfish, but he was also patient. He could wait, he would wait until he could find a loophole and break out of his own contract – you didn’t find out about that, did you? It’s not as if he told you about it. He wasn’t even sure how Husk found out about it, it wasn’t something he spoke about to anyone.

(Was that why you refused to give him your soul?)

It must be difficult, he was sure, so he gave his shadow a little bit more leeway than usual and it certainly was using it.

His shadow was clearly irritated, engaging in activities that it was familiar with, but ramped up in intensity.

Pranks against the hotel’s residents were now borderline assaults and Alastor simply allowed it to happen, despite the annoyed complaints he was receiving and concerned looks he was getting from you.

He didn’t answer when you asked about ‘Shadowy’.

“Fuck you.” Husk grumbled, not bothering to get up from his slumped position at the bar as the damn shadow just seemed to pop up from nowhere. He was already starting to deal with the shakes, suffering from the backlash of not having any alcohol when the shadow switched out all of his alcohol with other liquids during the night.

You had kindly volunteered to go and fetch him some booze, but Alastor had simply sneered at him and reminded you that you two had a lunch date with Rosie and thus, wouldn’t be back at the hotel until quite late. 

You had thrown him an apologetic look and Husk just shook his head, not wanting to piss Alastor off. At least you tried, the only one who bothered to do so other than Charlie, who quickly ran off to town as soon as she saw his condition to buy him a six-pack to get him through the night. He could order more once the withdrawals wore off.

That fucking shadow popped up just as he finished his first bottle.

Other than cursing at it, Husk didn’t have the energy to do much else other than growl at it. It just snickered at him and before Husk could even react, its arm swiped across the counter and knocked the five remaining bottles off the bar and watched with a menacing glee as they shattered across the floor.

Husk stared in disbelief as his remaining booze leaked on the ground and the shadow cooed at him in an extremely condescending manner, stroking the back of its hand with its tongue and giving him a look with its hollow eyes as if to say, ‘lick it up.’ 

The shadow vanished as swiftly as it came.

That one bottle wasn’t enough and Husk vaguely wondered if he had done anything to anger Alastor recently and if Charlie was willing to go back into town again to pick him up any more booze.

Hell, he’d even ask Niffty at this point. He didn’t care who got him what he needed, as long as he got it in the end. 

He almost felt desperate enough to lick it right off the floor.

That damn shadow was probably watching him and waiting for him to do it.

Fuck him.

~00~

The shadow dealt with his frustrations the next day by leaving the hotel and slaughtering a few Sinners, specifically targeting ones that had any VoxTek on their person. 

He licked the blood off his claws, but grimaced at the flavour. Nothing had an appeal for him since he had a taste of you, but then had immediately been deprived right after. 

Why was his Master so harsh?

Why couldn’t he touch you too?

But orders were orders and he had no choice but to listen. He just didn’t understand, you had thought the bleats were cute and he knew you would not go around telling everyone that his Master bleated during sex, so why was his Master annoyed with him?

Would his Master react in the same way if he told you about their tail? Well, it was more specifically his Master’s secret than his own since pulling his own tail just wouldn’t have the same effect.

He may be punished again, but he also felt the contentment from his Master, especially that night where he felt the tinges of euphoria and a ghost-like touch upon his ears. He hadn’t been completely connected to his Master that night, so he only felt the barest of touches, but he knew you must have gotten Alastor to bleat.

What was one more thing?

Another punishment would be unpleasant, but ultimately if his Master (and him too) got the utmost pleasure out of revealing ‘humiliating’ secrets to their lover, who would never laugh at them no matter what, another punishment would be worth it.

Besides, if these thoughts were running in the front of his mind, then they must be running in the back of his Master’s – probably pushed down and away because his Master thought they were weaknesses.

His Master had even once thought that about you in the very beginning, as ridiculous as it seemed now, considering his Master (and him) would rip Hell apart and make it rain with guts and gore should anything happen to you.

His Master was just bad at feelings, that's all.

~00~

The shadow was back at the hotel.

His ears twitched as he sat on the top of the stairs. He caught the sound of Charlie’s voice somewhere nearby. Ah, she was a lucky one, his Master had told him to leave Charlie out of any pranks as he needed to stay on her good side. 

Everyone else was free game.

He had gotten Husk.

Charlie was a no-go.

Angel Dust was… honestly, he wanted to avoid being near him. The constant sex jokes made even his Master uncomfortable and irked. He only understood what his Master understood and before you, Alastor had almost zero interest in sex. Most of the time, his Master (and thus, him) had no idea what Angel Dust was even talking about and did not want to know.

So, Angel Dust only if he were desperately frustrated to the point of breaking his punishment.

Vaggie, how could he get her? Hide that precious spear of hers in a place she could never reach, stash it away in the shadows? Maybe shear off a good chunk of that long hair of hers with his claws?

Hmm, decisions, decisions…

His ears twitched again and the shadow glanced down, eyes glowing brighter when he noticed the little creatures cheerfully moving past him and towards the first stair.

Right, these are the pets(?) of the second resident of the hotel – the snake man, the shadow did not know his name because it seemed his Master did not bother to remember it, even after the snake managed to rip a piece of his Master’s coat off.

Well, they were the pets of that snake.

The shadow nonchalantly kicked the first Egg Boi, watching with sadistic pleasure as its fellow Egg Boiz panicked when their companion cracked wide open in the middle of the staircase. 

“Where have you gone off to, my little sssssweetssss?” 

The shadow stood, grinning at the scene before disappearing into the darkness just as Sir Pentious slithered towards the staircase. 

He heard the snake screech in horror before vanishing completely.

~00~

“In and out.”

His shadow whined, using all its willpower to not look in the direction of the bed where it knows you are sleeping. This is the closest it has been to you in a few days and it took almost everything out of it to not just jump into that bed and cuddle up into your side and curl around you.

“I’ve been getting complaints about you.” Alastor eyed his shadow before turning his attention to the pile of corpses gathered at his door. “Husk told me you sabotaged all of his alcohol and that snake fellow said you killed one of those egg creatures.”

The shadow chittered.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I don’t care. As long as you avoid Charlie, do as you please. If you do target Vaggie at some point, do go a bit lighter on her. Charlie may get angry at me on Vaggie’s behalf and I can’t have that.” He paused for a moment to listen to his shadow chirp and titter. “I don’t know, this is your project.” Alastor shrugged, ignoring the glare his shadow was giving him. “Steal her hair ribbon or such.”

His shadow’s chitters stopped and Alastor assumed that was exactly what it was going to do the next day.

“You have been quite active today, I see.” Alastor turned back to the corpses. “Much more than we need, but I suppose it's fine. Rosie is always in need of more meat.” His smile darkened and he turned to your sleeping form in the bed, casting a spell to make sure you stay asleep. He didn't want you waking up to the unpleasant sight of mangled corpses. “It's a good way to let off steam.”

His shadow let out a noise of agreement.

“Now then, let's get this meat into the bayou dimension. Hmm, it seems you even snagged a worker of that insufferable Vox. I do wonder how they will taste?”

You stayed sound asleep.

~00~

“Have you seen it?”

You feel Vaggie's grip around your arms tighten and you sigh. “No, I'm sorry, I haven't.” You answer. “But I can help you look.” You offer.

“Are you sure?” Vaggie's expression is a mixture of panic, suspicion, and anger. “I know Alastor has been playing his weird sadistic little games with us lately and I really don't think you're doing anything yourself, but I know you would choose him in a heartbeat over us.”

“I…” You are taken back by the amount of vitriol in Vaggie's voice. “I really had nothing to do with this.” You said firmly, causing Vaggie to rub at her hair in exasperation – something she's clearly been doing all day judging by how unruly it is.

“Are you two fighting?” Vaggie asked after clearing her throat and the panic disappeared from her face and voice. 

That ribbon must be very important to her if she's acting like this.

“No.” You murmured, having a feeling of where Vaggie’s ribbon might have vanished to. “But I think I am a part of the problem here.” Your proceeding smile is shaky. “I'll help you find your ribbon.”

“I-it was Charlie's first gift to me.” Vaggie looked forlorn for a second. “I know it sounds stupid to be attached to something that can be so easily replaced, but–”

“It's not stupid.” You cut Vaggie off. “It's not stupid at all. You love Charlie, you love every and any little thing she does for you, gets for you. I understand that.”

Vaggie smiled softly, nodding before her eye widened and she looked at you closely. “Y/N, Alastor, he… he isn't like Charlie–”

“Love is irrational sometimes.” You've heard this speech enough times already. “I know what Alastor is, what he's done. But he's never done anything to hurt me and he protected me even before our relationship began, all without asking for a single thing in return. I give what I can willingly and happily.”

Yeah, Alastor may have asked for your soul a few times, but he never seemed angered or upset that you turned him down nor did he incessantly pester you about it.

It's just how Overlords worked, you figured.

Vaggie stared in disbelief, not sure if you were even speaking about the Radio Demon anymore.

“Let's split up to look for your ribbon.” If your guess was right, you really did not want Vaggie there to see. “Is that okay?”

“Oh, yeah, that's fine.” Vaggie snapped out of her stupor. “I've already searched my and Charlie's room. And Charlie is looking in the main room. Maybe I left it in with my dirty clothes?” Vaggie muttered to herself. “I think I'll go check the laundry room. You can look anywhere you like.” She began towards the laundry room, but stopped a moment later. “Hey, Y/N. Thanks.” 

