#or without braces for daily use

[flamingo--ing]

"i want to go back to being a child, when things were easy" i was in more agony as a child/adolescent than now. my life was so miserable and painful and now its so beautiful (and painful)

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly– 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[r3musmoony]

Happy disability pride month to

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[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Monster Mania.

Pairing: Yandere!Vampire!Neuvillette x Reader x Yandere!Werewolf!Wriothesley (Genshin).

Word Count: 3.0k.

TW: Non/Con, AFAB!Reader, Oral Sex, Mentions of Blood, Non-Human Anatomy, Possessive Behavior, Prolonged Imprprisoment, and Slight Dehumanization.

“Pouting won’t get you out of this.”

“I’m not—” You paused, gritting your teeth as his shoulder pressed uncomfortably into your stomach. In retribution, you did your best to drive your knee into his chest, to let him know he was hurting you without admitting that you were even more fragile than he’d assumed, but if he cared about your attempts at resistance, if he so much as noticed that you’d moved at all, Wriothesley didn’t waver. “I’m not pouting, I’m trying to get away from my fucking stalker and his—” Another fit of thrashing. This time, Wriothesley was kind enough to tighten his hold on your legs. “—fucking dog. Why is that so hard for you two to get that through your heads?”

He hummed, drumming his fingers against your thigh. “Might be how often call us… what was it, again? A stalker and a dog?”

You scowled, crossing your arms. From your current position, slung over his shoulder, the remnants of one of his rope snares still wrapped around your left ankle, you could only see the thin footpath he was following and the dense forest that laid beyond it. The tree canopy was too thick to let you see the sky (something you mourned and Neuvillette adored, considering his fondness for early evening walks), but rays of golden sunlight still managed to pierce the endless sprawl of branches and leaves, marking the first signs of dusk. Neuvillette had still been asleep when you slipped through the door Wriothesley had forgotten to lock when he left for his daily hunting trip, but he’d be waking up soon; you could already imagine him rising from his canopied bed, picture the diluted shock he’d wear as he stepped into your bedroom for his first meal of the night only to find it empty. You weren’t surprised Wriothesley was so eager to get you home. Neuvillette was stoic at the worst of times, but the thought of letting his pet blood-bag get away was one of the few things that could get a reaction out of him.

Not that Wriothesley was much better. He was more level-headed, sure, more likely to let you wear something aside from ivory nightgowns and untangle you from Neuvillette’s arms when his hunger left him in a blood-thirsty daze, but that never stopped him from taking Neuvillette’s side when you found yourself in another petty argument, from standing in the doorway with a smile and a dreamy look in his eyes as Neuvillette fastened a lace collar around your neck, a collar just a touch too small to cover the twin puncture marks at the base of your throat and just a touch too similar to the steel choker that sat at the base of Wriothesley’s throat more often than not. He might’ve been human, something as mortal and as delicate as you were, but he was still a monster. He’d be crushed under Neuvillette’s heel a thousand times before he ever considered showing you mercy.

The shadow of their mansion was coming into view, now – the lonely building just as dark and just as intimidating as it’d been the first time Wriothesley lured inside. It stretched on as far as the eye could see in either direction and towered above you like some awful, looming thing; thick curtains constantly drawn over its many windows and every surface of its exterior constantly covered in a thick layer of creeping ivy. The rotting boards of the front porch groaned under his weight as he approached the front door, and you braced yourself as he cursed under his breath, patting down the pockets of his heavy flannel. You weren’t sure why they bothered keeping the door locked at all – aside from what it took to keep you trapped inside, at least. Neuvillette was the most dangerous thing for the next hundred miles, and Wriothesley was a close second.

The inside of the mansion was just as ominous; any light from the outside world captured and suffocated before it could penetrate Neuvillette’s endless abyss. You squirmed, hoping Wriothesley would at least let you cross the threshold on your own, but he wasn’t so kind, only responding to your silent plea with a playful squeeze to your calf as he made his way past the entryway and down an unlit hall, passing several torn paintings and overturned tables before finally shrugging open the door to Neuvillette’s study. A bottle of red wine sat open and half-drained on his mahogany desk, a small fire smoldering in the stone hearth he only rarely used. Neuvillette sat beside it, dressed in a simple black robe, his eyes blearily focused on the low-burning flames. He looked concerned, but his apprehension faded as Wriothesley carried you into his line of sigh, disappearing completely as you were hauled off of Wriothesley’s shoulder and dropped into Neuvillette’s lap. One of his hands found its way to your waist, its twin cupping your cheek, tilting your head back and allowing him to press a lingering kiss into the top of your head. “Beloved,” he muttered, practically breathing out his pet name for you before turning to Wriothesley. “Thank you, duke. I’m sorry you’ve had to inconvenience yourself for the sake of what should be my responsibility again.”

With a groan, Wriothesley fell onto the foot of the fireplace, shrugging off his coat. Where Neuvillette chose to hide his bloodlust behind a thick veil of unwavering niceties and delicate elegance, Wriothesley leaned into his brutality; broad muscle straining at the confines of his black undershirt, scruff cropping up faster than he could clear it away, his hair an untamable mess of black and grey and his clothes caked in an ever constant layer of mud and wear (save for his metal choker, of course, which was always polished to conspicuous shine). His eyes lit up when he heard Neuvillette ask after him, posture straightening like that of a soldier called to attention. You’d been too generous when you called him a dog. He was a mutt, too mindlessly obedient to ever question his master’s orders. “How many centuries has it been since you’ve had a reason to call me that?”

“It should be four this year.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. You could feel the points of his fangs, still tucked behind his lips but no less dangerous for their momentary concealment. “Don’t you have something to say to him, as well?”

It took a moment to register he was talking to you, another to recognize the hypocrisy of what he was asking you. Your pressed frown fell into an open-mouthed balk. “Absolutely not.” And then, when Neuvillette held strong, “You can’t expect me to thank him for keeping me trapped here—”

“Silence.” He didn’t raise his voice, didn’t bear his fangs or dig his pointed nails into your thigh – he didn’t have to. All it took was that tone. Assertive, but not quite forceful. Lulling, but no softer than the wood and stone of his hellish mansion. Immediately, you shut your mouth. Neuvillette closed his eyes, letting out a raspy sigh before taking you by the hips and turning you in his lap, so that you faced outward rather than into his chest. That was enough to earn Wriothesley’s full attention, perking up as you were perched on the edge of Neuvillette’s lap. “Why don’t we try that again. Do you have anything to say to Wriothesley?”

You glared pointedly at the floor. “Thank you. For bringing me back?”

“And?”

“And...” This was the part you hated the most. If there’d been an alternative – a dungeon they could’ve thrown you into, a brand they could sear into your skin – you would’ve embraced it with open arms. But, that was the worst part about dealing with an captor. He had all the time in the world to make you bask in your own humiliation, and he never seemed to tire of the pasttime. ���And, thank you for making sure I didn’t get hurt in the forest.”

As if there was anything out there that could’ve hurt you more than they did. Still, it seemed to appease Neuvillette, who let out an approving hum as he turned to Wriothesley. “What do you think? Be honest, this time. No lesson was ever taught with a gentle hand.”

He took a long moment to look over you, another to wet his lips. Wordlessly, dependent on the pure desperation in your eyes, you begged him not to listen to Neuvillette, to take your side just this once, but your improvised attempts at telepathic communication proved unsuccessful. “It could’ve been more genuine,” he admitted, with a slight shrug. “Didn’t have much nice to say on the way back, either.”

“Is that so?” His fingertips drummed against your side. “Why don’t you join us?”

Wriothesley didn’t hesitate, practically stumbling over himself as he crawled to Neuvillette’s feet. He came to rest on his knees, hand braced against the rug between his thighs and his cheek only a hair’s width from Neuvillette’s leg, as if waiting for permission to press against him. He always looked at his most relaxed there, on the floor, patiently waiting for an order from his master. It was hard to tell whether it was a skill learned through time, or if subservience was just in his nature.

His obedience was rewarded with a breathy chuckle, a hand run through his unruly hair. Wriothesley was more lax with himself than he usually was, letting his eyes fall shut as he melted into Neuvillette’s touch. “Since your tongue is so uncooperative today,” Neuvillette started, leaning forward just far enough to rest his chin on your shoulder. “How do you think you can show our dear helper how grateful you are?”

A bolt of cold dread shot down your spine. You moved to stand, to get away, but Neuvillette’s arm wrapped tight around your midriff, keeping you pinned against him despite your resistance. “Neuvi’,” you mumbled, squirming against him. “Please, Neuvi’, I don’t want to—”

“Now you’re going to play nice?” His hand fell to your knee, drawing your legs apart. Wriothesley filled the space before you could clench them shut again, his mouth immediately latching onto the inside of your thigh, his dull teeth burying themselves in the plush of your exposed skin. You cursed under your breath, trying to shake him off, but he held tight, fists curling around your ankles to keep you spread and exposed as Neuvillette watched on, his grin pressing into the crook of your throat. “That’s a little cruel, beloved. Can’t you see how excited he is?”

You could. There was a glassy sheen over his half-lidded eyes, a hunch to his posture that meant he was too distracted with you to care about how he held himself. You’d slipped out in a rush, eager to get as far as you could before Neuvillette woke up. In your haste, you hadn’t bothered to change out of the simple, silken frock you were wearing; a choice you only came to regret as Neuvillette dragged the tattered hem to your waist, as Wriothesley’s attention drifted from your thighs to your panties, the lacey fabric torn away with little more than a curl of his fingers and a throaty growl. That, more than anything, caught you off-guard. It wasn’t a threat, but it was more hostile than anything he’d ever directed towards you before. It wasn’t a sound someone like him, someone like you, should’ve been capable of making.

