#my arts been unpredictable lately too

[bea-stie]

redraw because cartoon now(plus an extra expression)

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[hoshifighting]

Ways to Have a Man in the Palm of Your Hand.

— Synopsis: In the flow of uncertainty that defined your situationship with Mingyu, you decide to take action, making Mingyu start chasing after you like a loyal puppy. — WC: 3.9k — WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, overstimulation, degradation, begging on knees, oral (f. receiving), fingering– he watches reader fingering herself, handjob, dick riding, penetrative sex, humiliating, manipulation and etc.

Your life connected with Mingyu's since you both first met through your groups of friends, and a situationship had emerged between you two. It was just sex, with no strings attached and no promises made.

Yet, as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, it became challenging to keep your heart safe from the unpredictable tides of emotion.

Mingyu had a way of making you feel special. He'd surprise you with homemade dinners, he was attentive, considerate, and made sure to put your self-esteem on the highest with his skillful photography.

The tall and good-looking guy wasn't just amazing during sex; he was an enigma that both fascinated and frustrated you. Mingyu could vanish for days, leaving you on blue. But just as you were about to write him off, he'd resurface, as if nothing had happened. It was a maddening cycle, and yet, you found yourself caught in its web.

Mingyu: Hey! Been swamped asf with work lately. Let's grab coffee or something stronger soon? Let me know when you're free!

You couldn't help but scoff as you read Mingyu's message. His casual tone and nonchalant invitation stirred a mix of irritation and amusement within you. Swiftly typing a response, you questioned his unpredictable appearances.

You: Are you planning on always popping up out of nowhere like this?

Mingyu: I always come back, don't I? So, when are we catching up darling?

Despite the inner conflict and your ego's warning signals, there was an undeniable allure to Mingyu's charm. His words, laced with playfulness, had a magnetic effect that bypassed rational thoughts. With a sigh, you found yourself succumbing to the familiar pull.

The room was filled with the echoes of skin slapping as you both lay on Mingyu's bed, your eyes locked as you two moaned out loud, the crescendo of pleasure punctuated by the rhythmic thud of the bed against the wall.

Mingyu lays beside you, the heat of the moment still lingering between your bodies. You rose from the tangled sheets, picking up your scattered clothes. Mingyu's gaze remained fixed on you, an intensity that betrayed a deeper connection than the situationship allowed. 

"I really like spending time with you Y/N" 

"Me too Gyu." 

[...]

Seungkwan leaned in "Okay, spill. What's the latest drama with Mingyu?"

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "Honestly, I can't figure him out. It's like a cycle. We talk every day for a month, hang out, fuck, and then poof! He disappears for a week or more. I don't get it."

Seungkwan chuckled knowingly. "You know, maybe you should try something. Do the same to him, but take it up a notch. Make him miss you even more."

You furrowed your eyebrows, slightly taken aback. "Seungkwan, I'm not into playing games or being spiteful. It's not my style."

He waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, hear me out. It's not about being spiteful. It's about making him realize what he's missing. Mingyu knows you'll always be there, right? So, he takes it for granted. Maybe he needs a taste of his own medicine."

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious. "And how exactly do I do that?"

Your mouth hung open as Seungkwan delivered his comprehensive lesson in the art of emotional tactics. The confidence in his advice left you both amazed and slightly apprehensive. Unable to contain your curiosity any longer, you finally asked the burning question.

"How on earth do you know all of this, Seungkwan?" you inquired, eyes wide with disbelief.

Seungkwan leaned back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, my dear friend, when you've been in the game as long as I have and witnessed enough romantic dramas unfold, you start picking up on patterns. It's like a survival guide for the heart."

You raised an eyebrow, still processing the information. "Survival guide, huh? And all this contempt, playing hard to get, and hurting egos – that's your secret weapon?"

Seungkwan chuckled, "Not a secret weapon, sometimes, a little strategic move can make all the difference. Trust me, I've seen it all."

With Seungkwan's advice resonating in your mind like a strategic playbook, you approached the next phase of your relationship with Mingyu, with a newfound determination. It felt like diving into a complex homework assignment, each step carefully calculated to shift the dynamics in your favor.

As you decided to implement the first step, a newfound sense of liberation washed over you. You stopped responding to Mingyu's messages immediately and resisted the urge to initiate contact. It felt strange at first, but there was a sense of power in reclaiming your time and not being at his beck and call. Mingyu's messages awaited your attention. 

The challenge of making Mingyu realize he could lose you sparked a newfound determination. Your calendar filled up with plans that didn't involve Mingyu. Mingyu, accustomed to your constant availability, seemed to sense the change, though he couldn't quite pinpoint it. He might have been the object of desire for many hoes, but your indifference challenged his accustomed narrative. 

After all, a man is not more important than your personal goals, right?

All while allowing Mingyu to observe your life unfolding without him. The realization that you were not waiting by the phone for him sparked a large curiosity.

Throughout the process, a mix of emotions surfaced. Doubt, at times, whispered in the back of your mind – was this the right approach? Seungkwan's advice, unconventional as it was, had brought a shift in Mingyu's behavior. Now, you wondered how Mingyu would respond to the transformed version of you – a person who refused to be taken for granted.

Mingyu's relentless messages flooded your phone. The janitor, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, discreetly shared the news of Mingyu's visits to your condominium entrance. Three times he had appeared, seeking a glimpse of you, only to be met with the absence of your presence, the deliberate distance, and the air of indifference were beginning to provoke a reaction from him.

You were determined to see this journey through, to understand whether Mingyu's renewed interest was genuine or a fleeting reaction to the perceived loss of control.

The persistent pings of Mingyu's messages had become a constant background noise in your life, infiltrating your workdays and even interrupting the serene moments of your brunches.

"Free today, Ms. Busy?"

"Pls respond to me. :(("

"Why are you acting like this?"

"Wtf…"

"Omggg, when are you going to answer me properly?"

"I'll invade your house."

"Y/N-ieeee, pleaseee!"

"I really want to see you right now."

"You make me so confused :("

The encounter at the pedestrian crossing unfolded in a scene of unexpected tension. Mingyu, spotting you in the midst of your Sunday morning run with Seungkwan, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap that had grown between you. As you halted, waiting for the light to change, Mingyu approached, a mixture of eagerness and confusion etched across his face.

"Hey there! Fancy meeting you here," Mingyu greeted, attempting to strike up a conversation.

Seungkwan, standing beside you, looked on with a side-eyed glance, a smirk playing on his lips as he sipped casually from his water bottle. As the pedestrian light shifted to green, you seized the moment to extricate yourself from the short encounter. "Sorry, Mingyu, I really need to finish my morning walk. Catch you later," you excused yourself, leaving Mingyu standing there, perplexed and surrounded by the bustling activity of the street.

He couldn't shake off the confusion – Why weren't you responding as before? Why weren't you as available as you used to be? Did you at least still like him? It dawned on Mingyu that the game had changed, and he wasn't sure if he understood the rules anymore. The pursuit, once fueled by the expectation of your constant availability, now seemed to slip through his fingers like grains of sand. The reality of being just one among the many who sought your attention was a bitter pill to swallow.

[...]

The doorbell's unexpected chime disrupted the tranquility of your self-care routine, with moisturized skin and a mind ready for a cozy movie night, you approached the door, curiosity dancing in your eyes.

As you swung the door open, the sulky face of Mingyu greeted you. A momentary pause hung in the air, your eyes meeting his in silent expectation. Before you could utter a word, Mingyu stepped inside, dropping to his knees and hugging your legs as if seeking solace.

Surprised by his sudden display of vulnerability, you widen your eyes, caught off guard by the intensity of his reaction. The door lingered ajar, and you managed to close it, arms crossed, a mixture of confusion and caution etched on your face.

Mingyu, still hugging your legs, looked up at you with pleading eyes, his voice laden with remorse. "What did I do, Y/N? Why are you treating me like this? I'm sorry."

"Hm?"

He looked up at you, his eyes brimming with a mix of confusion and regret. "I just… I don' understand. I miss you," he admitted, his voice trailing off.

Your initial surprise transformed into a mix of emotions – disbelief, a hint of empathy, and the need to assert your newfound boundaries. Crossed arms and a measured gaze met Mingyu's desperate expression. The sudden intrusion into your personal space prompted a silent assessment of the situation.

"What did you expect, Mingyu?" you countered, your voice steady but laced with the weight of unspoken questions. "You disappear, then reappear, and now you're kneeling in my living room. What's going on?"

"I messed up, okay? I thought I could keep things casual, but I didn't expect to feel like this. I miss the way things used to be between us." he confessed, his voice carrying a raw honesty.

"You ask me to come to your house, and then after you get what you wanted, you let me go. Do I look like a food delivery or something?" you confronted Mingyu, your words cutting through the charged silence that hung in the room.

Mingyu's eyes widened at your accusation, shock and a hint of hurt registering on his face. "No, no, no, Y/N, it wasn't like that."

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of skepticism and frustration evident in your expression. "It feels like you only want me around when it's convenient for you."

Mingyu, still on his knees, looked up at you, his eyes pleading for understanding. "It's not like that. I just... I didn't want to push you. I thought you preferred it this way."

You sighed, the weight of the unresolved tension palpable. "Mingyu, I can't read your mind. If you want me to stay, you have to say it. Communication goes both ways."

"Y/N, I'm truly sorry. I'll do whatever you want. I didn't see you as just a fleeting thing, and I want to be present."

Mingyu's earnest apology hung in the air, a plea for understanding and a promise to change. As he laid his face on your bare thighs, expressing his sincere regret, you cut through the moment with a tsk sound, a dismissive gesture that left him wide-eyed and caught off guard.

"Poor boy, begging on his knees for attention. What a shame," you remarked, a hint of teasing in your voice as you observed his reaction.

Mingyu, his hands now gripping each side of your thighs, sat back on his feet, his expression a mix of surprise and a subtle flush coloring his cheeks. He hadn't anticipated this response, your playful teasing catching him off guard.

"You didn't see me as a fleeting thing?" you continued, your tone mockingly contemplative. "Well, Mingyu, this is quite a sight – you, on your knees, practically begging for my attention. I'd never do something like this."

His widened eyes met yours, uncertainty and a trace of embarrassment flickering in them. Mingyu's bit his lip, cheeks flushing deeper.

"I'll do whatever you want, Y/N. Just tell me," Mingyu replied, his hands still holding your thighs.

You let out a soft chuckle, running a hand through his hair as you continued your teasing. "Oh, Mingyu-ah, the mighty one on his knees. Maybe you'll learn to appreciate what you have when it's not handed to you on a silver platter. Now, let's see if you can keep up with your promises."

As you spoke, Mingyu's cheeks continued to flush, a complex dance of emotions playing out on his face.  "How can you forgive me?" 

Mingyu's question hung in the air, a genuine plea for forgiveness. You paused, considering the weight of his words, before adopting a more serious tone.

"Get up," you instructed him, your voice carrying a command that seemed to catch him off guard.

Mingyu, without hesitation, rose to his feet from his submissive position. His eyes fixed on you. An arched eyebrow and a smirk played on your face, savoring the moment of dominance as you instructed him to follow you.

The atmosphere grew charged with anticipation as Mingyu attentively trailed behind you, his eyes inevitably drawn to your body covered only by a shirt. The click of your bedroom door signaled a shift in the dynamics, and when you turned to face him, his eagerness manifested in an attempted kiss.

Your finger halted his advance, a calculated pause preceding your question, "Do you think you deserve to kiss me?"

Mingyu, his eyes reflecting a mix of longing and remorse, shook his head no. Your smirk deepened as you delivered a verdict that left him whimpering.

"Then you won't kiss me today."

A whimper escaped Mingyu's lips, a sound that echoed the frustration and desire that simmered beneath the surface. The unexpected turn of events had left him yearning for a connection, yet you, in your assertive control, denied him that solace.

As the tension hung in the air, Mingyu's eyes glistened with unshed tears. The dynamics between you had taken a surprising turn, a power play that left both of you navigating the intricate threads of desire, forgiveness, and the consequences of a maybe – ex-complicated situationship.

With a commanding tone, you instructed Mingyu to kneel once again, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. He obeyed, sinking down to his knees with a mix of anticipation and eagerness. The air in the room crackled with a palpable tension as you laid down the terms.

"If you act like a good boy, maybe I'll forgive you," you declared, your voice carrying a hint of authority.

Mingyu nodded earnestly, a silent pledge to abide by your terms. As you proceeded to remove your shirt, next your pantie, allowing it to fall to the floor, the atmosphere became charged with a new layer of intensity. 

"How much do you want this pussy Mingyu?" you inquired, the question hanging in the air as you observed Mingyu's reaction. His shoulders slumped, a subtle expression of desire and longing evident on his face.

"A lot," he moaned, the words escaping his lips with a mixture of need and surrender. Your legs spread open, an invitation too tempting, as he feels his mouth waters at the view. 

"Open your mouth," you commanded Mingyu, your voice carrying an air of authority. He complied without hesitation, anticipation flickering in his eyes.

As he held his mouth open, you slid two fingers inside, the intimate contact a subtle exploration of boundaries and desire. Mingyu's tongue teased your fingers, a provocative dance that elicited a hiss from you.

"No teasing," you admonished, a note of warning in your voice. With a swift motion, you delivered a little slap to his chin as you withdrew your fingers from his mouth. The air crackled with a newfound tension, a moment that blurred the lines between control and submission.

Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows, as he watched your fingers slowly disappearing inside of your cunt, your fingers and your slick gushes out of you, and all he can do is watch. He sits patiently on his feet, watching your fingers leaving and entering your pussy in a too provocative rhythm. His bottom lip quivering to the desire of eating you out.

"Please Y/N…"

"What?''

"Please, let me eat you out, it looks so good…"

To tease him even more, you fastened your fingers, moaning while your cunt sounded like Mingyu's favorite song, wet, luscious, mouthwatering, appetizing, tempting. He cries out, his hands together on his lap. "Please, I beg you, I missed you so bad." 

The room was charged with a blend of anticipation and surrender as you stopped, taking a moment to look at Mingyu's mournful face. The desire in his eyes was palpable, and the silent plea for what he had begged for lingered in the air.

With a subtle nod, you allowed him to fulfill his request. Mingyu, starved and eager, approached the task with a concentration that hinted at a deep desire to please you. As he held you with a gentle yet fervent touch, mouthing your pussy, licking you clean, his focus on your pleasure was unwavering. The way he clung to you conveyed a fear of losing you, made you mewl as he sucked your clit, you held onto the sheets, a silent anchor in the sea of sensations. Mingyu's devotion and the way he concentrated on your pleasure only intensified the building release within you. Like a wave, you're cumming all over his mouth and chin, he hums in response flickering your clit with his tongue.

"Enough." You breathe out, closing your legs. "Strip, and lay for me." 

Mingyu rose from the floor, a determined look on his face, seemingly oblivious to any discomfort his knees might be feeling. The sounds of his clothing being discarded echoed in the room, punctuated by the soft thud as he settled onto the bed. The mattress shifted as he moved closer, his warm touch caressing your arm.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his voice a low murmur, a hint of curiosity and desire lingering in the air.

"Don't touch me," you instructed Mingyu, your tone carrying a note of command as you climbed onto his lap. Leaving him momentarily frozen, his hands hovering in the air, uncertain of where to go.

The close proximity of his cock intensified the wetness between your thighs. Mingyu, eager and responsive, looked at you with a mix of desire and restraint, his hands now cautiously placed together on his chest.

The atmosphere crackled with a blend of dominance and submission as you straddled Mingyu, humping your wet pussy against his cock, your movements deliberate and provocative. His moans in response to your degrading words only heightened the intensity of the moment.

"Oh my god, look at you," you cooed, your voice a mix of mockery and desire. "I just stopped paying attention to you, and you came fucking begging me to talk with you. You're humiliating, Mingyu."

His moans, a symphony of pleasure and submission, filled the room. Mingyu's response to your degrading words conveyed a complex dance of desire and self-awareness. The acknowledgment that he deserved the degradation.

The room filled with a momentary hush as you sank your hips, Mingyu's length now fully inside. He shut his eyes, a silent surrender to the sensations that enveloped him. 

The unspoken admission hung in the air—though you wouldn't openly admit it, there was a trace of longing, a subtle acknowledgment that, despite the complexities, you had missed him a little. The air became charged with a mix of desire and restraint as your hips rode him, his length fully fulfilling the connection between you.

His angry tip brushed against that special spot, sending a surge of pleasure through both of you, cause now, you were so tight around him. "I'm going to cum, f-fuck"

"You better not." 

The charged atmosphere intensified as you edged Mingyu, denying him release, while simultaneously relishing in the control you held over his pleasure. He gasped for air, his eyes clenched shut, a desperate attempt to hold back as your dominating presence and the sensations of your movements threatened to overwhelm him.

Your hips moved with a purposeful intensity, driving him to the edge, and his body contorted in a desperate attempt to maintain control. The struggle was evident in the way his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure that surged through him.

"I-I can't hold it anymore," he stuttered, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

"If you cum, I will-"

The moment of release was inevitable. Mingyu's hot cum filled you, triggering your own orgasm, he cried out your name, making your wall clench harder around him.

As Mingyu managed a string of apologies, you allowed him to slide out of you, leaving his lap coated with both of your arousal, your legs damp with his seed. 

The scoff echoed in the room, a mix of amusement and assertion. However, your actions spoke a different language. As you tighten your legs around the sides of Mingyu's legs, restraining his movement, your hands take control, pumping his cock fast. The focus on his red tip elicited a loud cry from Mingyu, his back lifting off the mattress in response to the overstimulation.

The wet sounds filled the bedroom as the intensity of your touch drove him to the edge. Mingyu's hands gripped the pillow beneath his head, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the whirlwind of sensations that consumed him.

As Mingyu's body trembled under the heightened sensations, he felt a knot tightening in his abdomen, a sensation he hadn't anticipated. The overwhelming intensity built up to a point where he couldn't contain it anymore. A primal scream tore from his lips, his body convulsing in the throes of another orgasm.

His cum pooled on his abdomen, a physical manifestation of the powerful release that coursed through him. You observed his trembling body, struck by the raw intensity of his response. Mingyu's reaction seemed to surpass any previous experiences, his vulnerability and ecstasy on display in a way you hadn't witnessed before.

"Sorry, I came without your permission…"

"Enough with the sorry's, Mingyu," you said with a soft smile. "Let's just take a bath."

As the warm water cascaded around you, cleansing away the external worries, you both found solace in the simplicity of the moment. Emerging from the bath, you lay on the bed alone, the silence speaking volumes. Mingyu, holding his shirt, stood in contemplation. His gaze met yours, and he released a breath he seemed to have been holding.