You watched as Vaggie practically sprinted off in her chosen direction and smiled. “Of course.”

You had a buck and his shadow to find.

~00~

“Quite the accusation, Darling.”

Your fingers scratched your cheek and you looked away. “I know you didn't steal Vaggie's ribbon.” You said. “But I know Shadowy has been causing problems for the past couple of days. Shadowy has Vaggie's ribbon, right?” It takes only one look at Alastor's tight grin to know you are correct. “Just let me see Shadowy if he's causing all these problems!”

“I will not tolerate disobedience.” Alastor retorted. “My shadow had one simple order and it did not follow it. There are consequences for that. And it seems there are side effects to the consequence I have put in place. It may not be ‘fun’ for the others to deal with, but they are harmless in the long run.”

“Husk was going through withdrawals.” You frown. “And one of Sir Pentious’ Egg Boiz, you know, cracked open, so I assume that must mean it's dead.”

“We are in Hell, my dearest Doe. While I'm sure withdrawals are quite unpleasant to experience, Husk won't die from them.” Alastor moved closer to you. “As for the egg creature, many have already ‘died’ in my previous… ‘engagements’ with that snake fellow, yet he is never without them. I'm sure he has a source of some sort for those egg creatures.”

“Okay, I get that Shadowy is frustrated? Angry? But why are you letting him do it all here?” You ask with a sigh.

“Of course I allow my shadow to go out and about, but I still do need it close by, so it may only go into the city for a few hours at a time in a limited range. If I need to, I can call it back quickly should something unlikely occur, such as the hotel coming under attack.”

Sometimes, Alastor’s thoughts were beyond you and this punishment for his own shadow seemed a bit excessive.

“Just… just tell Shadowy to give Vaggie back her ribbon in the same shape it was in. It's very important to her, all right? Please, please don't let him rip it!” You plead.

Alastor's ears twitch at your tone and his tense smile turns into something wicked. “And what would you do to ensure that would happen, dearest?”

You blink and then gape at him for a second. “I–” This situation was odd, but ultimately, you are at the centre of it and if all you needed to do was have sex with your lover to get Vaggie's ribbon back, then of course you would do it.

(Maybe you could squeeze out a few bleats too~)

~00~

He stared at the mirror, tying the ribbon on various parts of his body, wondering if you would like it.

First, around his neck. His Master wore something like this everyday, so he was sure you would like this too.

Second, around his ear. It was cute, right? You liked cute things. You had called him ‘cute’ many times before. 

‘Do not damage that ribbon in any way. If you do, I will extend your punishment. Bring that ribbon back to me.’

His Master's voice sounded in his head and the shadow whined at the thought of not seeing you beyond the allotted time.

He carefully untied the ribbon from his ear, making sure not to rip it with his claws. He let out a huff, dissatisfied that his ‘prank’ was already over and that he would have to move on to something else.

Should he slaughter more Sinners – go out and find more of Vox's employees and risk getting caught doing so? What would Vox even do in retaliation? Sing his pissy little song about his Master again on that awful picture box?

It sounded much more fun than pranking Niffty, who didn't seem like he would get an entertaining reaction from.

He could switch her bleach with water – but that was boring, he already did something similar with Husk and it's not like he could watch and snicker cruelly at Niffty afterwards since she wouldn't suffer from withdrawals. She might briefly huff and pout, but that would probably be the extent of it.

She was already quite deranged, she would more than likely enjoy anything he could think of and he didn't want anyone to enjoy anything until he could see and cuddle up to you again.

He still wanted to avoid Angel Dust and besides, the adult picture show actor wasn't even at the hotel to begin with. He didn't care where the spider was, but he was probably at work with that other Vee.

He could always mess with Angel Dust's room, tear it to shreds before the spider arrived back, but that meant stepping into it and the thought of all those disgusting sex fluids that still covered the surfaces of that room, just unseen to the naked eye, was enough to put a halt on that idea.

No, the only sex fluid he (and his Master) would ever partake in is your slick and the very thought had him salivating and his tail wagging.

But before he could get lost in his arousing thoughts, he had to get this ribbon back to his Master before he accidentally ruined it.

~00~

You have to wonder.

Did Alastor go out of his way to drive you out of your coherent fucking mind or was he just malevolent enough to come up with these nasty ideas right on the spot?

Probably a little bit of both.

“NO!” You sob, arms struggling against their restraints and legs kicking out uselessly as you were denied your orgasm yet again - what was that, the third time now? “No, hah! Please, Alastor!” You were literally dripping now, slick oozing down your thighs to stain the sheets below.

You could be embarrassed about it later.

“Hmm, I must say, I do enjoy the sound of your begging, it’s always pleasing to my ears.” Alastor pulled his staff back, hovering the microphone just over your quivering folds, but not quite touching. “It’s lovely. Won’t you keep it up, Darling?”

Oh fuck, keep it up? How many more orgasms was he going to ruin?

“H-how else…?” You slurred, feeling your head snap back when the microphone starts vibrating once again against your sensitized clit. You barely feel the pain when the back of your head bangs against the headboard of the bed since it only adds to the light-headed feeling swirling around your mushy brain. “–should I b-be begging?”

You can only say please so many times, doesn’t Alastor get tired of it?

Alastor tapped his fingers against the shaft of his microphone staff, eyeing you for a moment to make sure you didn’t accidentally concuss yourself. He may be a bit of a sadist, but not so much as to cause permanent damage to his precious doe. “Oh dear, have you lost the ability to speak? Surely you can do better than that?”

“Nngh!” A strange sound erupted from your mouth and your vision was swimming. “C-can I cum?” Finally, words are forming and you gasp when the vibrations against your cunt seem to intensify. “Please, let me cum, Alastor!”

“I suppose you can. You’ve been a good girl tonight.” Alastor cooed, knowing he had to wrap things up a little quicker than he would like because he could sense his shadow was close and honestly, it just might out right disobey him again if it sees you like this. “Go on then. Cum.” He reached over, tracing over your slick folds before sliding two fingers into you smoothly because of how wet you are.

You tremble, feeling Alastor’s fingers press against that sensitive spot inside you, hitting it again and again with precision while holding his microphone on your small bundle of nerves. “A-ah!” Your eyes rolled back and your slippery walls clamp down around Alastor’s fingers, but he doesn’t stop, working you through your orgasm until it starts to become painful, “Oh… no, no more…”

The vibrations of his microphone slow down gradually when your hips try to shift away and Alastor is still casually bumping his fingers against that responsive little spot, allowing the tentacles restraining your arms to retract from the headboard. He finally pulls away from you and you let out a little breath. “Do you need anything, dearest?”

You collapse against the bed, grimacing at the sticky feeling between your legs, but you’re not in the mood for a bath. Your body and mind were buzzing pleasantly with endorphins and your eyes looked up to Alastor and your mouth opened before your brain could really think of what you were actually saying.

Honestly, he should like it, he really should! He loved those cringey puns and dad jokes and other than his mug and referring to you as a doe (which wasn’t a joke to him), Alastor really seemed to stay clear from any deer puns.

“Nope, I feel like a million ‘bucks’!”

It seemed to take a moment for him and his grin twitched on one side, static dying down for a second and he seemed to let out a sigh.

“Quite…amusing, Darling.”

~00~

He was bitter, furious.

Was his Master torturing him? Trying to get him to deliberately disobey him? Why would his Master call him back, end his prank – his current amusement – only to be wrapped up in you, when he wasn’t allowed to be? His Master’s emotions were his as well and stronger ones like desire wreaked havoc on a being like him.

He growled, stalking towards the exit of the hotel, ears flat against his head when he spotted Charlie. He made a beeline for her, causing her to gasp in surprise at the sight of him and take a step back.

He let out a huff, not even allowing her to say anything as he threw the ribbon at her feet before he disappeared into the floor, speeding out of sight before anger could take hold of him and he did something he couldn’t take back.

“T-thank you?” Charlie was confused by the strange occurrence, but grateful all the same. She picked up the ribbon and smiled widely, hugging it against her chest. 

She knew that Vaggie had told you about the lost ribbon, so maybe you had told Alastor and he actually decided to help for once? And for something that he would deem so unimportant and beneath him? Even if he only used his shadow to help, it was a big step forward.

Maybe there was hope for him? 

Probably not, but you really did bring a softer side out of him and it always brightened her day seeing you and Alastor together.

Who would have thought the Radio Demon would ever find love?

~00~

There was a commotion outside.

“What now?” Angel Dust groaned from the bar, slamming back his drink and he winced when he moved in the wrong way. Val had really been doing a number on him lately and he wasn’t in the mood for any weird shit.

He was already on guard for that creepy shadow since Husk and Vaggie already warned him and he had told Cherri Bomb to stay away for a few days since he just needed some nice R&R, so who the hell was it now?

“I know that fucking voice.” Husk scowled. “What the fuck is she doing here? She knows she’s not welcome here.” Well, it would be only a matter of a few minutes before Alastor noticed, if he hadn’t already, and she would be sent on her way – or better yet, shut up permanently for coming back to the hotel.

“Ya can’t mean…?” Angel lifted his head as Husk rolled his eyes before shrugging. “She’s not that stupid, right? Smiles told her right to her face not to come back.”