Neuvillette must’ve felt the way you stiffened against him. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the curve of your throat, just a touch too close to the vein he preferred to drink from, then another into the dip of your shoulder. “Surely, you must’ve noticed how scarce Wriothesley makes himself around this time of the month.” He paused, laughing airily. “He’d already be safely locked away in the cellar, if you hadn’t made him run out and fetch you. I suppose it must’ve slipped his mind while he was looking for you.”

“I don’t—” A tongue, broader than it should’ve been, hotter than it should’ve been, ran over your slit. “But, he’s supposed to be—”

“Human?” You refused to look at him, refused to acknowledge what he was doing to you, but you could feel his teeth ghosting over your skin, their usually dull tips beginning to sharpen into something more pointed, more animalistic. His tongue slipped into your entrance, thick enough to stretch you open with little more than its curling tip, and Neuvillette’s focus fell to your clit, left neglected by Wriothesley’s unwavering concentration on lapping up as much of your (humiliatingly, quickly accumulating) slick as he could. His thumb toyed with the sensitive bundle of nerves as he went on. “He is rather young, as far as immortal beings are concerned. He made an adorable puppy, back when creatures of the night were free to roam as they pleased, but he’s matured since his days of village razing and cattle slaughtering. I think you’ll find he’s learned how to keep his fangs to himself.” Wriothesley nipped gently at the junction of your thigh. You winced and Neuvillette added, “More or less.”

You could only bring yourself to half-listen to what he was saying. Wriothesley was growing more wild by the second, his formerly languid movements now hasty and agitated, little groans and growls joining the wet, disgusting sounds quickly filling the study. You felt claws that hadn’t been there a moment ago dig into your ankles, his already impressive build taking on bulk that would’ve been possible for anything natural, anything human. It wasn’t enough to just look away, anymore – you shut your eyes completely, bowing your head and curling into yourself as Wriothesley ate you out like a man— no, not a man, a beast starved. The cool marble of Neuvillette’s chest was almost a comfort when compared to the raw heat of Wriothesley’s mouth. It might’ve been more soothing, had he not been taking so much joy in your suffering.

“He’s always been prone to getting carried away. I used to have to fetch him at dawn – he could never seem to make it home before the moon set and he was left bare and unconscious in the vineyard of some poor nobleman.” He pulled back, letting Wriothesley’s cold nose grind against your clit in his place. You weren’t free from his touch for very long, though. The array of ribbons that kept the bodice of your frock drawn tight were undone, the neckline loosened and allowed to fall to your shoulders. “I’ve always preferred a more direct approach. The occasional drunkard taken off the street and drained was always enough to keep me sated.” He paused, cupped the curves of your chest. “Until I came across you, of course.”

You felt his fangs scrape over your neck, but he didn’t have time to bite down before you lurched forward, the sporadic movements of Wriothesley’s tongue bringing you to a sudden, unsteady climax. It was abrupt enough, violent enough to make tears swell in the corners of your eyes, to steal a ragged gasp from your lungs despite your attempts to swallow back any pathetic sound your weak-willed body might’ve wanted to make. For the first time, you couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, letting your gaze fall onto the black-furred, oversized thing between your legs. He was unrecognizable, black fur and a wolf-like muzzle swallowing any familiar trait you might’ve latched onto. Pointed ears laid flat against his scalp, a grey-tipped tail brushed over the floor lazily behind him as he moved to keep going, to milk every last drop out of you, but Neuvillette reached down and took him by the metal collar now pressing flush against his throat. There was a low, drawn-out whine as he was dragged up and away from your pussy, but Neuvillette’s cruelty was limited to you.

“We spent hours talking about what to do with you, when he first brought you home.” He spoke absent-mindedly, muttering against your throat as he guided Wriothesley onto his knees. Even at only a fraction of his full height, he was tall enough to loom over you, to replace your limited world with a towering shadow of black fur and white teeth. He was panting, his chin glistening with slick and drool, what was left of his tattered clothes torn away in a few aggerated swipes of his claws. You’d been wrong, again – not every part of him was unfamiliar. His eyes were still there, the grey clouded and his pupils blown out but still undeniably his. Still fixed entirely on you.

“I thought he should turn you as soon as possible, but he protested, claimed the transformation would be too much for you.” He bowed his head, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Between you and I, there might be a chance he’s hoping I’ll give in first. He does his best to hide it, but he tends to sulk whenever I choose to feed from you. I think he’s hoping we might both have to rely on him.”

Clawed hands curled around the arms of his chair, the wood creaking under Wriothesley’s weight. For the first time, you let your eyes drift lower, let yourself take in the massive, pulsing cock standing erect against his lower stomach. It looked too big; like a prop, made to only vaguely resemble the real thing. It looked like it could tear you in half.

“Then again, he might’ve grown fond of the idea of adding another wolf to his pack,” Neuvillette added, as you went limp against him. “We’ll have to see how human you feel when the sun rises.”

It was an awkward position, Wriothesley too tall and Neuvillette too unyielding. He kept one arm wrapped tightly around your midriff as his other hand drifted into the limited space between your body and Wriothesley’s, his pale hand curling around Wriothesley’s thick shaft and carefully lining it up with your dripping cunt. Wriothesley bucked into the stimulation, his body lurching forward and his head nuzzling into the dip of your shoulder. You felt his breath, warm and humid, fan over your chest, then the rough reverberation of his voice against your skin. “Mate.” It was more of a groan than anything, one long breath that seemed to escape from some unseen vault. It was his voice, but there was something underneath it, too – something more guttural than you would ever want on top of you. “Mine.”

“Ours,” Neuvillette corrected, tightening his hold and drawing you close. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel it, pressing against your throat as his fangs reclaimed lost territory. “Our precious, misguided little pet.”

Wriothesley thrust into you as Neuvillette drove his teeth into your skin, both men piercing you simultaneously. Too stunned to scream, you could only silently wonder who would end you first.

[3liza]

as you can see in the photos from the actual fucking show, Regency dresses did not actually show your waist. as a result regency corsets did not tightlace you, they were basically a longline pushup bra. it was physically impossible to tightlace a corset until the invention of the metal grommet in the mid 1800s.

so either wardrobe is torturing actresses with corsets that don't fit for no reason, the actresses are lying because "ouuf ouchie my corset hurt so bad" is such a popular chat show topic, or something else is going on. but not a single part of this article is factual. anyone wearing a garment that prevented them from eating, breathing or moving without injury on a daily basis would just die in tbe premodern era. wearing a corset that caused bruises for 10 hours a day would cause infected pressure ulcers which would become septic and kill you. there is no record of this being an issue for victorian women or any other population that used corsets because it just didn't happen

i have to emphasize to you that working class women did hard manual labor in corsets for hundreds of years. this is because working women did not tightlace. their corsets were basically back braces that made holding a lot of heavy warm woolens together easier without elastic, and kept their boobs out of the way of farming and kitchen tasks. tightlacing was considered a fringe activity even in tbe Victorian era. the illusion of a tiny waist was created with moderate corseting and LOTS of padding of the hips and bust. there are equivalent "boobs and belly protection" type garments in most areas of the planet where it's not too hot to wear them. corsets are not equivalent to foot binding, neck stretching, or lip and ear plates. tightlacing is not particularly immobilizing either if you have the right corset, there are thousands of people who are hobbyist or medical tightlacers who do fine.

i think the "corsets were instruments of torture" myth is kept afloat by White Feminism. we (i and my fellow white women) need a justification for victim mentality so badly that we will accept without critical thought the suggestion that our ancestors in the English peasantry did hard manual labor bending over in a field for 15 hours a day in a bit of underwear that caused organ dislocation, hypoxia, pressure ulcers and random syncope because they were just so tough and so glamorous and so oppressed by Male Expectations. somehow this is easier for us to believe than "Hollywood wardrobe direction is so divorced from historical reality they are putting actresses in clothes that don't fit and injuring them". let's all go on jimmy kimmel and talk about how strong and brave Women are for going to a party with a 24" waist, my god

[signanothername]

do you think dream might also have some sort of chronic pain? nightmares legs are like obviously really messed up from corruption, but like being in stone for more than 400 (or 500 I kinda forgot how long he was in stone for) years has gotta do something to your joints or bones. Probably maybe not something as painful as what nightmare goes through, but I’d expect it to be painful or discomforting nonetheless

ACTUALLY YESSSSS ANON I DO THINK DREAM IS IN CHRONIC PAIN TOO!!!

And they’re definitely joints, definitely suffers from some sorta arthritis, being frozen in place for so long can be debilitating, and allow me to say that I love to think Dream also wasn’t just able to move around like he just wasn’t frozen for 500 years when he got free

Like I absolutely love to think he barely could move at all when he first got out of his prison, he definitely was in so much pain too, and absolutely struggled to move his limbs, like I wholeheartedly believe he just lay there without moving for a while (all while his mind was on overdrive as his memories got back to him as to what the hell happened)

And well, that pain as well as stiffness, especially in his joints just stuck with him, he now also struggles a lot of the time with moving too much or working, and sometimes the pain can amp up to the point he just can’t move at all, literally would cry from the pain, he’d force himself to stay as still as possible as to not irritate his pain even more

And unlike Nightmare, who’s pain is mostly just his back and legs, Dream’s pain is in every and each joint in his body, from every vertebrae in his spine, to every finger joint in his hands

Now take that and include Dream’s archery in the mix :)

One of the biggest things about archery is that you have to have strong flexible joints to be able to use a bow without any problems, not to mention, using it excessively can cause joint stiffness/pain, so I think it’d be easy to imagine how hellish using a bow is for Dream

But Dream had to learn how to use it effectively with his disability if he wanted to survive, the reason Dream picks up archery specifically is both cause it holds sentimental value to him as he used to play archery with Nightmare, and cause he knows he needs a long range weapon when Nightmare got his tentacles, he can’t be too careless and be at close proximity to his brother when he’s trying to kill him

So even tho there’s so much in his way, Dream managed to learn how to use a bow effectively all the same

It doesn’t mean he never faces any problems when fighting with his bow, Dream has great aim, but even then he’d sometimes miss his target just cause of the pain/stiffness he has, and sometimes it irritates his joints so much that he’s just unable to keep fighting and so he just retreats

I like to think Dream never even knew how to make his pain better at all, he never knew how to treat it, so for the longest time he just lived with it, until he met Swap, and well, he finally understood that he doesn’t need to just live with it and that there are methods to treat the pain, so now he wears braces under his clothes most the time, especially his wrists, arms and knees, he sometimes uses heat/cold therapy and he’s definitely on pain medications on a daily basis

Damn this boi needs a break

[stellamancer]

limitless (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. should be working on my halloween fic lmaoo. but uh. thought i'd bang this out. inspired by a conversation with @shotorus about the names we use to refer to certain characters in narration. lmao.

contains: fem! reader (the only physical trait is that reader is shorter than gojo, gojo almost uses a gendered term for reader, but is cut off), established relationship (me: coughs up blood), typical gojo antics, nickname usage (darling, honey, sweetheart, babe), part of the infinite loop fic verse

wc: around 720

"...I have a question."