The room felt charged with unspoken emotions when Mingyu finally gathered the courage to ask, "Can we sleep together tonight? Can I stay here with you?"

His eyes held a lot of shyness, and for a moment, you felt a genuine change in the air. You bit your lip, a subtle smile playing on your lips. In response, you patted the bed twice, a silent invitation for him to join you.

Mingyu threw his shirt away with a smile, a blend of shyness and excitement. He settled on the bed, maintaining a cautious distance, uncertain about what the night held. Your gaze met his, and you turned to face him. His eyes sparkled, and with a newfound boldness, he closed the gap and hugged you tightly.

"Don't be away from me again," he whispered, his voice tinged with vulnerability. And for the first time in those weeks, you let yourself savor the sweet taste of his pink soft lips, making him melt in response.

You smiled, your palms sliding gently along his back. The walls that once stood between you seemed to crumble as Mingyu embraced you, his actions speaking louder than any words. In that moment, it felt like a page turned, and a new chapter began.

Well, Seungkwan, you knew a lot. The five ways to have a man in the palm of your hand indeed. 

[frenchkisstheabyss]

✦ love poem ✦

✦ Pairing: dad!choi san x pregnant!chubby!fem!reader w/ appearances by ot8

✦ Genre: fluff/light angst

✦ Summary: Being pregnant during the holidays has been hectic. Especially for your fiance San whose tight work schedule has him under pressure. But when his best friend Hwa steps in to ease the burden on him by being there for you, it creates more jealousy than Christmas cheer.

✦ Word Count: 3.5k-ish

✦ Warnings: pregnant reader, occasionally strong language, some quick lusting after San while he's in the shower (nothing graphic), & that's all.

✦ A/N: I really wanted to write something sweet with like the tiniest bit of angst so there's nothing heavy here. It's mostly just lovey dovey shit cause, I mean, I'm a lover girl. What can I say?

Standing at the entrance of the tunnel of lights, you watch in awe as thousands of tiny bulbs twinkle to the tune of the Christmas music that coasts along the night air. Every year the local zoo holds a massive festival of lights to celebrate the holiday season. During your first year here San had plans to take you to opening night but, with his schedule being as unpredictable as it is, that never did happen. This year though, he promised that nothing would stop you from experiencing this together and he meant it.

As much as San and the rest of the boys hyped this place up to you, nothing could’ve prepared you for how breathtaking it is in person. It’s magical. The carnival rides, the little Christmas themed games, the stalls selling some of the best food you ever tasted. And the displays. They’re pure art. It may be too cold for the animals to be out but the elaborate light sculptures of them make up for it tenfold. Children race through the light tunnels while couples cuddle up in line for hot cocoa. If ever “Winter Wonderland” were a place this would have to be it.

“Stop running!” Hongjoong yells from behind you. Seconds later Mingi and Jongho dart past you in a blur. You turn in time to see the look of defeat on Hongjoong’s face as he approaches with the others close behind. “I swear sometimes they act like children,” he groans, “Take it from me. Don’t have kids. It��s not worth it.” Popping on a pair of knit gloves, Yunho gestures towards the pregnant belly rounding out your thick winter coat. “I think that advice is about 7 months too late.”

Hongjoong gasps in horror, “Oh. I mean, you know, except that one. I’m sure it’ll be a cute little thing.” You can only giggle at how flustered any mention of your pregnancy gets him. Hongjoong hasn’t quite grasped that San’s about to be someone’s dad. Even as your belly has grown, he’s managed to periodically forget what’s happening but he’s trying to be supportive and it’s sweet. Seonghwa pats you softly on the belly, laying his head on your shoulder, “Pay him no mind. She’ll be a cute little baby. Not a thing. I mean, look at her mom”

"Oh, Hwa, you’re too sweet” you blush, patting him on the cheek. “The baby! I think it kicked!” He’s right. You felt it. It’s about that time of night after all. The moment she could start kicking she did. Especially around bedtime. Suddenly they’re all gathered close around you staring at your stomach as if the baby will burst out at this very moment like some alien spawn. Woo kneels down in front of you, resting his hand behind Hwa’s. “Aah!” he squeals, “She’s saying hi to her uncles. Hi, baby!”

By now Mingi and Jongho have circled back, stopping dead in their tracks to see what all the fuss is about. “What’s going on?” Jongho asks, Mingi’s hat clenched in his hand. Mingi snatches his hat back, peering over Jongho’s shoulder, “It’s not happening is it?” Seeing the panic in his eyes, you immediately jump to calm him down, “Not yet. She’s kicking up a fuss. That’s all.” “So much like her dad already” Yeosang teases, just as San appears to push them aside. “Hands off!” he orders, shooing them away, “I go to the bathroom for two seconds and you’re already crowding my kid.”

The others just laugh, not expecting to witness such a perfect example of Yeosang’s statement so soon. “You okay? Everything okay?” he asks, fixing the scarf around your next and popping your hood over your head. “Baby, it’s not that cold.” “Temperature’s supposed to drop 5 degrees in the next half hour. Gotta stay toasty, honey.” San’s always been attentive, doing everything he could to make sure you were taken care of but the pregnancy has kicked it into overdrive.

Taking his hands, you give him a warm peck on the lips and flash a smile that soothes his worries. “I’m okay, Sannie. I promise. Now let’s go.” The tunnel’s far more mesmerizing from the inside than it is simply looking in. It feels like a portal to a different world, replacing the darkness of the night sky with constellations of red and green that guide you to the next section of the zoo. Each area has one unique to the space you’re about to step into.

A tunnel of mistletoe and vines for the flower garden. One built like a giant sleigh for the reindeer village. And that’s not even half of it. How anyone can make it through this place in one night is beyond you. Then again, not everyone is toting another human around in their belly. By the time you make it through the ice tunnel into the replica North Pole, your feet are killing you but you try to hold it together.

Between doctor’s appointments, work, redecorating the apartment, and a million other things that need to be done before the baby arrives, there’s been zero time to do anything fun. Calling it quits this early feels wrong. Especially since San's been so stressed lately. Spending time with the guys seems to be just the thing he needed to shake some of that off.

“How many more lights do we have to see before we’ve seen enough?” Mingi whines, dragging his feet. Alright, so maybe someone else is as over it as you are. Yunho slaps Mingi on the back, taking a deep breath, “Have some holiday cheer! We’re in such a beautiful place. Where else would you rather be?” “Somewhere warm! With food!” Woo adds, backing Mingi up. Jongho jumps it, never one to miss the opportunity, “And drinks! When’s the last time we all had drinks together?”

Hongjoong crosses his arms, throwing them some wicked side eye, until he realizes, “Actually it has been a while since we went out for drinks.” Woo wraps his arms around Yeosang, determined to rope him into this plan, “You in? Say yes. Say yes!” “Yeah, sure fine, whatever” Yeosang laughs, shrugging him off. Hwa clears his throat, preparing to be the bearer of bad news, “Well it’s not just us you guys. There’s kinda a 10th person here now.”

For a fleeting moment, you were able to detect some excitement on San’s face and Hwa’s words wipe it away in an instant. Everyone falls silent, not quite sure what to do with the awkwardness of the moment. “Hey,” you say, lovingly rubbing San’s chest, “Why don’t you go get those drinks?” “What? No. I’m not leaving you. We said we’d do this.” “We did and I’ve had the best time but, honestly, my feet hurt like shit.” “Then I’ll take you home and run some water so you can soak your feet” San insists, guiding you out of the way of an approaching crowd.

“San, please, for the love of god, go” you beg, looking to his friends for support. “I’ll take her home!” Hwa volunteers, “I’m not really up for drinking anyway.” San glares skeptically back and forth between the two of you. He wants to protest but he gets the sense that arguing with you is a losing battle and he’s right. “Fine” he relents, “But text me when you get home. Love you.” The way you light up when he finally gives in is one of the infinite reasons why he loves you the way that he does. “I will. Love you too.” “Love you three!” “Love you four!” you say, kissing him before Jongho begins to drag him in the other direction. “We’re not doing this all night! Let’s go!”

Parting ways is a sea of goodbyes and bickering that continues until you lose sight of the rest of the group. Hooking his arm into yours, Hwa directs you towards a festive snack stand not too far away. “Wanna eat like trash before we go home?” he offers with a mischievous grin, knowing San would murder him if he knew. You nod, playfully tearing up, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

“Baby, have you seen my keys?” you shout from the bedroom, digging through your purse for the third time. “Huh?” San calls back, the water rushing from the shower making it impossible to hear you. Shuffling down the hall, you pop your head into the bathroom. “I was asking if you’d seen my keys.” San peeks from behind the shower curtain, shampoo bubbles dripping down his sculpted cheekbones. In an instant, you forget all about your keys. What else could possibly matter when San’s standing here dripping wet, every muscle in his defined chest glistening like gold. Snap out of it. This is how you got pregnant in the first place. 

“I saw them by the stove I think.” “Thanks, ya cutie” you wink, ready to skip off to find them. “Wait,” he says before you can make it more than a step and a half away, “You’re all dressed up. Where are you going?” Scanning your outfit, you don’t see anything particularly “dressed up” about what you’re wearing. Some knit overalls with a cozy sweater underneath and your favorite boots are far from red carpet ready in your mind. “Hwa’s taking me shopping for decorations. Don’t you remember?” San frowns, only vaguely remembering the conversation, “Why didn’t you ask me?” “I did but you said you were busy today so Hwa offered to take me.” 

Your phone dings in your pocket. You fish it out and find a text message from Hwa telling you he’s outside. “Ooh, speak of the devil. Gotta run.” Carefully, you make your way across the bathroom floor, giving him a kiss that you struggle to keep innocent with the knowledge of what’s behind the curtain. “Have fun and tell Joong I said hi! I’ll bring you back something!” you sing and you’re off to find your keys. San’s frozen in place, unable to bring himself to move an inch. Even after he’s heard the apartment door close, it takes him a second to get back to his shower.

It’s been two weeks since the light festival and you’ve seen Hwa every few days since. Every time San’s too busy to do something Hwa’s right there to help. When did he become so available? You always come home so happy too. Were you that happy with him? Letting the water wash over his head, he tries to shake away his jealous thoughts.

You moved here to be with him and, in that time, the only friends you’d made were his. Hwa’s just being a good friend to the both of you, helping when San’s unable to. Thinking that it's anything else is ridiculous. All of the long hours spent working must be getting to him. Hwa would never...

You would never...

Neither of you would...

Right? Right? 

Pregnancy hormones. They’re the one thing no one can ever quite prepare you for. One minute you’re hanging ornaments on the tree, humming along to your music in a cozy pair of pajamas. The next you’re crying on the kitchen floor, stuffing your mouth with the cookies you baked for the holiday party tomorrow.

It’s nearly midnight and everything makes you emotional. The lights on the tree are too bright, your feet feel swollen, the cookies aren’t as sweet as you'd like, and suddenly you can’t stand the song that’s playing despite it being one of your favorites. You want everything off but then the house would be quiet and empty. You’d be reminded that you’re all alone until San comes home tomorrow and cry even harder.

You pull out your phone to call him but when you see the time you decide not to. His flight is in a few hours and he’s already told you what a long day he had. You’d hate to wake him up, to burden him any more than you feel you already have.  Just as you’re about to put your phone down it lights up. A text from Seonghwa. Some adorable video of a cat dressed up as one of Santa’s elves.

The poor thing looks miserable running around in that costume but it makes you laugh enough to stop you from spiraling. Taking a deep breath, you wipe away the tears blurring your vision and shoot a text back. 

You: Thanks. I really needed that.

Hwa: Why? Something wrong?

You: I’m having a crying thing. Kinda sad tonight.

Hwa: Need some company?

Without thinking, you type out the words “You don’t have to—” before erasing them and typing out something new. "Sure!"

It takes him no time at all to reach you. The streets are empty this time of night and he only lives a half hour away. Even if he lived two hours away—three hours away—he’d drive every single one of them to come support you. When you became someone special to San, you became someone special to him too. He’s never seen San more serious about anything than he's been about you and this baby. As much as he wishes that San would get out of his head a bit more, it’s cute to see him love something so much. 

“Anybody home?” Hwa whispers, his eyes narrowing when he notices that your front door is cracked. “Come in” you sob from the couch, blowing your nose for what feels like the 1000th time since you sent that last text. Hwa follows a trail of discarded tissues to find you curled up on the couch, as curled as you can be this far along in your pregnancy. “Hey, hey, don’t cry” he coos, easing himself down onto the couch and resting your head in his lap, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

You try to speak but you’re too short of breath to get anything out. Hwa strokes your hair, taking slow breaths in and out, “Follow me, okay? In and out.” You shake your head in protest. The whole room is closing in around you. You can’t do it. “Just try it. For me. Please” he begs so sweetly that you can’t refuse. Deep breath in, long breath out. The same way that they taught you in those birthing classes you went to. “This is total bullshit” you’d whispered to San at one point during the class but it turns out it isn’t bullshit at all. 

After a few seconds, the tightness in your chest eases and the room begins to open up. The world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re safe. Hwa sits with you in silence as your breathing quiets, dabbing away any rogue tears that drip down your cheeks. “Is San happy with me?” you ask, catching him off guard, “Is this too much for him, do you think?” Hwa laughs, knowing how extremely far from the truth both of those questions are. “Hwa, it’s not funny! I’m serious!” “I’m sorry! I’m not trying to make fun of you, it’s just—if you make him happy or not, that’s not a question. He’s crazy about you.”

Grabbing the small blanket folded over the back of the couch, he opens it up and tucks you in with it. “None of this is too much,” he swears, “You and her…” Hwa pokes your belly, making you giggle. “You guys are everything he’s ever wanted. He pushes himself so much because he wants to be perfect for you.” You yawn, Hwa’s presence and the warm blanket activating the exhaustion you’ve been fighting. “But he’s already perfect to me. Why can’t he see that?” “Mmm, it’s really hard sometimes to see ourselves the way other people do but he’ll come around. I promise.”

If there’s one similarity you’ve come to find between San and Hwa it’s how important promises are to them. If Hwa says he’ll come around then he will. They’d been friends for ages before you came into the picture. They’ve gone through more together than you can imagine. If Hwa's confident about it, then you have to believe it too. You drift off to sleep, your brain still spinning but much quieter now, trusting that everything will be just fine.

Right? Right? 

“Listen to yourself. You sound crazy!” Hwa snaps, trying his hardest not to raise his voice in the midst of his anger. San tosses his bags to the floor and they hit with a thud that shakes you from your sleep. “I come home to you cuddled up on the couch with her and I’m crazy?” “She texted me last night that she was crying. What was I supposed to do?” “Tell me! And let me take care of her! She’s not yours so stop treating her like she is!”

San’s jaw clenches, the jealousy he’s been harboring turning into true pain for the first time. He thought he had this under control. Those hours of talking with Woo about how stupid his suspicions were had chased off his insecurities. But coming in, tired and cranky from his flight, to see you so peacefully cuddled against Hwa had undone all of it. He wanted to kill him and the knowledge that he was the first one you reached for when you were hurting only adds fuel to the fire currently burning his self control to ash.

“Sannie?” you squeak, stretching out your cramped limbs, “What’s going on?” You sit up, eyes still squinted, to see what all of the fuss is about. Hwa hangs his head, unable to face you, “I think I should go. If you need me I’m here for both of you.” “Wait, no!” you say, doing your best to roll off of the couch and stop him but by the time you’re on your feet he’s gone. Turning your attention to San, you immediately sense his anger. Something happened and whatever it was has him fuming.

“Baby, what happened? You can talk to—” “Is there something going on between you two?” “What?” you laugh, placing your hands on your lower back for support. You keep laughing but the sharpness of his expression never changes. He’s actually waiting for an answer. “Oh god, you’re serious. You’re actually asking me if I’m fucking Seonghwa.” “I didn’t say that.” “But that’s what you’re saying. That’s what you think of me.”

You catch yourself wanting to cry again, only this time it isn’t because of the pregnancy hormones. It’s because you waited for days to see the man you love only to be accused of something like this. San can almost see the moment your heart breaks, making him regret his doubts in an instant. “He’s been helping me because I was worried about you burning yourself out. That’s it. I wouldn’t do that to you.” Your bottom lip quivers and the tears are rushing from your eyes again. “Fuck, I’m so tired of crying” you huff, flopping back down onto the couch. 

San’s at your side quicker than he’s ever been, his arms wrapped around you like he never wants to let go. “I’m sorry! Please don’t cry. I didn’t mean it. I know you’d never do that.” “Then why were you two arguing? Why even ask me?” “Because I’m afraid” he admits, leaving you both shocked at his admission. He’s scared, terrified, so much that it keeps him up at night. “I’m afraid I’m not good enough to be what you need me to be and it was easier to be jealous than to admit that.”

You’re frustrated enough that you could slap him but your body feels so at home in his embrace that you can’t pull away. “You’re good enough for me…for us, San. You have to believe me when I say that.” “Then why do you call him when you’re crying and not me?” “Because,” you sigh, “I’m afraid too. I don’t want to lean on you too much.” “What? Lean on me too much?” he asks, almost offended, “Lean on me all you want. What do you think I work out for?”

You giggle when you feel his muscles flex against you, “San, be serious!” “I am! Lean on me, please. We’re a team. I need you to trust me to be here.” You stare at him, your eyes beautiful enough to hypnotize him even when they’re clouded with tears. “You have to trust me to be here too, you know?” San kisses your forehead, one hand gently massaging your back, “I trust you, baby.” Closing your eyes a tingly feeling washes over you. Is it love? The Christmas spirit? The tingling is chased by a contraction stronger than any period cramp you’ve ever felt.

“The baby’s coming!” you shout, gripping your stomach. San jumps back in shock as if he didn’t know you were pregnant to begin with. “Are you sure?” “You said you trust me!” “I do! I do! Hold on!” Leaning you back on the couch, San darts around the apartment collecting all of the things he’s prepared over the last few months to make you comfortable when this happens. A bag packed with clothes for you and your favorite slippers. Phone chargers, baby wipes, stuffed animals, the snacks you love. The list is endless.

“I’ll pull the car up and come back for you, okay?” he says, propping your feet up on the coffee table as he tries to put your coat on. “Just get the car. I’m okay.” “You sure?” “I’m sure and San,” you say, grabbing his arm. “Yeah?” “You’re gonna be a great dad. The best ever.” San can’t fight the smile that spreads across his face or the slight reddening of his cheeks. You believe in him, you truly do, and for the first time, he does too.