“She was involved in the Boss’ life when they were alive, how smart could she possibly be?” Husk grunted and Angel’s brow rose at the unintentional insult to you. “Well, no offense to Y/N. Boss actually seems to care about her, as unlikely as it is.”

“You serious? Smiles is head over heels for Y/N! But I get it, you got a bias against the guy, for a good reason. I don’t blame ya if you can’t see it.” Angel let out a laugh at Husk’s glare. “Hey, it just means we don’t have to worry about Smiles paying attention to us as much when it's all directed to Dollface.”

“Is that so, my effeminate fellow?”

Angel jumped in surprise, nearly falling off the bar stool as Alastor and you rose up from a void of black through the floor right behind him. “You’re gonna give someone a heart attack doing that!” 

“Interesting method, but not efficient or quick enough. I think I’d rather just rip the heart straight from the che–” Alastor glanced down when you put your hand on his shoulder.

“I think what Angel means is that you scared him by appearing behind him so suddenly.” You explain with an affectionate grin, seeing the relieved look Angel is sending you. “Anyway, is she really…?”

“She always was a bullheaded woman.” Alastor’s smile is tight and his fangs are gritting. “But the absolute audacity to show up here after I explicitly told her she’s not welcome.” He closed his eyes and let out a calming breath before opening them again. “Well, I suppose I should see what she wants. Darling, stay close to me.”

Alastor gestured you to follow him and you did so, stepping past the front doors of the hotel to see why the commotion was even happening to begin with.

Why was Mimzy, of all Sinners, here?

“I ain't leaving until Alastor shows his face!” Mimzy snarled impressively, flanked by two bulky shark demons on each of her side. “I know he's here!”

 It seemed she hadn't learned her lesson yet about getting tangled in the world of loan sharks, which was that much more dangerous in Hell.

“He told you to stay away!” Vaggie had her weapon at the ready, prepared to strike at any sudden movements. “You almost destroyed the hotel last time you showed up. I'm not going to let you do it again.”

Charlie flailed a bit, glancing between Vaggie and Mimzy while wringing her hands. She wasn't particularly happy to see Mimzy again, but if Mimzy wanted her shot at redemption, Charlie certainly couldn't deny her that.

“Mimzy! What a pleasure to see you again!” Alastor’s cheerful voice cut in, but his expression told a completely different story as his pupils slowly began to shift into radio dials. “I believe I told you t͓̰̹̣ͨ̈́̿o̭̞̗͍ͦ̾ n̷͇͈̎̉̌͘ê̢̼̱̝v̻͔̆ẻ͇̊ṟ͆ͪͧ s͑͗h̸̪̋ͯ́o̥̘w͒̆̕ y̢͚o̘͎͔̪̒ͦ̿u̖ṟ̥̤̆ͭ͜͠ f̘á̯ͪ̔͋c̻̽̂ͬ͒͜e̶̳͑ͤͦ́ͅ ĥ͟e̋r̰̬̹̀̾͞e ǎ̞g̏ͭa͂ǐn̰̱̓ͩ͡.”

“Heh, believe me, I don't wanna be here either.” Mimzy huffed, crossing her arms under her ample bosom. Her eyes drifted to you and her brow rose in surprise. “You're still around? Huh, thought Alastor would've dropped you like a hot potato by now.”

Charlie immediately recoiled back and Vaggie almost slapped her own face at the utterly stupid and probable life-ending words coming from Mimzy's big mouth.

You really didn't have much of a reaction, you didn't need to.

Alastor’s head tilted at an unnatural angle, accompanied with a loud disturbing snapping noise. “You come here, to the hotel under my protection, as an unwelcome guest, and then proceed to insult my mate not only in front of me, but to her as well?” His eyes were beginning to black out and his antlers were growing rapidly.

Mimzy now seemed to realize her mistake and took a step back, trying to look smaller and hide behind her two lackeys, who were also visibly panicking, “I didn't mean anything by it, I swear! C'mon, Al, I'm just going by what I know! When we were livin’, you never had a woman on your arm for more than a single night! A-and even then, you never took them to your home!”

Alastor barely registered Mimzy's words, but his rage became manageable when you placed a comforting hand on his arm. “Just hear her out?” You asked. “If you kill her, you might regret it later. You were friends in life, right?”

“More so business partners than anything else.” Alastor answered under his breath. “We exchanged favours. We benefited from each other. I can't say it was anything more than that.”

“I’m…I’m sure she has some good reason for showing up here.” You sigh, though you were not very convinced of your own words. You had no real idea what to think of Mimzy and her last appearance at the hotel hadn’t exactly raised your opinion of her.

That, and she had subtly insulted you by calling you ‘Plain Jane Doe’ and that you were not even near the league of beauties that Alastor associated with, drank and danced the night away with at the speakeasy Mimzy ran back when they were alive. Of course she had done so while Alastor was out of earshot.

But still, on one hand, she was an acquaintance of Alastor’s, one he seemed a little more friendly with than most. On the other hand, Husk had outright warned you Mimzy only showed up when she needed Alastor to help her out of whatever hole she had dug herself into and it seemed she had done so often enough in the past that she simply expected it, that Alastor would ‘take care of her’.

“Oh, it’s a pretty damn good reason, sugar.” Mimzy’s panic quickly turned to annoyance once she remembered the reason she had bothered to come to the hotel. “Alastor, I know you can be petty, but I didn’t think you’d sink this low!” Her expression turned ugly. “Is it payback for the one time I came here?! Did it really bother you that much?! You can just use your hoodoo voodoo crap to magic it all back, can’t you!? Well, I can’t!”

“Err, what are you talking about?” Charlie asked reluctantly, seeing how upset Mimzy was, but none of them had a clue what she was referring to.

“My club!” Mimzy screeched. “Alastor sent his shadow to my club! And that thing destroyed it! Completely ruined it! Do you know how long it’ll take me to fix it back the way it was?!” Her hands curled into claws as she glared viciously at Alastor. “And that’s not the only thing it did!”

You stared wide-eyed at the blonde woman in disbelief.

“It ate ten of my contractees! Ten souls may be chump change for you, Alastor, but that’s a serious blow to me! I can’t believe you! I never thought you would turn on me like this!” Mimzy spat. 

Alastor returned to his regular form, his anger turning something more contemplative. If he were completely honest, he didn’t care how this affected Mimzy because, well, he had nothing to gain or lose in her situation. 

But this was also curious and vexing at the same time since he did not tell his shadow to do such a thing and an action like this was far beyond its familiar activities.

If he left his shadow to its own devices for longer than he intended, what else would it do? Was it that outraged it couldn’t see you it needed to scatter destruction wherever it went?

Well, he couldn’t blame his shadow, he couldn’t exactly say what his actions would be if he were to be suddenly separated from you, but he knew they wouldn’t be pretty.

“I believe you’re well aware of the type of relationship we truly have, Mimzy.” Alastor didn’t exactly want to admit in front of others that his shadow was briefly out of his control for a time. “Give and take. Tit for tat. However you wish to word it. Here in Hell, I have given you much, much more than I have taken. How many times have I saved you from your own foolishness?” Alastor gave an obvious look to the loan sharks still by Mimzy’s side. “And you refuse to learn from it. You can think of this as retribution if you want. Tell me, what would I gain if I chose to help you this time?”

You gave Alastor a look of dismay, but you weren’t surprised.

Mimzy ground her teeth. “Huh, fine. Guess we’re even then. I do a little damage to your shithole hotel, which you can fix with a snap of your fingers and you total my club, which will take me weeks, maybe months to fix.” She turned to the car waiting for her and the loan sharks followed after her. “Got it, Alastor. Your little squeeze there is more important than a decades-long partnership.”

With that, she was gone from the hotel.

“W-well, that was something!” Charlie laughed uncomfortably, breaking the tense silence and was about to say more, but slammed her mouth shut when Vaggie shook her head at her. “L-let’s just head back.” She muttered.

The short trek back was just as tense.

“What the fuck did she want?” Husk asked as soon as he caught sight of everyone. “She’s not coming back again, right?”

“I should think not.” Alastor answered. “I believe I drew a very clear line this time. I’m sure Mimzy will be busy for quite a while and won’t have the time to think of our humble hotel here.”

“Good.” Husk simply said, shrugging. “That bitch was never good news. Glad you finally see what I've always seen, Boss.” He ignored Angel’s snickers from the bar.

“Alastor,” You bit your lip nervously, catching his attention as he glanced towards you, a knowing look in his eyes. “Can I talk to you?”

Alastor said nothing, he just put his hand on your shoulder and you both were travelling through his shadows and to your shared room.

What a conversation this was going to be.

~00~

“You’ve been quite the help!”

The shadow let out a chirp, but barely felt the satisfaction it used to feel when Rosie praised him in the past for delivering her any extra meat he and his Master had on their hands. 

He wanted to see you.

But he still had three days to go and he had no idea this was possible for a supernatural being like him, but he felt like he was losing what little rationality he had. 

It was surprising he hadn’t felt his Master call for him yet, he had to have heard what he had done to Mimzy’s club by now, but he was going to do whatever he could to keep his desire suppressed as best as he could.

Bloodlust and a penchant for violence was a good way to go.

And going back to the hotel now – he would, without a doubt, disobey his orders and that wouldn’t be good.

Or would it?

Maybe he could somehow catch you alone, bask in your presence, regain some of his sanity, and attempt to tell you about his Master’s tail. His Master wouldn’t be happy and his punishment would probably be extended, but getting them over with all at once sounded better than them being spread out.