You look at Gojo expectantly. Normally, he just says whatever is on his mind without pause, without filter, so you don't get why he's standing on ceremony right now. "Yeah?"

"We're dating, aren't we?" he asks.

You nearly spit out your drink. He's not wrong; for better or worse, he is your boyfriend now. The fact of it is actually kind of unbelievable when you think about it. Not just you dating Satoru Gojo. But you dating Satoru Gojo. If you had told yourself that it would have come to this ten years ago, even five years ago, you would have thought yourself a liar.

Now he's the one giving you the expectant look, his lips curved upward that little smile that always manages to get your blood boiling. The cocky bastard probably just wants you to admit it.

You consider saying 'no' just for the hell of it.

You decide not to. It feels almost as if you’re pulling teeth when you respond, “...we…are.”

Gojo’s mouth puckers and you brace yourself knowing full well that he’s about to start whining about something. There’s always something with this guy…"If we’re dating, then why am I still just 'Gojo' to you? I call you by your first name!"

"You've always called me by my first name," you dead pan.

"That's because I've always loved you!"

You roll your eyes. You know that's a lie, but you don't intend to argue with him— at least not head on because you know that it’s just going to lead to a dead end. "No, you love disregarding proper social etiquette. Or rather, you don't see the point in it."

"Oh, darling, you know me so well!" Gojo gives you a saccharine smile and you almost gag.

"Don't call me that."

He pouts. "Well, if you say I always call you by name, shouldn't I call you something else to show how special you are to me?"

"...no, actually, just my name is fine." A nickname from Gojo sounds dangerous. The thought of being called some cutesy nickname in front of everyone you know is mortifying. In fact, Gojo would do it solely to embarrass you.

So, naturally, he ignores you. "If darling is no good, what about... babe? Honey?"

"Gojo, really, you don't—"

"Sweetheart? My love? Oh, I know, I bet you'd love to be called pr—"

"Satoru."

He immediately stops talking, his mouth hanging open in stunned silence. You didn't think that that would have that much of an effect to be honest. For once, it feels like you have the upper hand. You make sure to savor the moment because you know they are far and few in between.

"Just my name is fine," you repeat. "...okay?"

He gulps and answers, "...okay."

You try not to let your mind linger on the fact that his voice just now was lower than usual. "Good. So—"

"Say it again."

You blink. "Huh."

"My name," Gojo says, his voice thick with emotion. "Say it again."

When you don't say anything he takes a step toward you, the infinite cosmos in his eyes staring you down. You feel defiant. It's not fair of him to ask you anything when he looks and sounds like this. Gojo takes another step closer and you think that if you're adamant about not giving in to him you better do it before he gets too close.

"You've... " you start and hate how breathless you sound. This bastard knows exactly what he’s doing to you. "You've hit your daily limit."

Gojo pouts and takes another step. "Well, that's not fair."

"You're not fair," you retort.

He doesn't argue and you take that as Gojo admitting that he's playing dirty. "I think you should up the limit."

You hold your ground as he takes one more step closer.. "No. You think there shouldn't be a limit."

Gojo chuckles and leans down to bridge the rest of the distance between you. He cups your cheek, bringing your face closer to him. Your breath stills as you feel his own on you and it’s damn near intoxicating. His mouth is barely touching yours and your thoughts shift from trying to keep the banter going to how the slightest movement from either of you will result in a kiss.

“You’re right,” he murmurs, lips brushing against yours. “There shouldn’t.”

[bitchiswild]

Secret Spouses

Jang Wonyoung x F! reader

Warnings: Non, Fluff

Word Count: 1.5k

A/n:Another wonyoung fluff!

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

"Miss Y/Ln! You won't believe what Miss Jang just said!" The door burst open, and one of my students came charging in, clearly bursting with news from our neighboring teacher.

"Oh boy, what's she up to now?" I chuckled, already bracing myself for another round of Miss Jang's antics. I rolled my eyes at the thought.

"She's all about getting a golden retriever, just like you!" The student blurted out, barely containing their excitement.

My eyes widened in disbelief. Without a second thought, I hopped up and made a beeline for the door. Facing Miss Jang's room right across the hall, I couldn't resist the opportunity.

"Hey, Wonyoung! Quit copying me! I've been wanting a golden retriever way longer than you!" I yelled, shaking my fist in mock protest.

"Ha! You wish! I've had that idea way before you, Y/n!" Miss Jang shot back, crossing her arms in playful defiance.

Our students were eating this up. Our back-and-forth had become a daily spectacle, like a mini comedy show for them. They'd giggle and watch as we playfully argued, knowing it was all in good fun.

"No, I'm sick and tired of you copying me, so stop it," I grumbled, frustration evident as I shut the door firmly. Turning to my students, I exaggeratedly sighed, "Goodness gracious, this lady is making me lose my mind!" Their laughter filled the room, lightening the tension.

Resuming my seat at the desk, I focused on preparing for the upcoming lesson. But before I could get too engrossed, my door swung open abruptly, revealing Wonyoung standing there, her eyebrow raised in a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

"I do not appreciate you slamming the door in my face," she said, arms folded, clearly miffed.

"I didn't slam the door in your face. You were in your classroom. Slamming the door in your face would mean you were where my door is," I retorted, a hint of exasperation in my voice, accompanied by an eye roll.

"Potato, potahto," she replied, her tone nonchalant.

"Go teach your class, Wonyoung," I said, a note of dismissal in my voice, accompanied by a disapproving click of my tongue.

"Fine, but this isn't over," she huffed, shooting me a pointed look, and then briskly walked back to her classroom, leaving a lingering sense of playful tension in the air.

"You and Miss Jang are perfect for each other," one of my students giggled, setting off a chain reaction of laughter among the others.

"I mean, they do say opposites attract," chimed in another student, adding to the playful banter.

Before I knew it, the entire class was caught up in a frenzy of creating a ship name and discussing the imaginary relationship between Miss Jang and me. Their excitement filled the room with chatter and giggles.

"Class, settle down, please," I interjected, trying to regain their attention amid the buzz of gossip. I couldn't help but chuckle at their antics. "Stop shipping us together. She's sooo annoying," I playfully rolled my eyes, hoping to steer the conversation back to the lesson.

"Just saying, Miss Y/Ln, you two would be soooo cute together," another one of my students teased, a mischievous glint in their eye.

"I'll leave that to your vivid imaginations," I replied with a playful grin, hoping to redirect their attention. "Okay, today we're diving into world history."

As the class came to an end, I swung the door open and found Wonyoung doing the same, her students trailing behind her. We shared a knowing wink, a silent acknowledgment of the ongoing friendly rivalry.

"Hey kids, how was class? Isn't Miss Y/Ln super boring?" Wonyoung playfully teased, pretending to snore, earning a few giggles from her students.

"Hey! You're the boring one! You teach math! Who likes math?" I retorted with a mock scowl, eliciting a chorus of "Yeah!" and nods of agreement from my own students.

Our banter continued, the age-old debate between subjects sparking a playful exchange between us, much to the amusement of our respective classes.

"Math is fun! I don't know what you're talking about," Wonyoung declared, sticking her tongue out at me with a playful smirk.

My jaw dropped in mock astonishment. "Do not stick your tongue out at me! Are you a child?" I feigned offense, raising an eyebrow in playful exaggeration.

Wonyoung's response was a soft murmur and averted gaze. "No," she murmured, suppressing a smile.

Laughter erupted from the students around us. "She got you, Miss Jang!" one of the students teased, reveling in the light-hearted banter between the teachers.

"Alright, kids, go grab some lunch. I'll catch you around campus, and remember, if you need anything, my door's always open for you," I said, bidding my students farewell with a warm smile.

"Same goes for me too, kids!" Wonyoung chimed in after me, a playful sparkle in her eyes as she glanced teasingly in my direction, maintaining the playful rivalry without betraying our secret.

Wonyoung and I shared a hidden secret—behind the playful banter, we were actually married. Our students were completely unaware, thinking our ongoing rivalry was all in good fun. It added a layer of amusement to our daily interactions, knowing that our private life was our own little secret, tucked away from their curious eyes.

As the last of our students left the room, Wonyoung and I exchanged affectionate glances. She walked over to me, gently guiding me into my empty classroom before shutting the door. Pulling me into a warm embrace, she planted a soft kiss on my lips.

"How's your day been, love?" she whispered softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, her eyes filled with tenderness.

"It's been wonderful. The kids have quite the imagination; they ship us together," I chuckled, feeling the warmth of our shared secret. "And yours? How's your day been?"

"They have good taste, pairing the right people together and my day has been going well," Wonyoung chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes.

