#more will come later because i can't stop thinking about this

[erenists]

Nerd!Gojo X Bimbo Reader

Part 5 MDNI 18+

“Wait— how did you know my name?” as that question spills out he realizes he doesn't know your name either. You turn around flashing him a big grin before winking and giving him a little shush signal before walking off again.

After Gojo had gotten home from school he immediately took out the piece of paper you handed him with your number in it. He exhaled softly not believing he actually has your number and he barely had to do much.

He quickly moves his fingers across his phone screen inserting your number he didn't even stop to think about how to text you he was too excited to finally get to text you.

XXX-XX: hey it's Gojo :) I realized I never got your name btw.. So what should I save you as.. oh and here's my address XXXXXXXXX you can come at 5!

He throws his phone to the side as soon as he sends you that text flustered and nervous to see if you'll respond. His eyes widen and he tenses when only a few seconds later he already hears his phone ping.

XXX-XX: hiii gojo sweetie ;)

sorry about completely forgetting to give you my name whoops it's 𐙚˙⋆.˚  make sure to put a cute heart next to it!!

Gojooo :3 💙: DW it's fine!! I'm glad to have it now.. it's a beautiful name :)

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 🩷 : aweee gojo you little flirt! ty cutie piee can't wait to see u toniteee 😘😘

Gojo smiles giddily like a middle school girl with her crush he hearts your message and swipes out of the app looking at the time in the corner of his screen, 3:02 He had enough time to clean and make sure he looks good, not for you but for himself he tries to convince himself.

He's looking at himself through the mirror fixing up his hair making sure no strands are sticking out weirdly he also makes sure to check his breath because well he never knows maybe he might get some action tonight. Gojo checks himself out making sure he's ready to have you over meanwhile you are in your room quite frankly doing the same.

You're applying lip gloss, your lips slightly parted as you sit in front of your vanity mirror. You look to the side looking at the notification from Gojo, he didn't reply, just liked your message but you still appreciated the notification anyways. you press your lips together getting up from your seat walking to your full body mirror.

You look at your outfit smirking at yourself proudly, it's not much really, just a very cute jean mini skirt and a tight white tank top that showed a peak of your blue lace bra which pushed your tits up deliciously and you topped your outfit off with a little sweater that matched the color of your bra.

"perfect m'sure he'll like this" You muttered to yourself running your hands over your body checking yourself out before heading over to your vanity once more and spraying yourself with your favorite perfume that always had you smelling nice. You picked your phone up you noticed you still had 30 minutes left and you thought to yourself why not show up a little early anyway.

-

Gojo swears his heart dropped when he heard the doorbell ring he looked at the time on his phone, it was only 4:45 meaning you were 15 minutes early NOT what Gojo was expecting but not that he minded anyways he wanted to see you again as soon as possible.

He practically tripped over himself rushing to the door, wiping his hands on his sweats one last time and running a hand through his hair as if that would somehow make him look cooler. When he opened the door, he tried to play it off with a lazy smile—but the second his eyes landed on you, it faltered.

“Holy shit,” he breathed before he could even stop himself.

There you were, standing on his doorstep with that teasing little smirk, your jean skirt hugging your hips and that snug white tank giving him an eye-full he absolutely wasn’t ready for. The little sweater draped over your arms made it look like you hadn’t even tried—but Gojo knew better. That kind of outfit was lethal, and you knew it too.

“Hey, Gojo,” you sing-songed, stepping past him like you owned the place. Your perfume hit him like a truck and he actually had to close his eyes for a second just to collect himself.

“You’re early,” he managed to say, shutting the door behind you. His voice cracked at the end. Great.

You turned, hands behind your back as you rocked on your heels. “Mhm. I figured we could get started sooner…” you trailed off, biting your glossed lip slightly as your gaze drifted down his body. “Unless you weren’t ready for me yet?”

He blinked, cheeks flushing despite his grin. “I—pfft, of course I’m ready! I’ve got the whole session planned out, down to the last equation,” he said, tapping the side of his head like he was a genius.

You cocked your head. “Oh? Equations, huh? Hope you’re better at math than I am Im literally the worst at it"

He softly laughed. “c'mon you can't be that bad, I promise as your tutor you'll be even better at math than me.”

“Well,” you said, placing your hand on his bicep looking up at him through your lashes “if you claim to be a good tutor… why don’t you teach me something already, Gojo?”

He stared at you for a second too long before finally speaking “r-right uh follow me to my room!” he chirped before turning around walking towards his room, you look around as you both step in observing everything in his room like his nerdy anime and digimon posters, his assorted collection of figures to your surprise he even had a gaming pc.

"wow Gojo so you're like a decked out nerd huh?" You smirk plopping down on his bed

"uhh yeah I guess you could say that" you assume Gojo must be blushing because he’s embarrassed about you seeing all his nerdy things but actually he's blushing because when you plopped onto his bed your skirt rode up just a little. what a perv. He looks away from your figure and grabs the material he prepared for today plopping down next to you.

"Ok..so tell me what you're more confused about in math and I'll try my best to help you through it.." He says sheepishly as he feels your eyes on him, your smirk at that last part deciding to be a little tease.

"yeah? you'll help me through it Gojoo~?" You press yourself against the side of him tilting your head and smirking slyly at him he gulps before looking down at you and nodding with uncertainty not 100% sure on what you're getting at.

Gojo clears his throat, clearly trying to act normal, like he isn’t hyper-aware of the way your thigh is brushing against his or how your perfume keeps sneaking up his nose and messing with his head.

“Y-yeah,” he stammers, trying to steady his voice, “like… equations. Fractions. Graphs. Whatever’s giving you trouble.” You lean in closer, pretending to glance at the notes he laid out, but your lips are dangerously close to his ear now.

“Mmm… I think it’s graphs that really get me,” you murmur, voice soft, sultry. “All those hard lines and curves… I can never quite figure out what to do with them.” Gojo almost chokes on his own spit.

His hands scramble for a pencil as he flips open the textbook in front of him, trying to physically shield himself with the material like it’s some kind of defense.

“Right! Graphs! Okay cool, cool cool cool—so this is, uh, a parabola…” You giggle quietly and lean your chin in your hand, blinking up at him like he’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“you’re cute when you get all nervous, y’know.”

“I’m not nervous,” he lies—terribly—his voice cracking at the end.

“mhm. sure you’re not.” You let your knee bump into his under the pretense of adjusting your position, but you don’t move it away. Your skirt has slid up again, and this time you don’t bother fixing it. You watch as Gojo’s eyes flicker down for just a second before jerking away, his jaw tight.

He shifts uncomfortably, suddenly sitting more rigidly. “Okay, s-so the x-axis goes here,” he mumbles, pointing to the graph. “And if you plug in the numbers—”

“Gojo,” you interrupt, voice slow and syrupy as you reach forward and rest your hand over his on the page, “I’m trying really hard to focus. But you’re making it kinda hard.”

Gojo’s head snaps to you, eyes wide. “Me?? I’m making it hard??”

You just smile and trace a lazy circle on the back of his hand with your fingertip. “Mhm. You just have that effect, y’know?”

He swears he short-circuits. His brain completely blanks—he’s forgotten what a parabola is, what numbers are, who he is.

“W-we should really get through this lesson,” he mutters, practically begging the universe to give him strength. His voice is shaky, but there’s a little edge of something else in there too. Something hungry.

You hum. “sure. Go ahead, teacher. I’m all ears.” But your smirk says otherwise. He starts explaining again, hand still trembling under yours, and you let him—for now. Every time he gets even slightly more confident, you lean a little closer, let your chest brush his arm, let your eyes wander just enough to make him stutter all over again. Gojo tries to stay focused. Really, he does. He’s clutching the pencil like it’s a lifeline, his other hand gripping the edge of the textbook so hard his knuckles go white. He’s halfway through explaining how to find the vertex of the parabola, and you’re… well, you’re definitely not helping.

You tilt your head, your lashes fluttering as you lean forward again—pretending to squint at the page, but you know exactly what you’re doing. The strap of your tank top slips just a little, falling off your shoulder. You don’t fix it.

Gojo’s eyes darted to it, then back to the book. Then back again. “Uh—so—when a is negative the graph opens, uh… downward…”

You smile like a cat who knows they’ve got the mouse cornered. “Downward, huh? kay think I get it” You rest your hand on his thigh looking at the graph.

“You’re killing me,” he mutters under his breath, pushing his fingers through his hair as his face burns.

“what?” you blink innocently. “I’m just trying to understand the material. You said you’d help me.” You scoot just a little closer and remove your hand. Now your thigh is pressed fully against his, warm and bare and impossible to ignore. Gojo freezes like a deer in headlights.

“W-we can… review another example,” he says, flipping the page too fast and nearly tearing it. He’s clinging to this tutoring session like it’s his last thread of dignity.

“Great idea.” You rest your chin on his shoulder now, peeking at the book over his arm. Your breath fans lightly against his neck and you feel the shiver run through him.

“You smell good,” you murmur offhandedly, like it’s just a casual little observation. “Like soap. And something else… is that cologne?”He swallows hard, ears turning red.

“Uhh. Yeah. Maybe. Just a little.”You smile to yourself, your voice low and warm.

“It’s nice. Makes me wanna get closer.” Gojo’s hand slips, dragging the pencil across the page in a messy line.

“O-oh, cool, coolcoolcool. Totally normal thing to say,” he rambles, trying and failing to focus. “You really are bad at math, by the way.”

You grin. “Mhm. I know. Guess that means we’ll need a lot more tutoring sessions, huh?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, dazed. “I think I’m in trouble.” he mutters to himself but you end up hearing it anyway. You hum, leaning back just a bit, the warmth of your body pulling away.

“Maybe. But only if you stop being such a good teacher, Gojo~” He’s barely holding it together. Every brush of your skin, every word laced with suggestion, it’s like a slow drip of gasoline on an open flame. He’s this close to combusting.

But for now, he nods, forces a grin, and mutters, “A-alright. Next problem…” You glance up at him through your lashes again. He’s fidgeting—his leg bouncing a little, his pencil tapping the page like it might save him. But it won’t.

Not with you this close. Not with your skirt riding high up your thighs, the scent of your perfume wrapping around his senses, and your eyes locked on his mouth more than the textbook. You wait a beat longer. Just to watch him squirm.

Then, without warning, you lift your hand and slowly slide it over his thigh—not high enough to be bold, but just enough to jolt him. Gojo freezes.

“Y-you okay?” he asks, voice cracking hard. He’s staring straight ahead, but you can feel the way his breath catches in his throat.

You tilt your head. “Yeah. Just trying to get comfortable,” you say sweetly. “You don’t mind, do you?”

His lips part like he wants to say something—anything—but no words come out. He glances down at your hand on his thigh, your bare skin pressed against his, the little peek of your bra still visible and you can practically see him sweating bullets.

“okay but..” Gojo says suddenly, tossing the pencil down with a soft thud. “You’re not even trying to study.”

You blink innocently. “Sure I am.”

“You're lying." he says, turning to you, and now his voice is different—low, frayed, a little breathless. “You’ve been messing with me this whole time.” You smirk, leaning in so your faces are inches apart.

“Maybe. But you liked it.” He swallows, eyes flicking to your mouth. You see the exact moment he gives in.

In one quick motion, Gojo leans in and kisses you—soft at first, like he’s afraid he’s imagining this, but when you melt into it, he groans low in his throat and deepens the kiss. His hand slides to your waist, gripping tight like he’s been dying to touch you since the second you walked through his door.

You gasp a little, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, and that’s all it takes—he pushes you back gently onto the bed, hovering over you now, eyes wild and wide with need.

“You’re such a bad student” he murmurs against your lips, breathing hot. “You’re lucky you’re cute.” You grin against his mouth, heart racing.

“Yeah? if im such a bad student what are you gonna do about it, Gojo?” that has him practically whining, God he thought you were so hot.

“D-don’t say stuff like that~ it’s too tempting…” he mumbles, voice wobbling like he’s hanging on by a thread. He’s looking anywhere but your face—down at your lips, your hand on his thigh, the inch of blue lace peeking from under your tank. Anywhere but your eyes.

You lean in, your voice a sultry whisper against his ear. “Tempting…? So you’ve thought about this, huh?”

Gojo makes a noise in his throat—somewhere between a whine and a gasp—and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s trying to delete the whole situation from his memory before it breaks him. “Th-that’s not what I meant—! I mean, I have, b-but—like, not in a creepy way! Just in a normal, completely average way! Like a guy would!”

You laugh quietly, and that does nothing to help the pink spreading across his cheeks. “You’re adorable,” you murmur, dragging your fingers up his chest slowly, watching his breath hitch with every inch.

His head flops back with a groan, glasses sliding slightly down his nose. “You’re seriously gonna kill me,” he mumbles.

You hum thoughtfully. “I mean, I could stop. Go back to learning about… parabolas or whatever.”

Gojo’s eyes snapped open, panicked. “No—! I mean. Y-you don’t have to stop exactly, just maybe slow down a little or I might—” He cuts himself off, pressing the heels of his hands to his burning face. “God. This is not how I thought tutoring you would go.”

You giggle and shift in his lap just slightly—enough to make him physically twitch. “Guess you should’ve made me study harder.”

He makes the most pitiful noise you’ve ever heard. “You’re evil.”

You smile sweetly, tilting your head. “But I’m your favorite, right?”

“…Yes. Obviously. Unfortunately. Please have mercy.”

You giggle at his barely-whispered plea for mercy and lean forward again, your fingers skimming just beneath the hem of his hoodie like you’re testing how far you can go before he breaks.

“Mercy, huh?” you murmur, brushing your lips barely against his jawline. “Didn’t take you for the begging type, Gojo.”

He lets out a sound that might’ve been a whimper, his whole body tensing like he’s holding on to the last shred of self-control he has left. “I’m not—I mean I am—but only because you’re being mean,” he blurts out, voice cracking. “You’re cheating. This is cheating.”

You pretend to be confused, blinking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Cheating? But I’m just trying to learn…”

“You’re not learning anything!” he practically explodes, hands flying up in exasperation, then immediately dropping as he realizes he’s yelling. “You’ve been driving me insane since you got here and—oh my god—I can’t think straight, you smell good, your boobs are out, and you’re touching me and you’re so close and I haven’t even finished writing the example problem and—!”

You cut him off by kissing the corner of his mouth, not quite a kiss, just enough to knock the wind out of him. “Then stop thinking.”

His breath hitches again—he swears he could combust on the spot. You can see it in the way his thighs tense under yours, in the way his fingers dig into the edge of the bed like he’s trying not to grab you. He wants to. So bad.

“But if I stop thinking,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m gonna do something stupid. And you’re gonna laugh at me.”

“I won’t laugh,” you promise, dragging your nails gently up his arm. “Unless you're secretly into it....” He full-body shudders.

“You’re actually insane.” You smile, eyes sparkling. “And yet you still haven’t told me to stop.”

“I can’t tell you to stop,” he blurts. “I literally can’t. You could say anything right now and I’d fold like a pathetic lawn chair.”