The secret about his tail was coming out one way or another.

Maybe he could somehow compromise with his Master – maybe he could only see you when you’re sleeping? He wouldn’t touch you, of course not! He’d just watch you from a distance, just having you in sight and your scent nearby was good enough for him.

“I have to say, this is quite the haul!” Rosie’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “It’s not like Alastor to overindulge like this at all. He has a distaste for wasting food.” Rosie tilted her head thoughtfully. “And I don’t believe the rutting season doesn’t start for a few more months, so that can’t be it.”

Rosie wasn't complaining, was she?

“I am ever so grateful of course, do not get me wrong.” Rosie seemed to notice the downright ominous scowl on his face, though she did not seem frightened in the least. “For your troubles, I’m more than happy to give you any choice of your preferred meat. Any cut you like! I believe I even received some venison this morning!” She tempted him with a grin.

His ears perked up, teetering on the choice whether to accept Rosie’s offer or not. He had already gotten his fill earlier – it had been rather satisfying devouring those insignificant lackeys under Mimzy’s control right in front of her while she couldn’t do a thing about it – but Sinner venison wasn’t particularly common in Hell and it was something his Master could only indulge in once in a while.

Could he use it to bargain?

He nodded eagerly and Rosie’s grin grew wider, as if she expected his answer. “Of course, of course! I did save it for Alastor after all. Wait here for a moment. I even have it packed up and ready to go. Plus a little sample for your help~”

It only took a few moments and Rosie was handing him a package and a few bite-sized pieces of raw venison. He took them with a pleased chitter and her fangs seemed to sparkle at him. “I always appreciate your deliveries, it’s always a great help! I look forward to seeing Alastor and dear Y/N at our next lunch date. One of these days we’ll manage to get her to at least nibble on a ladyfinger.” She joked, not hearing the soft whimper he allowed to escape from him at the sound of your name.

Hopefully his Master was craving deer.

~00~

Alastor stared at you expectantly.

It frustrated you a bit. “Don’t you think this has gone on long enough?” You finally said, seeing that he wasn’t going to say anything and fully expected you to initiate the conversation – he probably didn’t even see the need for a conversation and that made you a little upset.

“I do not. A week has not fully passed. Punishments are given for a reason, are they not? My shadow did not heed my command. I can’t have that.” Alastor answered as if it were already obvious.

“It’s just me, me! Your shadow did that because it likes me, because you feel something for me, or I at least I hope you do. You know I’m not going to tell anyone that you–you might bleat because your ears become extra sensitive or whatever goes on! I don’t really know much about deer biology– do you even follow deer biology? I-I just know I really, really like it when you do bleat because it–”

Damn it, you were fucking rambling nonsense and becoming totally off track.

Alastor’s brow rose, but he said nothing and just let you rant.

“No, no, I mean, uh…” You licked your lips nervously and your face was burning, but you ignored it. “Well, I do mean that, but really, even if you didn’t care if anyone else knew, I-I wouldn’t… wouldn’t…” You trailed off. 

You wouldn’t tell anyone anyway because, well, you wanted it – you wanted those bleats to belong solely to you.

Was that awful of you?

“Err, anyway, Shadowy seems to be escalating with each day. It was contained in the hotel at first, and even then, the pranks seemed a little more… cruel than usual. But with Mimzy, that… that’s completely– I don’t even know!” You shook your head. “Especially since you didn’t order it to do that! What’s next if you don’t stop this now? It attacks the Vees?!”

You were breathing a little harder now.

“Do you feel better now, Darling?” Alastor reached out and stroked a finger down the side of your face, feeling how heated your skin had become even through his glove. “It seems you had a lot on your mind for quite a while now.”

“Are you… are you going to call Shadowy back now?” You asked hopefully, glad that Alastor didn’t tease you for your rambling, but the situation seemed a little too serious for that now.

“I believe it’s coming back on its own.” Alastor answered. “But I cannot let up on its punishment.” He wasn’t surprised by your absolutely disappointed expression. “This is unexpected even to me. I never had given a thought to Mimzy since I had banned her from the hotel, so why did my shadow display such aggression against her? I have to admit, it’s very interesting to me as to what else it may do, but despite that, surely you must understand?”

You furrowed your brows.

“I am still an Overlord, dearest, the Radio Demon. If it gets out that I cannot control my own shadow, how would the souls I own react? It might make for an amusing broadcast, but I can’t have my pawns thinking they can rebel against me. Enough souls are lost during the Extermination, I would rather not add to that count myself.”

“T-that’s a fair point.” You certainly could see Alastor’s side, but why he was still letting his shadow run around freely was not something you could understand. “Maybe just five minutes? Two? Even a minute? Even thirty seconds? I… please let me see Shadowy for just a second so he doesn’t do something completely insane!”

“Three more days. I don’t think Hell will fall because my shadow refuses to behave.” Alastor observed as your disappointment deepened even further and you sighed. “But I will keep it on a tighter leash. It won’t be allowed anywhere near the Vees and their territory if that will ease your mind.”

“I, yeah, that’s good.” You just felt bad, horrible that these things were happening simply because Shadowy couldn’t see you and maybe Alastor’s reasons were reasonable in his eyes considering his position, but you still felt awful. “If you don’t mind, can I sleep in my old room tonight?”

“You needn’t ask my permission, my dear Doe.” Alastor’s smile grew tight, but nothing else gave away any displeasure. “Of course, you are welcome back at any time. You have no need to knock, this is our room after all.”

You nodded. “Thanks, that… that really means a lot to me.” You stepped up to him and he bent down out of habit, causing you to briefly smile. “I sorta get where you’re coming from. You’ve got your position to maintain.” You stepped on your toes to kiss Alastor’s cheek where his smile hadn’t managed to stretch. “But I don’t know, try to look from Shadowy’s view?” You stepped back from him and towards the door. “Goodnight, Alastor. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The static was deafening.

~00~

“My my, what brings you back?”

His shadow chittered just as nonchalantly as Alastor appeared before glancing around the room, ears dropping when you clearly were not there, though that should have been expected.

“You have a captive audience in me. I would like to know, why did you attack Mimzy as you did?” Alastor asked, causing his shadow to bristle at him and he couldn’t help but to chuckle almost darkly. “Oh, fear not. I am not angered by your admittedly odd actions. In fact, they are almost intriguing in how… erratic they are.”

His shadow huffed before it went on a rant of growls, chirps, and snarls and Alastor listened patiently until it was finished.

“You went after Mimzy because she insulted my precious Doe while I was giving that little dead-beat king a tour and this was your opportunity to do so freely, is that what you’re telling me?” Alastor could feel his form shifting once again because of Mimzy and he was not sure his rage could be quelled this time around. “W̯͚̼̓͋͑h̰͕ͤ͊̈́͘ỹ̗ ẅ͉̚͝a͔͆ͅs͍͕͈̏̆̈́̐ Ỉ n̹̳͒̐o͟ț͍̰̆̌ i̲̳ͥn͌̃͊_f̵̝̣̭̣o̝̙ͣͯ̂r̗̰͑̌̚med̸ͦ͆ o̮ͮf t̗̰h̬̅͛i̵̥̅͋s?͈͘͢”

His shadow tittered, causing Alastor to stop in his transformation. He closed his eyes, willing himself back to his normal form and took a breath. “Darling begged you not to tell me?” He wanted to shake his head at your naivete – sometimes he even wondered why you were in Hell to begin with. “She didn’t want me breaking my friendship with Mimzy over a mere insult?”

Oh, his dearest Doe still had much to learn it seemed and he was more than happy to teach you.

“I suppose it’s a good start for now.” Alastor grinned wickedly. “Once Mimzy rebuilds her club, we can proceed from there.” His expression then returned to its usual one. “Our dearest is worried about you,” He watched as his shadow’s ears immediately perked and there was somehow a tinge of red on its blackened face. “You are not allowed anywhere near the Vees or allowed to take a single step in their territory, am I clear?”

His shadow nodded and Alastor was satisfied, knowing it would not break this restriction. He glanced up when his shadow reached into his own body, pulling out a package from a void and Alastor’s ears stood straight up as soon as the smell hit him.

Venison.

And not just that.

Venison from a Sinner.

“A gift from Rosie, I assume?” Alastor asked casually, narrowing his eyes when his shadow did not hand over the meat right away like it normally would have done. “I suppose I can at least hear you out.”

His shadow gripped the venison tightly before chittering and chirping, tittering and whining, giving his Master his side of the story. If his Master could not agree, he would just burn this venison to ash (even if that was just such a waste).

Alastor could feel the drool run down his fangs as he stared intently at the package held in his shadow’s hands. Venison from Sinners was rare since deer demons themselves were scarce. Most deer and other prey-based demons were simply killed within minutes of waking up in Hell since they were considered easier targets, and so, the deer demon population was small and only getting smaller.

Sinner venison was a luxury nowadays, even for an Overlord like him. He usually had to make due with just regular venison (though you enjoyed it well enough).

But was it a luxury worth his authority over his shadow?

His shadow whimpered and whined, sniveling and Alastor thought back to your words for a moment, ‘to look from Shadowy’s view’, before his ears flattened briefly and he let out a sigh. “All right. The venison is mine and you get five minutes and only five minutes.” He turned when his shadow let out a happy purr and threw him the package of venison before disappearing into the floor and streaking out of the room in a flash.