"The day we reveal the truth to them, their minds will be blown," I replied with a chuckle, relishing in the shared secrecy of our relationship, hidden behind the façade of our playful rivalry.

"Well, I better go before we blow our cover. I love you," Wonyoung said, giving me another tender peck before heading off.

"I love you too," I replied, watching her walk to her classroom, where she settled in to eat her lunch. I followed suit, taking out my own lunch and reflecting on the hidden joy of our shared secret.

"Miss Y/Ln! We've finally decided on your and Miss Jang's ship name!" A group of my students burst in with palpable excitement. I stared at them in disbelief. "Wait, you guys still ship me with Miss Jang even after all our banter?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, like we said before, opposites attract!" they chimed in, their enthusiasm unwavering. A chorus of agreement came from the other students, nodding in agreement with their friends.

"Alright, hit me with the name," I sighed, giving in to their excitement.

"(Potential ship name), how about that? It's perfect!" They squealed with delight at their chosen name.

I chuckled in amusement. "That's quite something. Make sure to tell Miss Jang about it; she'd probably get a kick out of this!"

"Okay, let's go now before lunch is over!" They dashed off excitedly toward Miss Jang's room. As they hurried away, I noticed a few pairs of eyes glancing at me, widening with surprise before breaking into laughter at the students' enthusiastic antics with the ship name.

As lunchtime came to an end, the rumor mill had spun our ship name throughout the school. Middle school students, known for their liveliness, were quick to create pairings. In both my 5th-period class and Miss Jang's, conversations buzzed about how Wonyoung and I would make a cute couple.

Even a week later, the chatter persisted. Wonyoung and I decided to reveal the truth during an assembly dedicated to us, with the principal in on the plan. Standing side by side with microphones in hand, we prepared to disclose our secret.

"Hi, everyone. As you've been shipping us together, calling us a cute couple, and believing that 'opposites attract,' we—" I began, but Wonyoung interjected excitedly, "We're actually married, everyone!" She chuckled, playfully stealing the thunder.

Amidst the commotion, the students reacted intensely—some screamed in shock, while others shed tears, claiming that their "parents" were together, whatever that meant.

"Yes, Miss Jang and I are together. Here are our wedding photos if you're suspicious, but you guys are right; we do make a cute couple," I teased the students, reveling in their surprised and joyful reactions. They cheered, as if discovering our marriage was a dream come true.

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! The students started to chant, their enthusiasm contagious. Wonyoung and I chuckled, feeling a bit bashful, but we couldn't resist fulfilling their request. As we kissed, Wonyoung playfully exaggerated, dipping me dramatically, and the kids erupted in cheer. We pulled away, laughing at their playful antics.

Then, Wonyoung grabbed the mic once more, excitement evident in her voice. "Guess what! We have an announcement to make. We're going to be parents!" Her announcement sent a wave of excitement through the students, and they erupted into another round of cheering.

Amidst the joyous chaos, we couldn't help but share in the infectious energy of our students. Being teachers brought us immense joy, and moments like these made it all worthwhile.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[justaaveragereader]

Use Me

Pairing: FuckBoy!Wooyoung x Afab Reader

Word Count: 1.2K

Warnings: Dom Fuckboy!Woo, Sub!Reader, Unprotected Sex, Choking, Face Smacking, Degradation, Public Sex, Rough Sex, Woo Is Mean Asf🤪…If I Missed Anything…👀Lemme Know!

A/N: Listen…idk why but Woo has just been clouding my mind😵‍💫, I just feel like Woo would be a honest fuck boy, like he already is honest now, and loves being honest. Can you imagine him being a fuckboy?!? The man wouldn’t be sparing ANY feelings. Also I literally said I was going to take November off, and here I was at working writing a lil some some, if there are any mistakes, sorry😬. I wrote this without my glasses.

You knew that this was wrong, you heart yearned for him, he used you when he pleased, whispering sweet dreams into your ear, and you let him. That’s all he sold you, nothing but dreams, and you bought them everytime. You watched as his eyes ran over the large crowd, stopping once they reached your frame. With one simple look he could break you down in various ways then one.

The crinkle of his eyes, due to that mischievous smile he sported, he was taking you all in. Shifting your body weight from foot to foot you watch as his eyes flicker over to the bathrooms, before looking right back at you. Signaling to you to meet him in the restroom, subtly you make your way to the restroom, excusing yourself from your group of friends, you push your way through the packed crowd, the club lighting shining off your skin. With each step you take, Wooyoung hawks you down with his eyes, drinking in your form, the way you move, the way your chest slightly heaves with anticipation of knowing what’s to come. He's got you wrapped around each individual finger.

Excusing himself from his own friends, he makes his way towards the restroom, following closely behind you. Shutting the door behind him, he braces himself against the door. His sharp eyes drift over to your form that is leaning against the wall right across from him, how can someone make you feel so small? Walking slowly over to you, he stops right in front of you, his body slightly towering over you.

Squatting down to your level, so he could get better eye contact with you, he wanted to make sure your full attention was on him. He didn’t want you looking up to him, he wanted to make sure you understood him, with no room for misinterpretations of things. His intense gaze made your face heat with embarrassment. You both had sung this song various times, danced this dance numerous times. Yet he always made sure he drilled what was going to happen into your head, and made sure that you understood that this would be nothing more or nothing less. Nodding your head letting him know that you are listening closely, and that you understood his every word, he drags you over to the first available stall, not wanting to waste anymore time.

Shoving you in the stall, he quickly locks the door, shoving your chest against the cool metal door, pulling up your dress, moving your soaked panties to the side, as he places sloppy kisses along the side of your neck. Your body so easily submits to him, he’s like a drug, you know he’s no good for you, you know he’s nothing but a user, yet you can’t stay away from him. He's your daily dose, as much as you are his.

Pulling your back flush against his chest, he slowly thrusts into you, causing you to let out a loud mewl. His fingers immediately find your throat, tightening his grip around it. His wet lips brush over your ear, which each deep thrust your body hikes up the bathroom stall door. With your dress around your waist he uses the scrunched fabric as a way to stabilize himself.

“Fuck Woo..” you choke out through a moan. A large grin takes over his face, clearly pleased at every loud sound that leaves your mouth, it helps aid and feed his ego. With one harsh thrust, your cunt clenches hard around him, pulling a loud groan from him, he wraps his hand even tighter around your throat. Cutting your airways off partially

“Do you know what your purpose is? Hm?” He grits out between clenched teeth. There is so much fury beneath his dark eyes yet you miss the storm that’s brewing behind them.

“Your purpose is to satisfy me, and only me.” Gripping the sides of your throat tighter with each word he spits. You let out a choked out noise, your cunt clenching with need, the sounds of his deep voice in your ear, no matter how degrading they are, is enough to make your eyes roll back.

“Isn’t that right?” He spits out, your lack of an answer annoys him, slapping the side of your face lightly, he cocks your head to the side, bringing his face close to yours, the tip of his nose brushing against your own, his soft plump lips lightly touching yours.

“I. Said. Isn’t. That. Right.” He says with a harsh slam of his hips in your cunt. Letting out a choked out moan, you scream nothing but confirming words to him. Acknowledging you are nothing but something for him to stuff his hard dick into when he pleases.

Nodding your head swiftly, your forehead rubs against the cold metal stall door. While your heart pulled with each thrust of his, your pussy clenched with need. You wanted Wooyoung all hours of the day, you didn’t care how he came, you just wanted him.

“Fuck, this pussy is so good.” He grits out through clenched teeth, cocking his head back as he picks up speed, the sound of skin slapping echos in the empty bathroom, not even caring if someone was to enter and hear the noises you two created. He had one goal, and only one goal in mind.

Gripping your hips tighter, your body crushed against the door, face completely smushed against it. Wrapping his hand around your waist while the other tugs the bunched up fabric around your waist. Making sure to slam your hips down with each thrust up, making sure to hit that spongy spot over and over again.

“Fuck, Fuck Woo…please.” You rush out, your sweaty hands find grip on the top of the stall door, trying to stabilize yourself. The door rattles from the movement of his thrusts. Gripping your waist tighter, speeding up the pace of his thrust, while keeping the same hard thrust. Your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasm washing over your body with a loud mewl. Your hands grip the door for dear life. Orgasm so intense, tears stream down your face. He thrusts harshly a couple more times, before he pulls out, shooting his cum all over your lower back. Giving his cock a couple more pumps. He slightly leans forward, his nose brushing against your neck, stepping back he tucks himself away, pulling your panties back over to cover your dripping cunt. He doesn’t even wipe the cum off of your back, pulling the dress down, he pats where his cum is sitting on your skin, like a stain, like a temporary tattoo that only he leaves you with, that you wear secretly with pride.

Wiping the sweat from his forehead, he helps you stand up, unlocking the stall door, as he washes his hands, he looks up, catching your eyes through the mirror. A wicked grin grows across his face. Your eyes grow big and glassy. Looking back down at his hands, your eyes take over him. Taking him in for what he truly is, a user, an abuser, an opportunist, a man who sells you nothing but wishes and dreams, just as he finishes drying his hands he makes his way over towards you, placing a soft kiss upon your forehead.

“It’s never going to be me…is it?” you whisper out quietly but loud enough for him to hear. With his lips still on your forehead, you feel them stretch into a smile.

“Don't ask questions you already know the answer to.”

DO NOT REPOST.

[jadeee]

My Favorite Fairytale

Kento helps your daughter with her first loose tooth, but does she have to grow up so fast? 1.7k ⁑ slight mention of depression @ittosbigfatmantitties @ner-dee @luneariaa @jaix-chan-blog @stressed-cryptid

"Don't touch it. Your hands aren't clean."

Kento placed his hand over your daughter's which inched toward her mouth. A soft sigh left her tiny body as she watched the screen.

Connecting ... connecting ... the blue screen disappeared once you filled its space.

"Hey, did something happen?"