“Anything?” you purr, nosing up against his ear. You can feel him trembling. “Like if I said ‘I want you to touch me, Gojo’…?”

He whines. Like, actually whines, head dropping forward onto your shoulder as his hands finally come to rest on your waist—tight, needy, but still so nervous you can feel the tension buzzing through him.

“You’re not fair,” he mumbles, voice muffled against your skin. “You’re not playing fair.”

You run your fingers through the soft white strands of his hair and smile, leaning in close to whisper against his temple, “Good thing this isn’t a game then… or you’d already have lost.”

His breath hitches at your words and he stays still, trembling, like he’s deciding whether to run or melt right into you. But it’s already over. His fingers twitch against your waist, gripping harder now, and when he lifts his head, there’s a glassy look in his eyes—unfocused, lust-drunk, and desperate.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mutters. “I was just trying to explain linear motion. That’s all I wanted. Now my brain’s—fuck—I can’t even remember how to spell velocity.”

You lean in until your lips are brushing his featherlight. “Good. Then maybe take a break from studying and indulge in me hm?”

His mouth crashes against yours in a messy, frantic kiss, all teeth and tongue. His glasses are skewed, his hoodie pulled taut between your bodies as he grips your hips and drags you down flush against the hardness straining in his sweats. He groans into your mouth like it hurts—like he’s been this hard since you walked in and it’s finally breaking him.

“God, you’re so—so—pretty, and mean, and smart, and mean,” he babbles between kisses, one hand sliding up under your top, shaky and reverent as he finally touches skin. “I was trying to be professional, I swear, I had notes and everything—”

You roll your hips down into his lap and he chokes, head falling back, lips parted. His cock twitches against you, leaking through his sweats.

“This is what you wanted, right?” you whisper, dragging your fingers down the front of his chest, his stomach jumping under your touch.

“Me on your lap, distracting you. Being such a baddd student, hmm??" He whimpers, nodding like he’s trying to keep his sanity through sheer willpower.

“I’m not gonna last,” he says weakly. “I’m—if you keep moving like that, I’m gonna—gonna come in my pants like some desperate virgin loser—”

“Gojo,” you say softly, smiling as you palm him through his sweats. He gasps, body jerking. “That’s because you are a desperate virgin loser.”

He moans. Full-body, high-pitched, humiliated. “Oh my god.”

“But,” you murmur, shifting to tug down the waistband of his sweats just enough to free him, his cock flushed and twitching in your hand, “you’re my desperate loser now, right?”

His eyes roll back as you stroke him, his hips bucking helplessly into your fist. “Y-Yeah. Fuck. Yours. Just—just don’t stop. I’ll do anything, just don’t stop—”

And when you sink down onto him, slow and tight, squeezing him inch by inch until he’s fully inside, he clutches at you like he’s drowning, sobbing out your name like a prayer.

“Holy shit,” he gasps, arms wrapping around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “You feel so good—I-I’m not gonna make it—I’m gonna—oh god, I’m gonna come already—” "Mm..Gojo you're filling me up s-so well im so happy u-ugh been wanting this." You moan out into his ear and he whimpers loudly at that stiffening under you.

"W-what agh- do you mean you've fuckfuckfuck been wanting this?" You're kissing all over him before finally pulling back in a complete daze over him.

"G-gojo Ive mphh- wanted you since I saw you on the first week of school this y-year I fuck — Heard a teacher calling you Gojo w-while praising your work and you just looked so cuuteee~ needed to have you" Your arms are wrapped around his neck and Gojo swears he's seeing stars. so that's how you knew his name — wait you knew him before he even knew about you?

"D-don't hafta call me agh Gojo anymore just call me sat-agh satoru~" He draws out his eyes rolled back and his knuckles white with how hard he's gripping onto you, you look down at him and grin your hips grinding on him.

"T-toru m'close cum with me please?" You whine out your movement getting faster and faster being too much for Gojo to handle. "C-cum on me baby~ im right there pleasepleaseplease give it to me ugh you're so pretty" He cant shut the fuck up begging you to cum on him as hes so close to reaching his high.

One final snap of your hips and you both break. Loud, helpless, completely ruined. It hits him hard, his whole body jerking beneath you as he spills deep inside, voice cracking with every breathless moan of your name. And even as he twitches and throbs, face buried in your neck, he clings to you like he’s never letting go.

"god..that was a-amazing t-thank you.." you smile softly and lay your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat.

"no need to thank me toru hun.. but this makes me your girlfriend now right?" You blink up at him and he wraps his arms around you tight, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"definitely you're not going anywhere."

A/n: ok guys so basically.. this is the last part.. I KNOW IM SORRY but this is not the last of nerdjo.. i will be making more nerdjo series and just nerdjo content because I fear im hyperfixated on him atm.. I hope you guys enjoyed this mini series and this part :3

[corkinavoid]

Hey i just reread the whole ring of rage and was wondering if you had more of it? I loved it

Hey! It's been a while since I've written that series, and, unfortunately, I didn't (and don't plan to) write any more of it.

However, here's some snippets and vague thoughts that you might like!

It takes a bit of adjusting, but eventually, all the Bats learn that the best way to deal with any kind of magical bullshit is calling Danny. Or, well, calling Tim so he calls Danny. The latter is fine with it the first few times, but after one very eventful week, when they've managed to summon him nearly twenty times in a row, he ends up introducing them to Sam. She doesn't like it, but she teaches Bats a few ways to use magic anyway. However, Tim is the exception here — Danny will never ever say no to his summons, and helping Tim can't be annoying no matter how many times he calls or how small the problem is.

One time, Alfred brings up the fact that Tim and Danny are not married legally. Not in the mortal realm, at least. To which Tim says that they are, he's actually filed all the documents about a month after they've started going out on dates. That starts a whole new level of chaos because, one, why didn't he ever mention it, two, everyone wanted a party and a wedding reception, and is it too late for that now? It later turns out that they accidentally got married in an alternate timeline, not in this one. To be fair, neither of them even realized that until Barbara wasn't able to find the records of their marriage anywhere.

Out of all the Bats, Danny's favorite — aside from Tim, who is obviously the number one — is Duke. He loves how the boy is probably the most unhinged out of all of them, and yet no one has a clue. Which is why Duke also gets a free pass to summon him whenever he needs to. His least favorite is, surprisingly, Jason, and it's mostly because Danny holds a grudge against him for attempting to murder Tim in the past. But also because Jason is liminal enough to notice and avoid the harmless (by Danny's standard) pranks that he sets up to keep the Bats on their toes.

Steph gives Danny a whole collection of manga on his birthday. Later, Tim tracks her down and starts a fight, during which he doesn't say a single word, and his face is so red he looks like a tomato, and Steph won't stop laughing. Tim doesn't talk to her for a month. Since then, every time Steph summons Danny, he comes in a form of half-man, half-octopus (think Ursula from My Little Mermaid), and they both break out in giggles spontaneously from time to time. Tim absolutely hates it.

None of them bother to explain shit about the whole ordeal to Constantine, and it's definitely on purpose. It eventually leads to the memorable day when John ends up watching Batman draw a summoning circle and successfully call on the High King of Infinite Realms with no trouble. Despite everything, the only reaction they get is Constantine sighing and muttering, "So, he didn't file for divorce, then."

[erogenousmind]

Conversational

What if every time we spoke, you found yourself drifting off for me? If every conversation left you dazed. If it became second nature for your mind to switch off because I was speaking to you.

You had let it be known how exciting you found being hypnotized covertly. How thrilling you found conversational inductions. And it is such an exciting idea. Knowing that you can never be sure you aren't being lured down into trance. That your surrender can leak out of the frame of formal hypnosis. That any time could be the right time to drop for me.

And you take to it so well, don't you? You find yourself drifting back into conversations, unsure of what we are talking about. Or catching yourself nodding along to my words, feeling so agreeable. Knowing that you can just listen and follow. And if I tell you its alright to let go, you find it so easy to do just that. Maybe later you realize what was happening. Or maybe your mind starts getting fuzzy again when you try to think back on it.

But you wonder if it has gone too far. You become dimly aware between our talks that you've let yourself be conditioned. When we are talking, of course, it's too difficult to think about much of anything but what you are being told. But other times you can be aware that a link has formed in your mind. The way I talk to you falls so naturally into those patterns that you respond to. Every exchange, you feel the pull of my words, always encouraging you deeper. And it feels so right. It feels so perfect to float away when I'm speaking. You don't need to think. I will think for you.

And the two become the same thing in your mind. I am speaking. You are in trance. Any dialogue of more than a few words, and you feel your thoughts dripping away. You can still respond of course. Usually. Telling me things you think I need to know. Ideas you wanted to convey. You get to share yourself with me fully. But it's always within that haze of submission. Until the act of saying "hello" becomes a trigger.

And part of you might worry about what that means. How weak you must be. How vulnerable you become if every time I speak to you, you feel your free will floating away, replaced by that drifty need to listen and obey. But then you see how it builds trust. How effortlessly you come to rely on me when we are together. You can't think for yourself, can't make decisions. So I decide for you. When we are together everything automatically feels so easy. You just do as you are told. You follow. You sink deeper. And it's intoxicating how comfortable that becomes. You look forward to every interaction because you know you get to turn your mind off. Because you know you won't have a choice.

And the longer our interactions grow, the more natural it feels to just stop thinking entirely. You wake up next to me, finding yourself gazing into my eyes. And by the time the words reach your ears, you are already sinking deeper. Days pass with you drifting so easily under my hypnotic spell. When necessity parts us, for even a moment, lucidity begins to return.

And you find yourself desperate to get back to my side. Eager to fall down at my feet. To hear me speak again so that you can go back to being your best self.

More structured inductions still occur of course. But they take you to a place of such profound surrender, that trying to reflect on them is like staring into an abyss. Hypnotized has become a part of who you are when you are with me. And it is the part that feels the most authentic.

So if you find yourself getting lost in some conversation we share, know that it's perfectly alright. Everything is happening exactly as we want it to. You can let my words wrap up your thoughts and feel your conscious mind fading away. You don't need to think for yourself when I'm here to think for you. And you are getting used to the feeling of always being entranced by me. Learning to love it. Learning to crave it.

You are learning to always be under my spell.

[mari-lair]

Koukane is beautiful, a solid rare pair that's dear to my heart, so let's talk about them!

Kou is easily overwhelmed by Akane, kind of stumbling into being his friend when it clearly wasn't in his plans.

Their first interactions are adorable in a pitiful way because Kou can't keep up with Akane's mood swings, he is so nervous he calls Akane "Sir" completely umprompted, constantly being at lost for words near the older boy.

And while Kou aknowladge Akane can be scary and unhinged:

This nervousness is born from admiration, he gets flustered near Akane when the older boy isn't even trying. Stuttering and startling and awkwardly reaching out for him without daring to approach.

His habit to awkwardly reach out likely involves wanting to help Akane, he just can't force himself to actually close the distance and be of help.

The one time Kou was able to help, delighted to the point of happy tears by the opportunity, Akane killed part of his pride by showing off a power Kou seems to think is much cooler and stronger than his own, judging by the way his big blush turned into sweat.

To further stab his poor heart, when he was honest about how cool Akane powers are, Akane dismissed his own as pathetic. So I don't blame Kou for being so nervous about trying to help his 'cool upperclassman' during the entire arc.

Akane has no nerves when it comes to Kou so he is the one that always approaches Kou and get them closer,declaring Kou his friend, kicking Hanako when it looked like he was mocking Kou's desperate determination to save Nene, and being the only one who touches Kou, Kou never dares to touch Akane.

Surprisingly, Kou's respect seem to extend to Akane's view on Hanako, cause we don't see his reaction to Akane's "you're a murderer, you make me sick" rant, but we do know Kou isn't nearly as unseatled as Nene about it, he isn't even angry, when he brings it up again later with Hanako, he is pretty casual about it. And in the recap he is just confussed.

Maybe Akane reminds him of Teru, and he is used to such a harsh stance, or he is thinking of the young exorcist arc where Hanako's beliefs were the same as Akane's 'I am being nice now but i murdered someone kid. What would ever justify murder? How can a murderer ever be good?' so I think Kou is mostly shocked someone with Akane's belief decided to go through with the alliance anyways. Teru would never.

Back to Kou being extremely nervous!

During the clock keepers arc, after Akane dons his clock keeper uniform, Kou never disagree with Akane directly. Even Kou's habit to back up Nene doesn't get in the way, hyping Nene up but not agreeing with her contrasting views like "hanako isn't bad" or directly refuting what Akane says.

This hesitation/nerves slowly dissapears as they grow closer, nowadays Kou isn't scared of speaking his mind, able to be extremelly rude and not filter his offence.

We aren't show them interacting much in the main manga but we are told that they do talk outside classes, likely alone (?), so Akane's declaration they're friends was not a thrown away line, he genuinely vibe with Kou, he even gave him his phone number.

Kou got more comfortable with Akane, able to express that the boy is a weirdo but still keeping his respects for Akane, seeing him as a wise older boy and following his lead without question: He is excited to hear about Akane's romantic advise and he listened to Akane's advise even when it comes to dealing with his own brother.

Akane likes Kou, he is the one who declared them friends. He admires his determination and want him to succedd in his goals, he wouldn't have stopped his time on what he consider an 'imposible task' to save Nene otherwise. He also really appreciates that Kou doesn't like Aoi. And he is constantly comparing Kou with Teru, baffled by how much they differ.

Akane grows to like when Kou is cheerful, either overwhelmed by Kou's expectations and feeling pressured into doing what Kou wants or charmed by it, unable to resist the urge to tease him.

There is a translation where he refers to Kou as Teru's 'cute little brother' and considering how he treats Kou, even if it is a mistranslation i wouldn't be surprised if that's how he think.

Specially with the way he acts as if Kou is too good to be related to Teru, touched by his kindness, seeing him as a sparkling/glowing figure.

Akane also loves his food, blushing when he eat it. He respect him as a chef.

Akane trying to cheer Kou after his fight with Kou up is really sweet to me because he sucks, they aren't close enough for hugs or shoulder pats but still enough for Akane to take his distress seriously. He is unconfortable and sweeaty, awkwardly reach out, as if he want to help Kou but has no idea how. It remind me of Kou's own awkward reaching out gestures in the clock keepers arc.

Their friendship is beautiful and funny but every flavor of koukane is good, so let's add a puppy crush on Kou. He already finds Akane attractive.

This is attraction by the way, he isn't flustered because Akane is being suggestive. Even if we put asside how pretty Akane was drawn here, Kou is not weak to sexual comments, he is used to Hanako, whose pervy jokes are far more explicit, but he isn't a fan of them, always gets mostly annoyed not flustered.

In the spin off it is revealed a girl Hanako isn't 'his type', but when Hanako possessed Nene's body (who Kou used to have a crush on so he consider her an attractive girl) he becomes imcapacitated. It is a big weakness.

So Akane's smirk is what got Kou flustered. Reading Kou's nerves as half admiration and half the poor boy feeling way too bi to know how to handle Akane would be fun.