Alastor shook his head, grabbing the packaged venison before he moved toward his bayou dimension, needing some fresh air to think and clear his head of what had just happened.

“I’m growing soft.”

~00~

You couldn’t sleep.

You tossed and turned before letting out a defeated noise as you sat up in the bed. Were you really that pathetic? That you couldn’t sleep without Alastor around in the room?

No, no, it wasn’t that, the guilt of it all was getting to you – Husk suffering withdrawals, the death(?) of one of Sir Pentious Egg Boiz, and Vaggie’s ribbon. Luckily, Charlie, Angel Dust, and Niffty were overlooked by Shadowy, but it was Mimzy that made you feel the worst.

You had mixed feelings about Mimzy, but having her club – her income – destroyed and ten of her owned souls just ripped away wasn’t something she deserved.

All of this was happening because of you, this was your fault.

You let out a ragged sigh, bringing your knees to your chest to lie your head on them, not noticing the big black shape streaking right under your door and towards your bed.

Cold arms wrapped around you and you jumped in fright, beginning to shout when a tendril covered your mouth before you could scream. A familiar purr rumbled in your ears and your panic slowly ebbed away in disbelief.

Did… did Alastor actually change his mind?

“Shadowy?” You whisper and he nodded enthusiastically against you, rubbing his face against your neck as he practically tried to climb into your lap with his much bigger body and failed rather miserably. “How? Did Alastor let you…?”

Shadowy nodded again and held out five fingers. “Five minutes?” You guessed and Shadowy let out a chirp. “It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing.” You smiled. “I’ve missed you, Shadowy.”

“♡♡~” Shadowy made those heart eyes at you again, but then his ears perked straight up as if he remembered something important. You blinked, watching as Shadowy reluctantly left your warmth and moved towards the little nightstand beside your bed, where an old radio had been placed.

“Oh, yeah, meant to bring that to the other room.” You muttered, not sure why Shadowy would be interested in the antique when time was short. You blink again when Shadowy pulls you closer to him and it hits you that he’s trying to tell you something like he did with the bleats. “A-are you sure? Alastor might get annoyed again.”

Shadowy shook his head, simply tapping the radio and it turned on, much to your amazement (though he is a part of the Radio Demon, what did you expect?) and he reached out to you, grabbing your hand and curling your fingers around his tail.

“Y-you want me to pet your tail!?” You blanched, paling at the thought. You had never touched Alastor’s tail even outside of the bedroom, you knew it was a trait that he absolutely loathed about himself.

Hell, he had even confided in you (the one and only time you had ever seen him drunk, even if it was mildly so) that he had attempted to cut off his own tail numerous times back in his early days, only for it to grow back the next day like nothing happened.

You were probably the very, very few who even knew he had a tail to begin with. Even his shadow didn't show his tail when others were around and typically only let it emerge around you as a form of communication.

And Shadowy wanted you to touch Alastor’s tail?! During sex at that?! 

Shadowy wrapped his cold hand over yours, making sure you had a firm grip on his tail and he tugged, and you snapped your head to look at his face. “You… you bleated again. Is this just another way to get you both to bleat?”

Shadowy pointed to himself and directed you to tug his tail again, which you did curiously. Your face must be turning red when Shadowy let out that cute little noise again. He then patted both hands on his chest and used his thumb to point directly at himself.

“Are you saying only you bleat when your tail is pulled and that… that Alastor reacts differently?” You are almost crushed against the bed when Shadowy happily leaps on you, tail wagging furiously. “Do you know how Alastor reacts?”

Of course it does, it's a literal part of him.

Shadowy moves closer to the radio, pulling you along with him. He gestured for you to grab his tail again and you reluctantly do so, firmly grasping it. He nodded and you tugged and just as you did that, you heard a bleat and Shadowy tapped the radio and the station it was set on changed.

What?

You tug again, hear that cute bleat, and the station changes again.

T-that can't be right…?!

“Why would you tell me this, Shadowy?!” You panic. “This is way beyond a bleat!” You tensed when you felt Shadowy’s hands on your shoulders before he pulled back. He cupped his hands, clumsily shaping them into a form of a heart and you let out a strange choked noise.

How many minutes have gone by? How many do you have left?

Shadowy is all over you, ripping off your sleeping bottoms when you're too slow for him. His claws hook into your panties and he drags them down your legs and throws them somewhere across the room.

“It has to be quick. Really quick.” You mumbled, your face burning when you feel Shadowy’s cold hands spread your legs. The anticipation has you started, but you're still not nearly wet enough for it to be comfortable.

Shadowy buries his face in your cunt, parting your folds with his fingers and keeping them spread as he laps around them a few times before moving to that fleshy little nub that seems to give you the most pleasure. He elongated his tongue, circling and flicking it before lightly tugging at your sensitive clit without reprieve.

“Fuck, oh fuck!” Your eyes are blurred with tears and your brain is going fuzzy, but you still reach down and grab onto Shadowy's ears. He purred at your touch, licking at you faster as he slid one finger towards your now soaking hole.

Your thighs squeeze around Shadowy’s head when he bleats as you squeeze his ears and you could probably just cum on the little vibrations alone – just a few more…

Oh shit!

‘How did he find that spot?’ You thought dazedly, feeling Shadowy’s finger jam repeatedly into that extra sensitive area among your velvety walls. He was still slurping away at you, releasing a vibrating bleat every time you remembered to squeeze his ears.

You came when a second finger poked down hard on that spot and you were seeing stars, clenching on Shadowy’s fingers and tongue as he released a few more bleats when you held onto his ears and did not let go. 

You sank back into the bed, muscles twitching in your legs when Shadowy kept on licking at you, determined to get every drop of slick it could possibly wring from your body. “P-please, ah, it's too much.” 

Shadowy finally pulled back, licking his lips of the last of your slick before he crawled to your side, placing a hand on the side of your face and letting out a concerned coo.

Again, your mouth is working before your brain is and you seriously wonder if those orgasms are frying your mind to mush.

“I love you, Shadowy, so ‘deerly’ much.”

Shadowy lets out a noise that suspiciously sounds like a groan.

~00~

Alastor was no longer hungry.

His venison would have to wait.

It had surprised him when he felt the radio he had given you turn on and quickly felt it was his shadow's doing.

His brow rose, wondering why his shadow was using his five minutes tinkering with a radio when it could be devouring you between your legs, but those thoughts are swiftly pushed away.

The station has changed.

He can hear his shadow bleating.

The station changed aga– 

Alastor's grin widens obscenely and stitches appear to hold his face together. He digs his claws into the nearest tree, almost ripping it down as his growing antlers stab right into the trunk and still continue to grow.

“Why would you tell me this, Shadowy?!” 

Alastor can hear your panicked voice through the radio and it serves to calm him down some. He rips his antlers from the tree and watches with satisfaction as it falls.

“This is way beyond a bleat!”

Very much so, Darling. 

His smile twitched in places, as if he were having trouble keeping it together, suddenly recalling what you said to him the night you had gotten him to bleat.

His shadow was a part of him. What he felt, it felt. Whatever he chose to push down, away, and to the back of his mind would end up expressed in his shadow freely, no matter how much he wished it weren't so.

Why?

Why in all the rings of Hell would he want to tell you this utterly pathetic thing about himself?

A bleat? Fine, you can have all the damn bleats you wanted, but this?

Did you really want to see him lose his composure – his control that badly?

(Or was it him? Did he want that???)

No, no – there was only one logical explanation for this and it made sense, it had to. You were his mate, after all. Mates tended to groom one another, didn't they?

He just wanted you to stroke his tail, that's it.

~00~

“Shadowy?”

It shouldn’t be surprising that Shadowy was gone, Alastor had only given him five minutes after all, but it was still a little disheartening to wake up to an empty room. You must have fallen asleep not long after your quick little tryst with your lover’s shadow – guilt eased somewhat, knowing that he wasn’t causing any trouble.

You stretched, giving a look at your ripped sleepwear and chucking them into the corner of the room. You would either have to throw them out or ask Alastor to fix them up with his magic and you definitely didn’t want to ask him that any time soon.

You flounder for a bit as you pull on some new clothes before ultimately deciding to head back to your shared room with Alastor. He did say you were welcome back at any time, right? There was no reason to be hesitating and if he was in a foul mood, you doubted he would even be there.

You took in a deep breath before opening the door, not needing a key as his magic recognized your presence and you slowly stepped in. “Alastor?” You called out, knowing he had to be here since you could hear the faint jazz playing in the background.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?”

You almost jump when Alastor manifests behind you, feeling his hand stroke through your hair once as he waited for your answer. “I-I did.” You swallow. “I don’t know why you changed your mind, but thank you. Thank you so much, Alastor.” Your fingers are fidgeting. “Can I… can I do something for you?”

“That blasted shadow of mine is more cunning than I originally thought it to be. It came across something rare enough that even I had to think twice. How pesky it has become.” Alastor seemed more amused than anything and that had you relieved. “But also quite fascinating.”

Alastor is directing you to your shared bed.

“S-something rare?” You stammer a bit, not sure what Alastor has in mind. “What would that be?” You’re honestly curious about what it could be that he actually changed his mind, it had to be something pretty valuable for him to even consider doing so.