"Mommy!"

Kiyomi's brows jumped up to her forehead, eyes widened with a huge smile to match. He'd only taken in a breath when she grabbed his phone.

"Look," she wiggled her tooth.

"Kiyomi..." Kento gently pulled her hand down again.

"Ohhh, is it ready?"

"I think so, but papa said to wait."

"Really?"

He glanced at you then nodded. Moments ago, he attempted to pull the tooth (with a gentle hand) at his daughter's request. Her brows pinched ever so slightly, eyes shut, muscles tensing for what was to come next. When he heard the beginnings of a squeal, he'd let go. His hand rested on his knee as he'd knelt down to her level. Looking into her eyes felt like a mirror. The familiar mix of frustration and determination, much akin to stubborness.

"We should wait."

"Let's call mommy. She can help us!"

Kento was pulled back to reality by the sound of your voice.

"If papa said to wait, we should wait, sweetheart."

"Ugh," her dramatic groan aimed toward the ceiling as she threw her head back.

"Kiyomi." Kento and you said in unison.

"Can we try one more time?" Please?"

For a moment, the two of you stared at each other. Speaking a secret language only parents could understand. Kiyomi watched then beamed when she saw you both nod. Thus, the daily ritual began once more with Kento washing his hands, grabbing a paper towel, and kneeling in front of his daughter. His fingertips held the small ivory in her mouth. A slight tug... she held her breath and so did he. 

"It's not ready, darling." he rested his hand on his leg.

"You can pull harder. I'll be okay."

His hazel eyes met hers. He found himself attempting to commit the moment to memory in the moment of silence. The truth was: he couldn't bring himself to do it. It was only a tooth, but she was his little girl. His stomach twisted at the thought of her  yelping or crying. Then there'd be blood and another tooth that'd grow in... would she ever need braces?

"We'll try again later. How about a snack?"

"Hm... okay." she hung her head.

His chest tightened at the sight while the guilt seeped in.

"What would you like?" your voice filled the dead air, "We can have papa make Super Special Salad?"

Kiyomi nodded as she wiped her slowly falling tears.

"You'll have that tooth out in no time."

Kento placed his hand on her shoulder as your words worked to comfort her.

"We can have taiyaki too."

She looked up at him, "Really?"

"Yes," his thumb wiped the damp tears from her cheeks "but until then, it's Super Special Salad."

Without warning, she wrapped her arms around his tall frame. He patted her back then gave her a small squeeze, "Aishiteru."

"Suki."

He chuckled, realizing they needed to work on her Japanese a bit more.

"Alright," he patted her back once more "let's make that salad."

"Wait, I have to use the bathroom first."

She ran down the hall before he could utter a word. The man rose to his feet then glanced down the corridor. A remnant of a smile flashed across his face before washing his hands to start on the snack for his daughter. If you aren't a regular at the Nanami household, then you may mistake Super Special Salad for your usual lettuce, tomato, and carrots. This is where you're tremendously wrong. Kiyomi hates tomatoes... and lettuce... though she doesn't mind the "orange sticks" as she calls them.

Super Special Salad is a Kento classic of fruit cut into a medley of shapes. It's one of the ways he helped her learn circles, triangles, and such. Kiyomi's absolute favorite are the flower shapes. He's made sure to add more of those as she's gotten older.He proudly prepared the area for his sous chef, straightening the cookie cutters as they lay on the cutting board.

"Kiyomi!" he stood in the kitchen, listening for any sound of her. "Kiyomi?" his fingers untied the apron he'd put on then set it onto the counter.

"Kiyomi." his voice was steady and stern, unlike his heart which beat hard in his chest with each step he took toward the bathroom. The light poured out into the hallway, a sliver of a shadow decorating the center. "Ah!" its limbs flinched back. The sound caused Nanami to rush forward. His hand pressed against the doorframe, eyes looking dead ahead for the threat only to find Kiyomi holding her tiny tooth between her fingers.

"I did it!" she held it up at him. Her eyes were slightly damp from the tears that dared to spill over moments ago. "It didn't hurt that much! Can we have taiyaki now?!" 

His heart resided to its usual rhythm as he stared at her in disbelief. 

"Are you mad? ... I washed my hands first like you said! See." she held her free hand up to his face. 

The smell of soap wafted toward his nostrils. He knew that he should've chastised her then. I said we would try again later. You should've waited for your mom and I, so he knelt down to her level. She drew her hand back and clutched onto the tiny ivory victory she'd been fretting over for days. He placed a hand on her shoulder "I'm very proud of you." His eyes softened when he looked at her gap-filled smile.

For the last few hours, his face remained that way. As if he were frozen in time in a perpetual state of bliss. Rosy cheeks, soft lines gracing the sides of his mouth and eyes from smiling or laughing at something his daughter said. Hands that were consistently making their way over to you, whether it was to take the spoon from you so he could make dinner. Occasionally, they'd squeeze your thigh, rest it on your waist, or find their way to your very own hand. Lips that started to tell Kiyomi a bedtime story as he held onto her. 

"You're smushing him." she gestured to Paprika the Red Panda, as she'd so aptly named him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Paprika." he grabbed the stuffed animal then placed it on his lap "Do you think he wants to join us?"

"Of course," you peeled back the covers so Kiyomi could tuck him in next to her.

"Ready for storytime?"

You nodded along with Kiyomi then Kento cleared his throat. "Once upon a time, there was a man. He wasn't very happy. He was sad a lot but he didn't talk about it, so --"

"Why was he sad?" Kiyomi glanced up at the storyteller.

"We'll get to that later." Kento brushed a spot of leftover taiyaki from her cheek. Your fingers found their way to her hair which you mindlessly played with. She leaned a bit more into your touch, her head in your lap while her arm rested near her father. He took his hand in hers.

"So, he'd eat, work, and go to sleep. Only to do it all again the next day."

"Did he have any friends?" Kiyomi chimed in again. Kento went silent then shook his head, "Not really. He did but he wasn't very good at talking to them."

"Why not?"

Your fingers gently grazed over her scalp "Kiyomi... sometimes people don't feel like talking and... it feels better to be alone."

"But if your sad, you should talk to someone?"

"Right," Kento squeezed her hand. "If you're sad, you should talk to someone. Promise you'll do that, okay?"

Kiyomi nodded "I promise... but what about the man?"

"Well, he lived like that for a long time until he met a lady who was," his eyes landed on you "... incomparable."

Your eyes flicked up at him and he saw the light in them immediately. In the few seconds of silence, you two exchanged a loving glance.

"What's incomparable?"

"It means that there's nothing else like her."

"Flowers?"

"Nope."

"Super Special Salad?"

He shook his head.

"Taiyaki?" you challenged him and he chuckled then shook his head once more "Nothing."

"She's warmer than the sun and softer than moonlight. If I tried to compare her to anything, I think it'd be quite rude... we can say.. she's magic and I can't imagine living in a world without magic."

"I like magic!" Kiyomi's eyes lit up "Uncle Gojo showed me a magic trick."

Your laughter filled the room and Nanami only smiled to himself. "Let's stay away from his magic tricks for now."

"Okay, continue with your story." your laughter died down.

"Anyway... a few years later, the man found that he couldn't live without the magic woman so he asked her to grow old with him and y'know what she said? She said yes."

"Was he still sad?"

"Hm... sometimes but being with her helps him... they're kind of like a quilt. He has these holes and pieces missing, but she comes in and fills it with a patch."

"Mommy, what's a quilt?"

"It's like a blanket," you caressed her cheeks as she started to blink slowly, giving in to sleep.

"Papa, why'd you tell that story?" she rubbed her eyes.

"I kind of like it. Did I bore you?"

He glanced down at her then noticed the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her lashes unmoving as she slept soundly.

"It was a great story. Even if it wasn't a fairytale." You looked at your husband and cupped his cheek.

"Who said it was a story?" his eyes gazed into yours, skin growing hot from your tender touch. The remark made your breath hitch, you were stunned by his words. He placed his hand over yours, never breaking your gaze. The Look of Love fails short when describing the emotion that resided in his face. Yes. his hazel eyes were warm. A soft smile permanently stuck on his face... yet, there was something more. You'd felt it in the way he squeezed your hand. The silent "thank you" for simply existing and making everything better.

[ena-writes-stuff]

— a fine line.

˒ ⌕ you end up being enchanted by your boss' son in a law firm. between deadlines and tensions, an invitation changes everything.

— warnings: female reader, use of his real name

— words count: 1.0k

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It was honestly so glaringly obvious. The glances he shot your way whenever something absurd unfolded in that office were unmistakable, electric. Each time you caught his eye, your heart raced a little faster, a thrilling reminder that at that very moment, he was watching you too. There were those moments when he would casually approach your desk, a warm smile lighting up his face, asking if you needed anything. Each interaction sent a jolt through you — a silent, shared understanding that felt like a secret just between the two of you. It was so painfully obvious.

When you stepped into the law firm as an intern, you braced yourself to be utilized in every conceivable way by the busy lawyers. From sprinting to the courthouses on behalf of your boss to collect case updates, to battling tight deadlines that pushed you into sleepless nights, struggling to meet the absurd expectations placed upon you. And then there was the ritual of brewing coffee — an incessant demand from your boss for it to be fresh, as if the flavor of each sip held the key to his productivity. But what you truly hadn’t anticipated was the way your boss’ youngest son would occasionally drift into the office, like a restless spirit, occupying space with no clear purpose.

You knew his name. Alexis. It was a name that rolled off your tongue in your mind, prompting you to silently move your lips, as if whispering it was a secret act of intimacy. The tip of your tongue would rest behind your upper teeth as you formed the syllables, relishing the satisfying hiss of the "X," a small indulgence amidst the daily chaos of office life.