[thoughtfulfiction]

Balancing Acts

Author’s Note: Anon requested this over a year ago but better late than never?

A Midsummer Night's Dream.

Some might think it too 'in your face' or 'overplayed’. They might think it too safe for a show meant to inspire awe. But to you, it seemed...right. A garden brimming with flowers and mystical creatures, tangled in romance and mischief. There's passion in it. It’s bold and colorful and…unpredictable. It's the kind of story that makes your heart beat faster, where danger dances with desire, and the outcome is never quite certain.

That’s what you wanted to capture.

Your job was simple in theory, but far from easy in practice. Research the concept, shape it into an immersive visual experience, and curate pieces that would breathe life into your chosen theme. Find artists who understood the delicate balance of whimsy and chaos, match their works with complementary pieces, and then somehow make it all flow together in a space big enough to handle the magic. Coordinate transportation. Manage fragile egos. Decide what would be shipped to the gallery in Los Angeles to stay and commemorate the moment and what would be auctioned off at a later date.

This project was your baby, your first real chance to prove yourself, not just as an art curator but as a leader. Your team here in Oregon was counting on you. There was no way you weren't about to pour every ounce of yourself into this opportunity.

Justin understood that. He always had.

He admired the fire in you, the way you threw yourself into your work with the same relentless focus he brought to football. That was what drew him in the most, the hunger you both carried. The belief that success didn’t just happen; it had to be earned. He loved that you didn’t need him to rearrange his life for you, that you both had your own ambitions but still chose to carve out time for each other because you wanted to.

It worked...until it didn’t.

During the season, your busy schedules had made your moments together feel sacred. When time was scarce, it felt precious. But now? Now that the season was over and Justin had more free time than he knew what to do with, that perfect balance you’d once found seemed to be slipping. While he was filling his days with extra workouts and deep dives into film, you were drowning in meetings, mood boards, and late-night calls with artists across the country.

You both knew what dedication looked like—but knowing didn’t make it any easier.

The arguments started small.

The bathroom light was still on when Justin walked past, and he stopped in the doorway. Your makeup bag was sprawled across the counter. Various brushes, palettes, and bottles of miscellaneous products sprawled out like you’d abandoned them mid-routine.

"Seriously?" Justin muttered to himself.

He turned off the light and walked downstairs, trying to shake the irritation. But then he saw your carry-on bag, the same one you’d left by the door three days ago, still sitting there like an afterthought.

He rubbed his hand down his face and exhaled sharply.

"Hey," he called out, louder than necessary.

You were at the dining table, laptop open again. Of course.

"What’s up?" you asked distractedly, barely looking up from your screen.

"Your bag’s still by the door," Justin said, forcing his voice to stay calm. "Can you just... take it upstairs or something?"

"I will," you mumbled, typing away.

He waited, but you didn’t move.

"And maybe put your makeup away too?" His voice had a sharper edge this time. "The counter’s a mess."

That made you pause. You blinked up at him, eyebrows pinching together.

"I said I’d get to it."

"Yeah, but you’ve been saying that since Monday," Justin shot back. "It’s not that hard to just put your stuff away when you’re done."

Your mouth opened like you were about to argue, but instead, you closed your laptop with more force than necessary.

"I’m sorry I didn’t have time to deep clean the house between meetings and emails and, oh yeah, trying to keep my career from falling apart," you snapped.

Justin’s jaw tightened. "That’s not what I’m saying."

"Isn’t it?" You stood up, crossing your arms. "Because it feels like you’ve got some things to say about everything I do...or don’t do."

"Maybe because it feels like I’m living with a toddler right now," Justin shot back, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "It wouldn’t kill you to put your stuff away instead of waiting for me to nag. Just—” he paused, trying to collect himself. “Did you realize this is our first conversation we’ve had all week that didn’t include you cutting it short because you’re too busy? Almost forgot what your voice even sounds like.”

Your face softened for a second, like you might let the frustration slip away... but then your shoulders squared again.

"I’m trying my best, Justin."

"Yeah?" His tone a bit dismissive. "Because right now, it kinda feels like I’m the only one who still cares."

The silence that followed was thick and heavy, not angry, just…hollow.

"Right, ok I’ll just move the bag," you said quietly before walking upstairs, your footsteps fading one by one.

Justin stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where your bag had been, frustration still simmering in his chest—but beneath it, the loneliness started to creep in.

You solved the problem a hour later, uttering out a hushed apology hugging him from behind, feeling the tension rapidly ease from him.

For a few days things felt normal again, you were still busy but more present.

Dinners were less rushed, and Justin caught glimpses of the girl he’d fallen for, the one who asked about his workouts and teased him about his endless devotion to studying film. He didn’t mind when you worked late a few nights that week because when you were home, you were with him, stealing fries off his plate, or pausing in the hallway just to kiss him before heading upstairs.

Tiny but meaningful reminders that you were still with him even though you were drowning in work.

But then, the late nights crept back in. The unanswered texts. The quiet moments that used to feel warm now felt empty...again.

The living room was quiet except for the low hum of the TV. Justin shifted on the couch, glancing over at you. You were curled up on the far end, legs tucked beneath you, laptop balanced on your knees. The soft glow from the screen reflected off your face, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the keyboard.

He waited a moment, watching you, hoping you’d close it soon.

You didn’t, so he cleared his throat to get your attention.

"What are you working on?" he asked, voice low.

"Just some research." You didn’t look up.

Justin let his eyes linger on you, waiting for you to close the laptop or at least turn his way. Normally, by this time of night, you’d be tucked into his side, your head resting against his shoulder. He’d have an arm draped around you, explaining some new defensive scheme he was learning, not that you really cared about football strategy, but you always listened, always asked questions. Then, when it was your turn, you’d ramble on about artists he’d never heard of, painting vivid pictures with your words until the names started to blur together. He never minded. You could’ve been reading a thesaurus and he’d still hang onto every word.

That felt like a lifetime ago.

Justin’s fingers tapped restlessly against his thigh. He turned back to the TV, barely processing the basketball game playing on the screen. After a few minutes, he tried again.

"Hey...you wanna turn that off soon? Maybe put on a movie or something?"

"I can’t right now," you murmured. "I’ve still got a few more things to look through."

He swallowed the sigh threatening to rise. A few more things. That’s what you’d said last night—and the night before that.

"Yeah... okay." His voice came out flat.

You didn’t notice. Or if you did, you didn’t say anything.

Justin shifted again, settling deeper into the cushions, but it didn’t help. The couch felt too big tonight. He swallowed down the ache that had been building for a few days and tried again the next night.

"I was thinking about redoing the patio," Justin said, his voice casual but hopeful.

You were lounging on the corner of the couch, scrolling through your phone, half-listening.

"Hmm?" you murmured, barely glancing up.

Justin shifted in his seat, leaning forward slightly. "Yeah, like maybe adding one of those fire pits? And some string lights across the posts, make it feel more...I don't know...cozy or something."

"Mmm...yeah, that sounds nice." Your thumb kept swiping.

Justin pressed his lips together, trying not to get annoyed.

"I found this video where they built this whole setup with built-in seating, and I figured I could probably knock it out in a couple of weeks," he went on, searching for some kind of reaction. "Might even try staining the deck, too. I was thinking—"

He stopped mid-sentence.

You were still scrolling, eyes flicking across the screen. You nodded like you’d heard him, but your focus was somewhere else entirely.

Justin waited a beat longer, hoping you’d look up, knowing you wouldn't.

"Never mind," he muttered.

"Hmm? What?" Your head lifted slightly, like you were only just registering that he’d stopped talking.

"Nothing," Justin said, forcing a tight smile. "It’s not important."

"Okay." You went right back to your phone.

Justin sat back against the couch, staring at the TV—but his mind wasn’t on the screen.

A few months ago, you would’ve put your phone down. You would’ve asked a dozen questions, what color stain he was thinking of, what kind of fire pit he wanted, maybe even teased him about turning into a handyman.

Now? It felt like you were a million miles away.

He had to say something. He had to do something before all that was left of the relationship was a few distant memories and penciling each other into calendars like you were distant strangers.

Justin wanted to be surprised when he pulled into the garage and the lights were off because you weren’t home yet. He wanted his feelings to be hurt less than they were, to be less emotionally invested in you—but here he was, ready to try again, continuously feeling like you were emotionally checked out until your project was over.

He sighed, tossing his keys onto the counter and toeing off his sneakers. The house felt cold, too quiet—like no one had really lived in it for weeks.

"This isn’t how it’s supposed to be," he muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

Then—

"SURPRISE!"

Justin flinched as the lights burst to life, a chorus of voices filling the room. His eyes widened as familiar faces emerged from the crowd—Charlie, Tate and Jackson—even some friends from Sheldon who rarely made it out this way.

Confetti fluttered through the air, laughter spilling from the corners of the room. His heart was still hammering in his chest when you stepped forward, grinning wide.

"You knew I’d hate this," Justin said, his voice caught between shock and amusement.

"I know," you laughed. "But you deserve it. You’re lucky I didn’t make you wear a birthday pin."

Justin exhaled, finally taking it all in — the decorations strung carefully along the walls, photos of the two of you pinned to a board near the kitchen, and the unmistakable scent of his mom’s chocolate chip cookies lingering in the air.

"I…" he started, shaking his head as he looked around. He’d already greeted half the room, yet somehow still felt overwhelmed. "I don't even know what to say. Where did everyone even park? I didn’t see any cars outside."

You smiled proudly. "Made everyone park out back. Couldn't risk my surprise being ruined."

You took a step closer, sliding your arms around his waist. Justin hesitated for a second — not out of anger, but out of disbelief that you’d pulled this off when you were the busiest you’ve ever been.

"Happy birthday, baby," you whispered against his chest.

For a moment, Justin didn’t say anything—just held you tighter, pressing his face into your hair. The tension that had been building for weeks seemed to melt away, leaving something familiar in its place. This was exactly what he needed and he could cry at knowing that you knew that and did everything you could to give it to him.

"You’re impossible," he murmured, but there was no bite to it, just relief.

"You love it."

"I love you," he corrected, grabbing your hand and leading you to his friends so you can explain in vivid detail how you managed all of this without him catching on.

The morning light filtered softly through the windows, casting a warm glow across the kitchen. Justin stood at the counter, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a streak of flour dusting his forearm. You were perched on the opposite side, aggressively scraping the last bit of cream cheese frosting from the mixing bowl with a spatula.

"Hey," Justin protested, reaching for the bowl. "We still need some of that for the cake."

You dodged his grab, licking a dollop of frosting from your finger. "Relax, baker boy, there’s still plenty."

"Yeah, plenty in your mouth," he shot back, grabbing your wrist with one hand and swiping frosting onto your cheek with the other.

You let out an indignant gasp before lunging for him, but Justin laughed and held you off with one arm, the other steadying the mixing bowl.

"Okay, okay!" you surrendered, giggling breathlessly. "Truce!"

He grinned, leaning in to kiss the frosting off your cheek.

By the time the cake was in the oven, slightly lopsided but full of love, you were both sprawled out on the couch in your pajamas, wrapped in blankets, a half-eaten bowl of popcorn between you. Inception was playing, but neither of you were fully committed to following the plot. Justin could probably quote the entire movie from memory.

"So," he murmured, his head resting against the back of the couch, "the baby ducks should be here in a few days."

You turned your head to look at him, smiling softly. "You ready for them?"

He nodded proudly. "Everything’s set — heat lamp’s on, bedding’s down. I even read that if you talk to them a lot when they’re little, they’ll follow you everywhere."

"Great," you teased. "We’ll have a trail of fluffballs running after you like you’re some kind of duck whisperer."

Justin’s face lit up. "Yeah, well, I’m gonna be their favorite. You’re just gonna be ‘that lady.’"

"Please," you shot back, grinning. "I give it two days before they’re imprinted on me instead."

He hummed thoughtfully, then added, "I read they like warm baths, too. Oh, and they have this little happy noise they make when they’re comfortable, kind of like a soft whistle—"

You blinked at him. "Okay, Phil Dunphy."

Justin’s head shot up in mock offense. "Don’t talk about our children like that."

You burst out laughing, wrapping your arm around his and tilting your head up to kiss him. It was almost scary how seamlessly you two fell back into your normal, cozy routine.

As the credits rolled, Justin shifted to face you. "Hey...what if we do something special the night before your art show?"

You glanced up at him curiously.

"I'll hire a private chef," he said, his voice warm and hopeful. "Just the two of us—fancy dinner, good wine, the whole thing. Relax a bit the night before it gets crazy."

Your heart swelled. "You don’t have to do that.”

"I want to," Justin said firmly. "You've been working your tail off, we should celebrate your big break. Just the two of us."

You nodded, smiling as you reached for his hand. "I can’t wait."

"Me neither," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You sighed happily, your fingers lacing through his. "I don’t deserve you."

Justin shook his head. "You’re stuck with me anyway."

The week flew by in a blur — a whirlwind of emails, late-night revisions, and endless checklists. The power suit collection in your closet was really running low.

You barely remembered what day it was anymore. The guest list was finalized after hours of combing through names and double-checking RSVPs. Each piece had been meticulously positioned in the gallery, sculptures casting dramatic shadows across the walls while delicate paintings softened the space. The fountain, the centerpiece of your entire vision, now flowed beautifully, light dancing off the rippling water and making the entire room feel like Shakespeare's words come to life.

It was perfect.

"We did it," you breathed, standing beside your team in the gallery’s dim light.

"We deserve a drink or something," a coworker suggested, and you didn’t hesitate.

One drink turned into two. Two turned into lingering conversation about favorite exhibits and upcoming projects, the kind of easy bonding you’d been too busy to enjoy lately. It felt good. Like you could finally breathe.

But when you pulled your phone from your purse, your stomach dropped.

9:42 p.m.

"Shit," you muttered under your breath, scrambling to gather your things. Justin’s dinner.

You’d forgotten.

The pit in your stomach only grew heavier as you speed-dialed him, the phone ringing and ringing before finally going to voicemail.

"Hey. I’m so sorry. I lost track of time, but I’m on my way now. Please just—please wait for me."

Quickly ended the call, you shoved your phone back in your bag as you hurried out the door. The cold air hit you in the face like a slap—sharp and biting—and you couldn’t help but feel like you deserved it.

You stumbled through the front door, breathless and still slightly chilled from the night air. The house was quiet — eerily so. No sounds from the kitchen, no clatter of dishes or low conversation from the chef Justin had hired. Your eyes landed on the dining room, and your stomach twisted painfully.

The table was still set. Candles flickered softly, their wax dripping down in delicate rivulets. Plates were arranged neatly with silverware untouched. A bottle of wine—unopened—sat between two glasses. Justin was there, too, slouched back in his chair with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

He didn’t look at you when you walked in.

"Justin..." Your voice wavered as you stepped closer. "I’m so sorry. I—I lost track of time, and—"

"Yeah," he cut in flatly. His eyes flicked up to you then, sharp, tired, and unmistakably hurt. "I figured."

You swallowed hard, guilt swelling inside you. "I should’ve texted you. I should’ve checked my phone or set an alarm or something. I just...I got caught up, and I didn’t mean to—"

"You didn’t mean to," Justin repeated, shaking his head bitterly. "Yeah, I know. But you always ‘didn’t mean to.’"

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Because he wasn’t wrong.

"I waited," Justin said, his voice quieter now, but somehow heavier. "I sat here for almost an hour hoping you’d walk in any second. The chef packed everything up and left, and I...I didn’t even know what to tell him." He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t keep feeling like this — like I’m some afterthought you’ll get around to whenever you remember."

"That’s not fair," you said quickly, stepping closer. "You know how important this show is to me, I’ve been working for this for so long—“

"I know," he snapped, his voice sharper than before. "I know you’re busy. I know this project means everything to you. But dammit, I’m trying. I’m trying to be patient, to be understanding, but it feels like I’m just...just waiting around for you to have time for me."

"That’s not true. I promise it’s not.”

"Isn’t it?" His voice cracked just slightly, frustration transforming into hurt and disappointment. "You’re never home. You miss things you used to care about. I mean...hell, you couldn’t even set an alarm or check your phone tonight so I wouldn’t sit here like an idiot waiting for you to show up."

You blinked hard, heat rising behind your eyes. "I am so unbelievably sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"But you did." Justin shook his head, pushing back from the table with a scrape of the chair legs. "And I can’t keep being the only one fighting for this."

Your breath caught. "That’s not fair," you said again, but your voice cracked this time.

"It’s exactly fair," he shot back. "I’ve been here, waiting, adjusting, giving you space. And I’m still the one left sitting at the table alone."

You sighed, trying to tamp down the irritation simmering beneath your guilt. "Yes, okay, you're right. I'm really sorry I'm so late. And I get it—you have every right to be upset. I fucked up. I admit that. But I’m usually the one waiting for you. It’s usually me sitting at the table alone.”

"What are you talking about?"

"Football season?" Your voice wavered, a little more frustration bleeding in. "How many dates have we canceled? Or ones that you literally just forgot about? Things that I want to do with you, but I have to wait until the offseason when it’s more ideal. I'm usually the one adjusting to your schedule, bending over backwards to adjust and yes, I knew what I signed up for—but I’m not gonna let you make me feel like shit when you do the same thing."

Justin’s face twisted, defensive and stubborn. "That’s different."

"Different?" Your voice rose. "How exactly?"

"Because I get paid an absurd amount of money to play football," he shot back.

For a moment, you just stared at him, disbelief washing over you. "Wow," you said quietly, your voice hollow. "So because I’m not a millionaire with endorsements, my job doesn’t matter?"

"That’s not what I meant," Justin said quickly, but you were already reeling. His words felt like a gut punch—not because you thought he believed that, but because it had been too easy for him to say it.

"It must be so hard to handle it when the world doesn’t revolve around your schedule? Right, QB1?” You utter slowly, lashing out at him like he’d just done to you. “Not everything is happening the way Justin wants it to so he's mad. But hey, you're a multi millionaire so it's fine. Right? I'll just take myself and my unimportant job with an insufficient salary and sleep in the guest room tonight." You bit out, voice shaking.

Justin’s jaw tensed. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?" you shot back, bitterness spilling out. "Call you out for acting like I’m supposed to drop everything just because you suddenly have free time?" You let out a short, humorless laugh. "You don’t get to act like I’m selfish just because I’m asking for a little bit of the same grace I give you all the time."

"You stood me up," Justin said tightly.

“And I apologized! Multiple times.”

He sighs, knowing this conversation should end but not knowing how he wants to end it. “So I’m supposed to just forgive you as soon as you say I’m sorry because you want me to make you feel better? I don’t think that’s very fair.”