“Nothing you would be interested in.” Alastor answered offhandedly. “I must admit, I am bothered by something my shadow told me last night.” He pushed you lightly onto the bed and before you could fully comprehend his words, he was already in the bed with you, head settled in your lap. “However, I shall forgive you should you forget what you learned last night. Focus yourself on my bleats instead. You believe them to be ‘cute’, correct?”

Bothered? 

What was he bothered by? What did his shadow tell him?

How could you possibly forget about his tail?

“Can I ask what?” Your hands shake a bit as they trace the shape of Alastor’s soft ears and there is no bleating, Alastor can control those sounds in a normal state. After a moment, your strokes become more firm and his ears droop a little in response. “I do think your bleats are cute, though.” You quickly say under your breath.

“Hmm, ‘Plain Jane Doe’, is it?”

Ah, damn it!

“You heard Mimzy, she said she meant nothing by it!” You accidentally squeeze down on Alastor’s ears, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care as his red eyes stare a hole into you. “It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Alastor had called you his mate and that made you happy.

That’s all you could ask for and who cares what Mimzy thought?

“There may have been a bit of truth to what Mimzy said.” Alastor admitted. “I did accompany women to Mimzy’s speakeasy for a dance and drink. I did it to boost my appearance, to look like a normal man. Presenting myself as ‘normal’ is how I got away with killing for as long as I did.” He glanced up to you to see your attentive gaze. 

It wasn’t often he spoke of his mortal life, after all.

“Mimzy does have a way with twisting words. ‘Jane Doe’ is a name for an unidentified female victim, isn’t it? She very well knows I never killed a woman as a human. I do wonder if all that alcohol has ravaged any wit she has left. Ṯ̡͒o͂͟ i͔̰̓̑̊m̨̫͈͑ṗ͙̓ḷ̴ͤ̍͟y̡̥̹̌ I̋ͣ w͐͌͋o̡͙̮͚ͥ̉uͭl̛̤ͧ̐̔͞d̙̖ m̪u͊̾͆r͉̹̘̈́̐̀d̵͍̂͜͠é̪ͤͩ͢ȑ m̻ͤ̌͗͝ͅy̸͇ͩ o̠̠͈ͥͭ̀̚w̶͕̚ṋ̽ m̂a̴t̶̹͌̅è͈͉?”

He was getting angry again at the thought of Mimzy.

You smiled, feeling your face grow warm and you couldn’t help but to feel giddy and Alastor’s smile twitched, not sure what your reaction was.

“I’m sorry!” Your smile was blissful and your hands were back at stroking his ears. “I’m just so happy… that you consider me your mate!” Your face must be completely red by now, but you just feel like you’re floating on clouds. “You’re my mate too, Alastor! I-if you want me…”

Your answer was a bleat.

Your head snapped down to look at Alastor, whose eyes were closed, there seemed to be a red tinge to his skin, and his smile was wonky and twitchy, looking as though it was taking everything out of him to keep it a smile.

You say nothing and keep on petting his ears, hearing those soft bleats every once in a while as you tangle your hands in his hair near his antlers. You gave them an experimental stroke, but there is no reaction, much to your disappointment.

“You would have to wait until rutting season for that.” Alastor’s eyes open and he sits up from your lap. “I do believe my previous bother is no longer a bother to me anymore.” He turns to you. “Well done, Darling.”

“Of course!” You’re still riding your little high. “I’ll touch your ears anytime!” You wanted to add to that, that you wanted to touch his tail too, but he wanted you to forget about that and you would.

For now at least.

-----

Taglist:

@chibistar45 @mo-0-o @sirens-and-moonflowers @ashdaidiot

[minus-plus-zer0]

Studying in Bakugou's Home Headcanons

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader (This is kind of an unofficial follow-up to my headcanons about studying in his dorms)

Bakugou's home is a mystery to those who know him.

"I wonder what it's like!" Ashido says to you one day. "Has he showed you? You two are always so close!"

Even Kirishima himself hasn't seen it. "If he invites you, invite me over too, okay? In fact, invite me over in secret as a surprise!"

Little did they know, you HAVE been invited. But Bakugou made you swear on your life not to give them any juicy details.

When Bakugou invited you over for the weekend, he knew he had to prepare far in advance.

He finds a proper time where his old hag and clown wouldn't be home, then he cleans the place like he was paid to do it and stocks the pantry full of some snacks and food he knew you both liked. He even has some dinner prepped in the fridge in case it got late and you needed to eat a proper meal. He was certain you'd at least be halfway impressed at all the shit he's doing for you.

The weekend finally arrived and to be a gracious guest, you bring over a few homemade cupcakes. They were overly cutesy and sweet which in Bakugou's eyes was just so you.

He's pretty happy you thought of him with this nice gesture, and you didn't miss the warm smile he gave you after taking a bite out of the cupcake.

You two were about to head inside his house when you hear some woman yelling.

Bakugou immediately stops smiling. "Goddammit..."

He opens the door, keeping you directly behind him to purposefully obscure your vision.

Some woman meets him at the door, the spitting image of Bakugou himself. "Katsuki, what are you doing outside?! Where did you get that food? Wait, is that--"

To Bakugou's dismay, his mother spots you behind him.

She's overjoyed and pushes him aside before he can stop her. He yells at her while she fawns over you and your cupcakes. "How did my son manage to find such a sweet friend like you? Did he bully you into coming here? Are you okay?"

You are embarrassed by the attention and you tell her you're fine, while offering her a cupcake. If your mere existence as Bakugou's one and only nice friend didn't already win her over, then this sure did.

Bakugou groans and drags you inside, despite his mother's protests. He tells her to back off while he leads you into his bedroom.

Once you're inside, he tells you sternly to not step a single foot outside or else you'll be "hounded by the old hag". You agree, if only to be a nice guest.

You laugh at the fact that he looks so similar to his mom and he scoffs at that, saying he's much better than she could ever hope to be.

He tells you to lock the door after he leaves to go get a few more snacks. Once he's gone, you do so and start exploring.

His childhood bedroom is more decorated than his dorm room, but still just as modern in his choice of furniture. There's more All Might merch around and even some photos of his childhood and places he's been to, like hiking trails. You need to remind yourself to ask him about taking you on that trail someday, and you really hope he'll say yes (he will!).

There's also his closet and dresser too... but as nosy as you may or may not be, you won't cross that boundary until he says it's okay. You really want to wear one of his hoodies, they smell just like him. You've already stolen one, and Bakugou will have to rip it off of you if he wants it back (he will!).

Despite Bakugou not having lived in this room for a while, you notice that everything was quite organized. You guess that he must've prepped this place beforehand.

Bakugou finally comes back with the snacks and an earful from his mother before shutting the door behind him and locking it with purpose.

You both sit down at his desk, getting to work.

Bakugou's grilling you on questions either to help teach you subjects or because he doesn't understand stuff himself. But it's so clear he wants your praise and admiration from how hard he works that day. He's kinda hinging himself on your review of him.

As a fellow U.A. student and future Pro Hero, you had the same dreams as him. You couldn't let him outdo you. It's difficult since the homework Aizawa gave you is worse than what you've seen so far.

Sometimes when the work is too hard, you get distracted and start fiddling with the stuff around you. Bakugou doesn't exactly stop you, and it kinda warms your heart he's even letting you see all this stuff in the first place.

He ends up getting distracted by you getting distracted, and you both decide to take a break. Bakugou ends up giving you a short tour around his bedroom. You both took a trip down Bakugou's memory lane, and you learned all about his childhood stories. Time passes far too quickly and you're both rushing back to his desk to finish up your work before dinner.

You barely make it in time, and Bakugou's mother invites you to stay for the meal. Or more accurately, she commands you to stay.

Although Bakugou is sufficiently embarrassed, you agree and Mitsuki gives you her own perspective on all the childhood stories Bakugou shared with you, with her viewpoint being much less flattering.

At first you laugh and play along with her, thinking it's all in good fun. But after enough stories you end up stopping her because you feel sorry for Bakugou.

"It's really not a big deal what he was like in the past," you say. Bakugou peeks at you. "That doesn't really affect how I see him now."

His mother is taken aback by your words, but she smiles warmly. "Maybe that's okay too."

After dinner she orders Bakugou to clean the dishes, but you join him, not wanting to be a bad guest. Bakugou's mother ends up feeling sorry for unintentionally guilting you into this, and gives you both some popsicles afterwards as a reward.

You originally planned on heading home, but Bakugou's parents like you so much that they allow you to use their guest bedroom if you really need it. With your approval, Bakugou gives you some of his old clothes to use as pajamas. Once you get ready for bed, Bakugou knocks on your (temporary) bedroom door. You spent another hour or two hanging out, slowly getting more and more sleepy all the while.

Bakugou's father finds you both after you've fallen asleep, with Bakugou making sure you were okay. Bakugou's stunned by his father catching him in the act of being soft towards his love, and barks at the man to back off.

You don't wake up, and Bakugou walks out of the guest bedroom with his father.

"Guess she's a keeper," Bakugou's father said. "Whether it's as your friend or... you know. I'll make sure she knows you care."

"Don't you fucking dare! Don't say a damn thing!"

Meanwhile, you dreamt of homework and various Bakugou family members, unaware of the yelling outside your room. You couldn't wait to wake up tomorrow in the Bakugou house.