I can imagine Akane talking about Aoi, since Kou is one of the few boys who doesn't have a crush on her and Kou feeling awkward cause everytime Akane send him a cute smile thinking of Aoi, Kou short circuit.

Considering we only see Kou call Akane "sir!" after his transformation I headcanon he is more attracted to Akane's keeper form than his usual apparence. If Akane teases Kou while on the keeper uniform Kou may explode.

If we keep this ship one sided, it would never leave the dock, Kou would never go after Akane, but I can see him trying to help Akane get with Aoi when they become close friends, similar to how he had helped Nene with Hanako during the donuts chapter. Boy got the 'he is so out of my league i won't even try' doubts mixed with a sprinkle of i don't like boys' cause internalized homophobia is one fo the ingredient of Kou's 'i want to be tough and reliable! I don't want to be a housewife' complex.

(Just realized Kou think using your bare fists to fight is the peak of toughness and guess what Akane's fighting style is. Guess.)

Akane liking him back is amazing because they both got the acts of service displays of love, something Akane will be touched by and Kou will be comflicted because he is the acts of service guys that's his one thing he can do right, let him do stuffs!! What Kou is weak to is words of affirmation, so he would explode if Akane says he does a good job, is handsome, or kiss well or anything really.

Akane can consistently overwhelm Kou when he is being confident so if he say "Sit down I'll clean today," Kou would try to argue but inevitably cave in and have to awkwardly let someone help him. I am telling you right now, when they live together breakfast will become Akane's role.

Kou may be a hard working boy that carries his family on his back but he is NOT a morning person. A single sleep over would be enough for Akane to notice that and let his wondeful boyfriend rest. Depending on how sappy he is feeling, or if it is a important date like birthdays or valentines, he'll give Kou breakfast in bed.

Kou being easily overwhelmed/having low self steem and Akane's habit of being very open about his love, puting his partner first, would result in Kou being super flustered and flattered and uyguygyugu at the start but slowly turn into a problem if unchecked.

Akane is reliable so he can help Kou with chores, studies, or supernatural problems, which Kou would appreciate, and rely on, but it would slowly make Kou feel useless by comparation.

(It would feed into Teru's fears that his siblings are growing out of him too buuut i'll make a post on Teru's amazing potential roles/affect in the ship for later)

Even when Kou does help he has a habit of focusing on what he can't do instead of what he can, feeling like all he does right is cook, and that Akane doesn't trust him, since Teru is the one Akane goes to when it comes to supernatural troubles and help him in the student council. He worries about Kou more than he ever relied on him, at least, when it comes to battle.

Unlike with Mitsuba, I can't see Kou being angry Akane doesn't rely on him, there was never any illusion that Kou can 'grant his wish' or that he is the only one trustworthy in Akane's life. Kou is the one who usually seek him for help from the start, and he respect the people Akane work with more than he respects himself, so he would just be extremaly frustrated with himself that he isn't capable enough to be Akane first option in troubling times.

Thankfully, unlike Aoi, Kou's poker face sucks, and he is an incredibly bad liar, when he bottle up his emotions it easily overflows. Anger, sadness, nervousness...

Just look how he acts with Nene after he learn about her lifespam, how easily his smile breaks after his visit with mitsumom, how reactive he get with Hanako, and so on...

So Akane, who is used to playing hard mode (since he grew up reading Aoi's eternal smile) would notice all of Kou's mood swings right away. If Kou dismisses it, Akane will let him be, but when it keep happening, or he is visibly very troubled, a talk would occur.

I think the first time a misunderstanding would hapen relatively earlier, over something small: Such as Akane thinking Kou is cute when Kou wants to be cool. Kou would be embarrassed at first, he is never complemented on his apparence in the manga in any way, in fact, he is comparaed to a delinquent in apparence, but find it kind of pathetic after a while that the main thing Akane calls him is cute.

Imagine Kou trying out cooler clothes and Akane being somewhat baffled but endeared. Akane won't even question, if Kou want to have a punk era, good for him, but when he finally connect the dots at his anxious behavior he will figure out exactly what kind of compliment Kou craves and overwhelm the poor kid.

Eventually every little piece and small issue would connect and Akane will call him out on his "I need to be useful" complex. Probably result in tears from Kou and regular training sessions.

Kou is incredibly powerful, he is a Minamoto! The only one who caught Mirai mid air, and all the monster he killed at the aquarium was while his weapon was sealed, so Akane would absolutely grow to respect him. Kou would also be a non tradicional fighter, knowing some tradicional exorcists attacks and some judo tecniques.

Akane consider getting homemade food the peak of displays of love (it's a fantasy that is brought up a LOT/ he was extremelly flustered when Aoi gave him a little homebaked sweet)

So despite Kou not thinking much of every bento he makes for Akane, his upperclassman would be delighted. Specially when Kou's meals become more and more tailored to Akane's tastes everytime Kou learns more about his preferences, made with Akane in mind. Add in how Akane naturally loves Kou cooking, even ship lenses, and every meal will be Akane's favorite time of the day.

Instead of leaving Akane to his fate when he is having even day to day troubles Kou would try to help now that he isn't so nervous anymore, and can move instead of reaching out and awkwardly staying in place. Just like when Tiara was troubling him and Kou immediately went to help.

They teamed up for damage control flawlessly. Just saying if they ever live together the chores would be split and all would be nice.

Akane always try to do things alone, and we are constantly said Akane get stuck with jobs no one want to do, helping others but not asking for help. Kou naturally always tries to do things for others, so he would tell him to relax when he is too tired and offer help in small tasks he can, like delivering papers to various clubs, things he would consider pretty unhelpful but Akane would be touched by, specially pre-relationship/the very start.

ALSO! Their height difference is cute! It would start with Akane being taller:

And if grown up Kou REALLY is the same as Teru, he'll become a little taller than Akane.

The idea of Akane either in complete denial his Kou looks like Teru when he gets older, or him genuinely being so in tune with every detail of his features that he is the only one who sees Kou as completely different and far more beautiful than Teru are equally funny to me.

[innerchorus]

Arslan Senki Chapter 138 (Part 2)

Figured I better say whatever else I have to say before the next chapter comes out later this week. I thought I had a half-written post in my drafts but either Tumblr ate it or I hallucinated it so hopefully I don't forget anything I wanted to include. I already discussed elements of this chapter here and here, but there's some parts that didn't fit into those posts.

Let's start with Hilmes shedding his cloak. A moment in which he suddenly became even more attractive. Okay I'm sorry I'm here for actual analysis I swear.

This is the chapter in which for the first time, he acknowledges the truth of his parentage and abandons his long-held claim to the throne. It feels significant to me that here he is very literally casting aside the cloak he was wearing during his attempted coronation.

Ironically, the room in which Team Hilmes have been waiting seems to be the throne room itself, complete with the damaged throne and big banner of Kaykhusraw. His bloodline, staring him in the face. His loss against Arslan still fresh in his memory. This is the setting in which Hilmes finally moves past his need for the throne. No matter what happens from here, it's hard to imagine him actively aiming for it again. The throne of Maryam would be okay, though.

(Well, okay, I guess if Arslan died then things would change but I honestly can't see Arakawa going there for the ending.)

(and it was at this point that I realised my draft post was not saved on Tumblr but in fact in a notepad file so let me go and consult that for what else I was planning on mentioning!)

Supremely fucked up that, having been informed that his actions were based on a lie, undead Kharlan's solution is to kill Hilmes, kill his own son, and then die again himself? Very fucked up, but if, post-Atropatene, Kharlan had survived long enough to discover that Hilmes wasn't the rightful heir after all, I could see him killing himself due to the shame.

Kharlan's pride as a Marzban of Pars is why the insults he endured from the Lusitanians were so hard to bear, and it's also why it doesn't surprise me that he seeks to 'take responsibiity' because it feels like his pride demands it of him. He was wrong, and he seeks to correct that, no matter the cost. And again, it's all based on his loyalty to the royal line, the very same thing that caused him to betray his country in the first place. The undead warriors really are warped versions of their living selves, after all.

Yet while I said I could see him killing himself if he'd lived long enough to find out the truth, I can't see him killing Zandeh too. I just can't believe that he'd raise a weapon to his son like this if he had full control of himself. You can see it's tearing him apart inside.

AND if you look at their combat, I think part of him is desperately holding himself back. He hits Zandeh with the butt of his spear not once, but THREE TIMES (twice after he's already disarmed him). He doesn't want to do it. He doesn't want to kill his son, and although the sorcery that holds his body and soul together will not allow him to stop attacking, he's clearly trying to avoid landing a fatal blow for as long as possible. Makes me wonder whether that strike to Zandeh's gorget in their initial clash was a similar sort of thing.

Just thinking about how undead Kharlan is yet another person who wants to kill Hilmes simply for the circumstances of his birth, and I hate that (while also acknowledging that this is no less than Hilmes wished to do to Arslan.)

Zandeh really did answer Kharlan’s question about why he’s still wielding his sword for Hilmes with “because I love him”, didn’t he?

With those moments he mentions, presented visually as flashbacks, we're seeing Hilmes through Zandeh's eyes. And Hilmes is seeing himself through Zandeh's eyes. Zandeh's answer is one of absolute honesty. Hilmes recognised Zandeh's devotion early on, but now he sees the full strength of it, and knows that it goes beyond his bloodline or his claim to the throne.

I've been thinking a lot about the expression on Hilmes's face after Zandeh's speech is over. It's like a look of regret and sorrow, and I think it's not only sympathy for Zandeh having to face his father like this, but also for the fact that a man like this ended up serving someone like him.

We know Hilmes ties his worth to getting the throne (remember him saying that he couldn't face Irina before then?). If he's not only lost in the attempt to do so but truthfully never had the right to it in the first place, I can very much see him not feeling worthy of having someone as loyal and devoted as Zandeh follow him. I think that's what's going on here, and it forms part of the reasoning behind his attempt to send Zandeh away.

He doesn't just instruct him to leave the room. If he simply wanted to spare him from the sight of Kharlan's severed head, that would have been enough.

This part had me reeling, because it's Hilmes acknowedging Arslan's calibre. He knows that Arslan will show understanding where he wouldn't have. He knows Zandeh will be treated well. He knows Arslan is worthy of having such a loyal subject while he no longer feels like he deserves someone like that. He knows Arslan will make a good king.

I think I recall @importantdestinydefendor being really worried Hilmes was going to die in this chapter, and while as a reader I didn't personally feel that it was going to happen, what I will say is that I think it's obvious Hilmes himself was preparing to die. That whole 'give Irina a message from me' thing? Sending Zandeh away to serve someone else? Perhaps he was trying to reconcile his 'cursed' bloodline by bringing it to an end (I joked that what he said to Irina about the Parsian royal line's mythology before was essentially 'wanna continue the royal line with me?' so when he references it here it's clear that he believes the line is going to end with him), or perhaps he feels his life has no point now except this act. At the very least, it's an acknowledgement that he's prepared to give his life to defeat Kharlan.

However, thankfully he's not allowed to do that, because Sam arrives at precisely the right time, and I think this'll give Hilmes a chance to find something he wants to live for that's not the throne of Pars. I do, however, think it dramatically increases the chances that Sam will die.

A Japanese fan said that this scene where Hilmes brushes the blood away from his mouth is really hot, and I don't disagree.

Yet while it's been nice to cheer Hilmes on in his actions again, I do hope he can move past this whole 'cursed blood' thing. It's like he's gone from 'my blood means I'm the rightful king and everyone should kneel for me' to 'my blood is cursed so I'm giving up everything and the only thing I'm good for is doing dirty work like this'. I'm just... worried that while him internalising and embracing his cursed blood here allows him to step in and take over from Zandeh, it speaks to a very negative view of himself that will persist beyond this scene.

This is why I need it to be revealed that not only does Zandeh not care about that, but SAM ALREADY KNEW. He already knew and STILL he stayed by Hilmes's side, still he came back to his side even now. And it goes without saying that Irina doesn't care whether he becomes king or not, so hopefully we'll get a scene where Hilmes finally fucking understand and accepts that, too.

Anyway yeah, I’m pretty much expecting Sam to bite the dust next chapter now. I mean, aside from the long talk that they never got to have, his unfinished business is essentially that he didn’t die when he fought Kharlan before.

Sam and Zandeh both sustained shoulder wounds, but Sam's is bleeding more profusely. Actually, his wounds are starting to echo those he sustained during the fall of Ecbatana. I've been rolling that around in my brain a lot, too.

Next chapter should be interesting, I imagine Team Hilmes are going to hear that Zahhak's back and hopefully that will pave the way for a future teamup with Team Arslan.

I do wonder whether we'll see any more sorcerers around, though. Sam's already recently killed one but there are more still to be dealt with, one of then being Ghundi, the one who Sam fought before when he was impersonating Husrab, and the one who very likely stole Kharlan's head. If any of them are nearby right now, it's likely to be him.

[cinderflower]

Hey! I love your works, thanks for sharing them! Your stuff is some of my favorites in the fandom!

I just wanted to ask your opinion on how Malenia and Miquella (from FoR and your characterization of them specifically) would view Millicent. How do you think they'd interact with her? Would they avoid her? What would that mean for their own relationship? Etc etc.

Just asking because I think your take on Malenia and Miquella is so interesting to play around with.

Thanks! Your stuff is awesome!!

Wah, anon this is such a sweet message, I'm always humbled to hear people like my works and my characterizations! Thank you so much ��💕

I'm so sorry this is so long but as I'm sure you can imagine, I have Many Thoughts about Malenia lol.

I've actually thought quite a lot about Millicent and her sisters and I think, first and foremost, that she doesn't know about them at all. I think after her bloom and being carried back to the roots of the Haligtree that she's basically been in a pseudo-coma as the rot progresses now that she's needle-less, so she might know about the kindred of rot but not Millicent or her sisters.

With Malenia, I really focus on her lack of autonomy as a character throughout the most formative years of her life and the trauma that undoubtedly came with it, where she is burdened with the rot which would have effectively ostracized her from most people except Miquella (because of his immunity to the rot). This is also in addition to her being named as an Empyrean and already having her fate decided for her. So the nature by which Millicent and her sisters came to be, after her bloom and presumably like offshoots or cuttings from plants, they'd be another blow against her autonomy because she didn't have a say in their creation (implied by Gowry raising them and her rejection of the kindred of rot).

Specifically with Millicent, I imagine Malenia would see a lot of herself in her, and I think she would harbor a deep resentment because of that - not because she'd dislike Millicent, but because Millicent would be a reflection of her younger self. Someone who is spawned from her, consequently cursed BY her, to suffer the same hardships. Millicent is the same as younger Malenia, which consequently forces Malenia into the role of the Outer Rot God in their dynamic - unwittingly having taken on the role of the thing she hates. If Malenia had embraced the rot like Romina, I think it would be different, but every time she accepts it, it's when she's at the end of her rope with no choices left and she's essentially resigned herself to death.