"Neither is you acting like my job is just some hobby," you countered, your voice quieter now but trembling with frustration. "I love what I do. And I thought you did too."

Justin scrubbed a hand down his face. He didn’t have a comeback this time. Instead, he exhaled a sharp breath and muttered, "I just...I just miss you."

Your chest ached.

"I miss you too," you admitted softly.

But neither of you moved. Justin stood near the counter, arms crossed like armor, and you stood by the door, clutching your bag like a shield. The space between you felt heavier than it ever had before.

"I'm going to sleep," you said quietly, your voice strained. "Long day tomorrow."

He nodded, but didn’t respond. Too many emotions tangled in his head—anger, exhaustion and there was this ache in his bones that felt a little too close to heartbreak for his liking. The two of you rarely fought but this felt like popping a stitch post surgery. Everything was bleeding and he didn’t have a bandaid big enough to stop it. He’d already put his foot in his mouth once tonight, and pushing more words out felt like stepping on thin ice. Maybe giving you space was the safest option.

You didn’t look back. The sound of your footsteps fading down the hall felt louder than anything else in the room. Justin stayed at the table long after you were gone—staring at the untouched place settings, the empty wine glasses, the flickering candle that had burned halfway down.

He thought about blowing it out, ending the night for good but something stopped him. Instead, he let it burn a little longer, just in case you changed your mind and came back.

The gallery was breathtaking, exactly how you’d imagined it. The air smelled faintly of fresh grass and wildflowers, thanks to the indoor garden exhibit that stretched along the far wall. Real grass lined the floor, soft and cool beneath guests’ shoes. Vibrant blooms—deep purple foxgloves, bright yellow primroses, delicate white baby’s breath—spilled from carefully arranged beds. Guests wandered through the space, running their fingers along petals and stems, murmuring in awe at the tangible beauty of it all.

Nearby, a towering fairy sculpture commanded attention. Sculpted from twisted metal vines and glass wings that shimmered under soft lighting, she looked like she could spring to life at any moment. She stood at the heart of the exhibit, arms outstretched as if casting a spell over the enchanted garden.

Paintings framed the walls, some bold and chaotic, bursting with color and motion; others soft and dreamlike, capturing tender moments frozen in time. A large mural stretched across one wall—Titania and Oberon entwined in a dance of power and passion, their figures bathed in hues of gold and silver. The entire space felt like stepping inside A Midsummer Night’s Dream—ethereal, magical, and intoxicating.

Your boyfriend's family had shown up in full support. His parents admired the sculptures, his mother pointing out details with genuine excitement. His brothers Mitch and Patrick lingered near the drink station, sipping glasses of wine while greeting guests with warm smiles.

Justin stood beside you through most of the evening, stood being the key word. No casual arm around your waist. No fingertips grazing your back like they usually did. When guests stopped to compliment you, he smiled and congratulated you but his voice was clipped, his eyes distant. The tension between you hung thick in the air, impossible to ignore.

When his hand brushed yours at one point, you both instinctively pulled away as if burned.

Patrick noticed.

A little later, Patrick found Justin near the back of the room, pretending to study one of the paintings.

"Alright," Patrick said, crossing his arms. "What’s going on?"

"Nothing," Justin muttered.

"Yeah, right." Patrick took a sip of his drink. "You and her are acting like two people who just finalized their divorce and are pretending to be civil for the sake of the kids."

Justin huffed out a bitter laugh. "It's fine. Just... had a fight."

Patrick’s brow lifted. "Okay. About what?"

Justin hesitated, but Patrick wasn’t about to let him off the hook. His little brother had never been one for subtlety.

"Justin." His voice firm now.

"She was late to dinner last night," Justin said finally. "I planned this whole thing — private chef, the works and she just...forgot." He shook his head, frustration flickering again. "I waited for almost an hour. It felt like I didn’t even matter."

Patrick didn’t say anything at first, just stared at his brother like he was trying to piece something together.

"Look, I get why you're mad," Patrick said slowly. "But... you're not just pissed at her. You're pissed at yourself."

Justin blinked. "What? No. I—"

"Yes, you are." Patrick cut him off. "You’re dating a workaholic, Justin. And guess what? You’re a workaholic too. So last night?" He gestured vaguely. "That’s how she feels for six months out of the year. At least. And you know what? She never throws it in your face. Never makes you feel like crap for being too busy. And she still chooses you, every single day."

Justin swallowed hard, his eyes shifting back toward you across the room. You were laughing politely at something one of the guests had said, but your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"So yeah," Patrick continued. "She’s been busy lately, and yeah, maybe she’s been a little distant —but can you really blame her for being the thing she’s always been? The thing that attracted you to her the most in the first place? You wanted someone with their own career and their own ambitions and life goals too, remember? Now that you have it, you gotta learn give and take. Yes, being stood up sucks, but look at the masterpiece she created. She supports you in the stands every Sunday and now you get to show up for her big game. It may not look exactly the way you pictured it,” he nudged him after his play on words and Justin hates that he laughed. “But this is the life you said you’ve always wanted. And the person you’ve always wanted to live it with.”

Justin let out a long breath, feeling that tight knot of anger slowly start to unravel and he felt something else entirely, guilt and regret.

"I’m a hypocrite," Justin said quietly. “I messed up.”

"Then fix it," Patrick said simply. "Don’t let your pride make you screw this up."

Justin didn’t answer. He just stood there, watching you from across the room looking beautiful, exhausted, and so far away.

The energy in the gallery buzzed as guests mingled, glasses clinking and quiet conversations filling the air. The night was building toward your speech, the moment you’d worked so hard for. But as you stood near the back, trying to gather your thoughts, you felt a familiar hand on your elbow.

“Hey,” Justin said quietly.

You turned, surprised to see him standing so close. His expression was softer than it had been all night—less guarded, less angry—and something in your chest tightened.

“Can we talk?” he asked.

You glanced toward the small stage where your microphone waited, then back at him. “Yeah,” you said, voice barely above a whisper.

He guided you to a quieter corner near the garden exhibit. The soft glow of the fairy sculpture bathed you both in gold and silver light, flickering off Justin’s tired eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low but firm. “For last night...for how I acted...for making you feel like your work doesn’t matter.” He shook his head. “That was...that was messed up, and I knew it the second I said it.”

You swallowed hard, heart aching. “I’m sorry too,” you said quickly. “Not just for last night, but...for a lot of things. For being distracted, for not being around, for leaving my stuff everywhere and acting like I didn’t hear you when you were trying to talk about the patio.”

“You... you heard that?” he asked, surprised.

“Of course I did.” You gave a small, tired smile. “I know you want to put in a fire pit and string lights across the posts. I know you’ve been researching ways to keep the baby ducks warm and reading up on all the best practices. I know you’ve been trying, Justin.” Your voice wavered. “Even when I’ve been too busy to show it... I’ve been paying attention. I always pay attention.”

Justin exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. “I was just...I don’t know. I was mad—but I was also hurt. And I guess...embarrassed. Like, what kind of guy throws himself a pity party because his girlfriend had an important work thing?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I ruined your night.”

“You didn’t,” you said softly. “You didn’t ruin anything. The fact that you’re here tonight... that’s what matters to me.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The warmth of his hand found yours, his fingers threading through yours like they always did and you swore the Earth was healing.

“You know,” you said, your voice soft but steady, “my favorite thing about you has always been how driven you are. How dedicated you are to being the best quarterback, the best teammate, the best leader you can be.” You squeezed his hand. “You’re the blueprint, baby.”

Justin smiled—not his usual grin, but one that radiated gratitude and joy in its most pure form.

“Thank you for always being patient with me. And,” he murmured, “you were QB1 this week. Seriously...I’ve never seen a more clutch performance.” He smirked. “Might have to watch your film—learn a thing or two.”

You laughed, for the first time in what felt like weeks, and Justin leaned in, pressing his lips softly to yours. The kiss was warm, light, and grounding, like finding your way home after being lost.

“You’ve got this,” he said quietly when he pulled back. “I’ll be right here.”

Moments later, you stood in front of the room, microphone in hand.

“Thank you all so much for being here tonight,” you began, voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside you. “This project has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but also one of the most rewarding.”

You paused, glancing out at the crowd. Your parents stood proudly near the front, and beside them, Justin watched you with that familiar look, the one that said he was proud of you and would be right there to cheer you on no matter what.

“I want to thank my incredible team for bringing this vision to life,” you continued. “I want to thank my friends and my family for believing in me, even on the days I didn’t believe in myself.” Your eyes found Justin again. “And I especially want to thank my partner. Because his work ethic is a work of art—and he inspires me every single day.”

Justin’s smile stretched wide, and this time, you let your gaze linger, a quiet promise passing between you.

You were both still learning, still figuring out how to meet each other in the middle. How to find that delicate work-life balance and still make each other a priority. But tonight? The middle wasn’t so bad.

[ddejavvu]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE can we get reader being harassed by some guy in an alleyway and hotch is walking by with the team (perhaps going to get drinks after wrapping up a case) AND HE LIKE STEPS IN AND THREATENS THE GUY?? MAYBE EVEN FLASHES HIS BADGE OR SM. Basically I'm thirsty for some protective!hotch <3

You're reminded of how unpredictable life can be when you're yanked backwards unexpectedly, tugged into the darkness of a shadowed alley between two buildings. Five seconds before you'd been thinking about dinner, and now you're not sure you'll live to see another meal.

"Cash," The man grunts, his mouth pressed to your ear as his arm cuts tight around your neck, "I need cash."

"My- my bag," You whimper, frozen stiff in fear and rendered useless, "I- I don't have much, but you- you can take it."

He throws you forwards, ripping your bag off of your shoulder in one fluid motion. He rifles through it while you relearn the art of breathing, but before he can pull your measly collection of bills from the inside pocket of your wallet, there's a gun over your shoulder pointed at his head.

For a moment, you're so dazed that you honestly think you might be holding it. But you don't have a gun, and your wrist doesn't have the dark, wiry hair on it that you see beneath a grey sleeve of whoever's got the weapon.

"Drop the purse, and the knife." A voice booms through the alleyway, deep and firm. If it was directed at you, you'd spook like a horse, and your assailant looks properly terrified.

"It's just a little cash, man," Your attacker tries, "I- I know her! She's my girlfriend."

Your savior knows he's lying before you shake your head vigorously, but you do it anyways, because sitting there and doing nothing feels wrong.

"You've already assaulted someone in front of a federal agent, don't make it worse for yourself by lying about it, too. You're lucky I don't have my cuffs with me or I'd haul you into the back of my SUV and take you down to the station right now. Instead, you're going to drop the purse, and the weapon, and run as fast as you can, because the more time you sit there and let me look at you, the better my chances are of describing you to a sketch artist and placing a warrant out for your arrest."

By the middle of the man's speech, your attacker is trembling just as much as you are. He drops your bag and his knife on command, barely avoiding tripping over the edge of the gutter drain as he flees the scene.

As soon as the gun isn't necessary anymore, the man behind you stashes it in a holster, but you can't see, your back feels permanently adhered to the wall you'd backed up against.

"You're okay," The man assures you, and his voice is much more soothing at a softer tone. He bends to gather your purse, tucking a tube of chapstick back into its confines before holding it out as a peace offering to you.

"He's gone," He promises, ducking down where your eyes are stuck to peer worriedly at you. He has a handsome face, but it's pinched in concern, big brown eyes dripping with care, "And I will put that warrant out for his arrest. Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

"No," You breathe, still pressed to the wall even as you shake your head, "No, he- Thank you, I- I don't know what I would have done without you."

"I usually show up to these things a little late," He grimaces, dropping your purse back down to his side and holding out an empty hand instead, "Can I help you get where you were going?"

"Home." You mutter, "I was- I was going home. After work."

"I can drive you there, if you'd like." He offers, pleased when you reach out with a shaky hand to take his own, "Or we can walk, whichever you prefer. I just want to make sure nothing else happens."

"Um, I- I can pay for a ride. Here," You take your purse back, tugging a bill out that you're lucky to still possess, "If- it's just down the street, if you really don't mind."

"Keep it," He pushes your hand back towards your purse, "I just stopped a guy from taking your money, I'm not gonna do the same. My car's right outside, okay? Let me help you there. And- uh," He rifles through his jacket, "I wasn't lying about being an agent." He showcases a black-covered badge, Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner written in bold lettering beneath his name, "You'll be safe with me."

"Okay," You nod, accepting the hand that he holds your arm with to ease you off of the wall and onto your shaky legs, "Uh, thank you, Agent- Hotchner."

"No need." He murmurs, eyes scanning the crowd to make sure there's no sign of your assailant, "Let's just get you home safe, honey."

[sporeclan]

Sorry this may be a bit of a ramble I talk a lot-

I’ve been wanting to try making a clangen comic for a while, since I’ve seen so many cool ones and I’ve tried out the game (admittedly just the web version) and had a lot of fun. I haven’t done so yet because I haven’t been into warrior cats in a while and it felt poser-ish, and ALSO I’m still getting back into the groove of drawing cats, but this blog is SO COOL and it’s making all the inspiration come back and AUGH!

So I may make a comic eventually, and if I do, thank you for the inspiration!!! That may mean restarting my clangen save, but I do reaaally like a few of the cats so idk…

I really really like your characters and art, it’s all very cool and I have so much admiration for people who can make a full story out of something so unpredictable. I stumbled across this blog at a pretty late moon and then read from the beginning, and when I realized mushroompaw wasn’t in the later moons I was really sad bc I knew she had to die… my favourite kbity…

But yeah just wanted to say your stuff is very cool! Sorry for dumping 3 paragraphs in your inbox 😭

AWHHH this is one of the sweetest asks I've ever received, thank you so much :'D I'm so honoured to have inspired you! I look forward to what you come up with if you do end up making something!!! <3

It is just straight up them sneaking off to places they shouldn't just to search for Cinnamonpaw :'] They felt so bad about their own percieved failure to protect him that they were still actively searching for him for a good year after he was lost </3

Nope, they don't know anything about what Mousegrove did, and even if they had an inkling, I don't think they'd even want to entertain the thought. The only cat currently in the clan who knows for certain is Puddle, and maybe Crowstar has a twinge of doubt about it too.

LMAOOOO honestly so so so valid and fair

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 General’s Day Off

♡ featuring: jing yuan x f!reader

♡ summary: the general has been stressed as of late. a day of relaxation is what he needs. wc: 2.8k+

♡ cw/tw: non-sexual nudity, fluff!

notes: whew I've been waiting to do some jing yuan fluff for a while my lil smoochie. the next one is gonna be so long oof but I can't wait. art by ArtRobiins on twitter :) <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

The dozing general hadn’t had a moment of peace since Phantylia’s invasion. The Xianzhou Luofu was still recovering from betrayal, and its people were on edge ever since. Jing Yuan wouldn’t admit his weaknesses, but the welfare of his people weighed on his consciousness greatly. It bled through his ghostly skin and sinking eyebags stretching at the tired corners. The threat of another disruption loomed, and so he obsessively prepared for the untold attack. He busied himself with preventative measures, documents upon documents stacked on his desk. Yanqing had never seen him behave so adamantly, so sure of some eventual calamity. Though his demeanor reflected that of a lazy, carefree man, his heavy heart and soul bore the curse of immense grief. He needed to portray a headstrong and unwavering strength, otherwise the reality of his situation would be too apparent to the Luofu. His close friends were lost to the unpredictable winding ties of fate; he couldn’t stand to mourn another. Especially with you around. 

If you and Yanqing weren’t by his side, he would be undoubtedly consumed by sorrow. Your warm smile on the mild sunrise planted a blossoming light in that dimming core. Patience was a virtue when it came to his stubbornness; you could tell he was unwell, but whenever you voiced your concerns, he aimed to ease your worries with fleeting promises of rest. He would sooner die than see tears in your eyes at his affliction. Bailu was overseeing his recovery, until he proclaimed a sudden influx of health, and steadied his posture as if it was as spry as before. Yanqing attempted to keep him in her care, but he was forced to watch Jing Yuan push himself beyond inherent limitations. 

Mornings on the Luofu are always quiet. It gets hectic during the afternoon, so you take the opportunity to do some calming activities. Jing Yuan was already gone before you woke; he hadn’t been getting much sleep lately. You stir the dark bitter substance in your cup and stare out at the endless blue, pondering how you fell in love with such an obdurate man. That is, before you glimpse his half naked body dreaming, shadowed by the snowy curls spilling down his back in your memory. You can’t help but smile. 

You receive a knock at the door, and rush to answer it. These days, news about Jing Yuan and another injury shaded your mind. You open the door, and it’s Yanqing, at attention as if he’s facing the general. 

“Good morning, ma’am, I have something to report” he says, straight and dutiful. You giggle at his professionalism, and a tinge of pink grazes his ears. “It is a good morning. You know you don’t have to be so formal with me, Yanqing.” He drops the soldier-like pose and sighs with a slouch. “I know, ma’am. But I really need to talk to you.” You invite him to come inside, and you both sit at the dining table quietly. You notice him shifting uncomfortably in the chair, a far stare in his contemplation. 

“Did you eat? I can make something.” He cuts back to reality from the broken silence. “Ah! No thank you, I ate already” he stammers. You offer your most welcoming smile. “What would you like to discuss, Yanqing?” 

“It’s...about General Jing. I’m really worried about him. He spends a lot of time working now. I’ve tried to get him to relax once and a while but he’s always up and out the door. I can’t get in contact with him for hours. And he’s so tired! Sometimes when I look over his shoulder, the things he’s writing are nonsense!” You allow him to continue, it seems that Yanqing became more relieved with honesty for each grievance he admitted to. “He struggles to hide it, but I see him grab his side in pain whenever he stands...I don’t know what to do. So, I wanted to tell you.” Your head is propped by your hand, taking in all the information you suspected was occurring. Perhaps you should’ve strapped him to a hospital bed for eternity. You click your tongue in annoyance, Jing Yuan is truly a gorgeous handful. 

“I knew it.” 

“Oh, you did?” 

“A sneaky suspicion, I guess.” 

“I can’t get through to him.” You let out a dejected chuckle. “Me neither. He’s really the worst, stressing us out like this.” Yanqing subconsciously nods his head, fumbling with his thumbs. “I never thought you’d help me go against the general” you tease.  

“N-no! I’m just trying to help him recover, is all!” he splutters, waving his hands over his face. “I’m kidding. I know you care about him. I do, too. I love him more than anything in this universe.”  