(This was in the works for literally ages but I never got around to it. Now I have! I hate leaving projects unfinished)

[staryuee]

hi ! ru still taking reqs? if so i hv one for u:

diluc, ei, ganyu, itto, venti and xiao's reactions when u tell them ur from another world?

kinda like traveler lowkey - since traveler did introduce u to [char]. so what happens when they clear out the fog of your origins? (lets also make u extremely overpowered 👍)

my apologies for the abundance of characters i want u to write for :( - i may or may not think out of all the people who's works i've read ur the best? aoqooqoao don't mind that but tysm if u take my req! ily :D

S/O THAT’S FROM ANOTHER WORLD

꒰warnings꒱ honkai star rail references, not proofread oopsie

⠀꒲ ` characters . . . diluc, venti, zhongli, ganyu, xiao, ei, itto

⠀꒲ ` notes . . . i’m currently on a hsr grind so i just decided to steal both that universe and technically the elements of honkai impact to feed into my delusions ♡

traversing the planets that sprinkle the gorgeous celestial galaxy above has led you to a sticky situation. for the past several months you’ve been wandering around the land known as ‘teyvat’ with the kind traveler aiding you as someone who understands your predicament all too well.

it wouldn’t have been so weird for you as a trailblazer - after all, a nameless’s job is to explore the cosmos and the planets that dot the universe - but what made it undoubtedly difficult was the fact you were: A. alone. B. in a whole different branch of the imaginary tree. C. completely attached to a person from this precarious world.

see, over the course of your adventure you’ve met so many different types of people; some the equivalent of scraping nails on a chalkboard and some…or should i say someone, who’s been at your loving side ever since their heart skipped a beat for you.

R. DILUC — 迪卢克

ʚ diluc doesn’t like to assume things unless it’s built on a foundation of logic and evidence. so this was an absolute surprise to him.

ʚ your sweet and silly habits, the little mumbles you kept to yourself, your reliance on him to converse with others…he thought those were just endearing quirks of yours! not because you were from a whole other world!!

ʚ listen, he’s not mad, per se. you’re the love of his life (as absolutely corny as that sounds), but he doesn’t appreciate having something like this be brought up so randomly and not with precaution. the traveler was one thing, this was another. he loved you. he needs to sit down for a moment…

ʚ in the grand scheme of things, this revelation made a lot of sense. there were moments you mentioned little tidbits about your personal life where it had him scratching his head. you were freely allowed to have secrets and friends outside of mondstadt…but it came to a point where he was absolutely sure you were making things up.

ʚ what do you mean you reminded him of a man called argenti? he didn’t particularly enjoy getting compared to another man of all things…but you seemed pretty happy with yourself so he’ll let it slide. you’re missing someone named…kiana? well, he’s not exactly sure who that is, but he���d be happy to escort you to meet them?

ʚ it was sweet, really—how much he tried to appease your little waves of nostalgia and nights of sorrow with nonchalant compliance while he had no knowledge of your situation. but, now that he has…everything has become so much more convoluted.

ʚ he’s already a man of very few words, preferring actions to prove his love than mere bluffs—but how was he meant to show you anything when all you ever want is something out of his reach?

ʚ diluc has never been in a position where he couldn’t give someone he loved something they desired. you manage to surprise him even now.

ʚ aside from the guilt he feels about not being able to give you more than a hug and a kiss with a muttered “it’ll be okay, sweetheart”, he’s utterly proud and in awe of you.

ʚ you were truly something else in battle. fierce, swift, barely visible through smoke and gashes of elements bombarding together like an alchemy lesson gone wrong—he couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

ʚ if diluc was one for relaxing in fairytale bliss, he wouldn’t hesitate to lean back as you slaughtered with delicate ease with a dreamy grin on his face.

VENTI — 温迪

ʚ venti knows every song from the past, present and the future. the future being the most helpful for situations like this.

ʚ but he certainly didn’t expect for you to just say it out right! i mean, he had suspicions (you called him wendy upon your first meeting, he immediately knew there was something curious about you…), but you’ve never really mentioned it before.

ʚ his initial reaction was a mix of unbridled curiosity and utter joy. he has SO many questions which he will let you use as payment instead of mora for every ballad and sonnet he sings for you. but also… you trusted him with this information? fr? (>﹏<)

ʚ he is SO down for you to chat shit about people who pissed you off in your world. will he understand any of the factions or wars involved? nope! but he’s always willing to listen to his windblume when they’re caressing and squshjng at his cheeks as a form of venting relief.

ʚ not only are you a super intriguing storyteller, one that does a heck of a good job to give him the proper material for future ballads, you’re so powerful and talented it makes him shiver! (*≧ω≦)

ʚ he already loved watching your skilful fingers wrap around a weapon…but watching your entire demeanour shift and posture straighten after you’ve left a residue of dust from a hoard of enemies? ooh you’ve got him wrapped around your finger.

ʚ there is a certain bittersweetness to your predicament however… being the god of the freedom of all things means a lot of things, but one thing in particular that makes his heart ache: eventually, he’ll have to let you go.

ʚ and not in a dramatic romeo and juliet way, or an anti-commitment way—in the way that this isn’t your home. and venti would never deprive you of the chance to see your own peers and family.

ʚ what’s a little distance to a god who’s already been alone for most his life anyway?

ZHONGLI — 钟离

ʚ “i know.” were the only words that left his lips as soon as you reveal your identity. he never delves deeper into how he knew; or perhaps he didn’t and is just lying to save face…either way, he remains silent with a complaisant smile as he once again picks up his teacup.

ʚ it’s awfully unsettling how this proclamation is met with such nonchalance, but to be fair, he’s a god, and a dragon at that—he’s seen and been the fault of countless of empires falling and rising, including the one you’re standing in today with qingxin’s in your hair, he’s not fazed, but he is certainly intrigued.

ʚ won’t hesitate to bombard you with questions, slowly of course, he doesn’t wish to overwhelm you.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered.

ʚ it’s not every day he gets to speak with someone who’s from a world completely unlike his own who’s actually willing to share their tales and past. of course, the traveler was there to chat about their own experiences, but it always felt like they were leaving portions of their story covered. 

ʚ he’s suddenly a lot more in tune with your habits and quirks, he enjoys the whole process of guessing what things you’ve adapted to and learn from teyvat and the things you’ve clearly been conditioned into by your past.

 ʚ silly things like calling accidentally calling the archons “herrscher”, face suddenly going limp with sorrow at the mention of murata, he also does think it’s a little funny you mimic his osmanthus wine line with one of your own…something to do with life being ephemeral and being filled with worldly strife.

 ʚ aside from your unique quirks, another obvious thing that caught his eye was your power. he’s seen many a mortal in his life—some of which had left puffed scarring in his psyche from their sheer strength and will.

 ʚ but you? you were something else. he couldn’t even tell if it was just because he loved you so much that anything you did amazed him, or because it was simply endearing to see his partner so nonchalantly powerful.

 ʚ he may or may not pull the grandpa card occasionally to watch you in action. Can he technically match you in power? possibly. but you should forgive the old dragon, he merely enjoys watching you get sweaty as he sips tea, is that so wrong?  

GANYU — 甘雨

ʚ ganyu is barely awake when she comes home to you, so when you suddenly revealed such news, it abruptly awoke her. yes, she nearly lost a horn in the process—please don’t mention the bump on her forehead.

ʚ despite ganyu being extremely intelligent and quietly observant like an white barn owl with hooded eyes, this was the last thing she expected: was teyvat some sort of resort for outlanders strewn off their course? or did the gods specifically send you down here so you can play with her heart?

ʚ the revelation doesn’t change much apart from your late night pillow talks. suddenly, even the sleepy goat preferred counting the moles and freckles on your skin than imaginary sheep. please do enlighten her about your world!! she will soak up any information and perhaps help you relive some memories with some diy—she’s sure she can remake the food from the xianzhou luofu with some mismatched ingredients!

ʚ one thing that intrigued her immediately about your travels was the place called penacony; you seriously visited a world where dreams were a reality? where you can simply let go of the troubles of life and engage in mindless fun? that was far too out of her realm of imagination, but she was certainly replaying the image you placed in her mind during her late hours at work.

ʚ however…the rest of the story about the dreamy land solidified in her mind that maybe those few hours with ink are worth more than indulging in delusions…

ʚ your martial art skills and general technique with your desired weapon had also piqued her interest, but she had never really put too much emphasis on it or thought to express her curiosity. after all, it’s not like she gets out of liyue much—perhaps this was merely a style from one of the other nations?

ʚ of course, with the present context, she was now even more intrigued! you have to teach her some of those cool choreography moves! you practically use the entire battlefield like a dance floor, sliding around to avoid enemy attacks with such poise and grace you’d think you were merely doing ballet. she’s never been so motivated for something so seemingly trivial to you.

ʚ there’s certainly a hint of worry with your whereabouts. after all, doesn’t this mean you’ll eventually have to make it back home? if so, would you be potentially willing to return to her if your heartbeats ever sync again?

XIAO — 魈

ʚ that explains a lot of the mumbles you told him not to worry about where in which you compared him to people he’s never heard of in teyvat - i mean he barely remembers the blurry faces of people he’s encountered but even so.

ʚ i mean who in the world was blade?? like the weapon? if so, that’s a rather cruel comparison for a man used as a killing slave for most his life.

ʚ he did think it was weird that despite your long stay in teyvat, you hadn’t managed to properly integrate yourself into their cultures - though he wasn’t really one to judge you for that, he was born to protect liyue and he still hasn’t got a clue how to socialise, so really? he understood you all too well.