This might sound harsh, but it's also why I love her as a character - I believe Malenia is ultimately deeply selfish in her actions where Miquella is concerned (and vice versa ignoring all the DLC). She's sworn herself to his cause, has proven herself willing to die for him, to go to war for him, to commit countless atrocities in his name and inflict the very thing she despises - the curse that has caused her so much misery - on countless others. For him. But! In a twisted way, it's also for herself! Because for once, this is HER choice. She decided to take on the title of his blade and devote herself to him. No matter the ask, no matter the cost.

Miquella, who knows Malenia better than anyone and has been by her side throughout the worst of it, knows all of this. I believe he would be sympathetic to Millicent and her sisters (also seeing a younger Malenia in them) but I suspect that while he would also try to help them in secret, he'd be (selfishly) keeping them away from Malenia so that she wouldn't have to deal with all the trauma I mentioned above. He might feel some guilt about it, but with how I write him in FoR, he's always willing to harbor some secrets if he believes it's in Malenia's best interest. He wants to save her, to give her back the life she's been denied - a life free of her rot and any burdens. And that would mean a life without five magically spawned new dependents whose existence would be inflicting constant psychic damage on Malenia and that she'd feel responsible for.

In a timeline where the twins are far less codependent, and where they're not both so focused on Miquella's ambitions to cure Malenia of her rot and revolutionize the world, maybe Malenia is able to take the time to heal and make peace with herself. In that timeline, maybe Millicent would serve to be a positive and healing influence on her.

[disdaidal]

The way I'm still not finished with writing the first two ideas I had in mind for this ship, I'm suddenly getting two more. 🙈🙊 Could somebody please arrange it so that I'd have all the time in the world to write it all? Because 24hrs a day is simply not enough.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[kneelbeforeclefairy]

What I think is most different and most striking about Sunrise on the Reaping is how CYNICAL it is. To some extent we knew it was going to be. This is a midquel. That the reapings go on and the Hunger Games only ends 25 years later is a forgeon conclusion. We know nothing that happens here is going to work.

The book is about implicit submission, and why, with numbers on their side, the many submit to the few, even when the few are unjust. And it's because, the book seems to say, numbers aren't ENOUGH. the Newcomers alliance is much bigger than the Careers. They should be able to team up and defeat them easily. But they don't. Eighteen of them are killed outright, because the Careers have the strength, the skill and the training. And that's just that.

Plutarch asks why the tributes don't overwhelm the Peacekeepers during training, and Haymitch is rightfully outraged at the privilege of this question. Why don't they? Because they probably couldn't kill them all, and even if they could, what good would it do? It wouldn't stop the Hunger Games. It wouldn't change a thing. No one would even know about it outside that room, because the Capitol would change the narrative. Just like Katniss and the Star Squad can't REALLY take on the Capitol single handed and assassinate the president, the scrappy alliance of kids can't really do any real damage to the system the Capitol has in place. All they can do is choose if they want to die now or later. So why don't they, if there's no difference to them, as Plutarch asks. Because, as Snow puts it. Hope. The slight chance that one of them will come out of it. And, more cynically, the hope that if they are good tributes and obey, their families will be left alone. If they choose to rebel and choose to die now they guarantee retaliation against their families and perhaps their entire district. We see that even in the tributes that attack the Gamemakers in the arena. They rise up, they break that bond of implicit submission--and they die bloody for it.

Why don't they rebel? Because they don't have the privilege to lose.

Even Lenore Dove, the Joan of Arc of Twelve, fails to do any real damage or have any real effect. All she does is get herself a reputation for being a trouble maker, and eventually get herself killed. Was she killed as part of the retaliation against Haymitch, or was her punishment because she's a rebel, and that's what happens to rebels? (and Snow hates covey girls.) but she fails because she IS alone. She focuses on small, symbolic acts that do nothing, but that she hopes will rally the people to action.Unfortunately, the people of Twelve don't want their lives to get any worse, and they don't have the privilege of spending time and energy on revolution the way a teenager girl whose family doesn't need her income to survive does--sadly, Twelve will remain this way, in an uncanny valley where they're beaten down enough to need change, but not enough to have NOTHING to lose. They are not one of the districts that rise up. So acting alone does nothing, teaming up does nothing. How does one fight an enemy with better technology, better weapons, and better organization? Beetee's plan doesn't work out. Of course it doesn't. Could it ever? Was it just borne out of grief for his son? And even if it had, then what? What was the plan? Haymitch's poster gets edited away. The Newcomers fail. Lenore Dove dies. The most you can say is Haymitch himself becomes too important to kill, like Beetee, and Snow let him live to fight another day, but so destroyed that he no longer WANTS to.

So, then, what WORKS?

The answer is, quite cynically, Plutarch's version of the world. Numbers mean something, there are more of US than there are of THEM , but that isn't enough. You need weapons, you can't bring a knife to a gun fight, you need EVERYONE on your side. You need organization, not just a series of disconnected rebellions, and you need an Army, provided by Thirteen, as problematic as they are. The timing just needs to be right. And most crucially, what I think Plutarch and everyone involved here learned is that victory belongs to those who control the narrative. Those who control the flow of information and tell their story. And it's not Plutarch, for all his cameras and his propos and his idea behind The Mockingjay, who eventually does that well.

It's Haymitch.

Who learned to tell a story and sell a narrative with himself and the Newcomers. Who tried to paint his poster in the arena only to see it rewritten in front of him. Who won't make that mistake again. When it's time for the deciding factor in the revolution, it's Haymitch who creates the Mockingjay-- and is he also using Katniss and her image? Yes. but he at least sees Katniss and the human she is inside it, unlike Plutarch who hasn't changed much from the man who makes a grieving family do reshoots over and over so he can get his footage, while congratulating himself for letting Haymitch have his goodbye.

When Katniss sets off the spark twenty five years later, the world is ready. The work is in place. Plutarch, Haymitch, Beetee, everyone can say GO , and this time it'll work. So buckle in, and wait for the Long Game, even though only Plutarch really has the privilege to wait, the rest of them don't have a choice. It's cynical. It's awful. People die. The lone rebels and the plucky girls and the alliance depending on its numbers all fail. Plutarch motherfucking Heavensbee, the richest of the rich the privilegedest of the privileged, pulls off the revolution, takes the credit, and lives to see the end of it, without ever once examining his own privilege, and unpacking the fact that despite his head being on the right side of history, he's never managed to see the Districts as PEOPLE . (and you could argue, ANYONE as people. ) But it's just the only way.

But this book isn't the middle of the series. It's the end. How awful would it be to read if we didn't know that Katniss and the Mockingjay rebellion would eventually succeed. We know that despite the cynism of a failed revolution and all its players, that one day it WILL work out. This book is called sunrise on the Reaping....the sun rises on a world where this is inevitable. But one day it won't be.

[bunnibombz]

Pt 3 because I can't stop thinking about him...

Links to pt 1 and pt 2

Alpha! Simon who wakes up later in the morning to the sound of thunder rumbling and the sweet taste of your slick against his lips. A deep groan buzzed through your body when he locked his arms around your waist to hold you down against his mouth, lips and tongue laving over your clit and clenching hole as you moaned and clutched at his hair

Alpha! Simon who can feel himself getting painfully hard again in the light of your arousal, the sound of rain against the window and the soft sounds of your pleasure dragging his eyes shut again as he smothered himself against you. Wanting to live in this moment with you forever.

Alpha! Simon who fucks you roughly on his fingers, trying to fight the burning instincts telling him to sink you down on his cock again. Wanting to respect John as your Alpha even though it made his jaw ache to think about leaving you after this.

"Easy Omega where's Price?" He asked as you moved down away from his mouth to rub your sticky cunt against his throbbing length.

"Makin' breakfast" you mumbled against the hot skin of his throat, where his scent was the strongest, the smell of your mixing pheromones had you grinding against him.

"Maybe I should go get him" Simon said, lifting you off easily and sliding to the edge of the bed. As he got up and was about to pull on his underwear he felt your hand grab at his hip. He turned before he thought and groaned probably too loudly when your lips made contact with his cock, standing at attention with a leaky tip as you kissed and sucked the skin of his shaft.

Alpha! Simon who can't help but thread his scarred fingers through your hair, fucking against your mouth as you swallowed around him with a moan that had his thighs shaking. He wanted to go get John and at least let him know that you were awake but goddamn if he was gonna try and pull you away when you were looking up at him so pretty, watery eyes and drool running past the tight seam of your lips as he bumped the back of your throat.

"N-Need to go get John" He stuttered, pulling hips back only for you to follow and suck him back against your tongue. "Lovie, come on-".

"No need" John's voice said from the doorway, cup of coffee in his hand when Simon looked over his shoulder. John stood from the doorway and walked around the bed, a soft smile on his lips when he saw you. John's heavy hand smacked down on your bare ass, drawing out a whine as his scent began riling up in the air.

"Ravenous isn't she, Simon?" He asked with a smirk, observing the multiple hickey's across the other Alpha's chest. "She'll drain you dry and keep asking for more". Simon could only grunt in agreement, not trusting his voice to reply as your tongue slithered across his sensitive head, fresh pre-cum running against your tastebuds.

Alpha! Simon who was paying no attention as John undid the tie on his sweatpants and got up behind you on the bed, didn't notice until you cried out with a warbling moan around his cock.

"My greedy little Dove" John cooed as he pressed a kiss against your spine, "Let's see how you handle two at once, maybe that'll tire you out".

[xavierfan]

more bre3ding/cr3amp1e p-links pls 🫣

warnings: sexual content below! p-links and sexually explicit descriptions are in this post

i genuinely don't know what to say anymore but this is sylus. on everyone's soul, THIS IS SYLUS

this one too

this too

sylus likes to fuck his seed back into you himself, he does so quite softly. it's an extremely intimate act when he does it, he's gentle and slow, and it's really not about possession to him. he just likes it— the warmth, the slickness, the sound, and the lewdness of it all.

> heavy breeding kink with no hints of possessiveness, he straight up just wants you to have his kid idfk. he would definitely say stuff like, "you're going to make a wonderful mother to our kids." / "kitten, one day you're going to get pregnant and i'm going to be so lucky." / "fuck, kitten, you want me to fuck my cum back into you, right? you want me to get you pregnant, right?"

idk why but this one gives me a caleb vibes

this one is also him

this one too

this too 😭😭😭

i keep adding caleb links im tweaking

caleb really enjoys watching his cum leak out of you. he would tease you, "pipsqueak, you're wasting it", as he just watches you squirm. to him, this is something akin to 'marking' you, walking up behind you later while out talking about, "think you're still leaky, pip."

> he's also probably got a crazy breeding kink mixed with a little —or a lot— bit of crazy obsession idfk, shit like "when your belly gets big, everyone's going to know who you belong to" / "one day i'm gonna get you pregnant" / "you'd look so good carrying my child, pips" / "if you let it all out, you'll hurt my feelings pips."

i think rafayel kind of goes feral once you let him cum in you... like he just keeps going idk

teasing him

rafayel is less breeding kink more crazy about you. loves anything to do with you, sex is not an exception, and he puts you on a pedestal a little differently to the rest of the boys. a bit like a mutt, you let him cum in you and suddenly he can't stop rutting into you, trying to chase another high.

> less breeding kink, more pathetic subby male who is so fucking excited to be fucking you. "fuck. fuck. fuck. 'm gonna cum again, please? please let me keep going?" / "princess, you feel soo good, please." / "princess, i'm sorry, let's keep going..." / "i'll be so good for you, princess, let me keep going."

sorry i know you specifically asked for breeding and i know this isn't but it still has cum ...

this is also zayne idk

zayne....

zayne rarely ever finishes inside of you, citing that it's not good for you, but that doesn't mean he doesn't want to. idk how to explain it, he doesn't let himself finish inside of you because he's worried he'll lose self control.

> heavily likes the idea of breeding, like it probably takes everything in his body to not ram into you as he feels his balls squeeze, probably in your ear talking about "you'd look so beautiful pregnant." / "want to start a family with you." / "one day i'm going to get you pregnant, no need to worry." / "if you keep asking me to cum in you, i just might one day..."

i think xavier would like you fucking yourself with his cum... like shoving anything that comes out back inside

this one too

anotha one

xavier just wants to watch your fingers plug your hole up to prevent any more spillage. it brings a smile to his face to see how desperate you are to keep all of his seed inside of you, it probably gets him hard all over again prompting him to say something like, "don't worry, there's more where that came from."

> no specific breeding kink per say but likes the possessive element of pregnancy like caleb, "they'll know what we get up to at night." / "maybe when you're pregnant he'll stop coming up to you" / "want everyone to know how good you make me feel every night"

notes : i couldnt find that many links 😭😭😭 i've been searching all day so i'm sorry anon... pls forgive me... i hope the little blurbs makeup for the lack of links :(

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza - Valentine's Special

Romance is in the air and a certain yakuza is keen to teach you all about Valentine's traditions in Japan. Word Count: 4.2k Male Yandere x Fem Reader Mini Sequel to Yandere! Yakuza

As a hostess, you've been looking forward to Valentine's Day. Guests are notorious for spending big and tipping even bigger when romance is in the air.

One problem though. Your yakuza boyfriend does not approve.

"You don't have to work on Valentine's. My Family owns the club. I should get a say."

You ignore his complaining and the arms wrapped around your waist. You're focused on your makeup and no handsome, dangerous yakuza is going to distract you.

He changes tactics. "Onegaiya de? [Please?] Pretty please?"

You sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "Of course I want to stay home with you. But I need money. If you've forgotten, my brother still owes you. And besides, the house mother told me to come in today."

He frowns. "Naze? [Why?]"

"I'm very good at my job, that's why."

You manage to finish both your lashes and your lipstick before he speaks up again.

"Kurabu ni issho ni ikimasu. [I'm coming with you to the club.]"

You aren't surprised. It seems like he spends all his free time as your customer. As though being in a relationship isn't enough. As though he wants to have you both during and after work.

You turn and plant a kiss on his cheek. You leave behind a lipstick mark that he's in no hurry to wipe off. "If you want to spend all your money on me, I'm definitely not going to complain."

He grins in that lazy way of his and loops his arms fully around your waist. "Anata wa watashi no kanojodesu [you're my girl]. Who else would I spend my cash on?"

He drives you to work with one hand on your thigh. It gives you butterflies - the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your dress, the way he sometimes squeezes the meat of your leg like he subconsciously wants to remind himself that you're still there.

When he opens the car door for you, he brushes his lips past your ear. "Got a real nice surprise for you later."

You stop and pretend to fix your heels so you can look up at him through your lashes. "Is it the same surprise as last time? Because I loved that one."

Big, scary guy that he is, you think you can still see him swallow and freeze when you look up at him like that. He takes you hand and steadies you but the eyes that trace over your body are hooded, unreadable. "Not what I had in mind this time, no."

He inhales sharply when you step past him and 'accidentally' brush your hand over his belt.

"Too bad," you say, "I love that thing you do with your tongue."

It takes him a second to catch up with you. When he does, he wraps his arm around your waist and hisses in your ear.

"Anta, ijiwaruya na. [You unbearable tease]."