Your mind replays every kind gesture; the fresh bouquet of flowers he got you every few days, sharing unending stories that kept you awake at night while you both gazed at the stars, his tendency to be horrible at games that weren’t chess, and the warm hug enveloping you just as you dozed off in his arms. You endured to be strong for him up until this point, but bittersweet longing pierces your thoughts. The truth spills down your cheeks. 

“Oh no, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. If you’re willing to help, could you do me a favor?” you whisper, wiping the persistent staining tears. Yanqing stands at attention as if he’s accepted a life-or-death mission. “Of course.” 

“Please make sure his schedule is clear tomorrow.” 

You aren’t sure if your plan will convince him to stay home, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. Unfortunately, he didn’t come home as you expected. You slept intermittently. By the time you woke, the sun was just rising, casting a rose-colored gradient across the sky. Still nowhere to be found. 

Click. The door creaks open. Jing Yuan stealthily moves his hand behind it and tiptoes past the welcome mat. The screech makes him pause briefly, before sliding against the wall to get past the snitching door. Right as he closes it, he whips around, only to see your figure swaddled in a quilt waiting for him on the couch. Too tired to react, he flashes a weak smirk, and sets his scroll on the table. His shirt is wrinkled and turned a dirty beige, most likely from fighting, with the collar undone. Truthfully, he was elated to see you after hardly being home for weeks. You made the blood and bruising worth it—it ensured your life and protection. 

“Oh? What’s this?” You make grabbing motions with both hands, reaching out to him from your spot. “You ordered a general?” he jests. You unfold the plush quilt and beckon him to your embrace. “Mhm. Come here, honey.” Be it lack of sleep or resolve, your body looks too comfortable in this moment, and he falls to temptation. Kicking off his boots, he quickly strides towards you and dives in your arms. He’s extremely heavy, nearly twice your size and probably the fluffiest weighted blanket you’ve ever felt. He melts in your hold. The buckles from his waist prickle your soft flesh, but the vibration of his breath soothing in your ear makes you forget. You rub the firm muscle of his back with one hand, it’s taut and anxious. You untie the red bow and tangle your other hand through the puffs of marshmallows between your fingers.  

“Your delivery is here” he mumbles. 

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for it for sooo long.” 

“My apologies. I got caught up at work.” 

“I’m sure.” You pull his hair back to gaze at his jagged features, those dark ringed orbs filled with amber. “Do you want me to have a heart attack wondering when you’ll come home?” 

“If that were to happen, I’d jump in the coffin right after you, my dear.” You pinch his nose, and he laughs. “However, I must return soon.” His voice sounds flat, defeated. You go back to stroking his hair. “No. You have the day off.” 

“Really? And who arranged that?” 

“Yanqing. He told me about your...reluctance to relax.” Jing Yuan half rolls his eyes, but never moves to leave your warmth. “That boy, he’s nervous over nothing.” You poke his side to test the pain and watch him instantly wince. He sighs deeply at your irritated expression. 

“(Y/N), I can’t just stop over a feeble injury.” 

“You took a spear in the chest, and nearly died. I wouldn't call that a feeble injury.” 

“The Luofu needs me.” 

“I need you.” He surveys your upset expression. Did he ever stop to consider your feelings, how despondent he’d made you from reckless habits? He deemed himself fortunate that you chose to stay. He gently pecks your temple. 

“You’re right. I won’t go anywhere.” Your face lights up, and you wrap your legs around him tighter. “Good, you’ll enjoy yourself. I have something planned.” 

You start preparing your plan, arranging the master bathroom to a calming variety of aromatic trimmings and sheer drapes hanging just above the tub. Jing Yuan didn’t know what constitutes a spa day, and so you briefly described it as a “day of relaxation”. You didn’t want to ruin the whole surprise. When you get back to the living room, you have a pen and paper with scribbles on it. 

“Mr. Yuan?” you say, pretending that his name is somewhere on the unwritten list. He grins and plays along. “Are you here for the spa package?” 

“Yes, I am. I didn’t know the receptionist was so breathtaking” he teases. He always knew how to fluster you. You do some fake calculations and nod to yourself, ignoring the hands wandering on your body. “For everything your total comes out to…3 kisses.”  

Jing Yuan cradles your face with calloused hands. “Hmm, that's quite expensive, but I think I can manage.” Pressing a soft kiss to your awaiting lips that lasts too long between breaths. It feels desperate, like you’ll float away if he lets you go. You part for air and place your finger over his mouth. “Payment accepted. Right this way.” He kisses your finger, and you guide him to the bathroom. You nudge him inside, and immediately the aroma of vanilla and perfumed petals escapes from the steaming shower. It was spotless and arranged similar to an exotic getaway. “Please undress and get comfortable. I’ll join you inside shortly.” He nods and starts undressing. You gather everything you need and head inside. 

He’s sitting on a stool under the rainfall showerhead, scrubbing down his body. The water bounces off his admittedly neglected hair, and he turns so that the heat doesn’t creep into his wound. You hadn’t realized showering was painful for him. You follow him into the shower. “May I?” you ask, motioning for the semi wet loofa in his hand.  

“Be my guest.” His knees support his elbows, and you kneel behind him to massage mild soap into the sudsing loofa. His scars are much more apparent now, healed but carved roughly on the war-torn muscle. You delicately lather the product across and down his mole dotted back, gingerly kisses littering his shoulder blades. You spread the soap to his sternum and stomach, and you feel his tense form caving to your touch. Jing couldn’t recall receiving affection of this caliber, and so it was nice to be pampered, to feel you closer than he’d ever imagined. It was as if you two were the only people existing in this moment, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.  

After he’s properly washed, you expose his skin to the dew and allow it to run down his back, making sure to block the scar from further distress. You stand and grab the shampoo bottle, squirting an ample glob in your palm. You plop it onto his scalp, and begin working it through his thick mane. Your nails massaging and manipulating the sensitive skin makes him nearly drool. It’s as though you’re shaping his brain, and hums of approval rumble up your hands. He leans back on your stomach and enjoys your digits frothing substance. You almost see a ghostly tail wagging violently at each caress. When you pull his bangs back to wipe his hairline, you gaze at his face, a content smile prodding the crinkling corners of his mouth. “Are you falling asleep?” you whisper, washing away the soap from his forehead and roots. He groans in response and snuggles his head under your breasts. The sounds of serene rain beading the floor echoes in the humid foggy space, and the sweet scent of citrus conditioner crowds your nose. You squeeze out the remaining water. His eyes ajar from infinite slumber once your hands leave his cleansed scalp. You turn off the shower and escort him to the tub. An iridescent blue sparkling liquid stills in the marble stone, complete with botanical flora bobbing aimlessly.  

“There’s more? You’re spoiling me.” He soaks in the room temperature tub, unwinding above bath salt gradually dissolving. You undoubtedly added a concerning amount of eucalyptus and lavender to the water, hoping it would miraculously restore him instantly. Positioning the stool behind him, you pull his hair back with a headband and start to mix a face mask in a small wooden bowl. His head lays in your lap, watching you diligently combine cream with medicinal powders and clay.  You brush the blend over his face and neck, cool to the touch. 

“Feels nice.” he breathes. “Doesn’t it? It’s made with-” you go on a passionate tangent about the ingredients included, he simply stares at you, the twinkle in your eyes while you trace his cheekbones. What did I do to deserve someone so kind and selfless, constantly seeking out my well-being and nurture- 

“Are you even listening?” you accuse. He snaps out of the trance, and nods unconvincingly. 

“I was.” 

“What did I say then?” 

“Mm, something something, your beautiful eyes and lips, I want to kiss them.” he drawls. You grunt disapprovingly, and place thin slices of cucumbers over his eyes. “No looking until it's over.” He pouts like an unruly child. You snicker and scoop a chunky clump of brown sugar scrub between your palms, rubbing together to coax warmth. Kneading the grains along his robust biceps and torso in wide circles, you’re sure you heard snoring at some point. Your hands unrolled a dull ache, and you wanted to stop, but his chest heaving deeply in relaxation pushed you to continue. You ladle water over the sugar and face mask, rubbing it dispersed. With a pristine face, you pat serum and moisturizer into the skin and admire the glowing haleness slowly returning. He sits up, freeing his eyes and gazes at you. 

“How do you feel?” 

“I always feel good whenever you’re around, my love” he flirts. You huff and drain the water. “You should dry off. I’m gonna give you a massage.” He steps out the tub to dry but attempts to follow you out of the room. You turn and he’s right behind you, his massive presence covering your silhouette. “Jing, I’m getting stuff ready. Can you wait here?” He says nothing and embraces your nude figure, nuzzled in your hair. You grab his arms, prying room to look up at his hiding face. You’re shocked to see tears brimming in his eyes threatening to overturn. You wipe them as they fall; somehow, he’s still grinning. He couldn’t register why he was crying yet. “Are you okay-” 

“I missed you greatly.” he murmurs. You kiss his nose and pillow his shaking arms and legs. Dispelling the fears and insecurities that strangle him to a gasp. It’s easier to breathe. "I missed you, too.” He picks you up bridal style, and you yelp. 

“Wait, but the massage” you contest. He walks to the bedroom, swaying you without a care in sight. “That won’t be necessary. I just want to hold you.” He lays you on your back and climbs over you. Despite all the space on your king sized bed, he intertwines your bareness with the velvety sheets, and locks you in his arms. His cuddles are cushiony and pure, cocooned like a life-sized teddy bear. You had numerous things planned today—you'd make him dinner, cater to him, watch a movie—now that you’re snuggled cozily, you couldn’t envision leaving this bed. “I didn’t get-” you yawn lengthily “-everything done.” 

“You've done more than enough. It’s time I take care of you.” He kisses your forehead, and your eyelids feel dense as they ultimately come to a close. He wished your eyes would remain open, he wanted to stare into them for as long as possible. “Truly, thank you, (Y/N). I needed this.”  

He listens to your soft breathing, your heartbeat pounding methodically against his. “I love you. So much” you say in trailing hushed tones before drifting to a distant dream. Maybe you’d dream about him, somewhere on a different planet with your children, spending forever together. For now, things are just as they were before.

“I love you more.” 

[castlebyersafterdark]

Thinking about how Will loves to put on make up has got me in a chokehold.

Imagine Mike coming home early one day because he and Will have dinner reservations (or anything like that) and he walks in on Will putting on his eyeliner, face full of glittery make up, and my man is stunned.

Will wanted to surprise Mike by prettying himself up for their date but is upset because he can’t get it right and he needs everything to go perfectly

but Mike is now just focused on ruining Will’s make up (and the bed sheets).

They had to cancel their dinner plans 🤭

"We're going to be late again," said not annoyed or irritated as Mike lingered in the doorway, but matter of fact.

He peeked around the counter and glanced at the absent sway of Will's hips, butt poked out enticingly as Will leaned closer to the mirror. He bit his lip and smiled, then stepped back, giving him space. Fought back temptation.

Will hummed in acknowledgement from the bathroom and said no more. He was trying to concentrate. And not poke his eye again. He'd had to start over on the left eye twice. Artist's hands, typically steady, hadn't mastered the art of tracing soft, chalky pencil against slightly damp skin just yet. He didn't want to look like a clown - and a very sad one at that. Or maybe a raccoon. Either way. Not the look he was going for - that being, the mysterious artist type.

This was a brave step for him.

"What are you doing in there?"

"Can you go wait in the living room or something?" Will asked, not annoyed or irritated either, but nervous.

He wanted to get this right. He wanted to look pretty. It had been a hard enough decision to decide to try this for a night out. His previous little experiments had been subtle, private so far. But they were going out, to a nice dinner in a nice restaurant he felt safe being himself in. Taking a taxi. Alone in the dark backseat, together in some fancy booth. Him and Mike, being their very best selves after working so hard for a treat like this.

"If you want me, too. I can. I just-"

"Just, what? I want to surprise you."

Oh no. Wrong thing to have said to Mike Wheeler, who could never let a damn thing go.

(continued below...)

"A surprise?"

"Mike. Please. It's not that big of a deal," he lied and said no more after Mike's continued pleading inquiries.

Mike groaned and left the doorway. Didn't head to the living room, though, but sat on the edge of the bed. Too antsy, he scooted back, propped against the headboard, legs sprawled, arms like a wingspan across the pillows. He shifted and mustered up a sultry look, hoping that Will would walk out to find him there like an enticing gift soon enough.

He glanced at their bedside clock and saw they actually had a decent amount of time. Yes. They had time. He'd only wanted to play it safe, get out early, factor in unpredictable city traffic.

Mike contemplated unbuckling and getting his own surprise ready. Debated, and spread his legs, palmed at his slightly hard dick, beginning to take interest. They might have time for something quick. Maybe. Better not...

After only several minutes had passed, and barely that, he gave up. He couldn't take it.

"Hey, Will, sorry - oh. Oh, baby look at you."

Will, distracted after concentrating deeply on putting the finishing touches on his look, turned instantly at the sound of Mike's voice this time. Instinctual. Without thinking. He shrugged and gave a coy smile, masking his nerves. Hoped he didn't look stupid. Faked some confidence.

"I've seen me."

"You've seen you. Uh-huh. Have you really?" Mike stepped forward, sly smile in place. "Look at you."

Mike spun Will to face the mirror and hugged him from behind, kiss placed to the back of his head. He stepped back and shook his head. He wanted to devour him.

Will placed the cap back on the make-up and set it down on the counter. Mike traced a finger down the strong line of Will's jaw, contrast to the softness of his other features. He used a finger to tip Will's face up from where he'd cast his gaze to the floor. Needed to see him fully, needed Will to know how how effected he was.

"You are so beautiful, Will. I mean it. So gorgeous. Gosh, I love you."

Will squeaked at the quickness of the kiss that followed, with Mike swooping down to kiss the fresh color on his lips and squeeze him around the waist, drawn flush from thigh to chest. Mike pressed him against the counter, heard the sound of small plastic items clatter over and bounce into the sink and laughed at Will's whine.

"Mike, you're gonna ruin it," Will giggled, and swiped at the corner of his mouth where the light pink color had already smeared a little. It stuck on Mike's bottom lip, too, a slash of pink across his perpetually red mouth.

"Isn't that the point," Mike answered, voice deep and quiet, like low thunder reverberated across marble walls.

"For later. Haven't even gotten to wear it out the door, yet," Will protested but he already could tell his work was going to have to be reapplied before they left the apartment now, going by the look in Mike's eyes.

Will was transfixed to the spot, trapped. Heart rate rising. The foxes were circling the meadow. Little rabbit had nowhere to run.

Mike hummed and kissed his cheek, pulled back to stare at those pretty, dark rimmed eyes. Dark but soft. Carefully, artfully applied liner and mascara, just enough to enhance those bright, doe eyes. Made them look even bigger. Some sort of barely there powder made his skin shimmer and glow on the high points of his cheeks and the side of his face. Made him look otherworldly, delicate. And his mouth - fuck, his mouth. Pouty and pink, stained a perfect color and glossy on top. A vision. Subtle, but with effort that made him look effortless. Like he was supposed to look like that.

Skin soft as ever, hair combed and styled and falling just so, strands slipping between Mike's fingers as he carded a hand through. Flushed cheeks - natural, embarrassed slightly by the situation but excited by Mike's obvious appreciation. Smooth skin, freshly shaven, and the rest of his skin subtly applied with scents of vanilla and deep spice.

Mike was starving.

Dinner could wait.

Mike pressed him harder against the bathroom counter, moving from cheek to neck with kisses that avoided smudging Will's mouth further. Will moaned under the attention, head tilted to the side. Mike undid a few buttons, pushed the silky shirt over Will's shoulder as he mapped a path across his warm, bare skin, hot kisses to every little freckle and mole on his shoulder. He knew what he was doing. He knew every trick and button to push. Teeth to skin, mouth sucking hard at the hollow his Will's neck. A knee raised between Will's thighs, feeling his excitement grow, feeling how Will was just as instantly keyed up as him.

"What time is it?" Will gasped as Mike passed a thumb back and forth over his nipple, hissing through the jolt of pleasurable ache that shot down to his cock when Mike pinched and rolled the bud.

"I don't know. I don't care. We have time."

"Seemed impatient to get going before."

"Was I? Doesn't sound like me at all."

Will didn't answer and sprung into action. Fine. He wanted to play now.

He pushed off the counter and led Mike backwards from the bathroom to their bedroom, and shoved Mike down onto the bed. Mike's legs spread on muscle memory as Will shouldered his way in, already grappling at Mike's belt buckle.

Will's mouth was on Mike as soon as his pants and briefs were shoved partially down, out of the way only enough for Will to get at hot skin, mouth watering for it. Lips sealed over the leaking tips, savoring the taste like he was breaking a hunger strike. His talented tongue, his lips stretched and sliding down. Breath harsh through his nose. He was drooling around it, working his jaw to take Mike down further, now the impatient one.

He gagged on Mike's length, too eager, and received a soothing hand cradled his face to slow him down. Mike said as much out loud. Will didn't want that. He wanted to look pretty and he wanted to be used.

He pulled off and sat back on his heels, looking up at Mike. Make up mostly still intact, save for the smeared pink around the corners of his lips - some was left on the skin of Mike's dick. Will saw it, wanted to lick it off.

Soon enough.

Watery eyes. Wide. Pleading. Mouth open, tongue out. And Mike was the one who took action now.

It was a blur from there. Pants fell the rest of the way to the floor, clank of belt buckle. Big hands cradled the back of Will's skull. Cock slid between perfect, pink lips, heavy in Will's mouth. Will let his body go slack along with his jaw, hyper aware of his shoulders, his neck, releasing the tension and working his throat, fighting the urge to choke as Mike guided him, shallow thrust fucking his mouth and driving into a deep grind as Will swallowed him down.

So wet. An entire mess. Make-up ruined as the perfect, pretty color across Will's lips had mostly disappeared. Mixed with the saliva that dripped down his chin, spat from his mouth as Mike pulled off at at a painful sounding gag, only for Will to dive back in and suck him harder after several heaving gasps, hand flying over Mike's dick until he was ready.

Tears in the mix. Shimmer from Will's cheeks rubbed off on Mike' s hands and wrists, tiny specs of glitter embedded in Mike's pubes. Neither were going to notice that one. Didn't matter. Will gripped the back of Mike's thighs and swallowed and sucked and moaned until Mike pulled back, shallow thrusts until he spilled over Will's tongue and lips, painting him with a new color to replace the one he ruined.

Mike collapsed to the bed, bouncing on the mattress as his legs gave out. Will was pulled along with him, still gripped around his thighs. They laughed together and resettled. Will rested against Mike's bare thigh, draped across him, taking deep breaths after licking his lips as clean as possible at that point. Sticky mouth pressed to pale skin. Mike pet at his hair as he caught his own breath, as variations of "fuck, what the fuck, oh my god Will, what the fuck" were muttered above Will's head. He pressed nimble fingers along Will's jaw, soothing to the sure ache.