“Have you filed the appeal for the current case?” The question sliced through your reverie like a sharp knife, as if the devil himself had heard your thoughts and decided to materialize before you. There he stood, relaxed yet imposing, one arm casually resting on the desk. The air around you seemed to constrict, and the scent of his cologne, a rich, woody aroma, invaded your senses, unmistakably expensive. Expensive enough to rival a month’s wages from your underpaid internship. And there he was, enveloped in that fragrance on an ordinary Tuesday, as if he had nothing to lose.

For a fleeting moment, you hesitated, time stretching infinitely as your gaze wandered to the gold cross necklace he wore. It gleamed under the harsh office lights, visible only because the first button of his dress shirt was undone. The sight made him even more alluring, and you found your thoughts drifting to how that small detail could easily become a distraction in the midst of your mounting responsibilities.

Finally, you blinked, as if awakening from a dream, and reality rushed back in. “Was the deadline today?” your voice emerged, a bit louder than intended, betraying your sudden anxiety. Alexis nodded, his eyes locked onto yours, seemingly assessing not just your response, but the very essence of who you were.

A sigh escaped you, echoing in the stillness of the office, as your gaze fell to your palms, almost as if expecting an answer to materialize there. It felt like a crushing defeat to forget such vital details about a case — your work, not merely an internship. And that encompassed everything from brewing coffee to enduring overcrowded buses during rush hour to reach the courthouse, all without earning a single cent. The weight of failure settled in, a heavy burden pressing down on your shoulders.

“I can take care of it if you haven’t already,” he offered, rolling up his sleeves as he shifted his stance. Now, with his arms crossed, he kept his gaze firmly on you.

Your instinct was to deny him. How could he possibly offer help? A storm of doubts swirled in your mind: did he truly know how to draft that document? More importantly, you questioned whether he had any skills beyond being handsome, drifting around his father’s law firm, and flaunting expensive cologne. You hesitated, a tumultuous mix of pride and uncertainty swirling within you.

“You know I have a law degree, right?” he added, as if he could read your thoughts. Your mouth opened to respond, nearly affirming that, of course, you knew, it was such basic information, like the color of the sky. But your reaction drew a laugh from him, a light, infectious sound that filled the space between you. “No worries, I know I don’t look like someone who went to college.”

You couldn’t help it; laughter bubbled up, spontaneous and unguarded, and you instinctively covered your mouth, as if trying to hide your amusement and the enjoyment it brought.

“We can grab lunch together so you can tell me about the case,” he suggested almost immediately, biting his lower lip with a hint of nervousness. His eyes closed for a brief moment, as if mentally scolding himself for making such a sudden invitation. A soft blush crept onto his cheeks, and he ran a hand through his hair, fingers brushing through the strands in a distracted manner, as if trying to sort through his own thoughts.

The offer hung in the air, leaving you torn between surprise and intrigue. It was a chance not only to discuss work but to delve deeper into who he was — the person who always seemed so distant and unreachable. The way he proposed lunch, tinged with a touch of shyness, starkly contrasted the confident facade he usually projected in the office.

For a moment, the world around you faded, and you pondered the possibility of sharing a meal with him. The thought of sitting side by side, away from the cluttered desks piled high with papers and the pressure of work, felt incredibly enticing. You could finally glimpse what lay beneath his facade of beauty and charm, and perhaps he could provide a fresh perspective on the case that was consuming your thoughts.

“I would love to,” you replied, feeling a thrilling mix of excitement and nervousness flood through you.

[croquis-el]

Differences in localization and the original pt.2

I noticed that you liked this topic, so I continue (I am very pleased to read your comments and tags)

Disclaimer (just in case): these posts will be written solely for the purpose of familiarization; I do not force anyone to play the game in Japanese, because you are free to choose the version of the game that is comfortable for you.

Today's post will be entirely dedicated to one case that made Hodo cringe as much as possible - Turnabout Big Top

Here, for some reason, they decided to get this for that (in every second phrase). Brace yourself, we are starting.

___________________________________________

Maximillion Galactica

No, his name is fine (it was kept from the original), but his exclamations were replaced with synonyms (why bother?)

In the Japanese version, for Max, everything is "gorgeous", and all good people are "honey"

ゴージャス! まさに、そのとおり!

Gōjasu! Masani, sono tōri!

Gorgeous! That's exactly what it sounds like!

フッフッフッ････。 よろしくたのむよ、ハニイ。

fuffuffu~tsu. Yoroshiku tanomu yo, hanii.

Hehehe... Nice to meet you, honey.

(ハニイ････って、 ぼくのことか?)

(hanii tte, boku no koto ka? )

(Honey... are you talking about me?)

In the localization: everything is "fabulous" and "sweetie"

Copy the homework, but not word for word, okay? So we have one text for both of us!

___________________________________________

Naruhodo's Hairstyle

We will all agree that Hodo's haircut is very expressive and memorable (thanks to his ancestors - Ryunosuke - for his unruly hair). Which creates a flight of fancy for the nicknames that Hodo is given.

In the original, Max (like many others) calls Naruhodo "hedgehog"

さあ、ハニイ。そんな ハリネズミはほっといて。

sā, hanii. Son'na harinezumi wa hottoi te.

Come on, honey. Leave the hedgehog alone.

In the localization, Hodo, for some reason, becomes "porcupine."

Was it worth the effort? Okay.

___________________________________________

Max's Psycho-Locks

After the appearance of the psycho-locks (and in the original they are exactly psycho, with an "o"), Naruhodo calmly repeats Max's favorite exclamation and is annoyed by the magician's deception.

ゴージャス! もちろんだよ!

gōjasu! Mochironda yo!

Gorgeous! Of course!

(ゴージャス! この手品師、 何かかくしてる、ってワケか!)

(gōjasu! Kono tejinaji, nanika kakushiteru, tte wake ka! )

(Gorgeous! So this magician is hiding something!)

In the localization, for some reason, he is unhappy that he repeated Max's phrase (you were normal with this, aren't you?)

Was there a need to change Hodo's reaction? To make a hole in his character?

___________________________________________

Shaved ice with syrup

In the original, when Mayoi begs Hodo for kakigori (shaved ice), and is unhappy with the lack of syrup on the snow he offers, he will simply think that you can eat ice just like that (without syrup). Literally - eat what they give you and don't complain.

なるほどくん。 かきごおり食べたい。naruhodo-kun. Kakigori tabetai.

Naruhodo-kun. I want to eat shaved ice.

････そのへんに

いくらでもつもってるだろ。

sono hen ni ikurademo tsumotterudaro....

There's loads of them around there.

わーい。････って、 シロップかかってないじゃない!

Wa ī. Tte, shiroppu kakattenai janai!

Yay... Wait, there's no syrup on it!

(かかってりゃ、いいのか････?)

(kakatterya, ī no ka?)

(Bring it on...?)

In the localization, a joke about "yellow" snow appears (you understand, I hope. Unfortunately, I also see this every winter in the city, so I giggled).

___________________________________________

Balloons with advertisements

And the last thing in this post (so that it doesn't get too long).

Commenting on the balloons with advertisements, Mayoi expresses the idea that they are no longer used often because children always try to climb on them.

In the localization, Hodo answers her somewhat vaguely, hinting at some other reason than children. (What exactly?)

In the original, his answer makes much more sense, showing Naruhodo's daily worries

アドバルーンて、あんまり 見かけないね。最近。

adobarūnte, anmari mikakenai ne. Saikin.

I don't see many advertising balloons these days.

子どもがよじ登ったら あぶないからね。

kodomo ga yojinobottara abunaikara ne.

It's dangerous if a child climbs on it.

(真宵ちゃんなら やりかねないな････)(mayoi-chan'nara yari kanenai na)

(Mayoi-chan could do that...)

He allows the idea that Mayoi could also climb on such balloons. He literally sees her as a child, a little sister who needs to be constantly looked after if there are constant dangers around.

___________________________________________

So, in my subjective opinion, 2 meaningless changes; 2 changes that create a hole in the Hodo's character; and 1 more as an understandable and rather dark joke for those who annually see snow lying on the street for more than, at least, a month.

P.S. If you suddenly want to support me, the link is in the profile description.

[valkyyriia]

Day 10 - A Lesson in Patience

Kinktober 2024 Prompt List | Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 1838 CW: Cockwarming, Unprotected Sex Pairing: Comte de Saint-Germain x Reader Prompt(s): Cockwarming | Face Fucking

Notes: Happy birthday to me! This one was a lot of fun to write. This was also the first one I wrote, because I just loved this idea.

This morning at breakfast, le Comte had greeted you as he usually did when you hadn’t spent the night together.

“Good morning, ma chérie,” he said, gently resting a hand on your waist and leaning in for a kiss. “How did you sleep? Are you feeling better?”

“I slept just fine,” you had replied with a smile. “Headache is gone. And you?”

“Well enough, though I certainly missed having you with me.”

You had gone to bed early the night before due to a pounding headache. Comte had suggested you sleep in your own room since he still had a few things to take care of before heading to bed himself.

“I don’t much like the thought of sleeping without you beside me, ma chérie, but I don’t want to wake you if you’re ill,” he had told you with a concerned frown. Your head hurt too much to argue it, so you had just done as you were told for once.

Waking up without le Comte was an experience you had been happy to leave in the past.

Comte took your hand in his and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. “I missed you. Will you assist me with my letters this morning? S’il vous plait.”

You frowned apologetically. “I would, but Sebastian had asked me to do a few things this morning.”

Comte shook his head. “Sebas,” he addressed his butler. “I need use of our lovely housekeeper this morning.”

“Of course, Monsieur le Comte,” Sebastian had replied with a bow. “I shall bring your daily correspondence shortly.”

You just shook your head. Abuse of power, much?

Comte escorted you to his room immediately following breakfast with a hand to your lower back. The vampire enjoyed having his hands on you as much as possible, but ever the gentleman, he stuck to socially acceptable forms of contact.