You can't help but smile. Personally, you'd describe yourself as an unbearable, romantic tease. It being Valentine's and all.

You're honestly looking forward to spending your shift with him. Even though he's started calling himself your kareshi, he still doesn't talk about himself much. You're not offended by it. There are a thousand little ways you've pieced together his past. The way he likes his sake hot and the way he turns his nose up at high end sushi, the way he holds his cigarette when he smokes and the way he can flick a match on his thumb. It all tells you a bit more than he'd probably like you to know. And each date you go on, each shift that he spends entirely focused on you, is just another opportunity for you to untangle the mystery that is your yakuza.

Unfortunately, the boss has other plans. You don't even get a chance to sit down before one of the other enforcers pulls him aside. He frowns at whatever the man is saying and then quickly presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Gomen ya de, daisukinahito. Shigotoya nen. [Sorry love. Gotta work]."

He's out the door before you can even object. The house mother narrows in on your table and less than a minute later she has a client seated across from you. She's built a habit of trying to cram as many customers into your schedule as possible when your boyfriend isn't around to steal you away. You can almost admire her dedication.

The first client of the night is a salaryman already happily flushed with drink. He tips you well, buys you several rounds of expensive drinks and gives you a drunken kiss on the cheek before he leaves. A very typical Valentine's date.

You get through a few more without any issues. Mostly businessmen not willingly to go home to an empty apartment. Your wallet gets noticeably fatter after each one. It's long past midnight when things finally go sour.

You're touching up your lipstick when the yakuza walk through the door. You can tell what they are at first glance. And worse, you know these aren't the usual guys.

You expect trouble. You aren't sure when you developed an instinct for yakuza business, but you know that the newcomers most definitely aren't part of the Family.

You try and watch them as subtly as you can. One of the regular enforcers goes up to meet them and - surprisingly - leads them to the back of the club.

The group passes right next to you. You keep your eyes on your compact and lipstick like you've never seen anything quite so interesting as YSL Loveshine. At the last second you look up, and straight into the eyes of a bleached blonde gangster with a mean smile. He must have been looking at you already, because he shoots you a playboy wink.

On instinct, you bow your head. Even if they weren't your Family, it wasn't a good idea to be caught lacking in respect.

When they're finally gone, you sigh in relief. Talk about scary. Those guys looked like their favourite pastime was baseball; the faces and knee cap variety.

You're about to get up and take your break when something makes you look over your shoulder. The blonde yakuza is leaning against the wall just outside the staff-only door. And looking straight at you.

Oh, please not today. You already have one yakuza in your bed and almost constantly blowing up you phone. You want absolutely nothing to do with Mr Tall, Blonde and Evil.

No such luck. He says something to the enforcer next to him and beelines towards you. Eyes locked on yours.

He slides in next to you - not across where a client would normally sit. You shift over to make room for him and wonder if there's something in the water that makes you particularly noticeable to men with a nicotine and tattoo addiction.

"Omae, jitto mi teruyan ka. Na n ya, kiniitta n kai, kawaī ko. [I noticed you staring. Like what you see, pretty girl?]"

His voice is raspier than your boyfriend's. And meaner too.

You can just...pretend to not speak Japanese. But one look at the blond's sharp, lazy smile tells you he'll know you for a liar the second you open your mouth.

"Omaeni mo onaji ko to kiitē wa, ikemen-san. [I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.]"

He laughs, "She's got an attitude! Not scared of a big, scary yakuza?"

"Are you supposed to be telling me that about yourself?" You lean your chin on your palm and tilt your head. "What if I'm a cop?"

"Then you can put me in handcuffs right now." He let's his eyes roam down your body. "I'll happily do whatever you want, officer."

Okay. Pervert yakuza number two added to your collection. Could you get out of this somehow? A client is a client but you don't want to be next to him any longer than necessary.

"Don't you want a girl who can speak Japanese? I'm still not very good."

"What I want? We won't really be talking if we do what I want."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one with an easy flick of his lighter. He inhales deeply and let's the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"You got a boyfriend?"

That really does seem to be the first question these guys ask you. What happened to 'how are you?' and 'here's a fat stack of cash, do you want it?'

"Yes." You shrug, like this is just a casual conversation with another client and not a rival with a gun under his suit jacket. "He's part of the Family."

"Wakatta wa. [I see]." He offers you a pull of his cigarette. You almost decline, but you look into his eyes - a dark hazel - and realise what a bad idea that would be.

He holds your gaze as he presses the cigarette against your lips. You pull on it as lightly as you can, the tip flaring a bright orange.

It burns your throat and you turn away from him to cough out the smoke. God, that stuff is awful. Why the hell is your man always lighting one if this is what they taste like?

When you turn back to him, the yakuza is studying the cigarette. Your lipstick left a stain on the filter. Slowly, he brings it to his lips and covers the place where your own lips were. He pulls in deeply and tilts his head back, eyes closed.

"Sweeter than normal," he breathes.

Nope. Nope. Nope. It's flattering really, but you aren't an idiot. You don't want your boyfriend's rival sitting so close to you, you don't want him looking at you with eyes like liquid honey and you most definitely don't want him calling you sweet.

If you could telepathically summon your boyfriend, you would. Unfortunately, he's busy with whatever it is they took him off to do, and you're stuck making conversation with a man who's arm keeps inching tighter and tighter around your shoulders.

You try to stand up and excuse yourself, but he wraps a palm around your thigh and pulls you back down without even trying.

"I need to pee," you tell him. He grins, cigarette casting his features in shadow.

"Perfect. I'm really thirsty."

Alright then. Ultimate host club perv discovered. It's almost a relief. You were worried your boyfriend would continue to hold that unenviable title.

You're about to say something - probably along the lines of it would go down even better with a vodka chaser - when your boyfriend finally arrives. You can tell it's him by the way he let's the door almost slam shut behind him. (You've tried working on that but every time you bring it up, he just says that you're so cute when you're bossy and won't you please take that tone with him later tonight?)

The blonde must have followed your line of sight, because his grip gets just a little tighter on you. "That your boyfriend?"

He's already heading toward your table and his frown spells trouble.

"Yep." You wonder if the blonde would listen to you if you tried to warn him away. You doubt it.

Your yakuza's hair is messy and his sleeves are still rolled to his elbows. He must have come straight from whatever job he got called away for.

He stops right in front of you, his arms crossed.

"Times up," he says simply. "Her shift is over."

The blonde takes another pull from his cigarette. "This your girl?"

Your boyfriend tenses, "Un. Kanojo wa watashi no monodesu. [Yeah. She's mine]."

You can almost feel the room getting colder. Your boyfriend flicks his eyes at the other yakuza standing at the back of the club.

"What are you doing here?"

"Boss had business with your side of things. Said I could throw back. Sample the goods." Blondie runs his palm up your thigh. "I'd have risked coming over ages ago, if I knew you had such cute pieces."

Your boyfriend narrows his eyes. "Times. Up. She's got another date waiting."

The blonde yakuza makes a show of looking at his wristwatch. "Looks like I've still got five more minutes."

"Your watch is late." Every word is bitten off and curt. You've seen him serious before, but never like this. Is this what he's like when he's working?

It's easy to forget his job when he's sprawled in your bed with his head on your chest, muttering about letting him sleep for five more minutes. It's easy to forget that he's a gangster who breaks faces for a living. That he's dangerous.

After tonight, you don't think you'll ever forget that fact. It's terrifying to be across from him, even if his glare isn't directed at you.

The moment stretches - taut, awfully tense. Finally, the blonde breaks.

"Tch. I've got shit to do anyway."

He stands up - and just when you're about to sigh in relief - kisses you right on the mouth. You jerk backwards, more surprised than anything else.

He straightens and runs his fingers over his lips. "Even sweeter than I thought."

You scramble out of the booth and grab your boyfriend's arm before he can do anything stupid. The muscles under your palms are already coiled tight and you're terrified to see what might happen if that strength is unleashed.

You bow in a quick, half hearted way. "O jikan o itadaki arigatōgozaimasu. [Thank you for your time]."

And then you're dragging your man out of the club before he can muster any objections.

It's only when the cold February wind is kissing your cheeks that you dare to look over at him. He's looking back at the club, eyes narrowed.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Barely even ten minutes," you half lie. "Really. He didn't do anything until you showed up, I promise."

You tug at his hand. "It's late. Let's go home, please?"

He finally looks at you, eyes flat and face blank. That scares you even worse than if he was frothing at the mouth and swearing.

"Alright," he says mechanically, "Let's go home."

Usually you take the train to work or he drives you. So when he starts walking, you don't immediately realise the streets are all wrong. His car is nowhere to be seen.

Even though Spring isn't that far off, this late at night the city is still icy. You wrap your arms around yourself and it doesn't take him long to notice.

"Koko. Kore o kite kudasai. [Here. Wear this]." He pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. It smells like him - cologne and cigarettes. You aren't sure when, but at some point that scent became the one you associated with safety, with home.

It's quiet. You can't exactly ask him what work he did while he was gone and you most definitely aren't going to mention the club again.

He's the one who finally breaks the silence. "Purezento o moraimashita. [I got you a present]."

He did mention that earlier.

"Can I guess what it is?"

That earns you a half smile."Mochiron. [Sure]."

"Chocolate."

"No. Not this time."

"Hmm... Flowers?"

"They make you sneeze."

True. But what else would he have bought you for Valentine's?

"A puppy?"

He doesn't immediately reply. Eventually, "I really didn't think about that one. Do you...want a puppy?"

You first instinct is to say yes. Who wouldn't want a puppy? Despite having him, your brother, and your friends from the club, Japan is still a lonely place for you. A puppy would remind you of home.

But it would also make Japan your new home. In a way you aren't sure you want. In your mind, it still feels like you'll leave soon, be gone next week or next month, when this debt issue is settled. Even your boyfriend feels temporary. This isn't your country.

"No," you say eventually, "Not yet."

He must be thinking along the same lines as you because at your reply, his smile thins and he looks away from you.

"Nande ya, ano ko ni inu demo kattaro ka. Muriyari ore to ora setaru wa. [Shoulda got her a damn puppy. Force her to stay with me]."

You don't understand Japanese well enough to understand him when he changes his dialect. He manages a smile.

"Not a puppy either. Do you give up?"

You hate losing. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself. "...Yeah I give up."

He slows to a stop."Mewotojite. [Close your eyes]."

He takes your hand in his and lays something in your palm. You open your eyes to see a diamond necklace on a bed on midnight blue velvet. And it's definitely diamond - even in the neon soaked streets of the Red Light District, it sparkles. You gasp.

You're almost scared to touch it. It looks beyond expensive. Like something you pass in a store window and tell yourself maybe someday.

"You like it?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. "It's incredible. I've never... I've never owned something this beautiful."

He looks beyond smug. He plucks it out of the box and in one smooth move has it around your throat. His fingers brush the nape of your neck as he fastens the clip.

If you were on you own, you'd never dare to wear it out on the street. But only a colossal idiot would try and grab it off your neck when there was an armed yakuza right next to you. You shouldn't feel safer in the company of a criminal, but you do. God help you, you do.

He presses a kiss against your temple."Watashi no gārufurendo ni totte saikō no mono dake.[Only the best for my girl]."

It scares you a little - how much he's willing to spend on you. How are you supposed to repay a gift like this?

"Ie ni kaerimashou.[Let's go home]," he coos in your ear.

You laugh and loop your arm through his. "Want me to show you exactly how much I love my gift?"

"Yes." His voice is low and almost strained. "God yes."

It's only when you're halfway down the street that you remember you have something for him too.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" you spin away from him and dig through your handbag. "Ta-da! A hostess at work was telling me that it's usually the girls who give gifts on Valentine's."

You hand over the chocolate you bought him. It's a thick slab with Turkish delight in the centre. You've stuck a plethora of pink and red hearts to the box, each one with a sappy little quote in the centre.

You feel a little silly giving a gift like this to a yakuza of all people. But you also want to do something for your boyfriend, even if it is sickeningly romantic.

You picked up on him liking Turkish delight when your brother bought you a box, and it was mysteriously empty when you got home that day. Your yakuza claimed he didn't touch it, but he tasted suspiciously like rose candy when you kissed him.

He takes it from you carefully. "For me?"

You stand on your toes and loop your arms around his neck.

"Will you be my Valentine?"

He's quiet for a moment or two, looking at you like he just can't understand you. Finally, he pulls you into him and buries his face in your neck. He takes a deep breath, but when he speaks his voice is just a bit unsteady.

"Of course I'll be yours. Ore wa zutto omae no mon'ya de. [I'll always be yours.]"

A man with a rap sheet as long as a CVS receipt, and somehow he's yours.

You pull him closer against you. "Thank you. For taking care of me. For helping me out when you had no reason to."

He hums quietly against your neck. "Nan demo surude, honma ni nan demo. [I'll do anything for you. Anything]."

He pulls away and something in his face tells you he's just had an idea. He peels the hearts off the box and carefully folds them into his pocket. He breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it up to your mouth.

You're immediately suspicious of the smirk on his face, but you oblige and let him prop the chocolate between your lips. He leaves a piece sticking out of your mouth and before you can bite it off, he leans forward and does it for you. His hand slips around the nape of your neck to keep you still.

His lips barely brush yours.

He pulls away looking extremely satisfied. You've kissed him so many times already but your heart doesn't care. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears.

"Sweet," he runs his thumb across your bottom lip and then presses it against his tongue. "Just how I like it."

Damn him for a devil and a half. It's so totally unfair how giddy and nervous he makes you feel.

He nods at the building behind you. "Good thing we're already home."

"Home?" Is this his apartment? He never brings you to his apartment.

He leads you to the elevator and to your surprise has to use a key card to access the highest floor. The buildings in this part of town are cramped for space but when the elevator dings open, it does so in a broad corridor lined with heavy doors. He must be earning much more than you realised, to have a place like this.

He pauses on the threshold.

"Gotta carry you in. It's tradition."

"Only if we're newlyweds."

"Not true," He blatantly lies, hands drifting down your back. "Brings you luck for the rest of the year."

Before you can object, he sweeps his arm under your knees and scoops you up bridal style.

"Risuku wa toritakunai de. Un wa zenbu hoshī wa. [Not taking any chances. I want all the luck I can get]."

You don't get to see much of his loft-style apartment before he drops you on his bed. One knee already pressing into the mattress next to your waist.

He drops his head down to kiss the column of your throat.

"You'll be wearing nothing except your necklace when I'm done with you," he promises, voice already dropping to a slurred, needy growl.

Oh my. That's a new one. And you always took him for the lacy lingerie type.

You tug at his shirt but with one twist of his hand, he catches both your wrists. "No. You first."

"Impatient aren't we?"

His hands are already skimming down your back and unzipping your dress.

"Oh you have no idea how patient I'm being."

His lips dip past your collarbones and then lower still. You arch against his chest, breathless.

At the last second he pulls away. You practically whine.

"Move in with me."

You blink. "What?" Is he really asking you this while you're in your bra and panties? And when there are much better things to do with his mouth?

"You heard me. Maiban beddoni ite hoshī. [I want you in my bed everynight]."