Will looked up at Mike and if he hadn't just come, Mike would have stiffened up full right then and there. Stirrings, though, a definite twitch as he took in the sight of Will. Debauched. Ruined. Like a fallen angel, landing directly into his lap. A big splotch of black makeup was smeared across Mike's leg along with a streak of come. Nothing compared to the state of Will.

Will's once so precise and demure eyeliner and lash application was smudged and streaked, bare patches in odd places as the rest followed sweat and tear tracks down flushed cheeks, mixed with the tiny bits of shimmer that remained on his face, overall shiny with spit and everything else.

"How do I look?"

Mike burst out a laugh at Will's quiet question, then hauled the man up into his lap, only to fall backwards onto the mattress together in a tangle of limbs and clothing. Mike kicked off his pants and reached down to start undressing Will, eager to repay and miss their dinner reservation entirely...

[cupidspup]

CG!Ticci-Toby x Little!Reader

All art credit above goes to the original artist!!

A/N (PLEASE READ!):

OKAY SO-- It's been a long while since I've done a fic (especially an agere one) SO PLEASE BE NICE (╥ᆺ╥；) I love writing but it takes a lot of courage and energy and when it comes to agere fics it's especially for littles who feel lonely and take comfort in reading a fic! I want my fics to be something that allows littles like me (who have a softer heart and need extra lovins) feel better and more little!! And I've decided to start writing again by being indulgent in what I write! Today's prompt is based off of what I remember from creepypasta when I was young and I'm not very well versed in any of their lore as much as I used to be skdksks if that's not your thing that's okay! I just hope you enjoy my writing! ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ anywho! Back to the post!! Below are some trigger warnings if needed :3 I won't be including anything too graphic or anything but there *MAY* be a curse word or two or just more adult things since they're serial killers x) (I'm writing this all before I'm writing it lol)

- ꒰ა♡ Kewpie ♡໒꒱

Trigger Warnings:⤵

Strong language, mentions of blood (past tense/present), implications of death/murder via the presence of blood (past tense and very minimal), mentions of weapons, masc caregiver nicknames (daddy, dada, baba, papa, ect), feminine and gender neutral nicknames (princess, kid/kiddo, tiny)

Summary

Toby comes back to Slendermansion after a long day on the job only to find you asleep in bed! Oh no that won't do! He wants to see his baby!

Not a trigger warning but more so something to keep in mind: I know Toby is/was known for a stutter because of his tics BUT I will NOT write the way he speaks like people used to. I don't have Tourrettes myself but I also know that stuttering doesn't always happen when you have it. I also did do research on him a little and found that his tics are more physical rather than verbal! I would like to avoid doing it until im more knowledgeable about it just so i dont offend anyone on accident ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა If any of you guys feel that I need to change anything or would like to educate me please do in the comments or in private in a polite manner! ^^

It's dark out and you're already snuggled into your bed. Going to sleep alone isn't very uncommon and you've gotten used to it. You and your daddy have put together quite the bedtime routine to make up for your lack of tucking ins! As you're cuddled nice and warm into bed, there's a slight creak in the door.

Not enough to wake you up, it's slow and quiet. You hear footsteps make their way throughout the room, closer to your bed. This is what makes you stir and start to wake up.

The footsteps stop. They know you're awake now.

You groan as you sit up, squinting and looking into the darkness. "Dada?" You wait for an answer. The footsteps resume this time faster.

Finally, the mystery person comes out from the shadows. The gentle light from your nightlight shining on them and it's your one and only caregiver, Toby!

He excitedly makes his way back to your side of your bed, sitting right by you. Before he does anything else he makes sure to put his (now clean) hatchets away before hugging you close. Toby always gives the best hugs, even though his tics are unpredictable it doesn't mean the firm yet gentle squeeze isn't nice to sink into.

"Yes, princess? Did I.. did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did. I was trying to be quiet, but I was just, just so excited to see you! You, you're just so cute when you're snoozin away like that!"

His mind goes a thousand miles a minute, and his mouth can't catch up, especially with his tics. So there's a stutter here and there. Not that it's a very big issue. It's just how your daddy talks! And you love it when he talks.♡

You yawn and lean into him, your eyes closed as you try to wake yourself up more. It's very late, if you were big enough to read the clock you'd probably know but now? Clocks are for big kids and you? You're very small, so the moon shining light through the window is enough for now.

"C'mon, cutie I know you can hug, hug me better than that! You missed your dada, didn't you?" He says in a playful tone, squishing you slightly in his arms. You reach your hands up to him and give him your best sleepy hug. To which he holds you even longer, resting his cheek on the top of your head. When he does you feel this weird wet substance and it makes you fuss a little.

"Mmmm babaaaaa m no like itttt" you whine at him.

He releases you from his hug and takes his goggles off, looking at you confused. "What do you mean, baby? What's going on?" When you look him in the eye you see it, he's got a small cut on his cheek and it's leaking blood. He probably doesn't feel it due to his disorder that prevents him from feeling pain in the first place. You yawn and point sleepily at his cheek. "You gots messy on you face, dada"

He feels around his face before touching his cheek right above his muzzle before looking at his gloved hands. Sure enough there's a spot of blood on the fabric where he touched.

"Oh no that's no good, thank, thank you for telling me kiddo! Daddy wouldn't have known if it wasn't for you! Wanna make it all better and put some...some cute bandaids on it?" He says to you with a smile, cleaning the blood off of his gloves for the most part. You nod with a smile and start doing grabby hands at him, the lack of cuddling and holding already making you feel lonely.

He smiles at you wider than he already is and ruffles your hair a little before going off to the bedside drawer. He always has bandaids handy for you. You two are the perfect pair! A clumsy little with an even clumsier caregiver! What a match!

He carefully opens the box, taking out a few bandaids for you to choose from. Of course these are patterned all cute with your favorite characters on them! You smile at the selection and before Toby can tell you to choose one, you're already opening the packages to each of them.

"Sure we can put all of them on my ouchies! Be super super careful though, sweetheart. I don't want any of your cute pj's getting messy because of me alright?" He says with a cautious but still laid back and nice tone. You nod happily in response before sticking on all of the bandaids. Two actually did the job for what he had, but you also know Toby is never gonna say no to you when you put them all over him. By the end of it, Toby has some on his muzzle, his nose, forehead, even some on his fingers! Everywhere that your daddy has owies on or you know he might have some in the future. Extra love for him can never hurt!

He takes out his phone and looks at himself in the screen. Most people can't tell but because you're not most people you can see the little squint and grin across his face. He seems really happy with your bandaid makeover! He looks over his fingers fondly, chuckling at you trying to think ahead for him.

"How lucky am I to have such a..such a thoughtful lil one?" He says happily before sitting closer to you, his phone still unlocked in his hand. "I wanna remember this moment so how, how about we take a selfie together, cutie? I want to have something to see for when I miss you and you're not with me!" You smile and nod your head quickly at the idea, coming closer to him and cuddling up to his arm, nuzzling your nose into his neck and cheek.

"C'mon tiny, say 'Cheese!'"

"Cheeeee!!"

It takes a few tries to get a photo that isnt blurry from his tics but finally he takes the photo and looks it over. You look it over, too and you feel the swarm of butterflies flutter in your tummy. Being with your daddy always makes you so, so happy. Especially when he's so soft and sweet like this!

"Hey baby I found some, some filters! Let's take a few more!"

Once again you're snuggled up to your silly caregiver, posing for photos with him while he puts bunny ear filters and funny face filters. He saves each and every one and you can't help that fuzzy lil tingle in your chest when you see his gallery is basically only filled with you two. You smile and give him a lil peck on the side of his muzzle. To that he smiles from under it and puts his hand softly over the spot.

"Awe that was real sweet of you kid, what, what was that for?" He says with a happy tone.

Your face flushes a little as you twiddle your fingers, mumbling softly. Something about cute and loving your baba. He chuckles and pulls his goggles off, now seeing you much easier in the dim lit room.

Toby pulls his muzzle down just enough to lean in for a quick peck. He kisses your forehead softly and smiles at you before putting it back into place. ♡ His kisses always feel extra special when he does that. Toby doesn't like people seeing him without his muzzle, especially because of the gash on the side of his cheek. But with you, he knows that extra but of vulnerability goes a long way. You're his baby after all, if you trust him so much he should trust you just the same.

Once his muzzle is back on your stomach let's out a low growl. At first you're a little embarrassed but Toby isn't phased at all. As a matter of fact, Toby wastes no time picking you up and hoisting you to his hip. He rests you onto the side and carries you with one arm (because he's your daddy, of course he can carry his little one no problem!).

Carrying you is never an issue for Toby. It can only be a little difficult when he's has his tics or they come more than just once. But it never stops him! He just makes sure to hold onto you a little bit tighter and tries to move his head away when he does.

It's hard to predict when his tics will come but even when you're small you're understanding and patient. He's doing his best just like you are.

"Let's go get some midnight snacks for that lil tummy of yours huh? A midnight...midnight snack with my princess sounds delicious." He says as he tickles your tummy a little. He was about to start walking to the door before you started to fuss in his arms, squirming as you continue to whine.

"What is it baby what's wrong? Did Dada do something to make you upset? Are, are you sleepy? Hungry? Sad?" He questions as he bounces you gently. His questions come left and right as he continues trying to find the answer. You fussily point to your forgotten stuffie on the bed and turn back to whine at him. With that he finally gets the hint.

"Ooooh you, you just wanted your plushie! You silly billy you've gotta use your big kid words for stuff, stuff like that okay?" He goes back and retrieves your stuffie, snuggling it right into your arms before heading out the door.

This, of course, sends you even deeper into your little space. Even though he tells you to use big kid words, something about him babying you and talking to you that way just makes you melt. And he's fully aware of that too.

Finally, you're both out of the room and headed down the halls of the mansion to the kitchen. All the residents of Slendermansion are very aware of you and Toby and the different aspects of your guys' dynamics. They don't really care what you both do as long as you aren't making other uncomfortable and being civil they're all pretty on board! That or stick to themselves for the most part.

Once you and Toby are in the kitchen he finds a place to set you down by the counter. Before starting his snack preparations he turns to you. "Can you be a good baby for Daddy and sit, sit here for me? Be reaaally careful so you don't fall okay? I need both of my hands for this so that I can make you...make you the bestest snack ever!" You give him an affirmative nod and snuggle your plushie closer for comfort. You see his eyes squint as he smiles, he pets your hair gently before ruffling it.

"That's a good baby, so we'll behaved" He says affectionately, "I'll be...I'll be done in just a minute okay, tiny?" You nod affirmatively again and flush slightly at his praise and gentle touch.

Toby rummaged through the cabinet, taking out a cute bowl fit for a small child. With some more rummaging he finds some baby puffs along with an adult sized baby bottle. Of course, this one is decorated and themed to your liking. He fills the bowl with the puffs to an amount you both can share. He knows you enjoy sharing your snacks with him and honestly, baby puffs "smack" (according to him) and he'd eat them with you any day.

Once the bowl is filled he heats some milk with honey in the microwave (Toby isn't allowed to use the stove unless there's another person with him - regressed babies do not count). While the milk heats up he brings the bowl to you and offers a puff up to your mouth.

"Here sweetheart, say 'ahh' for me." He says happily.

You do as told and he pops in a puff. You chew on that and offer him one, to thar he quickly pulls down his muzzle and lets you feed him a few at a time. Not too many at once due to his gash. After a few more moments of you feeding each other, Ben walks into the room. He comes in without looking up, busy playing with his games on his phone.

" 'Sup." He says as he makes his way to the fridge.

"Hey dude, whatcha up to? Is, Is it snack time for you too? Whatcha gonna do after that?" Toby starts to bombard him with questions, always one to not only strike up conversation but carry that conversation too.

"Jesus Toby one at a time I can barely answer the first God damn question-" Ben says at first before looking at you. He stops in the middle of his sentence before lowering his voice.

"Didn't notice you had the baby with you." He takes a random snack from the fridge and closes it, leaning against the counter close to you while he eats it. Toby feeds you some more puffs, keeping you occupied as you wave at him politely.

Ben has seen you this way before so you don't mind being little with him that much. He's even babysat you before a couple of times, though most of those times were spent playing games (that he would let you win sometimes). Ben definitely acts like the big brother when he's around you. And because he's like your big brother he waves but sticks his tongue out at you right after. You stick your tongue out back at him before giggling a little.

"Hey you two be nice to each other," Toby says, piping up slightly, "I've still got to put them back to sleep Ben, don't rile them up too much either." Ben waves Toby off and rolls his red pupils.

"Yeah, yeah I know it's fine. We're just messing around." Ben responds, perfectly dismissing Toby's protective nature around you. Just when Toby is about to respond the microwave beeps, signaling that your bottle is ready! "Actually, I need a favor from you." Toby says as he takes it out, handing the bottle like it's nothing at all.

Ben looks at Toby with a curious look, waiting to hear what the favor is. Toby hands him the bottle. "Test that on your arm, I need to know if it's warm but not too hot for the baby."

(Of course Toby and Ben's repeated use of "the baby" makes you feel even more babyish and has you regressing even further. Big kid vocabulary is out the window and it's semi-nonverbal time for you.)

"What?? Why?? I don't wanna do that do it yourself." Ben protests quickly, going back to his phone.

"Dude I can't, I feel numb all of the time how, how would I even know?" Toby rebuttals to Ben just as quick.

Ben huffs and takes the bottle in his hand, turning it over his wrist and letting it drip onto him. "Ugh fine gimme that." He waits a second for it to process and see if it's hot or not. Luckily the bottle was just right so he hands it right back to Toby, licking the milk off of his wrist. "Its fine you can give it to the kid now."

Toby takes it with a smile and batting his eyelashes at Ben while he puts the bottle in his large pockets. "Thank you Bennie~" he says with a sickenly, sweet voice. Ben, of course, rolls his eyes at this and keeps at his game.

"C'mon cutie it's time to put you to sleep. Say 'bye-bye' to big brother Bennie!" He says as he hoists you back onto his hip, walking away. You smile and wave at Ben, "Bai Bai Bennie!!" You say happily to him. He looks up and waves back a little at you, a little smile across his face. "Bye gremlin, sleep well."

Toby makes his way back to the room and sits on your guys' bed. He lets out a long sigh as he sits, now situating you onto his lap as he gets ready to feed you. With you rested into his arms and the bottle at the ready, you both were absolutely ready for bedtime. He takes his muzzle off and smiles, kissing your forehead. "Drink up tiny, it's time that... that daddy puts you sleep! I'll head to bed once you're snoozin away don't worry kiddo."

He brings the bottle up to your lips and before he can even tell you to open wide you already do so, guzzling down the sweet drink he made you. Toby absolutely melts at how cute you are, squishing you a little closer just to relish in you. And of course, you cuddle into him just as much.

He always does such a good job at taking care of you and doing all the little things. Even though his tics can get in the way or startle you awake again, you never get angry with him or fuss. Maybe it was new to navigate at first but you know that it was out of his control and he always does his best to keep them under control when it's necessary.

Finally, you finish your bottle and bury your face into his chest. Curling up and fully starting to fall asleep again. Toby puts your finished bottle on the nightstand and rests his cheek on top of your head for a few seconds. Just to savor this moment. He loves these moments so much. He softly rocks you as you drift to sleep, rubbing your back gently as he does.

"I love you baby. I'll head to bed too." He says before laying down fully with you in his arms as he pulls the covers over you both. With a quick kiss on your cheek the night is once again peaceful and you're together again.

♡

A/N: Waaah! It's finally finished!! It took me so, so long to do everything but its finished and I'm so proud of myself for sticking it out QwQ I really hope you guys liked this story, it's truly just so nostalgic to me and honestly has such a nice place in my heart 🩷 This is my first agere fic with a character and I hope I did well!! I was so anxious about this but I think I did well with balancing everything out hehe ૮ ᴖﻌᴖა I'm going to head back to sleep now but I'll have another fic up soon! ૮( ˃ ꒳ ˂)ა if you have any requests or suggestions please comment or submit them to my account I love it when people do those! :3 (also maybe a sorta part 2 with Big brother Ben drowned? ८,,◐⩊◐,,ა ) hehehe okay bye for realsies now, stay safe everyone!૮ ᴖﻌᴖა🩷

[beentobeetle]

what's six's relationship with the companions? :00

(Ignore me answering this 20 billions years later)

All around, Six’s relationships with all the companions are relatively good, down the line at least! It takes Six quite some time to warm up to people, and he’s naturally a decently quiet person. Most automatically view him as awkward, or intimidating, on something along those lines, especially with his reputation as “That Spooky Courier”.

But getting into specifics! Six’s dynamical change with Arcade and Boone goes hand-in-hand because they’re the first two he travels with, and his personal subconscious favorites. To Arcade, Six is this big stupid maniac who, while trying to be a good person most of the time, goes about it… unique ways. Boone sees him as an idiot, but a strong one. Smart and big when it’s needed. Boone very much appreciates Six’s bouts of silence.

It’s all quite different near the beginning though! Six travels with the two of them at the same time and they are both uh. confused, for the most part, just in different ways. There’s this tension, mostly with Boone and Arcade towards Six, because he’s just so… off. This is before he ever starts taking his helmet off, so he’s just the quiet, faceless wanderer. Unpredictable, vengeful, and fucking terrifying at times. Easiest explanation? Whatever this is

Moving on, though, to Lily! Pretty well-expected, he sees her as his little grandma and is VIOLENTLY protective of her. Buuuttt there’s a very slight sense of ‘selfish’ or ‘wrong’ calculation beneath it. Lily is a nightkin, she’s strong, she can kill. An effective attack dog, when it’s needed. As much as Six values and cares for Lily as her own character, he is well aware that she is a TANK, and… might as well take advantage of that, right?

And then there’s Raul and Cass! Again, the relationship between the three goes pretty hand-in-hand. Six sees them as effective assets and wildly entertaining drinking buddies, even at the beginning. He appreciates Raul’s old-timer, sardonic but just chipper enough grandpa attitude, and very much likes Cass for being, well… Cass.

Aaannd Veronica!! At first, Six sees her as naive and far too in-over-her-head. Over time, though, he notices his shell starting to break. For whatever reason, Veronica is scarily good at cracking the walls Six usually builds around himself. Over time, they develop this really silly brother/sister dynamic.