In public, at least.

When you got to his room, you made to go sit in your usual chair across from his desk.

“Actually, ma chérie, I’d like you to sit somewhere else today.”

You turned to him in surprise, a clear question on your face, and he had just given you a noncommittal smirk. You narrowed your eyes in suspicion and he just sat down at his desk and patted the top of his thigh. “Come have a seat, chérie.”

You hesitantly sat on his thigh like he had indicated and he wrapped an arm around you to brace you, a hand on your hip. He leaned in to say something, but before he could there was a knock at the door.

It was Sebastian with the day’s letters. As usual, there was a thick stack addressed to le Comte de Saint-Germain. Surprisingly there were a few addressed to you as well, included amidst le Comte’s.

Sebastian took one brief glance at the pair of you and sighed to himself. “If that is all, I will take my leave.” He bowed and then addressed you before leaving the room. “I’ll see you after lunch.”

You turned to Comte after Sebas had left. “Not that I mind, but.. why do you have me here?”

“It’s far easier to read the letters together when we can both see them at the same time, non?” He explained. His words were innocent, but the tone behind them was suspicious. You squinted at him and he simply smiled. The hand at your hip curled into the flesh, pulling you closer to him. “I missed you last night. Are you going to begrudge me your company after spending all that time apart?” He murmured into your ear, giving you a look that resembled a kicked puppy.

You sighed in resignation. “Alright, fine.” You were still questioning his motives, but you couldn’t deny that you had missed him too.

He reached for a letter opener while you reached for one of the many letters strewn about the desk. He clicked his tongue in mock annoyance. “It’s a bit difficult to hold you while also trying to use both hands to open these. I think I’ll need a different way to keep you secure.”

“I can balance myself just fine,” you said, shaking your head. “You can use both hands. I’ll be alright.”

Comte hummed noncommittally. He set the letter opener down and used the hand he had around your hip to pull you closer, settling you to where your back was against his chest. You squeaked at the movement, but quickly settled into him.

“Much better,” he murmured into your ear, pressing a gentle kiss to the tender skin behind it. His breath puffed against the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

He shifted his hips slightly and you inhaled sharply, feeling the outline of his hardening cock pressing against your ass.

Suddenly it all clicked.

“You didn’t want me here for letters today, did you?” You breathed.

He chuckled, low and deep. “Whatever gave you that idea, ma chérie?”

You soon found yourself impaled on your partner’s thick length. He had forbidden you from moving, stating that it would be a distraction from his very important work.

Because this wasn’t distracting enough as it was?!

Le Comte had apparently developed a bit of a masochistic side over the centuries, because while you weren’t allowed to move, the same did not apply to him. Every so often he would shift his hips and drag the swollen head of his cock against the sweet spot deep inside your core.

You had been sat like this for hours. You were jittery and shaky; every part of you felt like it was on fire. Every nerve of your body was on high alert. The faintest puff of air against your ear or the brush of his arm against your skin would send a jolt through you.

“You seem a little warm, chérie,” Comte murmured. “Let me help you cool off.” He blew gently against the back of your neck, the sensation pimpling your skin with gooseflesh. You shivered and bit your lip.

Your partner seemed totally unaffected by what he was doing to you.

It was not fair.

Maybe this was just a pureblood vampire thing? Your mind briefly drifted to Leonardo, wondering if he would be similarly unaffected. Before you could go too far down that line of thought, Comte had moved again, however, and you inhaled sharply.

The man hadn’t even fucked you properly and you were already overstimulated. Great.

Not moving was proving to be far more difficult than you had originally thought, too. To begin with you thought maybe he would finish up his work quickly and then satisfy you both, but then the first hour passed by. By the end of the second hour, you were nearly going mad with desire. Now approaching half past the third, it was taking all of your mental fortitude to hold yourself still. You weren’t sure you were capable of a coherent thought, much less intelligible speech. If only you could move a little -

“The more you move, chérie, the longer this is going to take,” he said, his voice husky. He leaned forward, causing his cock to shift within you and eliciting a gasp from your lips. “If you want to come, you need to be a good girl and sit still.”

You whined petulantly but listened, your thighs quivering with the struggle. You were dripping wet; there was no way Comte didn’t know.

God, all you wanted to do was ride him.

After what felt like an eternity - which is quite the hyperbole, considering your lover was in fact a centuries-old vampire - Comte finally put his pen down.

“You did so good, ma chérie,” he groaned. His left hand drifted towards your inner thigh, his fingers trailing through the slick coating the flesh there. You gasped at the sensation, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Do you want to come?”

You didn’t immediately answer. All that came from your mouth was a high pitched whine.

“Answer me, ma chérie,” Comte murmured, his voice a deep purr. “You need only ask, and I’ll give you everything you want.”

“Yes,” you breathed, your inner walls clenching hard around his length. “Please, Abel. I need it,” you choked out. “I need you.” Comte groaned low and deep in your ear, his fingers digging harshly into the flesh of your thigh.

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I denied my lady’s dearest wish?” he said, pulling you flush against his chest. “Come for me.”

You nearly cried in relief. His other hand moved to your hip as you lifted yourself up on his lap with shaky legs and slammed yourself back down, a loud moan escaping you at the feeling of his cock finally moving inside you.

Three repetitions was all it took for you, your upper half sprawling out across the top of Comte’s desk. He quickly sat up, continuing to fuck you through your orgasm. He leaned over your back, the tips of his fangs lightly grazing the flesh of your shoulder as he thrust into you hard, the desk rattling with every movement. You cried out as he pounded into you, the combined sensation of Comte’s fangs and his cock sending another orgasm screaming through your body.

With a harsh grunt, his forehead dropped to your shoulder and he spilled himself inside you. He thrust into you four more stuttering times before stilling completely. You could feel the warmth of his seed dripping from your spent pussy as he pulled himself from within you and sat back, sitting you down on his lap once again. His forehead rested against your shoulder as you both caught your breath.

“You did so well, ma chérie,” he breathed, kissing your shoulder. “Truth be told, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to help myself. The whole time, I wanted nothing more than to bend you over the desk and fuck you until you were screaming my name. My real name.”

You groaned at the thought. The idea was incredibly arousing, but you didn’t think you could take any more after the last three hours. Comte chuckled, pressing another affectionate kiss behind your ear. “Can you move, mon amour?”

You tried to get off of his lap and found your legs were shaking far too badly to do so. You shook your head with a tired sigh, leaning back against him once more.

Comte shifted you around before lifting you up and carrying you over to his bed. “Rest,” he said, brushing hair from your face with a gentle kiss to the forehead. “I’ll inform Sebastian you won’t be returning to work until tomorrow.”

Sebastian’s resounding sigh echoed through the mansion.

They really needed a new housekeeper.

One that wasn’t sleeping with the head of household.

Dividers by @/natimiles

Taglist: @natimiles @queengiuliettafirstlady @candiedcoffeedrops @goddesswitchmother @candied-boys

@fang-and-feather @faustianfascination @villain-hotline

[lunarw0rks]

something cute & wholesome for our chaotic bby soap <33 him and the reader being in a relationship whenever she has a mischievous idea, he supports it without thinking twice. mm and maybe one day she’s playing with this archery set and he’s helping her with her aim, she accidentally shoots an arrow wrong and it goes flying through the window of price’s office 🤣 price slams his door open and he just stands there with the arrow in his hat

☾𓂃❛🍰❜┊ run for your life

warning(s): fem!reader, a lil suggestive joke, just a crack fic, no use of y/n ♡ masterlist // requests // ask box

the most startling quality price possessed? how he never yelled.

at recruits, at his men, at anyone. not unless he was barking orders, and most fearsome — even when he was infuriated. his stare was enough to back the strongest of men into a corner.

the scot in front of you was focused for once - a truly rare sight.

❝johnny,❞ a smirk spread on your face; yet another dubious plan flooding your brain. paperwork was boring, and your daily chores were finished. ❝wanna do something?❞

the folder in his hand landed on the desk before he had jumped to his feet as if he had been yearning for a more stimulating activity. ❝aye, how could i say no? what is it this time? throwing little paper balls at simon?❞ he questioned, following you down the corridor to the mischievous location of your plan.

❝not this time. it's something i've wanted to play with for a couple days, just haven't had time.❞ you lead him to the common area, where you got an archery set.

soap's mouth contorted into a dirty-minded smirk, a cocked brow. ❝i knew this day would come, i'm irresistible.❞

that comment only earned an elbow to the ribs and an unimpressed glare, not you confessing your undying love for the former class clown. you scoffed and motioned to the bow, a widened gaze until he had the same amount of excitement as you.

now, instead of a lustful smirk, it was a deviant one. ❝you're saying you want to play with that here?❞ he questioned with some faux seriousness before the act ceased

❝i'm in.❞

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

after what seemed like minutes of bickering, you finally got the bow into the 'correct' position, though the form was questionable when you were too busy cackling.

❝alrigh' now... imagine the face of someone you hate. and it can't be me.❞ soap rasped into your ear, an uncomfortably close hold on you, purely to mess up your precision.

you tightened your lips into a line, shaking your head at his childishness. it was only because he didn't get to go first. ❝johnny if you make me miss, it will be your face in my crosshairs.❞

you pulled back the string with force, aiming for the line of plastic cups you had set up. it was a simple shot, but knowing the man you chose as your practice buddy — it would be anything but a simple task.

just as you released the string, soap poked your side, causing an instinctual flinch on your end. instead of a straight shot into the styrofoam cups, the arrow curved and went through the window overlooking price's office. the small shatter was enough to make you wince and drop the bow, and then him. it was the most terrifying sight of your life.

price, a small arrow that went through the fabric of his boonie hat. and that damned fatherly scowl.

johhny's eyes darted from you, to him, then back to you. unfortunately, this hadn't been a first for either of you. it had become a routine at this point. ❝i'll go left, you take right.❞

you nodded, bracing yourself to sprint the opposite of the direction soap claimed. ❝run.❞

[zoohouseart]

An idea of how Ed Edd n Eddy's cast may appear as adults. I wrote a bio for each one too.