You frown. Wouldn't it be dangerous? More dangerous than working in a yakuza club and sharing his bed already was?

His grip on you tightens. He isn't smiling anymore. "You're my girl. You should stay with me. Not your brother. And sure as hell not on your own."

"I-"

He slides down your body until his head is between your thighs. "Good. I'll get someone to move your things tomorrow."

"Wait, I didn't say -" He does something with his tongue that makes you gasp and arch your back.

"No more objections?" he mocks. You're too breathless to answer.

"Ēyan. Kikitakatta kotoya wa. [Good. Just what I want to hear]."

He's awake long before sunrise. You're still curled under his sheets, lovebites littered across your neck.

He didn't give you a chance to notice them last night, but there's a bouquet of roses waiting for you on the nightstand.

He leans in the balcony door, cigarette smoke curling between his teeth. Just watching you.

His girl. His to touch. His to have. His to hold and keep.

Do you have any idea how lucky you are that it was him you ran into that night? If it was anyone else sent to collect your brother's debt, they'd have just left you to drown under the mountain of interest. Let it get so bad that you couldn't possibly pay your way out and then offer you a job at a soapland. Hell, that was his plan too when he first laid eyes on you. Pretty thing like you would have made a fortune as a yūjo.

But then you went and made him fall for you. It's selfish of him to want you. He knows it's dangerous to have you on his arm. That blonde bastard from last night was proof enough. He knows, and still...

You can't expect a criminal to be selfless. You can't show him something precious and expect him to let it go.

"My girl." He exhales a cloud of smoke and leans his head back. "Gonna make you my wife someday. You just don't know it yet."

[lxnarphase]

━━ ❝ sweet, sticky, thick, and pretty ❞

☾₊‧⁺...synopsis : toji wants to give you another baby

☾₊‧⁺...cw : toji fushiguro x fem!reader, smut, penetrative sex, pre-established relationship, overstimulation, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dirty talk, rough sex, begging, smug and cocky reader, feral toji

☾₊‧⁺...a/n : this is a post from my old blog but i revamped it and i really wanted to share this again because i was really proud of it. and yes, it's another breeding kink + pregnant kink. consider it a part two, since it takes place after megumi is born

toji never thought he’d get off on the idea of having another kid with you.

yet here he is, dick hard in his sweatpants as he thinks about you carrying his baby again...how you'd start to fill out all over again, that cute chubbiness coming back, how he'd have an excuse to dote on you whenever you complained about the simplest of things.

it starts off with how he sees you coo over megumi, calling him your sweet baby. you're such a good mother, too, it's clear you'd likely be the favorite parent to that little brat.

but god, does he find it attractive just seeing you be a mom to the kid that he gave you.

the day you ask megumi what he wants for his upcoming 4th birthday at dinner, neither one of you is prepared for the words that come out of your son's mouth.

“i want a baby sister,” he states bluntly as he chews on the steamed carrots, looking at you and toji. it was clear from how confident the little guy is that he's put a lot of thought into this.

“but, i don’t want her to look like daddy. he’s ugly, i want her to look like mommy.”

little brat. you straight up choke, trying to stop the laugh-coughs as toji looks at his son, offended. this really is his son, because who else but you and the kid he made with you could have the nerve to say shit like that to him?

“twerp, you look just like me, you realize that, right?”

megumi huffs, looking at his dad in the cutest little glare. “that’s 'cause i'm a boy, though," he explains as if it's obvious, his precious little cheeks puffed up as he stuffs more of his food in his mouth.

"my sister has to be like mommy. you’d be an ugly girl, daddy.” toji just rolls his eyes, pinching the cheeks of the mini him, ignoring his protests. as the two bicker, you think. would it...really be that bad to have another baby? you always wanted a girl, after all, and toji took such good care of you and megumi...it couldn't be that bad. “well, uhm,” you begin, catching the attention of toji, an unfamiliar smile on your face.

there's a mischievous look on your face right now, his eyes narrowing as he waits for your response. whatever you're about to say is either going to haunt him for the next few days or make him roll his eyes at you.

“i'm sure daddy and i can work something out for you, 'gumi, but let’s think of some other things, too, m'kay?” 

ah.

you went the haunting route.

ignoring the little cheer his son let out, toji can't hide the disbelieving look that crosses his face when he processes what you just said.

'daddy'?

you've said the word, sure, usually when you talk to megumi about him. but something was different about how you said it, the way you looked at him when you said it, the barely visible flutter of your eyes...a silent promise there'd definitely be a deeper conversation about it later.

the very day megumi has a sleepover with the neighbor's kid, yuuji, toji is mentally cheering. he loves his son with all his heart, he truly does, but having a toddler in bed meant limited contact with his pretty wife.

it's only been 3 days since that little comment you made and it's been on toji's mind constantly. every time he tried to bring it up with you, megumi would interrupt and toji was not being the reason his son ended up traumatized because he overheard mommy and daddy talking about making babies in the kitchen.

"bye, gumi! make sure you behave for mr. nanami, okay? have fun with yuuji," you coo as you press two kisses to your son's cheeks, snapping toji back to the present.

"see ya, kid, be good," toji says, giving a nod of acknowledgement to nanami. megumi barely says goodbye before he runs after yuuji to the car, his run a bit awkward because of his overnight backpack.

waving goodbye to nanami, you shut the door, turning to look at toji with that smile as you.

"hi, toj."

you think you're so cute, don't you?

"hey, mama."

toji can't even lie, you are. wearing his t-shirt and sweatpants? yeah, your the cutest thing he's ever laid eyes one. his hands rest on your hips, pulling you flush to his chest. fuck, you weren't even doing anything but he could already feel himself getting hard just from looking at you.

he's never been so whipped in his life.

"d'you wanna talk," you murmur lowly, your finger running over the thin silver chain on his neck. "we could go to the bedroom...and talk about the baby thing."

toji's eyes darken at the suggestion, knowing exactly what would happen the moment you both go into the bedroom. "yeah. think it's 'bout time we talked about it," he hums as he grips your wrist, tugging you to your room.

as soon you both step foot into the bedroom, toji hungrily presses your lips against his, letting out a deep groan. "had me thinkin' about knockin' you up again all fuckin' week, mama," toji sighs against your lips, tongue running over your lower lip.

"wanted to stuff you full so fucking bad."

feeling you sigh so prettily into the kiss, his doesn't hesitate to shove his tongue in your mouth, hands busying themselves as they push your (his) sweats down off your hips before guiding you back to the bed.

you knew he would get excited over your comment, but you didn't think it would be to the point where he was rutting into you as he practically devoured you, feeling your back hit the bed.

“you want to give our 'gumi a sister? wanna be a mommy again," he questions, breaking the kiss to press his forehead against yours. one of his hands slithers up under the oversized t-shirt to cup one of your tits and roughly knead it, his thumb just barely grazing over your nipple.

"wanna have another kid with big, bad toji? tsk, poor cunt missed gettin' stuffed full of cum?" 

you just hum a little breathless. your hand comes up to cup his cheek, looking from his lips back up to his eyes. he's so handsome when he's over you like this, his chain dangling right in your face.

“maaaaybe. megumi just made me think about it, 's all. you've been a good dad t' him, how could i not want to give you another one,” you coo, guiding him closer so you can press a kiss against the scar on his lip. 

“besides…”

toji grunts when he feels your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him flush against you so you can feel the thick, heaviness of his arousal through his sweatpants.

“don’t you want me to make you a daddy again, toji? c'mon, knock me up, big guy.”

after those words leave your pretty little mouth, toji is on you as he realizes that you're 100% going to give him the worse breeding kink ever.

"'m gonna fuckin' ruin you," he growls into your ear. you aren't given a second to protest before he's ripped your panties off, complaints falling on deaf ears. the tips of his fingers gently run over your puffy pussy lips, your slick wetness coating his fingers.

"fuck, mama, you're soaked already." his eyes are focused on your face as you squirm and whimper when he swirls little circles into your clit, an evil smirk on his face. "can't wait to fill you up 'til you're dripping with my cum, doll."

you can't stop your hips from trying to grind into his hand, eyes rolling back when he teased your entrance. "toji, c'mon, baby, i need you s'bad."

"baby, you know you can't take me without prep," he coos at you. he can feel how hot and slick you are, finally, finally slipping two of his fingers inside your cunt. and oh, the way you arch your back a little bit with a pleading whine of his name is so, so pretty, you're so fucking cute.

"mmn, maybe y'don't need prep, you just sucked my fingers right in," he says huskily before pressing a little kiss to the corner of your mouth. "you wanna try, mama? wanna see if you can fit my cock in you? really gonna feel that stretch, though, babe," toji warns, knowing you can't give a sensible answer when he starts pumping his fingers in and out.

when it seems like your about to answer him, the only thing that escapes your mouth is a shaky moan, his thick fingers curling to hit just the right spot inside of you that has you gushing. unable to form words, you tug on his shirt and nod frantically, just wanting to feel toji stuffing you full.

"yeah? you wanna try?" toiji pulls his fingers out of you, chuckling when you whine at the sudden feeling of emptiness. he pops his fingers in his mouth, cock throbbing at the addictive taste of your cunt on his tongue. "c'mon, we're both wearing too much, let's get you outta that shirt, ma."

you waste no time throwing the shirt off, not even giving him the chance to undress you. but once your shirt is off, you're practically ripping off his stupid black t-shirt that made his pecs look fucking delicious and those damn sweatpants and boxers that hid your prize.

as you fuss over his boxers, toji takes a moment to look at you spread out on the bed before him. you still had a bit of chub on you, tummy nice and soft and cute, just how he likes it. if he knew where his phone was, he'd take a picture of you right now; frustrated, horny, naked, and pretty. all for him.

"tojiiii, stop staring and kick off your stupid boxers, you're getting on my nerves!"

you can't even look him in the eye as you say that because you're too busy staring right at his cock, a thick bead of precum formed at the tip. the lick of your lips told him everything he needed to know, but he wasn't fucking your mouth, not tonight at least.

"what? i can't look at my own wife," he asks with a raised eyebrow, biting back a laugh when you swat at his hand that pinches one your puffy nipple. "tch, so rude, doll."

before you can snap back at him, he brushes the swollen head of his cock against your slick folds, smearing your wet over the tip. that shuts you up quickly and toji has to hold back another laugh. always so fussy until he finally gives you what you want. he's spoiled you rotten.

"toji," comes a soft whine, so soft he nearly misses it. your eyes are focused between your legs, lower lips between your teeth as he teases you with his cockhead. you huff, pushing your hand against his chest to give you enough space to shift positions, knowing exactly what would get him to stop teasing you.

once you roll over, you shift so that you're face down, ass up, you hand slipping between your thighs to spread your sticky pussy open, slick dripping down your fingers. "tojiiii, please? please, baby, stop teasing an' put a baby in me...please, hubby, give your wife what she wants."

any other whines or begs are interrupted when his hand comes down hard on your ass. he was going to give you what you wanted, what you both wanted. he was going to fuck you, fill you up with all his cum and whatever leaked out? he’d make sure to push it back in, whether with his fingers, mouth, or tip of his dick. 

when he finally pushes into you, he just lets out the most wrecked groan you’ve heard from him yet, each inch sinking into you stretching those tight walls just a bit more.

"holy shit...fuuck me, baby, too fucking tight, you're strangling my cock," he hisses, fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he gave you inch after inch.

god, just the thought of fucking you not just to feel good, but to fill you up, get you to take his seed deep inside to give him another kid? it's fucking with his head, his wife was gonna be the death of him.

both of you moan once he's all the way inside. you feel so full, his cock is too fucking big it doesn't make any sense and you genuinely think you should've let him fully prep you...but shifting your hips just a little bit has his tip pressing against something sinful. you whine and reach back to grab at one of his hands on your waist, turning to shoot him a mean glare as you demand, “stop stalling n’ knock me up, toji." 

who is he to deny what his wife asks?

using a hand to steady himself on the headboard, his hips begin to move slowly, pulling out just an inch and pushing forward again. "so tight 'n' warm..." each thrust hits deeper and more powerful than the last as toji begins to pick up speed, the thickness of his cock hitting every deep part of you.

it's almost too much, but you don't want him to stop, especially not when toji started running his mouth.

“shit, look at you, baby…takin’ it like a champ.”

now you really wish you stayed on your back, then at least you could've slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up. you drop your head down against the mattress with a moan, starting to move your hips to match his thrusts, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping on skin.

“fuuck, c'mon, throw that ass back on me, thaaaat’s it, good girl.” 

he starts pounding into you harder when he feels you tightening up on him. the sweet moans and adorable words of “gimme more,” “baby, please,” or “s’ too good, toj,’” only pushing him to get even deeper, to get you to cum so he could stuff you full.

he coos when he sees you starting to scramble up further on the bed, away from his relentless fucking. he knows that he found that sweet spot that would have you creaming in minutes.

"tsk, you just never fuckin' learn, huh? 's always gonna be too much for you, isn't it," he huffs as his hand finds its way into your hair, tugging your head back to keep you from moving more. “hey. hey, nonono, don’t run away from it, lemme have it," he coos at you, following you up the mattress.

you never change, always swearing up and down that you wouldn't run from his cock, that you'd be able to take him. you wanted this, you wanted your precious husband to fuck another baby into you, t'give 'gumi a little sister, s’ i’m gonna give it to you.”

toji may sound like he’s still put together, but he’s just thankful you can’t see his face since yours is pressed into the pillows at the top of the bed.

you can’t see how he’s barely holding himself together, trying his hardest not to let himself go too much. the last thing he needs is to cum before you, knowing that while you wouldn’t mind, he’d be annoyed for breaking his streak.

he’s brought back into the present when you manage to turn your head a little, able to look him in the eye, and god, does he love what he sees.

your mouth is open as you moan for him, eyes lidded and focused on only him. he sees the little tears gathered in them, not quite spilling over but the fact that they’re there tells him he’s the one making you feel that good. 

“tuh-toji, ’m gonna cum, gonna cum—!”

"yeah?" hearing you moan so sweetly for him only makes toji smirk, fingers digging into your hips as he helps you meet each thrust. “gonna make a mess f'me already? poor little cunt can't handle gettin' fucked so good? mmn, shit, 's okay, baby. let go for me, mama, cum on daddy’s cock.” 

"t-tojiiiii," you shakily moan, nearly ripping the sheets as you cum suddenly. it was his voice, the way he tried to sound put together but you could hear how desperate he was to feel your pussy clamp down on him and get his cock nice and messy.

toji's deep, guttural moans mix with your cries when he unexpected is pushed over the edge, the way you desperately grinded back against him causing him to swear under his breath as he lost his pace, groaning your name as he emptied into you. it felt so hot, the pulsating warmth of his tip nudging against your cervix paired with his thick cum filling you up dizzying the both of you. 

you expect some kind of snarky comment from toji, trying to catch your breath so you could reply when he said it. but nothing comes (you have to stop yourself from laughing at the pun). you turn to look back, sighing when toji pulls out of you. usually he stayed inside, leaning down to tease you for cumming so fast...but he didn't.

something was wrong and for some reason, you felt like your pussy was in danger.