And, of course, Rex and ED-E. He loves both of them to death. Most any animals automatically melt Six’s heart, and he’s always had a soft spot for robots. And after the events of Lonesome Road? Good lord. That was something that really hit Six, in a way not many situations would. While maybe not entirely true, Six gladly states that Rex and ED-E are his favorites to travel with. “They don’t complain about eating pork-n-beans for a week straight.”

While a couple of these relationships are likely far more complex than I’m putting them, those feel like posts for other days !! But uhhh ty ty for the question, and sorry it took my so long to answer it FJFJDBFJSJD I wanted to actually draw something for it but I’ve been in the weirdest art slump lately… glad i remember how to draw Six!

As always, if anyone has any questions… holds out hands… I’ll try not to answer it after a lifetime….

[illusionremember]

Title: Building Something on the Side of the Road in Heaven

Teaser: "There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas."

~*~*~

I am late to the party lol but I had such a good time putting this story together! A thousand thank yous to @alkalidumpling for your invaluable midnight feedback!

This is my submission for the @destielvalentineszine2025! There are so many fantastic pieces of art and writing coming out of this project. Please go check out everyone else's work! And thank you so much to @disabled-dean and @butch--dean for putting this all together! <3

I'll be posting this to my Ao3 later today and will update this with a link then. Maybe a pretty header too.

Read here on Ao3, or, you can hit the keep reading button below! ;D

~*~*~

Dean is driving home in Heaven.

Right now, the road cuts through a forest, one of those big Pacific coast ones, with the giant redwoods. He’s got the window down, but the radio is off for now, because he’s listening to the trees singing. Their deep woodwind tones resonate in the air as the Impala rolls by underneath. Maybe he’ll bring Cas back here sometime. They can sit under the trees and feel the notes in their bones. He doesn’t know whose patch of Paradise he’s passing through, but he likes their style. He might have stopped to listen, but he has somewhere to be soon.

He doesn’t actually need to drive, of course. He could just wish himself home — close his eyes and concentrate and let Heaven shift around him. Less than a moment, and he’d be right in his cozy living room, in the little lakeside farmhouse that he and Cas have made into home. Instead, he’s got miles of road ahead to go.

It’s tempting to rush, given what today is, but Dean’s been working on learning to savor anticipation. It helps that now the things on the horizon tend to be good things, instead of apocalyptic horrors that he is somehow meant to counter.

Dean casts a glance at the now-empty passenger’s side of Baby’s bench seat. He recalls Cas sitting there, a lifetime ago now, the scent of sunflowers clinging to his coat. They’d stopped on the side of the road so Cas could take a closer look at the wall of sunflowers bordering a farmer’s field. Dean remembers the way the stalks had wavered in the prairie wind that day, their golden crowns all turned in the same direction. Cas had followed their gaze to look up at the sun. “You’ll go blind looking at the sun like that you know,” Dean had told him, but Cas had only smiled.

Sunflowers would be nice, probably. Cas would like them. Dean blinks, and three sunflowers lie next to him on the seat, neatly bundled with a blue ribbon.

It’s four years today since their wedding, according to Cas. He has to help Dean keep track of milestone dates now. Not that Dean doesn’t make an effort, but as an angel, Cas is just better at tracking the strange way that time passes here, compared to on Earth.

Upstairs, an hour can stretch into innumerable days, or compress into an instant. Cas tried to explain it to him once, but the celestial math involved is way more complex than Dean is capable of following, even without the limitations of physical form.

Atoms and time and mass don’t really exist here, but humans live by the laws of physics — solid, three-dimensional, linear. Even when a soul has been in Heaven far longer than it had lived, perceiving Paradise usually means translating abstraction into something readable.

Dean does not find celestial time readable at all.

Celestial space, however — that is something that Dean’s oddly good at navigating, for a human. There’s an art to understanding Heaven’s landscape that most human souls struggle with, on account of the abstraction. Traversing unpredictable space that can and will spontaneously change can be difficult. Cas thinks it helps that Dean had a lifetime of practice at rolling with the punches, always forging a way forward despite all odds. Dean thinks it’s because he’s always been good with maps.

Today, the soul he’d ferried across Heaven had been chatty. Dean likes getting the opportunity to talk, to learn people’s names. Her name was Tara, and she’d treated Baby like a lady, which won her Dean’s immediate approval.

“So, Heaven’s Uber driver,” she’d said, with humor. “How’d you land that job?”

“My husband suggested it,” Dean had told her.

It still surprises him how easy that feels to say — my husband. Not that Dean was in the closet, exactly. He just figured it wasn’t anyone’s business but his. No point or purpose in drawing attention to it. By the time he’d even realized that love was fully on the table instead of tucked out of reach on the shelf, it had been too late to live it. Now, just thinking the word makes a warm glow fill his chest.

When Dean dropped his passenger off, she’d kissed his cheek before she jumped out of the car. Tara’s first love wore a pink dress, and was waiting by the road with roses in hand. Always a smart idea, he’d figured, the flowers.

Dean guides the Impala around a curve in the road, and Cas’s flowers slide across the seat. He slaps a hand against the stems to keep them from falling, cusses when his hand hits a thorn. There’s a deep red rose in with the sunflowers. Dean moves the flowers closer to the backrest and sticks his finger in his mouth, but the sting is already gone, with no trace of broken skin.

Dean likes driving, is the thing. That hasn’t changed since dying. He could just wish himself home, but he’s got all of eternity spread out before him. Might as well make use of it. Taking the long way around is a much better way for him to go about his afterlife than skipping through.

When he was alive, and they weren’t rushing to a job, Dean would take the paper maps out of the glove compartment while Sam checked them out of their motel. Sam and Cas would chat over diner coffee and eggs, and Dean would trace his finger down the squiggles of highways and backroads. He’d look for out-of-the-way towns and strange, rural landmarks they’d never passed by before. It was fun, getting to explore. Getting to take their time.

You’d think in Heaven they’d have nothing but time. Which, they did, but that also meant finding ways to make use of that time was important.

At first, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling like he was still hunting, chasing that goalpost of peace and fulfillment ever in the distance. He was tired of chasing. He wanted to slow down, to build something.

When Dean had first arrived, Cas and Jack’s reconstruction project was still fresh enough you could taste the drywall dust. They’d been busy knocking down the walls that divided up Heaven. Freedom of choice and movement would be the lay of the land, rather than keeping souls complacent with familiar trappings and fond memories. Less hallways and closed doors, Cas had said.

Human souls simply do not handle isolation all that well. People wanted their loved ones back — the real deal, not eternal reruns of their greatest hits. Even favorite memories wear thin after a while. They want to create things. They want more time, new time, with family, with old loves and childhood friends.

The current model of Heaven is far less structured. As it turns out, allowing human creativity to affect the way souls perceive and experience their afterlife is a lot more effective, if chaotic, as a means towards happiness. Most souls tend to self-manage their corners of Paradise without the rigid constraints of memory just fine. Traversing Heaven to find each other is where things get tricky, which is where Dean comes in.

The singing redwoods are far behind now. Dean is finally reaching his neck of the woods, as it were, the bleed of other people’s Heavens falling away. He passes the Roadhouse and smiles. For their wedding, they’d kept things simple. Ellen had let them drag all the tables outside, which Charlie and Jo had decorated with flowers in refurbished beer bottles. Mary and Bobby had strung lights up all around. Someone (Sam, probably) had gotten Cas out of his trench coat and into jeans and a blazer, to match Dean’s. Jack led the ceremony. Dean remembered some kind of flower in Cas’s buttonhole as they’d said their vows in front of their family. Everything else had faded away but Castiel’s voice, and the raw sincerity in his eyes.

They’d considered coming to the Roadhouse tonight, to commemorate the occasion. But since Cas is home for the first time in a while, and Dean had this last-minute job today, they’ve decided they’ll stay in, just the two of them. Dean wants every minute with his husband he can get. He’d have postponed this trip, but who was he to deny someone else their own Valentine’s reunion? Dean understood. What is the point of Paradise if you can’t be with those you love?

The first year or so (as far as Dean could tell) after they’d gotten hitched had been a long and well-deserved honeymoon.

They finally had the time to relax into each other. Dean continued his crusade to introduce Cas to culture. Cas taught him how to manipulate Heaven so they could create their home together. Dean finally learned what fifth base was. There was laundry, and stargazing, and pancakes, and so many kisses. They intertwined themselves in ways that wouldn’t have been possible were Dean still in his earthly body, threading the fingers of Cas’s grace through his soul.

Dean has had a lot of daydreams over the years about what retirement might look like for him. He’d never quite dared to imagine what his ideal afterlife might look like. Hell, he counts himself lucky he got any of this at all.

It doesn’t stop it from being hard when Cas keeps having to leave him, even now.

While Dean might be dead and retired, Cas is still an angel. In the beginning of their marriage, Jack had given them as much time together as he could spare.

But there’s still a lot of work to do Upstairs, and Cas is nothing if not diligent in his sense of duty.

Jack doesn’t want to make the same mistakes Chuck had, with his control-freak author crap. This is the new Heaven — one where everyone shares the role of creator, to a degree. If any angel understands what it means to make choices — as well as what the Heavenly host had been like when choices weren’t allowed — it was Castiel.

Sometimes, Dean wants to be mad at Jack about it. Hasn’t Cas been strung along by the other angels for millennia already? If Dean deserves a break after mere decades of apocalypses and torture and curses that threatened the integrity of his very soul, then doesn’t Cas?

Of course, Cas doesn’t see it that way. Cas wants to help fix things. It’s who he is — the cracked angel, always trying to put things back together again. Over time, he’d spent longer and longer times away from home; they’d fought about it more than once.

“What am I, your housewife?” Dean had snapped. “You’re off all the time doing literally God knows what. Meanwhile I’m stuck waiting here all ‘When will my husband return from the war?’”

“Dean, we’re not at war, for once.” Cas had laid a hand on his shoulder; it was downright stupid how much that calmed him. “You deserve to be at peace now, Dean. You’ve done your part.”

“And you haven’t?” Dean had protested. “They’ve had you for-frigging-ever. Literally. It’s my turn.”

“Dean,” Cas had said, his voice gentle, “I already have more than I deserve. I should be sleeping in the Empty right now. By all rights, I never should have escaped there the first time.”

“Don’t say that, Cas.”

“And instead,” Cas had bulldozed ahead, “I get to spend as much of the rest of eternity as I can with the man that I love. I’m making reparations to Heaven. If we can make things different here, replace all these broken foundations… then we can stop anything like the Apocalypse, or the Leviathans, or Chuck, from ever happening again. For everyone, in Heaven and on Earth.”

He’d stepped in close, cradling Dean’s face in his hands. “We have eternity, my love. You can spare me for a little while, just now and then.”

“Well, maybe I wanna help too,” Dean had grumbled, kissing Castiel’s palm. “You ever think of that?”

And suddenly it had all clicked, why he was upset. It’s not just that Cas is gone half the time, but that Dean is restless in a place where he is meant to be at rest.

No monsters to fight, and having a quiet, sunlit home he shares with the love of his life (and afterlife) is amazing, don’t get him wrong. But part of what makes Dean feel at peace has always been taking care of people. He needs something more to do than just hang out. He likes having a job, something that makes a difference, that makes people happy.

The Impala’s tires kick up dust as Dean finally reaches the familiar drive around the lake. He turns the radio up now, belting out classic love songs and thinking of Cas.

There are lilies in the bouquet now, and peonies, and a dozen other kinds of flowers that Dean’s not sure he knows the names of. He amuses himself for a while, making up new flowers that only exist in his imagination, their petals a familiar ombré of blue.

The sun is still not-quite-high in the sky, same as it was when he left hours ago this morning. He holds his hand out the open window, catching the air pressure against his fingers. It’s going to be a beautiful day, and he’s almost home. This time, his husband is the one waiting for him.

It had been Cas’s idea for Dean to put some of his skill with forging pathways through Heaven to work. Reuniting souls isn’t instantaneous. In theory, Jack is certainly capable of it, but Dean isn’t the only one who chafes a little under eternal peace. Apparently, it’s just good for human souls to have goals to strive for, but learning to navigate Paradise in order to pursue them doesn’t come easily.

Most souls are accustomed to the confinement of their personal Heavens. The familiar parameters of Earth physics linger. Freedom of movement notwithstanding, trying to locate a particular soul in the whole of Heaven is difficult when you don’t understand how the metaphysics work.

A large part of it, Dean has realized, is about will. About faith. “What is it they say?” Dean had joked, Cas already squinting at the shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, “Where there’s a will there’s a way?”

That had earned Dean an eye-roll so hard he could feel Cas shifting against his shoulder, even as Cas admitted, “In simplest terms, yes, I suppose that’s true.”

He’d raised a hand then, and turned it in the air, winding the sun backwards across the sky like the hands of a clock. Out across the lake, the sky visible from their back porch had gone from sunset to sunrise in an instant. “All this is, is perception,” Cas had said. “You make your world what you want of it.”

Dean had looked down at Cas, curled up with him on their porch swing, comfortable and open. “I’ve got everything I want right here,” he’d said, leaning in to claim a kiss.

In practice, will and faith means they can put another soul in Dean’s passenger seat, tell them that he’ll get them where they need to go, and that surety builds the road right under the Impala’s wheels.

Right now, that road is leading Dean home.

Dean likes having something he can do to contribute, while Cas is off helping Jack parent the new angels or renovating Heaven. He finds that he likes, on occasion, getting to be the one that comes home to find his husband waiting. There’s something incredibly fulfilling about knowing he has someone to come home to, that he gets to build something with. That he gets to build that with Cas. It’s the biggest, most precious thing Dean has ever wanted for himself. He gets to have that now.

Dean pulls up in front of the house and turns off the engine. He gathers up the flowers (piled two feet high now) off the passenger side and carries them into the house, trying not to crush them all.

“Cas?” he calls out. “I’m home, sweetheart.” He pauses, listens, but there’s only the sound of birdsong from outside. He can smell pie — blueberry, he thinks, and peach. The house is too quiet.

Maybe Cas got called away. The thought pings at him like an alarm, but Dean shakes it off. He carries the flowers through to the kitchen, lays them out on the table. Jack knows what day this is. He wouldn’t pull Cas away, unless there was some kind of unforeseen disaster. More likely, Cas is just outside somewhere. He likes to wander.

There’s an enormous basket of strawberries on the counter. Dean’s pretty sure those are for later, but he steals one, relishing the punch of sweetness on his tongue. A peach-and-blueberry pie is cooling on the windowsill. Mixing bowls and measuring spoons and the rolling pin are waiting in the sink to be washed. Through the kitchen window, out by the edge of the lake, Dean can see the silhouette of his husband.

Dean leaves the flowers in a pile to mess with later; he kind of likes the idea of Cas coming in only to find the house drowning in flowers. At the thought, the flowers multiply, blossoms piled on every open surface in the living room, even growing out of the floor like carpeting. That… wasn’t part of the plan, but that’ll make Cas laugh, so he leaves it. He selects a single sunflower from the table and pushes open the back door.

Holding the flower behind his back, Dean comes up behind his husband, already smiling. Cas doesn’t turn around, but when Dean winds an arm around his waist, he leans into him. Dean kisses his shoulder, the side of his neck, his ear. With the sun shining gold on his face, Cas closes his eyes and smiles.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Hey, Sunshine.”

[r-memberme]

fixed | k.m

⎯⎯“No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.”

warnings: fluff, exes to lovers

The streets of New Orleans pulsed with their usual rhythm—jazz spilling from open doors, laughter mingling with the scent of gumbo and rain-soaked earth. Klaus Mikaelson moved through the crowd like a shadow, his presence commanding yet unnoticed. His thoughts were heavy tonight, tangled with memories of you.

You’d been a storm in his life, a wild and unpredictable force that swept in and left him spinning. For the first time in his centuries-long existence, someone had unraveled him without even trying. And now, as he wandered aimlessly, he found himself drawn back to you, as if the mere thought of your name had turned his compass.

You were sitting on the floor of your small apartment, barefoot and surrounded by scraps of paper and half-finished sketches. Your fingers were smudged with charcoal, your hair a mess of unruly waves that you had stopped caring about hours ago. This was your sanctuary—your own little bubble of creation and chaos.

Tonight, the inspiration had come in fits and starts, elusive and teasing. You’d given up trying to force it and instead let your mind wander, your thoughts drifting inevitably back to him.

Klaus.

He was a contradiction in every sense of the word. Tender and vicious. Elegant and feral. You’d fallen for him against your better judgment, and though you’d tried to tell yourself it wouldn’t work, that his world was too dark for someone like you, you couldn’t deny the way he made you feel alive in a way nothing else ever had.

A knock at your door pulled you from your thoughts. You frowned, brushing your hands on your paint-smeared jeans as you stood. It was late—too late for casual visitors.

When you opened the door, your breath caught.

There he was, standing in the dim light of the hallway, his sharp features softened by something you couldn’t quite place. He looked… unsure. Vulnerable, even.

“Hello, love,” he said, his voice low and familiar.

“Klaus.” Your name felt foreign on your own tongue, like you’d forgotten how to say it.

“May I come in?”

You hesitated for a moment, your heart battling your head. But then you stepped aside, and he walked past you, his presence filling the small space like a storm.

“I wasn’t expecting company,” you said, crossing your arms as you leaned against the door.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” he replied, his gaze sweeping over the room. His eyes lingered on the scattered papers, the half-formed sketches. “You’ve been working.”

“I was trying to,” you admitted. “Not much luck tonight.”

He picked up one of the sketches, his fingers ghosting over the paper. “You’ve captured something here,” he said softly, his tone reverent. “There’s life in this.”

Your cheeks flushed. “I doubt you came here to critique my art.”

He set the paper down and turned to face you, his expression unreadable. “No. I came because I couldn’t stay away.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy and charged.

“I told myself I wouldn’t come,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “That I should leave you in peace. But every time I close my eyes, I see you. I hear your laughter, feel the warmth of your touch. It’s maddening.”

“Klaus…”

“No, let me finish,” he said, stepping closer. “You have every reason to hate me. I’ve brought chaos into your life. I’ve made mistakes—mistakes that have hurt you. But even knowing that, I cannot deny what I feel for you.”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “And what do you feel?”

“Everything,” he said simply. “You make me feel everything, love. Joy, fear, longing. You’ve taken this heart of mine, this cursed, wretched thing, and made it beat again. I didn’t think that was possible.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away. “Klaus, you can’t just show up and say things like that.”

“Why not?” he challenged, his voice soft but insistent. “It’s the truth.”

“Because it’s not fair,” you said, your voice breaking. “You can’t just walk in here and say all the right things after everything that’s happened.”