ʚ soon as you admitted to him your story, it’s like all the lanterns in his head suddenly flutter with light. ah, so you’re not just an outcast weirdo—you’re quite literally from a different planet.

ʚ xiao isn’t one to be super intrigued about other people, his life and duty is specifically intended for the protection of liyue and its people. he has no time to wonder about what’s beyond that.

ʚ but…since it’s you, he’ll try. during those alone nights at the inn, him wrapped up in your arms like an injured kitten as you brush away the dark streaks of hair clinging to his bloodied forehead—he’ll ask.

ʚ did you have any friends? any family? did they love you? what sort of things did you experience? …do you miss them?

ʚ he rarely wants the answer to the last one, he shuts it out almost entirely. he can’t bear the thought of you potentially yearning for somewhere, or even someone, that wasn’t him. it was petty and selfish—but for the first time in his sacrificial life, he allowed it.

ʚ as for your power…he’s not one to be impressed by something he was literally designed for, but it was another thing to watch you work so diligently. it was…admirable.

ʚ there’s been times where you’ve surprised him, and unintentionally hurt his ego. he’s supposed to be YOUR protector, he wants to be. because if he isn’t, what else can he be? you can’t just swoop in and snatch him by the waist while he’s in the middle of training because you think he’s in trouble!

RAIDEN EI — 影

ʚ she truly believes she misheard you at first.

ʚ you’re from where? huh? speak up, please before the stoic shogun breaks down.

ʚ you can’t be from somewhere unreachable…you were hers. and now you’re telling her you belong to a whole other world?

ʚ it’s a poignant moment. on one hand, she’s deeply honoured that you trusted her to admit something so important to you, but truly…the idea you were just barely hers made her irrationally upset.

ʚ once she gets over the sulking, ei finds a little peace with you as you retell some stories of your own life. it’s a little healing almost, knowing you handled yourself so fiercely without her need of protection.

ʚ another raiden shogun? well you better pray you hadn’t dated because otherwise…she’s not sure she can keep that purple electricity of hers in check enough to not leave a branch-like streak across your face (she wouldn’t dare no matter how tempting the idea of branding you as hers the thought may be).

ʚ yae sakura and miko though? now that was certainly interesting. at least she finally had a conversation starter with the kitsune that strayed from the typical teasing.

ʚ you must know that she will absolutely be using this information against you, in the most lighthearted manner of course.

ʚ no it’s actually very normal in the inazuman custom for a shogun to eat a handful of sweets before dinner, you simply haven’t heard of it! yup she also must be the little spoon at night no matter how much smaller or bigger you are from her—it’s a status thing, so come on, get to it.

A. ITTO — 荒泷一斗

ʚ OH SHIT??

ʚ unexpected, bewildered and absolutely enamoured.

ʚ not only did he manage to bag an absolute gorgeous partner, one that could kick ass like it was second nature, but also one that was from some super cool other world?! oh babe you shouldn’t have said anything, he will absolutely chew your ear off with this.

ʚ nonstop talking and questioning— did you have things like this in your world?? when reference to the most common items. dig you also have rain? did you wake up before dawn or was it always night in your realm? do you have family? what were they like? friends? gasp LOVERS?

ʚ ooh he suddenly couldn’t take it. he knows you’re the most beautiful, handsomest, prettiest person alive—but just the thought of someone else—someone who he couldn’t fight!!—thinking the same thing before he ever did made his stomach feel all funny.

ʚ were there monsters and freaks in your world too? and did you love them as much as you hopefully loved him?

ʚ he knows it’s a little unfair to expect you to only have had eyes for him, but for the sake of his ego…it’s much better to keep past romantic endeavours to yourself. he’s currently more than content that the great arataki itto is your first TEYVAT! boyfriend. no other dude from some shammy planet could change that significant status.

©STARYUEE do not copy, steal or repost ♡ ᴜsᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ɪʜᴇᴀʀᴛɢᴀɴʏᴜ

[olis-inkwell-symposium]

The Taste of the World: Writing Food as Storytelling

Food is never just food. It’s culture, history, survival, and, perhaps most importantly, a language that characters and worlds use to speak when words fail. The way food is grown, prepared, and consumed reveals the structure of a society—its priorities, its fears, and its memory. And in storytelling, the smallest detail about what’s eaten or how it’s shared can carry a world’s worth of meaning.

When used well, food becomes a subtle but powerful tool. It can reflect emotional tension without anyone saying a word, or quietly thread deeper themes through the narrative. It doesn’t have to overwhelm your story with excess description; it works best when it’s an organic part of the world, shaped by the same forces that drive everything else.

Let’s break down how to think about food as more than a detail, crafting it as an integral part of the characters, the setting, and the stakes.

Why Food is Fundamental to Worldbuilding

Culture and Identity

Food defines a culture as much as its language or traditions. The ingredients people rely on are determined by the land they inhabit, the technology they have access to, and the values they hold. It’s not just about what is eaten, but how—and why.

Think About:

What ingredients are unique to this region, and how did they come to rely on them?

How is food served—shared communally or divided by status?

Are there specific rituals tied to preparing or consuming meals?

These questions help frame food not as a decorative detail, but as a way to demonstrate how a culture lives and interacts with its environment.

Food as Survival

Food exists on a spectrum from abundance to scarcity, and its availability often tells the story of who holds power and who doesn’t. This doesn’t need to be stated outright—simple contrasts in what’s on the table (or missing from it) can highlight social divides or tensions.

Consider:

What foods are considered everyday staples, and what are reserved for moments of celebration or mourning?

How do people preserve food in harsh climates or through difficult seasons?

What compromises are made when survival is at stake?

Survival shapes cuisine, and cuisine, in turn, shapes the people. Food that may seem unremarkable to outsiders can carry in-depth meaning for those who rely on it to live.

Food as Memory

Meals are tied to memory in ways that few other experiences can match. They evoke places, people, and moments that might otherwise be forgotten. For characters, food can serve as a reminder of what was lost or what still needs to be protected.

Ask Yourself:

What does this food remind your characters of?

How does this memory shape their present choices?

What foods do they miss, and why can’t they have them anymore?

The emotional weight of food often lies in its connection to something larger—home, family, or an ideal that has slipped unreachable.

Integrating Food Into Your Narrative

The Subtle Art of Symbolism

Food works best as a storytelling element when it doesn’t announce itself. It’s not about drawing attention to the dish for its own sake but letting it naturally reinforce the scene or the character’s state of mind.

Example in Practice: A meal served quickly, with little conversation, could underscore a sense of unease or urgency. Meanwhile, the deliberate preparation of a dish might reflect care, control, or tradition.

It’s less about describing what’s on the plate and more about how the act of eating—or not eating—interacts with the story.

Building Tension Through Meals

Sharing food is inherently social, and like any social act, it can carry undercurrents of conflict or connection. Meals can be settings for negotiation, subtle power plays, or suppressed resentments. What’s not said during a meal can matter more than what’s served.

Think About:

Who prepares the food, and what does that say about their role or status?

What’s the mood at the table? Is the act of eating itself a kind of performance?

Are there unspoken rules about who eats first, how much they take, or what they avoid?

Food as tension is about the surrounding interaction, not the food itself.

Grounding the World in Small Details

Food is a powerful tool for grounding your world in a sense of place. By focusing on how ingredients are sourced, prepared, or consumed, you create an ecosystem that feels real without needing an info dump. A brief reference to a seasonal delicacy or the preparation of a daily staple can communicate volumes about the setting.

Use Sparingly: The best world building happens in glimpses. A short mention of pickling methods during a harsh winter or the fragrance of a common herb can paint a vivid picture without dragging the narrative down.

Applying Food to Character Development

What Food Says About Relationships

Meals are a social construct as much as they are a necessity. Who characters eat with, what they share, and how they interact during a meal reveal their connections—or lack thereof.

Consider:

Do your characters share food equally, or does one person dominate the meal?

Is a meal an act of kindness, a manipulation, or an obligation?

How does the way they eat reflect their personality?

Preferences, Habits, and Rituals

The foods a character gravitates toward can say as much about them as how they speak or dress. Perhaps a soldier instinctively chooses ration-style meals even in peacetime, or a merchant avoids exotic imports as a quiet protest against their origins.

Ask Yourself:

Does your character have a ritual or habit when it comes to food?

How do they react to unfamiliar dishes?

What’s their relationship with food—joy, necessity, or something else?

The Absence of Food

Every so often, what’s missing can be more telling than what’s present. A lack of food could signify poverty, oppression, or desperation. Even in abundance, what isn’t served can carry weight—certain foods might be taboo, seasonal, or too painful to prepare because of their associations.

The absence of food doesn’t need to be highlighted directly. Instead, its weight can be felt through the absence of conversation, the careful rationing of resources, or the visible strain it places on characters.

Final Thoughts: Food as a Storytelling Tool

Food is one of the most powerful yet understated tools in your storytelling arsenal. It connects your world to its people and its people to each other, revealing layers of culture, memory, and emotion without needing to over-explain.

When used thoughtfully, food doesn’t just flavor your story—it deepens it, grounding your world in something tangible and human. Instead of asking, What do my characters eat? ask, Why does it matter? Because when food becomes more than sustenance, it transforms into something far greater—a story in itself.

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