“toj…?”

he didn’t answer. he probably didn’t even hear you, not with the way he was looking so intensely at the mess between your thighs. the mess he made. toji doesn’t know what comes over him, his hands practically moving on their own as he moves you over onto your back, then moving his hands down to your sensitive hole and spreading. 

the scene in front of him just breaks him. you let out a soft whine, hips gently rolling into his hands. his eyes stay stuck between your legs—sharp and focused—as they watch the thick globs of his hot cum drip out of your hole and down onto the bed sheets.

the groan that leaves him is sinful, and once you make eye contact with him, you realize how fucked you are. he’s hard again, almost making you believe he didn’t cum if it weren’t for the creamy sheen of his cum on his throbbing dick and the hotness of his dripping out of you. before you know it, toji’s climbing over you, making sure your legs get pushed over to his shoulders as he pushes you into a mating press.

yeah.

you're fucked.

you keep making eye contact, and now that he’s so close to you, you see how crazed he looks. his eyes, completely black due to his blown pupils, have an unhinged look in them, and the half smirk on his face only makes you worry about your ability to walk the next day.

“t-toji, if you need a break to calm down, then-oh!” 

he shuts you up by pushing himself inside you, loving how your eyes cross so prettily. he has you now, you can't run away from the overstimulating feeling of him fucking you in this position. and when you feel his hands come up and lock together on your head to really keep you in place, you feel yourself gush all over his cock at the simple display of how strong he was compared to you.

you're so fucked.

all you can do is moan and cry out his name, hands grabbing whatever part of him they could reach. but he doesn't let you break eye contact, keeping you close to his face so he could see every little expression. and fuck, does he like what he sees.

“t-tojiii, t’ deep, t’ deep!”

“wan’ me t’ stop? t’ stop fuckin’ this messy hole?”

“fuck, y-you stop, and I’ll c-choke the shit out of yo-ouh!”

“that’s it, take it, take daddy’s cock, mama, lemme breed you.”

everything about this position is driving both of you crazy.

the closeness has you reeling, the way toji just cannot bring himself to break eye contact, needing to see what he was doing to you.

his thick cock is hitting deep, almost too deep, with the way each thrust of his hips causes the tip to press into the sweet spot inside you every. single. time. 

he has you for the whole day and the whole night, he's going to make sure you're stuffed entirely and doesn't plan on stopping until either you tell him you need a break or until he can't cum anymore. and even then, he doesn't think anything will be able to get him out of your cunt.

but with the way he just moaned into your mouth, thick spurts of more cum coating your insides…and the way he didn’t get soft, instead pressing you even deeper into the mattress as he began to pound into you with a groan of how much he loved your pussy…

you were sure it would be a while until he was done with you.

all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work

[kira-akira]

What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

[burntoutdaydreamer]

Things That May Be Causing Your Writer's Block- and How to Beat Them

I don't like the term 'Writer's Block' - not because it isn't real, but because the term is so vague that it's useless. Hundreds of issues all get lumped together under this one umbrella, making writer's block seem like this all-powerful boogeyman that's impossible to beat. Worse yet, it leaves people giving and receiving advice that is completely ineffective because people often don't realize they're talking about entirely different issues.

In my experience, the key to beating writer's block is figuring out what the block even is, so I put together a list of Actual Reasons why you may be struggling to write:

(note that any case of writer's block is usually a mix of two or more)

Perfectionism (most common)

What it looks like:

You write one sentence and spend the next hour googling "synonyms for ___"

Write. Erase. Write. Rewrite. Erase.

Should I even start writing this scene when I haven't figured out this one specific detail yet?

I hate everything I write

Cringing while writing

My first draft must be perfect, or else I'm a terrible writer

Things that can help:

Give yourself permission to suck

Keep in mind that nothing you write is going to be perfect, especially your first draft

Think of writing your first/early drafts not as writing, but sketching out a loose foundation to build upon later

People write multiple drafts for a reason: write now, edit later

Stop googling synonyms and save that for editing

Write with a pen to reduce temptation to erase

Embrace leaving blank spaces in your writing when you can't think of the right word, name, or detail

It's okay if your writing sucks. We all suck at some point. Embrace the growth mindset, and focus on getting words on a page

Lack of inspiration (easiest to fix)

What it looks like:

Head empty, no ideas

What do I even write about???

I don't have a plot, I just have an image

Want to write but no story to write

Things that can help:

Google writing prompts

If writing prompts aren't your thing, instead try thinking about what kind of tropes/genres/story elements you would like to try out

Instead of thinking about the story you would like to write, think about the story you would like to read, and write that

It's okay if you don't have a fully fleshed out story idea. Even if it's just an image or a line of dialogue, it's okay to write that. A story may or may not come out of it, but at least you got the creative juices flowing

Stop writing. Step away from your desk and let yourself naturally get inspired. Go for a walk, read a book, travel, play video games, research history, etc. Don't force ideas, but do open up your mind to them

If you're like me, world-building may come more naturally than plotting. Design the world first and let the story come later

Boredom/Understimulation (lost the flow)

What it looks like:

I know I should be writing but uugggghhhh I just can'tttttt

Writing words feels like pulling teeth

I started writing, but then I got bored/distracted

I enjoy the idea of writing, but the actual process makes me want to throw my laptop out the window

Things that can help:

Introduce stimulation: snacks, beverages, gum, music such as lo-fi, blankets, decorate your writing space, get a clickity-clackity keyboard, etc.

Add variety: write in a new location, try a new idea/different story for a day or so, switch up how you write (pen and paper vs. computer) or try voice recording or speech-to-text

Gamify writing: create an arbitrary challenge, such as trying to see how many words you can write in a set time and try to beat your high score

Find a writing buddy or join a writer's group

Give yourself a reward for every writing milestone, even if it's just writing a paragraph

Ask yourself whether this project you're working on is something you really want to be doing, and be honest with your answer

Intimidation/Procrastination (often related to perfectionism, but not always)

What it looks like:

I was feeling really motivated to write, but then I opened my laptop

I don't even know where to start

I love writing, but I can never seem to get started

I'll write tomorrow. I mean next week. Next month? Next month, I swear (doesn't write next month)

Can't find the time or energy

Unreasonable expectations (I should be able to write 10,000 words a day, right????)

Feeling discouraged and wondering why I'm even trying

Things that can help:

Follow the 2 min rule (or the 1 paragraph rule, which works better for me): whenever you sit down to write, tell yourself that you are only going to write for 2 minutes. If you feel like continuing once the 2 mins are up, go for it! Otherwise, stop. Force yourself to start but DO NOT force yourself to continue unless you feel like it. The more often you do this, the easier it will be to get started

Make getting started as easy as possible (i.e. minimize barriers: if getting up to get a notebook is stopping you from getting started, then write in the notes app of your phone)

Commit to a routine that will work for you. Baby steps are important here. Go with something that feels reasonable: every day, every other day, once a week, twice a week, and use cues to help you remember to start. If you chose a set time to write, just make sure that it's a time that feels natural to you- i.e. don't force yourself to writing at 9am every morning if you're not a morning person

Find a friend or a writing buddy you can trust and talk it out or share a piece of work you're proud of. Sometimes we just get a bit bogged down by criticism- either internal or external- and need a few words of encouragement

The Problem's Not You, It's Your Story (or Outline (or Process))

What it looks like:

I have no problems writing other scenes, it's just this scene

I started writing, but now I have no idea where I'm going

I don't think I'm doing this right

What's an outline?

Drowning in documents

This. Doesn't. Make. Sense. How do I get from this plot point to this one?!?!?! (this ColeyDoesThings quote lives in my head rent free cause BOY have I been there)

Things That Can Help:

Go back to the drawing board. Really try to get at the root of why a scene or story isn't working

A part of growing as a writer is learning when to kill your darlings. Sometimes you're trying to force an idea or scene that just doesn't work and you need to let it go

If you don't have an outline, write one

If you have an outline and it isn't working, rewrite it, or look up different ways to structure it

You may be trying to write as a pantser when you're really a plotter or vice versa. Experiment with different writing processes and see what feels most natural

Study story structures, starting with the three act structure. Even if you don't use them, you should know them

Check out Ellen Brock on YouTube. She's a professional novel editor who has a lot of advice on writing strategies for different types of writers

Also check out Savage Books on YouTube (another professional story editor) for advice on story structure and dialogue. Seriously, I cannot recommend this guy enough

Executive Dysfunction, Usually From ADHD/Autism

What it looks like:

Everything in boredom/understimulation

Everything in intimidation/procrastination

You have been diagnosed with and/or have symptoms of ADHD/Autism

Things that can help:

If you haven't already, seek a diagnosis or professional treatment

Hire an ADHD coach or other specialist that can help you work with your brain (I use Shimmer; feel free to DM me for a referral)

Seek out neurodiverse communities for advice and support

Try body doubling! There's lot's of free online body doubling websites out there for you to try. If social anxiety is a barrier, start out with writing streams such as katecavanaughwrites on Twitch

Be aware of any sensory barriers that may be getting in the way of you writing (such as an uncomfortable desk chair, harsh lighting, bad sounds)

And Lastly, Burnout, Depression, or Other Mental Illness

What it looks like:

You have symptoms of burnout or depression

Struggling with all things, not just writing

It's more than a lack of inspiration- the spark is just dead

Things that can help:

Forget writing for now. Focus on healing first.

Seek professional help

If you feel like it, use writing as a way to explore your feelings. It can take the form of journaling, poetry, an abstract reflection of your thoughts, narrative essays, or exploring what you're feeling through your fictional characters. The last two helped me rediscover my love of writing after I thought years of depression had killed it for good. Just don't force yourself to do so, and stop if it takes you to a darker place instead of feeling cathartic

[hanniebaeee]

Pieces of Us

Chris Bang x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: Exes to lovers, second chance love, fluff, smut

Summary: Even a year after your divorce, you can't get over Chris. You keep seeing him all the time because you're co parenting your daughter, and you see that he's still the same man you fell in love with. And you both haven't moved on at all.

It’s late. Your apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, as you sit on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine when you hear the doorbell.

You find Chris on your doorstep, punctual as usual, holding your toddler, Mia, against his chest, her small body curled into him like she’s still a newborn.

Your heart does a funny little lurch. It must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

“She fell asleep in the car,” he whispers, stepping inside. He is still dressed in his formals, and your traitorous eyes drink him in.

“Rough day?” he asks softly, noting the wine and the way your shoulders sag.

“Something like that,” you mutter, gesturing to Mia’s room. “You can put her to bed.”

Chris nods, carrying her toward her bedroom. He emerges moments later, quietly shutting her door behind him. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and a little too comforting.

“What happened?” he asks, folding his arms against his chest.

“It’s nothing,” you say, but Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” he counters smoothly, sitting next to you on the sofa. “You know you can't lie to me.”

You roll your eyes but relent and say, “Work politics. Same old garbage.”

Chris winces, before he leans forward and says, “You’re too good for them, you know that, right?”

Those are simple words, but they hit harder than they should. You glance at him, something raw flickering in your chest.

“Oh please,” you murmur, looking away.

“What?” He asks. “It’s true.”

You don’t answer, reaching instead for the bottle of wine. Chris doesn’t stop you as you pour a second glass.

“Here, celebrate my failures with me,” you tease, trying to ease your own heart. “I don't feel like wallowing in self pity alone tonight.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but takes the glass.

“You're so dramatic,”

“And yet, you were married to me for five years,” you quip, with a grin.

The wine loosen you both faster than it should. Soon, you’re reminiscing about Mia’s first words, and the road trip to Busan where the car broke down, and you ended up making out in the car till Minho came to rescue you both.

“I miss this,” you admit quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Talking...and everything,”

You and Chris had been good friends before you both fell in love. It had been the most beautiful years of your life before things started falling apart.

He doesn’t say anything, but reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. It’s subtle, but it sets your heart racing. Like always. Even a year after your divorce, you clearly haven't moved on.

“I miss it too,” he finally says, his voice low. “All the time.”

“Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” you mumble.

He leans in, closer than he’s been in a more than year, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“You think I don’t mean it? You think I ever stopped wanting you?”

Your breath catches as he closes the distance between you. His lips hover inches from yours as he says, “I never stopped…”

It’s reckless, stupid, maybe even a mistake - but you don’t care. You let him close the gap, his lips crashing into yours, and everything you’ve been holding back spills over.

The kiss is messy and heated - all the pent-up frustration and longing coming crashing down. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt against him, your arms circling his neck. His lips move against yours desperately, like he is afraid to let go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and a little lost, Chris brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whisper.

“No. But it’s a start.”

It’s intoxicating - the feel of him, the heat radiating off his body. You both pull each other close again, his lips moving down your neck, leaving soft kisses.

But somewhere in between, reality raises its nagging head and you falter.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back slightly.

Chris freezes, his breathing ragged, as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“This is… reckless,” you whisper, though your heart won't allow you to let go of him.

He exhales sharply, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. “Y/N, I -”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice trembling. “I don't want us to mess up again.”

He gives you a look and you think he might argue. But then he sighs. He looks exhausted and a little heart broken. But he stands up and says, “You’re right. We can’t… not like this.”

“You have to go.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

He stares at you for a long moment, then he nods.

“Right. I’ll… I’ll call tomorrow to check on Mia.” he says, clearing his throat.

You nod, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. Because this feels even harder than the first time.

“Goodnight, Chris.” you whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice rough.

As soon as he’s gone, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over. You sink onto the couch, your face in your hands, and you cry until your throat is raw. You missed him. And you still hate yourself for letting this happen.

It starts with a look. It always does.

The next time Chris comes by, it’s late again, Mia’s tiny backpack slung over his shoulder, and her hand clutching his tightly as they walk to your door. You try to play it cool, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed and a polite smile fixed on your face.

But then he looks at you and the air shifts.

“Hi,” he says, his voice lower than it needs to be, his gaze lingering on your mouth.

“Hi,” your voice shakes but it's soft.

Mia is already running into her room, way too excited to get to her new playset, and Chris watches her for a moment, before his gaze settles on you.

And then there are no words exchanged as his hands grab you towards him and he's pushing you against the kitchen counter, kissing you.

You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand slips down your back, cupping your butt before pulling you flush against himself.

“Is this going to keep happening?” you ask breathlessly, as he kisses down your neck. Past your collarbone. Down your chest. His face is buried in your breasts, before he kisses them over your t-shirt.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding on to him, and you gasp as he bites your nipple over the fabric and a dull pleasure courses through your body.

“What?” he murmurs, his lips back on yours again.

“This,” you say between kisses.

He kisses you again, rougher than before and says,

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and his hands cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes.

You don’t. You can’t. Instead, you pull him closer, your bodies so familiar with each other.

It becomes a pattern after that. Anytime he comes over - whether he’s dropping off Mia or picking her up - it happens.

Sometimes it’s rushed and frantic, like the time he cornered you in the kitchen, your lips colliding as the coffee maker sputtered in the background. And other times, it’s slow and sweet. Especially when he knows you're a bit down or you're having a bad day.