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Do you think I planned this? That I sat down and rehearsed some speech to win you back? No. This is me, standing here, telling you the truth because I can’t do anything else.”

You looked away, but he gently cupped your chin, turning your face back to his. “Look at me,” he said softly. “Please.”

You met his gaze, and the intensity in his eyes nearly broke you.

“I’ve lived for over a thousand years,” he said, his voice trembling. “And in all that time, I have never felt what I feel for you. You are my greatest weakness, and my greatest strength. You are my reason.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his thumb, his touch so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I know I don’t deserve you,” he whispered. “But I’m asking you, with everything I have, to give me another chance. Let me prove to you that I can be the man you deserve.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Your emotions warred within you, a storm of anger, love, fear, and longing. But then you did the only thing you could.

You reached up and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was fierce, a collision of everything unsaid between you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as if he were afraid you might vanish.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting together.

“This doesn’t mean everything’s fixed,” you said softly.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low and reverent. “But it’s a start.”

And as he held you there, surrounded by the chaos of your tiny apartment, you realized that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

i have too many exes to lovers fics now

[swollenbabyfat]

Hello! I saw you were taking asks about anything (with bonus pictures of Mr. Haku?? bless) so I was wondering if I could politely pick your brain about your illustrative process. I've been tearing my hair out over rendering practice lately and your studies always blow me away. I know you've had some training and I think we both use Procreate, so I'd love to hear about how you use layers and/or layer blend modes, but also general process, thoughts, tips, etc. hope you're well, have a nice day :-)

Thank you so much for the ask and kind words!

I don’t cross promote it as much as I should probably but I upload a lot of speedpaints to YouTube, such as this study that might be helpful. Depending on how complicated the piece is, I’ll either break it down by putting shapes down (typically darks first) or do a more formal sketch if I don’t think I can easily eyeball it. After the sketch, I do an under painting on a layer below the sketch, set the sketch to multiply and then I render everything on one layer. It really depends on the brushes you use, but I prefer to build opacity slowly with a brush that doesn’t blend, lowering and upping the brushes opacity as I see fit. This creates a more complicated, kind of glowy effect that I think works particularly well for skin rendering.

I’ve been exclusively using leatherwood under “artistic” in procreate recently. You have to use a pretty big canvas to make it work (I’m usually working on 8000px+ 300dpi) but I really enjoy some of the unpredictability of the brush, makes things feel more natural. Not sure if I altered the brush at all but if there was a multiply or stabilization on I turn those off always, basically.

As for layer modes, I don’t tend to use them a ton for paintings except maybe for maybe throwing a slight multiply layer to bring tones down if the key gets too high. I’m more likely to mess with curves and color balance to experiment with color. I do this especially for my lined illustrations, I use layer modes also for them too and just go to town trying a bunch of stuff. My tip for this is to duplicate your file, flatten everything, duplicate your flattened layer and just mess with it until it feels right. Color editing to this degree is kind of new to me, but since I’ve begun it’s really upped my game I think.

Before/after color editing. I know sometimes people think of this as a cheating tool in digital art but honestly that is a silly take to me.

I hope this answers some of your more specific questions. Thank you again!

This post is already long as shit so Mr. Haku under the cut

[lighthouseshepard]

i told myself i wasnt going to put this up anywhere but im continuously a sucker for domestic jarthur and. this is based off some of @izel-scribbles wonderful art!! honestly you should go check out everything theyve done overall! insanely talented and inspiring🫶

"Are you sure you don't mind?"

John's eyes remain focused on what lay in his lap: two warm palms clasped together fresh and alive. Out of everything else the sight of those ten fingers, long and far more capable than he could have anticipated, continued to trip him up the most. He'd developed the nervous habit quickly enough, intertwining those newly formed hands, fidgeting with the tips of his own fingers, but he couldn't say for sure where the gesture came from. Arthur's own aimless restlessness, possibly. It was difficult to tell. Holding your own hand felt much different than grasping the other of the body you once shared.

A lull of contemplative silence answers him. John clears his throat and tries anew, studying the backs of his knuckles.

"Arthur? You don't mind?"

Above him, a soft hum stirs the back of his head. The impression of touch ripples outward, a stone skipped across a lake he couldn't hope to see the other side of. Most sensations possessed a strange poignancy this way, he'd come to notice. They started off small and blossomed beneath his skin, infinitesimal points of light interconnecting in an unpredictable dance: the brush of an arm, the press of someone's lips, a wayward elbow. He still had yet to decide if it was all too overwhelming, or if he wanted to drown in it once the ripples ceased their stretching stir.

"Hmm?" Arthur answers. "Mind what, John?"

"This," he says, huffing. "What you're doing, you don't... it isn't too much trouble?"

Another hum. John knew enough by now to tell Arthur's mind was somewhere off in the near distance, wandering through thoughts he couldn't be privy to. For the moment, he was content to let him be. The feeling of trying to perceive every individual strand of his own hair was taking up enough of his focus already. 

"Trouble? No, it's no trouble at all. I volunteered, remember?"

"Yes, but," John presses, shifting. His legs were growing stiff against the firm surface of the kitchen chair. In the afternoon light all which surrounded them simmered in a gauzy haze of late summer heat, translucent and golden. His own skin glowed with it, deep brown and unmarked in the way Arthur's flesh was decidedly not. "It feels like you're..."

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "What, John?"

"Struggling."

"I'm not- Jesus Christ," he says dryly. "I'm not struggling! It's just been a while since I've had to comb someone else's hair, alright? You and I both know I hardly managed my own well enough in the past few months."

John attempts to glance over his shoulder at the man standing behind him. He barely catches a glimpse of the familiar made strange now that he could view it from the opposite side - tousled auburn hair resplendent in the light, a brown eye filtered through with fragments of faint gold - before a gentle hand guides him with a tap to turn back around. 

"Moving won't make this any easier, you know."

Frowning, he dips his chin with a pout. "Sorry."

Those hands return, after some hesitation, to his hair. Fingers narrow and slender weave through locks like shadowed silk, once again trying to pull it all into a tie. A slow shiver travels down his spine at the whispered scrape of nails along his scalp, all at once another sensation to simultaneously wrangle with and be devoured by. Much of humanity's new nuances he would willingly let swallow him whole, he thinks absently, if it could grant him another second distended in time of Arthur lovingly slipping a strand of his hair over his palm.

Hair was a tricky thing, it turned out. Like clothing, like walking, like maneuvering through a world made miraculously tangible, he found the intricacies of it difficult to navigate. He'd only asked for help after snapping the second comb they'd bought in two, and even then no small amount of odd guilt hung low over his shoulders at the request.

"Okay," Arthur says after a minute. "You know what? I've made a decision."

"Oh?" His gaze flicks across the room to the window, lost as he so often was when they were in the kitchen, in the depth of the plum throated blooms filling the magnolia tree just outside. 

"Yes. I've decided I'm utterly hopeless at this."

The earnestness of his announcement catches John so off guard he can't do anything but laugh. His amusement rolls, a joyous and soft thunder rumbling through the air. Arthur's helpless chuckle accompanies him, sonorous and sweet. 

"It's not," he tries, biting his tongue, "it's not funny-"

"It's objectively funny," John drawls. His anxiety dissipates in a forceful sigh. "Perhaps you could... we could always cut it, I suppose, if that would make it easier."

"Absolutely not. I'll braid it, if anything. Yeah? I used to braid hers all the time, I'm sure I could do that, at least... That sound agreeable to you, darling?"

John turns in the chair to look behind him once again. This time, Arthur lets him. A sheepish smile curves his lips as he comes into view, the tie he'd been attempting to use held loosely. No irritation at having to deal with something John thought he rightfully should have been able to handle himself lingered in the lines of his face. Instead he saw only an unfathomable willingness, a love he wasn't certain he'd fully yet earned, the origins of which he'd likely spend the rest of his human life trying to uncover. 

"Yes," he says, faltering as his and Arthur's eyes meet. "That's-"

"John?" A single finger taps beneath his chin, coaxing his head up. "What is it?"

As abruptly as he shifted around, he focuses back towards the window. Arthur gingerly takes a handful of his hair once more, separating it into three sections. 

"John?"

"It's nothing," he mutters. "Forget it."

"Are you sure?" Arthur insists. "Do you not want your hair out of your face after all, or-"

"No, I do. It's... just never mind, Arthur."

"Alright." He gives a small shrug. 

John's eyes flutter briefly closed at the warmth of Arthur's lips brushed along the side of his jaw. These always hurt the most, the simple touches of his mouth. Against new skin they threatened to break him under the unfathomable lightness of some divine ache. He took every kiss, thoughtless or desperate, claiming or hungry, with renewed gratitude and a promise to himself he'd try to deserve it. 

"Just don't expect a bow at the end," Arthur mumbles teasingly. "And for the record, John," he adds in a softer tone, "I'd do this whenever you asked me to."

"Arthur-"

"Although, I think some blue silk would work here to hold this together."

John crosses his arms. "Absolutely not."

"I have that new necktie. If I use the bottom part of it-"

"Don't you dare. Arthur?" He glances to where Arthur had darted down the hall, his laughter bright. "Where are you going? Arthur? Arthur!"

[hestzhyen]

Chapter 68 Something Posting

A fight, a yap, and a wavering heart. Let's get on with it, dear void.

Rough TL of editor's notes:

First page: 毘灼-昼彦現る!! [Hishaku - Hiruhiko arawaru!!] Hiruhiko of the Hishaku appears!! Last page: 少女は決断する... [shoujo ha ketsudan suru...] The girl decides...

I've been doing full TLs of the Japanese chapters lately so there's going to be more yap from me about some differences between the EN and JP versions from now on- the ones I'm confident in, at least. Practicing for hours every day is starting to pay off.

So, About Hiruhiko...

First off, a TL note because I don't think this will be carried over in English. I'll be very impressed if it is, honestly (spoiler: it wasn't).

Such an easy to hate face.

What Hiruhiko says here in the last panel in Japanese: "Thank you for being born..." "...Samura's daughter (weakness)."

The last bubble says 座村の弱点 [samura no jakuten] "Samura's weakness." But the Ruby over jakuten reads "むすめ [musume]", or "daughter". It's a little trick specific to Japanese that's hard to translate into English, but essentially, Hiruhiko is saying "Samura's daughter" (that's what Iori and Chihiro would hear), while the kanji for "weakness" is there for the audience's benefit so we know what he really means. Not great for Iori either way though. She's truly just a pawn to Hiruhiko and the Hishaku as a whole.

OK. With that out of the way... I'm gonna be honest. It's hard for me to be objective about a character I dislike so much even under ideal conditions. And what we got this chapter was cool but it was also, uh...

Clown doing clown things and getting treated seriously.

Yeah. What the hell?

So, it's not completely unheard of for an amateur to win a duel against an experienced fighter just because they're unpredictable and a little lucky. Shit happens, you know? Sengoku (hotel manager dude) dying to Hiruhiko was kind of lame, but I was willing to let it slide. Until Hokazono-sensei did the thing you're not supposed to do with offscreen fights- he explained how Hiruhiko won in such a lame way that I'm now completely fed up with this character, the whole Escort Iori subplot, and want this sidequest to end ASAP so we can move on with the larger story.

Swapping the hand the sword is held in behind his back then doing a quick running slash isn't really an unbeatable display of swordsmanship in my opinion. It's more like a carnival or sword dancer trick; something for the aesthetic wow rather than actually being effective in combat. It's not convincing. And Chihiro being able to detect the trick while a master of a sword style couldn't doesn't hold water with me. I think this is genuinely the first time I was disappointed by getting context in Kagurabachi! That's alright though, no manga's perfect and it doesn't take away from the awesome perspective shots this chapter.

There's something I do like despite being thoroughly fed up with Hiruhiko and his bullshit:

An "aura farming" moment, as the dudebros would say. I agree.

Chihiro still isn't there with his swordsmanship, but this situation should look familiar:

Early art style jumpscare.

Chihiro learned from Sojo and forced Hiruhiko to call his bluff or risk both of them being decapitated. The momentum from Hiruhiko's swing probably would have meant Chihiro got hit and died too- but he counted on Hiruhiko backing off and won the bet. I love seeing this kind of shit man. Chihiro! You're always so cool! Always happy to see a protagonist that learns more than moral lessons from their enemies.

Also just for funny...

[Nathan Explosion voice] Brutal

This is the third time Chihiro's gotten blood in his eyes. He better be careful or he's gonna get hepatitis or some other nasty illness soon.

Iori and the Masumi

I wanna hug the Masumi so bad. We don't know anything about how they were raised but they're so clearly parallels to Hakuri with being raised as tools to value the mission over their lives. Please, please, please let nothing horrible happen to them. Toto's still hanging around and Kuguri's whereabouts are unknown so... please. Chihiro needs them so badly- they're the only people so far who have been able to force him to chill at all.

"Putting a timer on this fight for everyone's sake"- the editor, possibly (but not likely).

Did we need a key to add more tension? Well, we got it anyway. Cultural context: Given the appearance shown in this chapter, the lantern almost certainly an 石灯籠 [ishidourou]- the type of guardian lantern usually made out of stone and commonly found in Shintoist temples or as traditional garden decorations. They don't have any particular religious significance nowadays but they look nice when lights are placed inside for special occasions.

After the last "timer" (recovering Hakuri's sorcery) was thrown out the window, I'm not going to have any expectations on how this plays out. Instead I choose to hope that this delivery subquest being added means we'll hit the climax for this escort mission next chapter or the week after that. Between Chihiro reminding us of the countdown timer for Samura to move, the need for the key, and Kuguri's whereabouts being unknown, I think we'll get a cliffhanger on the issue of Iori's memories and/or Chihiro's fight with Hiruhiko next chapter then the resolutions the week after. Please. Normally I'm content to let authors cook but I'm genuinely getting more than a little frustrated with how all this is playing out.

"The only one" bearing the pain of a burden, hmm...

Iori's wavering and Chihiro's words about it being better to live with the truth seem to be eating at her. Everyone wants her to feels safe as an ordinary girl, but she's clearly not so sure about her decision to go back to normal life. She's keeping those memories now or I'm busting out the clown suit with the wig and everything.

I wonder if Iori will also parallel Chihiro's desire to go it alone. She has every right to confront Samura for leaving her behind, and I can see her wanting to bear the pain of their experience together as father and daughter. I'm looking forward to her development and where she goes- my heart will shatter if she becomes what Chihiro wanted to be with Kunishige. Parent and child, facing the guilt and life's challenges together. Willfully inheriting the legacy that Samura tried to spare her from.

Of course, Samura probably will refuse to let her, but shouldn't she have the choice? Iori's old enough now to understand what happened and decide for herself. Samura doesn't have to do this alone if his daughter wants to bear his sins with him. He doesn't have to do it at all if she's willing to help him find another way or absolve him! But he's so mired in guilt that he might be beyond all saving...

Ignorant bliss seems to be a kindness from Samura's point of view.

Iori knows what happened when she was a child, but she doesn't know the real reason why. And I feel like Samura won't tell her because he wants to spare her that much- he wants his little girl to live free from his burden. So she'll have to find out with Chihiro from Shiba or another adult who witnessed The Incident. Man, I hope we get back to this main plot thread soon. There's so much to uncover that the fight with Hiruhiko feels like a sideshow (as cool as the action shots are).

New vs. Old

If only he'd been correct about Hiruhiko's fighting "style" being dogshit.

What a nice master. Too bad his 150 year old technique was no match for a dumb pink frog holding a sword for the first time.

I was chatting with an acquaintance and he brought up an excellent point about our favourite Genius trio- each one of them has a different approach to legacy and tradition based on what they experienced.

"Legacy" and how it affects the younger generations is the core idea of Kagurabachi. Chihiro's dealing with his father's and his key foils each have had some exploration into the theme themselves.

Chihiro: raised with love and care -> respects tradition -> using the White Purity style to defend his dad's legacy and forge a new path for himself

Hakuri: abused and neglected -> hates tradition -> used the holy grail of his family's ethos (storehouse + isou) to destroy their legacy and forge a new path for them all

Hiruhiko: ??? -> doesn't care about tradition -> completely disregards it for the Hishaku's ambition and forges his own path

The only missing piece right now is Hiruhiko's full backstory- what did he experience (besides John spoiling him) that led him to care not a whit for tradition and ignore it completely? He's in the middle of Chihiro and Hakuri's approaches in how and why they fight. Chihiro is building off of tradition to do something new, Hakuri completely demolished his family's, and Hiruhiko... exists.

All three of them are going to be figuring out how to maximise their own strengths by themselves for the most part, but how closely they cleave to tradition while doing it says a lot about their characters and what they experienced. I'm not exactly dying to know Hiruhiko's backstory but if we're gonna have to get it at some point, may as well complete this little trio of contrasts.

Iori can absolutely be added to this comparison list too even if she's not a genius, we just have to see where she goes from here. I love all these deliberately constructed contrasts!

Small Complaint

Missing: my wife, Azami. Last seen: two months ago. Reward offered for information that leads to location.

...Alright. I know I'm getting frustrated in large part because I hate Hiruhiko. The faster he gets offscreen again, the happier I'll be.

I'm also champing at the bit to get to the Kamunabi's nonsense. Azami, Shiba, all those council people whose names we still don't have- what are they up to? Where the hell have Hiyuki and Tafuku been? And we seriously can't even get a single half-page checking in on Hakuri or the folks at Kamunabi HQ before going back to Chihiro? Come on, man...

So I guess the faster we're done with Samurabachi, the better. I don't want it to rush but I hope we don't go on any more sidequests to rescue surprise MacGuffins. It's a bit uncharitable to say that, I know, but those are my honest feelings. I like most of the characters we're dealing with right now but I'm tired of wondering when we'll get to the million other things that have been set up and teased since the first arc. The new guys seem preoccupied with just the immediate development stuff so where are the other folks at?! I need lingering questions answered or I'm going to get too frustrated to continue each week before long...

A lot of it is I need a break too. The action is cool and it's been hype but there's seriously not enough time spent giving catharsis. The point about Chihiro pushing himself too hard is getting me exhausted as a reader, too. I get it. He's tired and going to break sooner or later. But when? How many more times are we gonna be bonked over the head with how bad his condition is before the watershed moment?

We've been edged about so many things that keep piling up and I'm truly numb at this point. I'm waiting for this fight to finish and praying that we get a full yap chapter for information I'm in that bad of a state. No teasing, just some fucking answers that don't raise a million more questions. Even learning what Azami's sorcery is would be a relief at this point.

Okay. More fight next week, and maybe some hope of moving on. Give yourself a treat today, dear void, and I'll see you next time.