Ed: Married May Kanker right out of high school, had 26 kids all named after monster movies (all of which he's VERY protective of). Spends a simple life working on tree-lifting and mine digging, bathes in gravy every night. Misses Edd and Eddy a whole, whole lot. Unfortunately doesn't see them often, since they moved further into the city while he stayed in the cul-de-sac.

Edd (Double D): Cleaned his act, got the girl, gained a master's in science and engineering, became a teacher, and yet STILL isn't happy or widely respected. Has yet to fully address his long standing anxiety of taking off his hat. Cannot let himself catch a break as he stresses daily about getting the bills paid. Wishes there was more to life than this ever-revolving door of monotony.

Eddy: Flunked out of college. Works as an errand boy for the mayor of Peach Creek and "oversees productivity". Secretly continues to feed his compulsions to scam and gamble at any chance he can get. Spends his every evening dreaming of the day where HE's the mayor, and scheming up ideas he'll never enact (unless..). Often complains that jawbreakers aren't as big as they used to be.

Nazz: Lives a bohemian life, praying someday her time to shine will glisten once more as an "influencer" but works retail in the meantime. Mooches off her fiancée Edd and tries to make up for it in emotional (and erm, well, physical) support. Is struggling with the idea that she peaked in high school, but will never admit it. Mockingly called "Double Z" by Eddy, though she doesn't mind.

Kevin: Is the mayor of Peach Creek. Won this view through pure charisma and good word as the football king of Peach Creek High and general "best at everything", but is often these days fumbling the ball on keeping the streets safe and clean. Is now friends with Eddy, or at least he likes to think so. Is sad he didn't make it into pro league, and will sulk about it when noone's looking.

Sarah: Took up the job of being a shrink (specifically in anger management), and a general town do-gooder. She's often, even if obnoxiously, asking to help others. Has really turned her life around from her loudmouthed, vicious childhood and make up for her past cruelties.. but has mostly done so just to repress her unbridled rage bubbling inside. Whatever you do, don't bring up Jimmy in front of her.

Jimmy: Sarah and Jimmy were conjoined to the hip practically forever, until the day his braces came off. Once he did, he got the call from Hollywood for his incredible acting chops, and ditched his BFF without a second thought. People often tour Peach Creek to see his hometown, much to the chagrin of everyone there. Is a real piece of work these days and could use a nice ass whooping.

Rolf: Grew to be a mighty farmer, creating a titanic cattle industry. Used his profits to buy a massive chunk of Peach Creek and turn it into "New Yergosluvia", so his old country family could live nearby. There he resides as it's king, and frequently feuds with old friend Kevin. Wears Victor's pelt in honor of his life-long servitude to a son of a shepherd (Victor passed peacefully in his sleep).

Johnny 2x4: MIA. As the Eds became more accepted, Johnny became the new misfit. One day, tragedy suddenly struck Plank in senior year of high school, and Johnny was never seen again. There's urban legends of crudely drawn faces appearing on the trees around the old cul-de-sac they grew up in. Ed swears he's seen one tree move. But that's crazy Ed for you. …Right?

May Kanker: Spends her days mostly exhausted from having to take care of 26 children, and hardly ever leaves the house. When she's not trying to drown out the kids with a cranked up TV, she's spending every other hour gossiping about occurrences across the city with her sisters.. though there's not a lot of time between that and cleaning up shit smeared on the walls.

Marie Kanker: Was expelled from Peach Creek High School for stalking Edd and threatening harm on Nazz. She now spends her days as a forum rat on doxxing related message boards, betwixt a day job of driving a garbage truck, where she mostly rides around town spying on people and scribbling down their whereabouts. She too spends all remaining hours gossiping with her sisters.

Lee Kanker: Was mid-planning on going to college and had her life all figured out to be a part of law enforcement until she was unexpectedly locked up for "illegal wood burning". She swears she was framed but has no idea who could've done it. She's usually calling her sisters, but occasionally talks with Eddy. She's not interested in him anymore; they just like to shoot the shit sometimes.

[songmingisthighs]

Wanbelyn

introduction pt. i | pt. ii | pt. iii

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ch. xxxii - big bird maybe

neurosurgeon!hongjoong × reader

buy me coffee ?

where love and peace is held, i never expected for this to happen. i planned and i planned, i expected, and i hoped, but it was never you. you held what i wanted hostage to make room for you, the thing that i needed but has no means of acceptance. deny me, live your best life.

Having worked with Kijoong and experiencing the many emergencies Hongjooong involved you in, you had gotten Kijoong's night routine down to the T.

Sure, there were some setbacks like how Kijoong demanded that he wanted his daddy to tuck him in and you had to negotiate with him. No matter the headache the boy induced, you found yourself still falling for his absolute adorableness. Unfortunately, you see some of those attributes on his father (which you can never nor were you ever planning on telling him). So even when Kijoong (somehow) crawled on top of the kitchen counter as you got his PJs out, you still managed to kindly get him down and scold him yet again.

His damn pout was enough to melt your whole resolve. That and the way he cupped your face and patted your cheeks gently as he said he was not bad. Like his father, Kijoong tends to not really mean his apologies. While you can hear them both say sorry, they tend to say it as more of a courtesy as opposed to an actual admission of guilt. You had a working theory that they do so in hopes that when they do make an admission of guilt, people would appreciate them more.

"Okay, here we go buddy," you grunted slightly as you carried the giggling, wiggling boy down on his dad's bed. Though Kijoong has his own bed in his room, he still sleeps in his dad's bed at night. You adored the fact that they stuck so. Even when it was just the two of them, they try to make what they have an actual family. Sometimes you feel bad for the way people mock and poke at Hongjoong for being so dedicated to his job. For one thing, it wasn't his fault that he was good at his job and that he was a genius at what he does. With the talent that he has, of course people would want him to help them. Though he was on track to becoming an attending, he still had to jump through hoops to prove himself despite people's praises. Despite that, he still spend what spare time he had to ask about Kijoong. Heck, he'd video call him through you whenever he could. Just the other day, when Hongjoong was stuck fixing a botched spinal tap, he managed to have the nurse hold his phone as he sing Kijoong to sleep because he had promised Kijoong that he would. Maybe after a while, you found yourself liking this nanny job.

"Dad?" Kijoong asked after his giggles died down, trying to push the blanket off of him to tease you. His big eyes destroyed all possibilities of you being annoyed at him even when you had to tuck him in for the eight time. "Your daddy has an association event tonight," you said, sitting down next to him on the bed while tilting your head to the side and smiling down at him.

Kijoong liked it when you used big words on him. It made him feel like his dad who's a big professional who used words on a daily basis, it made him feel like he was taking a part in his dad's world.

With pursed lips, Kijoong looked between you and the door multiple times until you understood what he meant. "Oh ho ho, no, mister, you are not staying up tonight to see your daddy come back home," you scoffed, bracing yourself to anticipate if Kijoong decided he wanted to make a run for it. "Why not?" he huffed, frowning deeply which reminded of you that time Hongjoong saw you cooking while carrying Kijoong on your hips. "Because last time you stayed up to wait for your daddy I had to deal with you being cranky the next day and I do not enjoy working with pouty children," you teased him, poking him on the nose to accentuate your words which thankfully made Kijoong scrunch his nose and giggled instead.

Without needing to negotiate more (thankfully), you watched as Kijoong make himself comfortable before curling into your touch, letting drowsiness slowly take over him. You scooted closer and began stroking the boy's head, enjoying the rare time he was quiet and calm, looking like any other child on earth and not a child who has psychological and behavioural issues. At times like this, Kijoong looked like an angel.

"(y/n)," he called out softly, forcing you to snap from your little daydream, "Yeah buddy?" Kijoong peeked through his lashes up at you, "Are you gonna stay?" he asked, voice sounding like he was afraid. You furrowed your eyebrows at him, "Of course, buddy. I'll be here until you fall asleep," you smiled, trying to comfort him only for him to shake his head. "No! Are you staying long?" he asked again, letting you know that he was asking whether or not you were staying with him for the long run.

That took you by surprise.

When you accepted the job offer from Hongjoong, you were always under the impression that your employment was momentary. He wasn't giving you much of an option and you still wanted to become a nurse. You had taken the job with the expectation that it was merely short-term but what you didn't expect was genuinely loving the boy who had found it in himself to trust you since the moment he met you.

Of course, you had yet to plan your exit what with not even having an exact timeline of your departure from Kijoong's life. You had always thought that you'd have more time.

But at that moment, being asked like that directly from him. something felt heavy in your chest.

Kijoong was growing more anxious about you not answering him. So he wrapped his fingers around your pinky and ring finger, "I'll be good, promise," he added.

Your heart broke slightly at him practically begging you to stay.

You couldn't help but swoop down and plant a soft peck on the top of his head and envelop him in a hug.

"I'll stay here until you don't need me anymore, okay? Until then, you just be yourself because I love you for who you are. Don't you even worry your little head," no matter how much you tried to hold it in, your emotion still spilt out and your voice cracked slightly.

Kijoong curled more into you and he even held your hand tighter. "Don't go like mommy," he said and you felt your breath hitched at the sudden mention of his mom.

It was always a mystery to you about what happened to his mom but you never wanted to pry especially since Hongjoong never really mentioned his mom to you. And based on what you heard, Kijoong wouldn't have been able to know much about his mom either. Even if he did, why would you ask such a question to a child?

A child who was clearly severely affected by the absence of his mother.

For now, even as a substitute, you allowed him to rest in your embrace. You allowed him to feel the embrace of a woman who cared for him for once.

Knowing what could happen in the future, it was the least you could do for him.

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