You don’t talk about it. It’s easier to pretend this is just an outlet, a way to scratch the itch that never seems to fade.

You tell yourself this is only because he's the only man you've been with for so damn long. You two had married so young. You hate thinking about it.

So you don't. But deep down, you know it’s more than just sex. But you’re not ready to acknowledge it. Neither is he.

Friday evenings with Minho are sacred. He's your best friend, your big brother, your pillar of support. The one person who held you up during your separation from Chris. The only person who knows that you still loved him with everything in you.

Minho brings take out, you both talk, watch a movie, sometimes two. And fall asleep on each other because obviously, you both were the laziest besties in the world.

You've been trying to tell Chris to leave, but he is busy pounding into you. You stand with your hands grips the kitchen counter as he thrust into you from the back, his hands holding onto your hips tightly.

“He's gonna be here any minute!” You hiss, and Chris moves faster, and more rough. You try not to moan as waves of pleasure hit you, and you clench so hard around him, he's shuddering with his release.

“Fuck-” He groans, pressing his face against the back of your neck before slowly pulling out of you.

You both clean up and look somewhat presentable when the doorbell rings. You sigh because Minho will see right through you.

And he won't let you live this down. Ever.

You glance at Chris before opening the door. And Minho steps in already ranting about his day and he stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Chris.

Well that's a first - Minho being at a loss of words.

You freeze, your cheeks burning, while Chris awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Minho,” Chris says, giving him a quick nod.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks between the two of you, his lips twitching in amusement, before slowly smirking.

“Hey, Chris.” Then, he strolls further inside saying, “Don’t mind me. I'm just here for my niece.”

He disappears into the living room, leaving you and Chris standing there like a couple of teenagers caught doing something bad.

“I should, uh, get going,” he says, though he doesn’t move.

“Right, yeah,” you stammer, smoothing your hands over your skirt nervously.

“See you on Sunday,” he says, opening the door.

“See you,” you manage, your heart racing again, and Chris flashes you a smile before leaving.

The moment the door shuts, Minho reappears, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“Soooo…”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re clearly fucking Chris freaking Bang and you want me to not start?”

“Minho,” you warn, making a beeline for the living room, and he follows you with that menacing grin still in place.

“So, when exactly did this ‘we’re just co-parents’ arrangement turn into ‘we’re fuck buddies again’?”

“It’s not like that!” you protest, though your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Uh-huh.” He says, starting to plate up the food. “You two were totally not flushed and guilty. Try again.”

You bury your face in a throw pillow.

“Linooooo stopppp!! It’s complicated.” you whine.

“It always is with you two,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re like Ross and Rachel, except somehow more frustrating.”

You peek out from behind the pillow, glaring at him.

“We’re not -”

“Don’t even think about saying you’re not into him,” Minho interrupts, pointing his chopsticks at you. “I know you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth to argue but immediately close it, because he's stating the obvious and there is no real use of denying it.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to jump your ex-husband, at least warn me so I can avoid walking into it.” Minho smirks, leaning back smugly.

You groan, throwing the pillow at him. He dodges it easily, laughing as you sink further into the couch, hands covering your face.

“Seriously, though,” he says after a moment, his tone softening. “Are you okay? I mean, this whole Chris thing… are you sure about this?”

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I love him, Minho, and I swear I tried to move on…but, everytime I look at him…he's the same person I fell in love with. He's not a monster. He's a great father. He's a good friend. And.. and I don't even know why…” Your voice cracks a bit as you struggle with your thoughts. “Then we talked, and it’s like… like nothing’s changed. But everything has changed, and it’s so… messy.”

“Messy’s okay. You deserve to be happy, Y/N. Whether that’s with Chris or someone else.” he says softly. “If you're sure, then go for it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be honest with Chris. To let go of the pride and the fear and just… try again. Because God, you really want to.

Sunday arrives, and Mia is up early, ready for her day with her daddy. She even picks out her favorite toy to take along with her and insists on wearing the sparkly dress she knows Chris loves.

When Chris texts, you think it's to let you know that he's on his way. But it wasn't.

Chris: Hey, something came up. Can we reschedule Mia’s time for today?

You blink at it for a moment, heart sinking slightly. You don’t question it - life happens, after all. But Mia doesn’t take it as well.

“Daddy’s not coming?” she asks, her lower lip trembling and her little shoulders slump in disappointment.

You kneel down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“No, sweetheart. He’s just busy today, but we’ll see him soon. How about we have a girls' day instead?”

She looks up at you with big tear filled eyes.

“Girls' day? With Mommy?” she asks, and you nod, pulling her into a tight hug.

“That’s right. Just you and me. Let’s make it special.” You say, kissing her cheek and getting on with it.

You spend the afternoon indulging in ice cream, shopping for new art supplies, and of course, toys. You also take her to an indoor play area that she loves, and by the time you get home, Mia is falling asleep in your arms.

You carry her to her room, tuck her into bed, and she’s out within minutes. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you step out of her room.

The apartment falls into a quiet, peaceful lull. You wash up quickly and sit in front of the TV, hoping to watch an episode of that show you've been trying to watch for a while now. It's not exactly easy with a toddler around.

But around fifteen minutes into the show, you hear the sound of the doorbell. You open the door, and there stands Chris, holding a small box in his hand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, as he meets your gaze. “I'm sorry about today. I brought her favorite cupcakes.”

Your heart does a little flip at the sight of him.

“That’s sweet of you.” you say, “But she's already asleep.”

“Oh…I was hoping to see her before....ah,” Chris says with a little sigh.

You give him a small, sympathetic shrug.

“It's okay, she can eat them tomorrow,” You say with a smile and step aside to let him in.

He nods, stepping inside and setting the box of cupcakes on the kitchen counter. There’s disappointment in his eyes and it stirs something deep inside you.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he says, and it feels like he’s apologizing for more than just missing his day with Mia.

“It’s really okay. Mia missed you, but we still had a good day. She was really happy.” you tell him.

Chris’s gaze lingers on you a moment too long before he says,“I feel like I keep letting you both down.”

“Chris, please don't say that,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “We know you’re doing your best. I know you’re trying.”

He nods, though he doesn't look completely convinced.

“So,” you say, trying to keep it light, “I’m about to have dinner… want to join me?”

It’s an innocent enough invitation. Casual. Polite. But the way he looks at you gives you an idea of what's about to happen next.

Chris takes a step forward, his hand gently cupping your cheek, and then his lips are on yours. The kiss deepens almost instantly and he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together.

You stifle a sob, and Chris is quickly pulling back to look at you, tipping your chin up to see you better.

“Baby, please don't-”

“I love you-”

There is a moment of silence - Chris's eyes soften as he watches the tears fall. You can't believe you just said that. But this whole thing was getting more and more difficult to manage. The constant need to be close to him. Waiting for the days he spent with Mia, just so you could see him.

And then he's kissing you again, mumbling a hundred ‘I love yous’ you against your lips, and the next thing you know, he's scooping you up in his arms and carrying you towards your bedroom.

He closes the door gently (so that it doesn't wake Mia), and places you on the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you on the floor.

“Baby, I never stopped loving you. And there isn't a day where I don't regret letting you walk out of my life… we could've handled things better…and everytime I came here for Mia, I wished you would just ask me to stay. I selfishly wished that you wouldn't move on.” he says, his voice soft and his touch even softer as he placed his hands on your knees.

“I don't think I can ever love anyone like I love you. If you give me another chance, I promise I'll not let you down. I'll spend every day of the rest of my life proving to you that you're my everything… and I will be here for you, always.”

You nod and tears falling more rapidly now, and throw your arms around Chris's neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing against your neck as he holds you close.

“I love you, baby I'm sorry-” You cry, your arms tightening around him. “I didn't know what to do…the baby, the job, there was so much noise, and I wasn't well…I'm sorry I didn't see that you were suffering too-” you hiccup through your tears.

You feel his hand moving up and down your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“I know baby, I'm not mad. We were both suffering. We were both hurt. But we're here now.” Chris whispers.

“I love you, I want you back. Please don't leave me again-”

Chris kisses you again, stealing your breath away.

“No more crying over me ok?” He says with a soft smile. “I'm not going anywhere…I love you and Mia so much, I am going to be here-”

More kisses follow and you move back into the bed, and he follows, both of you pulling at each other's clothes.

He trails his lips down your neck, and it feels like the world outside your bedroom might as well not exist. His hands glide over your skin, gentle, but just as desperate.

You can feel the way he trembles against you, the way his breath catches as your hands move down his chest. And then when he slips inside, as gentle as ever, you can't help but cry, because as beautiful as the moment feels, you realize just how miserable you have been without him.

Chris moves slowly at first, and you close your eyes as the pleasure builds. He peppers so many kisses on your lips and neck, like he can't kiss you enough.

His fingers work on your clit as he moves, and soon your body shudders as your orgasm ripples through you. You moan softly, and it obviously has him crashing down too.

You don't let go, because truth be told, you're afraid he's going to leave. And tonight? You don't want him to. Actually, you don't want to see him walk out that door ever again.

And Chris isn't planning to, because he holds you just as tight, promising softly that he'll be here when you wake up in the morning. And you let your eyes fall shut, trusting him.

You both decide to take it slow, for Mia's sake.

Chris doesn’t officially move in, yet, but his presence is…undeniable. There are more of his things around the house, and more than anything else, it's the way Mia’s laughter grows louder every time he walks through the door. You’ve caught yourself smiling more too - wide, genuine smiles you hadn’t worn in ages.

You love watching him help Mia with her bedtime routine, fixing squeaky hinges around the house you’ve ignored for months, and finding every excuse to stay a bit longer.

And Minho? Well, he’s having the time of his life.

---

One Friday evening, you’re all gathered in the living room. Chris is helping Mia build a tower with her blocks while you sip wine and half-listen to Minho’s dramatic story about his latest “date gone wrong.”

“And then she said she didn’t like cats. Cats, Y/N. Can you imagine the nerve?” Minho says, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks as he digs into the takeout he insisted on bringing.

“Oh my God” you say, laughing as Chris adds, “Sounds horrible, but maybe try not to bring home every stray you find?”

“Don’t think I don’t see you trying to steal my best friend away. Again.” Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at Chris.

“Jealous, Minho?” Chris quips, and Minho scoffs, leaning back dramatically.

“Of you? Please.” Minho says. “But whatever this setup is, it's sure looks promising.”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine, while Chris raises an eyebrow.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“I’m just saying, for exes, you two sure look cozy.” Minho grins, and your cheeks burn, as you try not to look at Chris.

“Minho…” you warn.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m rooting for you,” Minho says, winking before turning back to Mia. “Besides, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll adopt Mia. Because you two are idiots. And we're done dealing with you. Sorry, not sorry.”

Mia giggles at the mention of her name before getting back to her game.

---

Later that night, after Minho has left (eyeing you mischievously because Chris was still there) and Mia is asleep, you and Chris are clearing up the kitchen.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “Minho isn’t wrong.”

“About what?” You ask, glancing at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

“About us. About this.” Chris says, leaning against the counter and folding his arms.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at him, watching him push off the counter and walk towards you.

The towel slips from your hands as his fingers brush against your cheek, and his lips land on yours.

It’s slow at first, warm and tender, but it doesn’t take long for it to snap and you're both pulling each other closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your body responding to his touch like it always has.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I love you too,” you admit, and he smiles, his dimples making an appearance and your heart races as you reach up to run your fingers over it.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second of it. And at that moment, this doesn't really feel like a second chance.

It’s the beginning of everything you’ve ever wanted.

The smell of pancakes fills the house as sunlight filters through the kitchen windows. Chris stands at the stove, a spatula in one hand, flipping golden-brown pancakes onto a plate. He’s wearing his usual gray shorts and a fitted black T-shirt. His hair is messy, a sign that he’s only been up for about twenty minutes, and he’s humming softly to himself as he works.

Mia sits at the table, still in her pajamas, happily coloring into a giant coloring book. This is such a dream. You lean against the counter, sipping your coffee, watching Chris with a faint smile that you haven’t been able to shake since he stayed over last night.

For the first time… in a very long time.

And then, the doorbell rings. You frown, setting down your coffee.

“Expecting someone?” He asks and you shake your head, walking to the door and opening it to find your mum standing there, a purse slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face.

“Mum?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Surprise, sweetheart!” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Wanted to see my girls, and I brought muffins!”

She holds up a bakery bag, grinning, then stops dead in her tracks.

Her gaze falls on Chris, who’s just turned around from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh,” your mom says.

There's silence for a second before Mia screeches, “Grandmaaaaaaaa!!!”

Your mum picks Mia up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before asking if she could play in her room for sometime. Mia pouts, but runs off with a muffin.

Her eyes narrow slightly, taking in how casual Chris looks, his messy hair, and the way he just seems to be part of the scene.

“Good morning, mum,” Chris says smoothly, recovering faster than you could've thought.

He smiles, dimples flashing, as he asks, “Pancakes?”

Your mum raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his innocent act. She folds her arms, looking at you.

“Y/N… what’s going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you start, suddenly feeling like a child again.

“Mhm.” She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you for a second. “You’re telling me it’s normal for your ex-husband to be in your kitchen, making pancakes, looking like he just rolled out of bed?”

“Technically, I did just roll out of bed,” Chris says, unable to resist.

You shoot him a glare, but he has already turned back to the stove, hiding a smirk.

“Y/N?” Your mom’s eyes narrow further.

“It’s… kind of...,” you say finally, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yes?” she prompts, looking from you to Chris and then back at you. You think she's going to give you a nice big lecture about responsibility. But she lets out a sigh, her posture softening.

“You know,” she says, her tone gentler now, “I always thought the two of you were good for each other. When you got divorced, I was shocked and devastated - for you, for Mia.” She pauses, her eyes locking with yours. “But if you’re giving this another try… I just want to make sure you’re happy, sweetheart. That you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“I know I messed up before. I know I hurt your daughter. But I love her. I always have, and I’m doing everything I can to show her - and Mia - that I’m here to stay. I realize that I need them more than they need me…so yeah,”

Your mum’s gaze softens as she studies him, and then she looks at you.

“And you, Y/N? Are you happy?”

You glance at Chris, who’s watching you with that steady loving gaze that’s always made you feel safe and sure, and you nod.

“Yeah, Mum. I am.”

Your mom smiles, stepping forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to stick around for breakfast. Those pancakes smell amazing.”

Chris grins and gets back to work, and your mum nods, making her way in to properly greet her granddaughter again.

Just as she disappears, Chris slides up beside you, his hand brushing yours as you start setting the table for breakfast.

“That went better than expected,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“You’ve always been her favorite, you know.” You glance at him, your lips twitching into a smile.

He smirks, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Good to know I still am.” He pecks your lips quickly before getting back to work.

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers as your mum comes back with Mia in her arms. And you all sit around the table and enjoy breakfast.

It’s chaotic and imperfect, but it's home. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be. All the scattered pieces of you finally fit.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

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